Young Love

by Alyson Santos

  No one is surprised when he picks himself off the floor and storms off, rumbling a long string of bulldozer swear words. Jace stares after him until he’s confident Butch won’t be returning.

  “What were you thinking?” he directs at Ben.

  “The dude was an asshole!”

  Jace rolls his eyes, ignoring the slack-jawed groupies staring at him like he saved a train full of babies.

  “Asshole or not, you can’t go charging a guy that’s three times your size. Hell, you shouldn’t be charging anyone.”

  Ben shrugs an apathetic concession. “I knew you’d handle it.”

  “Fuck, Ben,” he says, shaking his head. “I’d prefer not to end up with an assault charge on my record.”

  “So responsible this one,” Ben tells us.

  I grin, now that I can breathe again, and enjoy the fact that I’m not the only one who gets Jace Beckett lectures. To be fair, I’m kinda with him on this one. Bar fights aren’t my favorite either. Having said that, watching your boyfriend take out a truck of man without so much as a flinch—it’s pretty darn hot. He dropped Butch like I drop hair pins every time I attempt an up-do.

  Apparently, his fan club thinks so too, which I note enough for both of us. Jace just seems irritated.

  “I’m soaked. You okay if we load up and get out of here?” That question is for me; Ben already seems to know he’s on the shit-list and retreats to the stage.

  “Of course.”

  “Aw, you’re leaving already?” the girls whine.

  “Sorry,” he says, polite. “Not really looking forward to a night of smelling like a keg.”

  I watch their eyes scale the lines of his body, now enticingly exposed by his wet t-shirt. Who says guys are the creepers? I add an apologetic smile, feeling generous. Then I follow Jace to the stage to help in any way I can—even if it’s just standing watch for the return of angry Butch. I smile to myself.

  Sienna Porter: Bouncer.

  It’s 2:47 AM. Jace is asleep and I’m in deep with anxiety brain. Not unexpected, but what haunts me isn’t an almost-fight with a bar bully; it’s a couple innocent questions by total strangers. How disappointing that I didn’t know the basics about the man I love.

  Finding the band website isn’t hard. Nor their social media accounts and places to buy and stream their music. No, nothing’s hidden for those who have even a passing interest in finding them. While I was busy chiding him for not sharing his gift, he must’ve been busy not biting my head off because he already had.

  “You need to get over this idea that passion and money are synonymous.”

  Okay, but how else do you measure passion? Justify it? Invest in it? How do you live in that precarious gray space of risk, danger, and defeat? Where failure proves the doubt, and doubt proves everyone else correct.

  I can’t actually go there, right? We have duties, responsibilities. Expectations and order.

  Except Jace lives there. Day in and day out he breathes for the challenge of finding the color beyond the black and white. Gray may not be safe but it’s the path to everything I admire about that man. Envy about him.

  Sienna Porter: Musician.

  Sienna Porter: Black Belt.

  Sienna Porter: Confident woman who goes after what she wants and doesn’t hold back.

  Sienna Porter: Not afraid to be Sienna Porter.

  If only I knew who the hell she was.

  Chapter 0 – 13 = -13

  It’s family night for the CBMA graduation ceremony. My martial artists’ actual family finds these events excruciating, so I’ve volunteered as cheerleader and photographer. We’re making a night of it. After Jace and Aiden receive their promotions, we’ll head out for ice cream, then back to the house for an epic night Jace doesn’t even know about, prepped while he was at work.

  Forty-two seconds in and I know Candice is nuts to miss this. Tiny humans start things off by ambling across the stage in matching blue tees. They can’t be more than four years old, and have the entire audience giggling at their earnest attempts to stand in straight lines. The instructors do their best to get them set for their “demonstration,” which involves exactly two jumping jacks and a bow. We applaud as they’re ushered off the stage in more of a herd than a line.

  The White Belts are more organized in their demonstration. At least, they manage to stay in a straight line and have varying levels of success doing what looks like a simple punch and kick. Then again, I’d probably fall on my ass like I do half the time I try to climb into Jace’s truck. Twenty-eight: the number of times Jace has snort-laughed at my basic walking skills.

  The intermediate students are up next, and I whip out the camera for plenty of proud-mom shots of Aiden. I guess he looks solid doing his moves? He’s determined, anyway, and from what I can tell, that’s half the battle at this level.

  The advanced students do some coordinated punching-kicking thing that reminds me of Jace’s demonstration in the kitchen that one day, and then the Black Belts (or Sempais as my boys call them) take the stage. I clasp my hands watching Jace move into place, every detail of that brutal test still seared into my brain. The sheer enchantment of watching a person push himself to the brink of survival, then push more, and more, and more. Motivating? What Jace did that day was religious.

  Afterwards it’s time for promotion where each student gets called up one by one to receive their belt from Shihan. They bow to what seems like everyone in the building but is probably just a few and walk off the stage beaming. I get plenty of pictures, and my heart bursts with pride at the manic cheers when Jace is called up. To say he’s a popular member of the team would be an understatement.

  After ice cream, which includes plenty of showing off a new green belt, we head back to the house for the make-up sleepover.

  “Whaaaat?” Aiden launches himself on the air mattress, nursing an enormous grin. He tests out its buoyancy until his gaze crosses to the collection of entertainment options. What follows next is a string of infectious excitement that has a smile growing on my face as well. A quick look at Jace and my heart melts.

  “When did you do this?” he asks.

  “Today while you were at work.”

  “Thank you,” he says, expression full of everything I want for him, from him, and with him. “You didn’t have to.” He reaches out to put his arm around me, and I lean into his embrace.

  “Are you kidding? I’ve been dying to play Racer Ball.”

  “Razor Ball,” he says with a snicker.

  “Whatever.”

  He squeezes my shoulders, and I rest my head against him as we watch Aiden enjoy being eight. I can’t recall a moment that’s ever felt so warm. So right. So full of the future I want. Jace by my side, Aiden safe and happy. Laughter. There’s something this house hasn’t experienced in a long time. Joy. Hope. I want.

  “What is it?” he asks, noting my smile.

  I turn it on him. “Happiness. This is happiness.”

  He leans in for a kiss, the echo of my joy in his eyes. “Then ‘this’ is everything.”

  Turns out I’m not great at Racer/Razor Ball. I’m even worse at racing virtual cars around perilous tracks. Who drives near erupting volcanos and hungry sharks anyway? What I am good at is watching movies and cuddling with Jace on the couch. Aiden is sprawled out on the mattress in front of us, nestling a giant bowl of popcorn.

  The movie? Kind of silly, but the real entertainment is experiencing the film through the eyes of an eight-year-old.

  “He loves this part,” Jace says after yet another Aww yeah! from his little brother.

  “Clearly. So he’s seen it before?”

  “Probably eleven times? Maybe twelve?”

  I shake my head. “Wow. For me that was The Little Mermaid. My mom bought it for me on VHS and I’m pretty sure I almost wore the tape out.” I catch his smirk and shove him. “Don’t you dare.”

  He lifts his hands in surrender. “What? I didn’t say anything!”

  “You’re
thinking it.”

  “You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

  “You probably don’t even know what a VCR is.”

  “Sure I do. That’s the thing where you crank the handle and music plays from wax tubes, right?”

  I launch even harder into his shoulder, and he laughs.

  “Watch it,” I warn.

  “Love you, babe.” He steals a kiss and stands. “You want anything from the kitchen?”

  “Actually, some water would be great.”

  “You got it.” Another kiss on my hair and he’s gone.

  I’ll never get tired of his lips on me. I’ve come to expect it. Crave it. Miss it when he’s distracted and doesn’t stop for a connection.

  I’ve just settled back into the movie when the doorbell rings. Surprised, I tell Aiden to keep watching and head over to answer it.

  Peering through the window, my stomach drops, needles spreading through my limbs. No, no! Not now.

  Joe sees me through the glass and motions to open the door. I cast a nervous glance down the hall, praying I can get rid of him before Jace comes back.

  “What do you want?” I ask, pulling it open. It’s then that I see the truck and his posse of silent strangers.

  No!

  “We need the wall unit,” he says, taking a step in like it’s his name next to the house in the divorce settlement.

  “Okay, well now’s not a good time. Can we do it tomorrow night?”

  His gaze goes cold. “No. I have the truck and the guys here now.”

  I cross my arms, standing firm. “I see that, but like I said, it’s not a good time.”

  “Don’t be a bitch, Sienna. Just let me get the fucking wall unit.”

  “It’s in use. And don’t call me that.”

  He stills for a moment, eyes wide in disbelief.

  That’s right, asshole. You don’t control me anymore.

  “Sienna, let’s not make a scene.”

  “I totally agree. So go home to Marjorie and send me a message to coordinate a time that works for both of us.”

  “It’s mine! Don’t make me call the cops.”

  I snort a laugh. “You’re going to call the cops over a piece of furniture? Please.” I reach for the door, but he blocks me from closing it.

  My pulse pounds when he breaches the threshold. His eyes are dark, almost violent.

  “Get out of my house or I’ll call the cops.” But my voice isn’t firm anymore. No, it’s scared enough that he scoffs at my empty threat.

  “Just get out of the way and let me get the damn wall unit.”

  “She said leave.”

  We both freeze at the low, menacing command. I turn to find Jace behind me, jaw clenched and eyes blazing. He eliminates the distance between us and forces me behind him. Joe’s initial surprise transforms into disgust.

  “Who’s this, Sienna? You babysitting now?”

  “Get your worthless ass out of her house. Now,” Jace growls. He takes another step forward, and maybe Joe flinches. Jace has a good three inches on him and all the confidence in the world.

  “Why don’t you stay out of this? This is between me and my ex-wife.”

  “Your ex-wife is my girlfriend and you’re trespassing.”

  “Girlfriend?” Joe snickers and exchanges exaggerated eye-rolls with his friends. “Look, I’m just here for my shit. I have no intention of getting between you and that barren bitch.”

  I flinch. Jace’s fist balls at his side.

  “Get. The. Fuck. Off. Her. Property,” he spits.

  “Not until I get what’s mine.” Joe shoves past Jace. “Out of my way, Sienna,” he roars at me. I refuse, then wince at the painful fingers jerking me back.

  And that’s the moment the fairytale ends.

  “Oh god!”

  Shouts. Commotion. Jace commanding Aiden to stay in the living room. I’ve never seen my love so broken as he stands there lacing his fingers on his head, studying the motionless man in my foyer. Joe’s friends have already called for help. We hear the sirens in the distance. Even worse, I see it in Jace’s eyes. He knows. He knows, and I’m heartbroken. This is my fault. He’s going to lose everything because of me. Because…

  “Take care of Aiden. Please, Sienna,” he says as the vehicles pull up to our house. An ambulance first, but it’s the cop car that’s shattering our world. Officers are already interviewing the friends while the EMTs set to work on Joe.

  Tentative footsteps approach us from behind. “Jace?”

  “Go back into the living room!” Jace shouts at his brother. Aiden’s face fills with horror, huge tears gathering in his eyes. Jace softens, and I choke at his expression. “I love you, little man, but I need you to go back into the living room, okay buddy?” He glances over at me with a pleading a look. “Please, Sienna. Take him. Don’t let him see this.”

  I nod, my own throat thick with tears. I love you. So much, my eyes say, and he offers a weak smile in return.

  I love you too. I’m sorry, is his silent response.

  His chest rises and falls in a deep breath, and with a clenched fist, the bravest man I’ve ever known walks with determination toward his punishment.

  I push Aiden back into the living room, hugging the crying child as we walk. His string of desperate questions breaks my heart, but I don’t have answers as my own world shatters around me. I station Aiden on the couch and venture to the window. Air feels scarce as I draw back the curtain just enough to watch uniformed officers shove Jace against the car and cuff him. He doesn’t struggle, doesn’t say a word as they push him into the backseat.

  No, my man accepts the consequences with silent strength like he always does. I’m the one sobbing, pleading for a kind of justice that doesn’t count in the real world. Did Joe deserve that punch for the years of emotional abuse he’s put me through? Absolutely. But that’s not part of this story. Jace knew it the second he let go of his fist.

  I glance back at Aiden and a wave of nausea sweeps through me when the full weight of what he gave up presses down. The devastation on Jace’s face when he stood over Joe wasn’t about an arrest, or handcuffs, or jail. It was his realization that the fight for his brother was over. That one mistake could ruin a lifetime of doing everything right.

  Jace spent seven years sacrificing everything for nothing.

  The rest of the night is a blur. I answer the officers’ questions as truthfully as I can.

  Was Joe trespassing? Yes. I asked him to leave and he refused.

  Did I feel threatened in any way? Yes. He was being verbally abusive and showing signs of violence.

  Did he make any physical advances toward Jace prior to the punch? Well, not toward Jace, but—

  Thank you, Ms. Porter.

  The interview plays over and over in my head as I sit at the table, nursing a cup of coffee. Did I give too much away? Not enough? What did the look they exchanged mean? What were they writing on that pad? What’s going to happen to Jace? What… what… what… I hate questions. Hate them.

  Aiden finally fell asleep on the air mattress, leaving me alone with my torment. I have no experience with the criminal justice system and feel helpless sitting at my table, staring at my phone. Waiting. For what? The one phone call, right? That’s a thing, I think. Would he call me? Of course not. An attorney. Jace is level-headed, calculating when he needs to be. He’s probably more composed than I am at the moment.

  My efforts to calm myself with images of my “composed” boyfriend have the opposite effect. Those bars blocking him from my imaginary view are too much. The way he sits on the bench with a dejected stare at the floor, considering all he’s lost. One poor decision to protect me.

  Stop. Just—

  I press my palms against my eyes.

  Joe is going to be fine. He was already waking up by the time they loaded him into the ambulance. Even from my vantage point behind the living room window I could tell it was only a matter of time until he was back to his lying, cheating self. Funny
how watching that man collapse on the floor in a heap could be one of the most exhilarating and terrifying moments of my life.

  Barren bitch.

  No, it’s not fair that Jace is the one in a jail cell.

  My phone buzzes and my pulse picks up. It’s just an e-mail from a client.

  Another buzz.

  Joe: already pressing charges. your “boyfriend” will fry for this.

  I let out a sob.

  I keep Aiden as long as possible the next day. I can’t bear the thought of returning him to Louis and Candice to deal with this alone. We talk through what happened over waffles, and I do my best to answer his insecurities with as much confidence as I can manage. Considering my own aversion to the unknown, maybe I’m not the most qualified for this role. It’s just that I’m the only candidate.

  Part of me wants to send Aiden up the walk to his house on his own when we finally pull up. He can explain to his parents what happened to his brother, complete with whatever colorful embellishments an eight-year-old mind can invent. But what would Jace want? Definitely not that.

  I sigh and force myself out of the car.

  Aiden lets himself in, and I follow, searching the expansive space for a sign of adults.

  “They’re probably by the pool,” he says.

  We head through the kitchen and find them out back. By their apathy at our arrival, they don’t know what happened. I’m working through the best way to break the news when—

  “Jace is in jail! He punched this guy and the cops came and arrested him and they took him away to prison.”

  Crap.

  Two sets of sunglasses lower in unison. Two gazes survey Aiden’s eager face, then glide over to me. Laugh or freak out? I see the indecisiveness flicker across their faces.

  “Do you have a moment to talk?” I ask.

  “Oh my god!” Candice shrieks, sending her expensive sunglasses flying when she lurches to her feet. “No, no, no. My baby! Louis, my baby!”