Young Love

by Alyson Santos

  Louis grabs his wife from behind, holding her arms, possibly to keep her from flailing herself straight into the pool.

  “Candice, let her talk. Aiden, get inside.”

  Aiden looks to me, to Louis, back to me.

  “Now!” Louis growls.

  Aiden slinks off with a “Bye, Miss Sienna,” and both adults zero in on me.

  I draw in a deep breath. “Yes, there was a confrontation last night, but physically Jace and the other man are fine. It’s also true that Jace was arrested, but it was a minor incident so I’m sure once they have the bail hearing—”

  “Bail hearing? Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!”

  “Candice! Please.” Louis motions for me to continue.

  “Once they have the bail hearing, he’ll be released.” I clench my hands in my lap, waiting. Waiting.

  I’d expected an explosion from Louis, something to reflect the violence I know lurks inside him. His pensive expression unsettles me more.

  “Who was his victim?” he asks.

  Victim?

  “I wouldn’t call Joe a victim,” I say.

  “If there was a crime, there was a victim.” Again, that cold gaze descends on me, daring me to contradict him.

  “Can we visit him? I need to see him! Baby, we have to call Jim!”

  Louis fires a look at his wife. “Candice, will you just relax? He’ll be out before any of that can happen. Forty-eight hours max, and it’s already been how many?”

  I swallow. “About twenty-four.”

  “Right.” Louis clears his throat. “So the victim? This Joe?”

  I can’t look at them when I say, “my ex-husband.”

  “I see.” The smug look on his face makes me want to throw a punch. “Well then, Ms. Porter, thank you for returning Aiden and filling us in. We can take it from here.”

  I stare at him in disbelief. “Um, okay. But Aiden should really have support right now.”

  “Ms. Porter,” he says, holding up his hand. “I think we can all agree that your continued involvement with our family would not benefit anyone at this point.”

  “Excuse me?” My mouth goes dry.

  “Don’t embarrass yourself any further,” he says, still calm, waving me toward the sliding glass doors. “And there’s no need to concern yourself with Jace. We’ll handle his situation.”

  I shake my head. No! That statement, the look on his icy, callous face—so why can’t I fight anymore?

  “He’s a good man.” My wavering voice betrays me. All the confidence Jace managed to pull from my essence, now gone.

  Louis doesn’t respond except for the slightest tic of the jaw as he points me out again.

  Back in my car, I sit paralyzed under the sun blazing through the glass.

  Twenty-four: the number of hours since Jace’s arrest.

  One: the seconds it took to destroy everything.

  Tears collect in my eyes, and the adrenaline that so fueled me over this past day leaks out in a trembling, sobbing mess.

  Told you so.

  Told you so.

  No wonder Joe left. Mom gave up. Karen lost faith.

  No. Wonder.

  You never deserved him anyway.

  Congratulations on ruining another life.

  Make that two.

  Fresh tears fall at the thought of Aiden: confused, scared, broken after a night that was supposed to be a fairytale degraded into a nightmare. Back to Jace and—I have to see him. I have to. Louis’ strange reaction filters in, and I know our hell has just begun.

  I put the car in gear and tear off down the street. His bail hearing has to be within forty-eight hours, Louis said, which means if Jace hasn’t already gotten an amount, he’ll have it soon. And I need to be the one to meet him. My money needs to facilitate his release. Louis thinks he’s King? Time to show him how badly perception can lie.

  My strength returns as I navigate to the station. Defensive stance, shift that back foot slightly to the left because the fight is on. Because Sienna Porter has spent thirty-eight years letting others write her story and that part is done.

  One: the page starting the next chapter.

  On my drive to the station, an unknown number turns out to be Jace’s attorney. I pull over, eager for an interrogation of Mary Sinclair.

  What can I do? Nothing, just wait.

  Can I see him? No, not now.

  Is he okay? How did he look when she saw him? He’s fine. As well as can be expected under the circumstances.

  What about the charges? Still in process, but the victim (stop calling him that!) is pretty adamant about moving forward with formal charges. With all the witnesses and evidence, he has a strong case.

  She also explains that Jace won’t be able to face a judge until Monday. My stomach clenches at the thought of him behind bars for the entire weekend, and she tries to encourage me with the possibility he could be released on his own recognizance due to his clean record and personal merits. Besides, the victim (STOP CALLING HIM THAT!) should be released from the hospital tomorrow, and although he suffered a Grade 3 concussion, doesn’t appear to have sustained any permanent damage.

  I hang up, trying not to direct my anger at Mary Sinclair. They really need a different term for complete assholes who also happen to be on the receiving end of a broken law. Joe deserved what he got, and I hate that Jace has to pay for it.

  Nausea works its way back into my stomach, and I pull onto the road. But instead of heading home, I take a detour to the superstore. Jace may be spending the weekend in Hell, but he’s coming home to Paradise.

  Chapter 0 – 14 = -14

  Except for a clipped “thanks” when I pick him up, Jace is silent on the drive back to my place. He looks awful, and I keep stealing glances as he stares out the passenger window. Hair messy, eyes red-rimmed and glossy, he avoids my gaze every time I try to make a connection. I’ve seen Jace exhausted. I’ve seen him hurt, despondent, and scared, but never like this. Never with a pain so raw I can see remnants of every tortured second he’s endured since the punch. It sits there, on his face, in the solemn slouch of his shoulders that never know helplessness. Shouldn’t know helplessness because he does everything right. Everything, except this one thing, and that’s a burden I will carry forever as well.

  “Are you okay?” I ask. Anything to break the silence.

  “Fine,” he lies.

  I cast him another look as we pull up to a stoplight. “Your face, right below your eye—”

  “I said I’m fine, Sienna.”

  I suck in a breath and focus back on the road. A heavy sigh escapes from the space beside me, and I fight the urge to press further.

  “Are you hungry? I bought all your favorites. Even that movie—”

  “Sienna, please. Just… not now, okay?”

  A hot drop slips from the corner of my eye as I nod. “Okay.”

  More invade my cheeks, and suddenly there’s a warm hand on my thigh. I pull into a parking lot and look down. The image is so right and so wrong. Jace’s beautiful fingers rest right where they should be, connected with me, but tainted by a distinct mark on his wrist. I wrap his hand in mine and bring it to my lips. Just hold it there and close my eyes, waiting. For words, for silence, for whatever’s next because at least I have the one thing I need. I want.

  “I love you,” I say quietly, finally braving another look at him.

  His gaze is softer now. Still drained and beaten, but the light that’s distinctly Jace Beckett is back. That essence of Good that radiates out of him even in his worst moments. He squeezes my hand and kisses it like I’d done a moment ago.

  “I love you too. Thank you for being here for me.”

  “I always want to be here for you.”

  “I know.” His eyes shift away, and I can’t tell if it’s guilt or something more dangerous. “Anyway, does this feast of all my favorites include nachos?”

  I cough out a laugh through my tears. “Duh. And fresh jalapeño to go with them.”
<
br />   “Aw yeah. That’s my girl.”

  While Jace showers, I fix his feast. The attorney was correct in that, given his clean record and strong ties to the community, the judge released him on his own recognizance. I was relieved but Jace seemed unmoved by the gesture. Then again, I haven’t been able to read anything in him since we arrived home.

  He enters the kitchen wearing gym shorts and one of his black karate tees. Hair wet, aqua eyes still saturated with the last sixty hours of hell, he’s stunning standing there looking somehow strong and vulnerable at the same time. I put down the knife and approach him in silence. His gaze locks on mine, projecting so many unspoken words, I have no choice but to wrap my arms around him and cling to him.

  My beautiful warrior. I almost lost you.

  I don’t know how long we stand there in silent conversation. Seconds, minutes, hours; numbers fail me when he’s in my arms. He makes me crave more from life than safety. He forces questions I thought I’d answered long ago. He makes risk a necessity because settling just isn’t enough. He makes me dream, believe, and fight in ways I’d never dared before my warrior insisted I am that kind of person.

  It’s a natural transition from sweet to sweltering for us. Just one look, one perfectly placed application of pressure, and we’re surrendered to each other. I crush the sides of his shirt in my hands, and he lets me rip it over his head. The guitar pick necklace falls back to his chest, teasing me with its brush against bare skin.

  “You’re so beautiful,” I whisper, aching for him. I trace the lines of expertly trained muscle. Flawless, wholly exquisite like a painting, a sculpture etched by some private artist in my head. To me there’s not one thing I’d change. Not one.

  I run my hands up his chest, around his neck, and pull him in until I can sink into perfect alignment with his body. He releases a hard breath that matches my need as I rock my hips against his. I can’t hold back anymore. I’m crushed by the weight of not kissing him.

  His mouth forms to mine, molds us into one body and one moment frozen in time. The ache spreads throughout my entire being, groaning for release in the way only he can satisfy. His body is primed for me, each muscle hard and desperate for relief as well. Relief I want to give with every breath in my lungs. I kiss a path down his chest, tasting, devouring in a gluttonous race of excess.

  He groans and grips the door frame above his head when I tease and lower the elastic of his shorts. Stretched to taut perfection, I can’t stop my hands from running over every ridge of muscle I can reach. Starving, I look up. Meet his ravenous gaze. I could make him beg. Would he? Or am I already the one pleading to satisfy him? He reaches down and brushes my cheek, hoping, inviting, my fearless warrior submitted to my desires. Yes, I breathe out. Yes!

  And I feast.

  Sated, we wrap ourselves in each other on the couch. The leftovers have been put away, dishes done, and both of us are exhausted in an oasis of perfect contentment. Reality is far away. In this world we’re allowed to have moments like this.

  His fingers sift through my hair as I rest my head on his chest, that heartbeat so strong and determined to kick the world’s ass. But when you love a warrior there’s no such thing as absolute peace.

  “I have to go see Aiden,” he says, tugging a strand of my hair around his finger.

  I close my eyes. Of course he does. I knew the second I picked him up at the station our exclusive paradise couldn’t last. I’m his, but he’s not only mine. And I love him for it.

  “I should go now. The longer I wait, the harder it will be. Louis will be pissed I refused to use his lawyer or let them have any involvement in the situation.”

  How can you be relieved and terrified at the same time?

  “I want to go with you.”

  His hand stalls on my hair, and I look up.

  “That’s not a good idea. It’s going to be ugly.”

  “Exactly. That’s why I need to be there.” I push myself up so I can straddle his lap and face him. “I want to be there for you. I need to be there.”

  His eyes search mine, a muscle moving in his jaw. It always does when he knows he has to back down. “Besides,” I continue. “I care about Aiden too. We spent all of Saturday together, sorting through what happened. I want to make sure he’s okay.”

  He looks away then, and I pull his gaze back to me with a brush of his cheek.

  “Thanks for taking care of him, Sienna.”

  “I’d do anything for Aiden, just like I’d do anything for you.”

  “I know.” He sighs, and I have to kiss him. Just a quick connection, that deepens again, right back into need. I groan and pull away.

  “Please? Let me be for you what I want to be.”

  The slightest curve twists up on his lips. “Are you going to use that against me for the rest of our lives?”

  “I love that you’re worried about forever with me.”

  His smile widens, tugging at every protective fiber within me. God, I just want to annihilate everything that could ever hurt him. Seek revenge on the powers that already have.

  “Okay, but you have to stay in the truck until I get a read on the situation,” he says.

  “Deal.” I hold out my hand.

  He laughs and tugs me in for another kiss.

  Strange how I used to think this house was beautiful. Now the Williams’ estate stands imposing and haunted over its manicured grounds.

  Jace stares through the window of his truck, studying every detail like he’s never seen it before. Or is it that he knows it too well?

  “I love you,” I say, reaching for his hand. “I’ll be right here.”

  He nods and tosses me an absent smile before climbing out of the truck, and suddenly I can’t do it. I can’t sit and watch while the man I love faces an army of demons on his own. After unclipping my seatbelt, I jump down from the passenger side and rush up the walk to catch him.

  “What are you doing? You agreed to wait in the truck.”

  I wrap my hand around his and squeeze. “I’m not letting you do this alone.”

  “But—”

  “Jace, you’re not doing this alone,” I say, raising my brow with a dare.

  A tiny smirk slips from his hard features. “Okay, fine. But like I said—”

  “It’ll be ugly. I know.”

  He nods, still smiling. Until his attention returns to the house.

  “We can do this,” I say, pulling him forward.

  He draws in a deep breath and knocks.

  Seconds tick by as we wait, hearts racing, fingers connected in a fortress ready to face battle. We breathe a collective sigh of relief when Aiden answers the door.

  “Jace!” he cries, throwing himself into his brother’s arms. Jace kneels on the stoop and crushes Aiden against his chest.

  “Hey, little man,” he breathes out, eyes clenched shut.

  “You’re okay?” Eight-year-old arms look tiny squeezed around Jace’s broad shoulders.

  “I’m fine, bud. Just worried about you.”

  “Are you going to get in trouble?”

  “Don’t worry about—”

  “Aiden! Up to your room, now!” a voice roars from the foyer.

  Aiden peeks back in terror before fixing his gaze on his protector. Jace gets to his feet.

  “Now, Aiden,” Louis repeats, filling the void behind him.

  “We’re just talking,” Jace says, stepping forward.

  “You don’t get to talk to my son.”

  “He’s not your son,” Jace fires back.

  “Now!” Louis grabs Aiden’s arm and yanks him inside.

  Jace jumps forward, blocking Louis and freeing Aiden. “Don’t you ever lay a hand on my brother,” he seethes.

  “What are you gonna do, knock me out too?” The sneer on his face makes my stomach crawl. He’s baiting him. Jace can’t afford another confrontation, and Louis clearly wants an excuse.

  I watch my love’s fists clench at his side, the deep rise and fall of his chest a
s he reins himself in. I know it takes every ounce of strength he has to squelch his rage and force a calm stance. “Please, Louis. Just let me have a few minutes with him to make sure he’s okay.”

  “He’s fine, and he’ll be better off without a criminal influence in his life.” Louis pulls Aiden from Jace’s arms and pushes him back inside.

  “Please!”

  “Get off my property.”

  “Jace?” Round, pleading eyes fill with tears as they search for their older brother.

  “Please, Louis, I’m begging you. Just five minutes!” Jace tries to push past him to get to Aiden but Louis shoves him back.

  “Jace!” Aiden cries, near panic.

  “I said get your ass to your room!” Louis barks behind him.

  Terrified, the child backs away.

  “No!” Jace rushes again, trying to break through, but this time Louis reacts with a blow.

  Jace staggers back, Aiden’s cries echoing around us.

  “Up to your room, you little shit,” Louis screams, and Aiden runs, flees. The rest happens in slow motion. Jace, furious, trying to force his way in to his brother. Louis, sadistic in his refusal and punishment of his attempts.

  I scream as Louis bears down. No mercy, no control, I see every shred of the violence Jace fights to keep from his family. Fights by not fighting. He could obliterate that monster, I’ve seen him in action, but he does nothing. Just absorbs blow after blow, not even releasing so much as a grunt of resistance.

  “Don’t,” I shout, rushing forward, but one warning look from Jace, and I stop. My heart chokes on a beat. Insides twist as the truth rains down.

  This isn’t weakness or submission at all. This is a brother accepting punishment in hopes that it will be enough to earn a reprieve for the other. With his anger spent on Jace, Louis won’t need to go after Aiden, and I want to scream, cry, shriek at how many times he’s done this. The pool house. The “fall” in my guest room. Oh god, was that about Aiden too? How many times?

  Louis finally steps back when Candice appears, his lungs heaving from the exertion. Expressionless, she stands there, vacant eyes flickering from her violent husband to her fractured son.