Dark Hearts

by Micalea Smeltzer

  Jace

  Sleep evades me.

  I spend the whole night holding Nova and wishing I could make things different for her. I never even thought about the fact that she doesn’t know her son’s real name. I can’t imagine living like that.

  I’ve looked into the adoption as much as I can on my own, but like she said, it was closed so there’s not a lot of information.

  There’s not even a record of Nova going into the hospital to have the baby. I have a feeling Owen’s father erased that tidbit of information. I can’t imagine being so fucking power hungry that I’d do anything to hide the existence of my grandchild. I guess I should believe it, though, because it’s exactly the kind of thing my father would do. Men like that are all the same.

  I kiss Nova’s head as she sleeps and she wiggles against me, murmuring something in her sleep that I can’t understand.

  I want to find her son for her so she can have that peace of mind. I think maybe if she sees him, even if it’s only a picture, she might finally have the closure she needs. I know I’m going to have to hire an investigator, and a lawyer, to hopefully get this thing straightened out.

  I brush my fingers through her hair and her fingers flex against my chest as she sleeps.

  “I’m going to find him,” I whisper in her ear. “I promise.”

  Even if it takes me years, I’ll find him.

  I know I will.

  ***

  “I smell coffee.”

  I turn around and smile at Nova as she enters the kitchen. We didn’t have pajamas to wear last night so she stole my shirt and I wore my boxer-briefs. I slipped my jeans back on when I got up, just in case someone else came down. Nova must not have had the same worry because she’s only in my shirt, which comes down to the tops of her thighs.

  “Hey, beautiful.”

  She smiles sleepily and comes to wrap her arms around me from behind.

  “Mmm,” she hums, rubbing her face against my back. “I love you.”

  “Do you?” I chuckle. “Or do you just want coffee?”

  “Both.” She lets me go and pulls out a chair, sitting down at the breakfast table.

  The coffee finishes and I pour us each a mug, carrying them to the table and sitting down.

  Outside the world is covered in a thick blanket of snow. At some point in the night the plows came through and cleared the streets. Now piles of snow block most of the driveways.

  Nova sniffs her coffee and takes a sip. “You always make it perfect.”

  “I think you tell me that so I’ll make it every morning and you don’t have to.”

  She smiles, curling her fingers around the mug. “Maybe.”

  The stairs creak, and it isn’t long before Rae creeps in.

  “I didn’t want to wake you guys, but—”

  “We were already awake,” Nova finishes for her.

  Rae nods and pours some of the coffee I made into a mug. She takes a sip and moans. “That’s good.”

  “See, I told you,” Nova chirps.

  “Do you think you guys will be able to get out today?”

  “Ready to be rid of us already, Rae?” I place my hand over my heart. “I’m hurt. I’m really hurt.”

  Rae flushes and leans her hip against the counter. “That’s not what I meant. I figure you guys don’t exactly like being trapped here.”

  My phone rings and I groan. “Hold that thought.”

  I hop up and jog into the family room, searching for my phone.

  I finally find it wadded up in the blanket we used to cover up with.

  I’m not surprised when I see that it’s my dad calling. It’s the day after Christmas, and he didn’t call yesterday so he’s probably finally remembered his flub. I’ve always found it funny how he spends the whole year ignoring me and then around the holidays I’ll receive two or three phone calls from him, usually requesting me to show up somewhere, like the stupid Thanksgiving ball thing.

  “’Sup?” I answer, just to spite him.

  “Honestly, Jacen, use more than one syllable to greet someone. ‘Sup isn’t even a word.”

  I try not to laugh. Hearing my dad say ‘sup makes his anger totally fucking worth it.

  “What can I help you with?” I ask, sitting down on the couch.

  “What can I help you with?” he mimes. “We’re not in a department store. I’m your father.”

  I roll my eyes to the ceiling. Nothing I do or say is good enough, I know this and I’ve long ago accepted that fact.

  “Merry Christmas to you too, Dad,” I mumble.

  “Christmas was yesterday,” he supplies.

  “I know,” I grind out. “You didn’t call.”

  “Neither did you,” he counters.

  I sigh. I fucking hate conversations with my dad. “Get to the point. Why’d you call?”

  “New Year’s Eve I want us to have dinner together. Bring your little girl toy too.”

  “She’s my girlfriend, dad,” I grumble.

  “Bring her,” he hisses. “We have something to discuss.”

  I groan. The last thing I want to do is spend New Year’s Eve with my dad, but I always know I have no choice. He tells me what to do and I do it.

  “We’ll be there.”

  “Perfect. See you then.”

  The line clicks off and I lay my phone down, pinching the bridge of my nose. A five-minute conversation with my dad and I already have a migraine.

  Nova tiptoes into the family room and when she sees I’m no longer on the phone asks, “Your dad? What’d he want?”

  I pull her down onto my lap and bury my face in the crook of her neck.

  I already feel better.

  “We’ve been summoned.”

  It’s all the answer she needs.

  Nova

  “I don’t have to get dressed up, do I?” I lean my head out the bathroom door.

  “Jace?” I prompt when he’s silent for too long.

  “I mean, not like you were for the one thing, but you’ll need to dress nice.”

  I sigh and grumble under my breath about what an asshole his dad is.

  Jace appears in the doorway dressed in a pair of black dress pants and a black button-down shirt. He looks sleek and sophisticated, like sex on a stick.

  “So, I should wear a dress?” I surmise, turning back to the mirror to finish applying mascara.

  “Um, yes,” he hedges, watching applying my makeup.

  “What kind of dinner is this?” I ask. “Is there a chance Owen or his dad might be there?”

  “I honestly don’t know.” He frowns.

  “Jace,” I groan. “You need to ask questions so I have answers.”

  I finish with my makeup and then move past him into my room. I scan the items in my closet, looking for something that might be acceptable for the night.

  I end up having to ransack my whole closet to put together my look, but in the end, I’m happy with the black tights, sequined short black skirt, and black top look. I pair it with black boot heels and my black leather jacket.

  “How do I look?” I ask Jace.

  He sets his guitar aside and smiles crookedly. “Fucking hot.”

  “Fucking hot—does that translate to hot enough to fuck?” I joke.

  “You’re always fuckable.” He stands and walks over to me, his presence captivating. He wraps his hands around my waist and I stretch up on my toes to be able to reach his neck. He starts to bend to kiss me and I cover his mouth with my hand.

  “Nuh-uh. Nice try. You can’t mess up this.” I point at my face. “It took too long to get perfect.”

  “It was already perfect,” he grumbles.

  “I’m sure your father wouldn’t appreciate me showing up with my lipstick smeared. Save it for later.”

  “Fine,” he relinquishes.

  I grab my clutch off the coffee table. “We should go. Is he sending a car again?”

  He shakes his head. “No, I’m driving. There must not be anyone at this dinner h
e’s worried about impressing if he’s letting me drive my truck.”

  Jace looks away and out the window. I feel like there’s very much a part of him that craves his father’s acceptance, while also realizing that nothing he ever does is going to be good enough for that man. With his mom gone, I think he’s been very much alone in the world.

  But not anymore.

  “All right,” he says as he takes my hand, “let’s go.”

  “It’s smaller than I expected,” I say when we pull up outside the colonial-style two-story home. “I mean, it’s still large, but I was expecting … gargantuan.”

  He chuckles. “Yeah, I can see how you’d get that impression, but no, this is where I grew up. I’ve always been surprised he kept the place.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  It really is. A brick pathway leads to the front of the house, and the snow we’ve had covers the ground in a soft white embrace. The driveway is long and winds around the back of the house. Jace follows it and parks outside the garage.

  He cuts the engine and breathes out, like he needs a moment to collect himself.

  “Ready?” I ask, when he makes no move to leave the cozy warmth of the truck.

  He finally nods.

  Instead of going in through the garage, we head for the front door. The pathway is neatly shoveled and covered in salt to melt the ice.

  At the door, Jace takes another deep breath before ringing the doorbell.

  When it swings open we’re met with a woman in a work uniform. “Mr. Kensington is in his office working. He’ll be done in time for dinner,” she tells us, and steps aside so we can come in.

  She collects our coats and leaves us in the hallway.

  “What now?” I ask, looking around. The foyer is hardwood and the walls are painted a deep blue color. Above us a chandelier hangs from the second-story ceiling.

  “Want to see my room?” Jace asks.

  “You still have a room here?” I ask.

  “If he hasn’t gotten rid of it.” He shrugs. “Last time I was here it was exactly as I left it.”

  “I’d love to see it.” I hope he doesn’t notice the eagerness in my eyes, but I’ve always been curious to know what Jace was like when he was younger. This is like a key.

  Jace nods toward the stairway that curves through the foyer in an L-shape.

  “This way.”

  I follow him upstairs and down the hall, passed several closed doors. He finally stops at the last one and his shoulders tense as he inhales a breath. When he lets it out he swings open the door.

  He steps inside and I follow. The room is large, with lots of windows, which gives it an airiness. The walls are painted a light gray color with abstract white stripes overlapping to make different shapes. Some of the shapes are painted randomly with a darker gray color.

  His bed is a simple mattress that’s pushed to a far corner. The comforter is black and tossed haphazardly over the mattress like he still lives here and got up and couldn’t be bothered to make the bed, which makes sense since Jace never makes the bed.

  The floor is a thick plush beige carpet, but I couldn’t tell at first because it was so covered in random crap like clothes, shoes, magazines, books, music sheets, you name it and it’s probably on the floor.

  The walls have posters of bands and models and an old guitar rests against the wall.

  “That was my first guitar,” he says, when he sees where I’m looking.

  “You didn’t take it with you?” I ask, wondering why he’d leave something like that behind.

  “My dad bought it, so I didn’t want to keep it.”

  “Is that why there’s so much … stuff here?” I ask, peering into an open dresser drawer full of shirts.

  “I wanted to start new,” he explains.

  I nod, and smile at him. “I can understand that all too well.”

  I pick up a little league trophy. “You played baseball?”

  He chuckles and shoves his hands in his pockets. “For like a month. I think I only got that for participation. I wasn’t exactly a sports kind of guy.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.” I put the trophy back and pick up a picture frame. “Is this your mom?”

  He comes to stand behind me, his body a wall of heat behind me. I feel him nod before he speaks. “Yes.”

  “She was beautiful. You have her eyes.” She has a kind face, and his green eyes, with flowing red hair. “What was her name?”

  “Melissa,” he says softly.

  “Tell me a memory, one good memory you have here.”

  He picks up the picture frame, looks at it closely, and then replaces it.

  “I remember being maybe four or five and my mom was pushing me on the swing out back. She was singing … something from Mary Poppins, I think, and I remember feeling so loved. She was truly radiant.”

  “I hate that I’ll never get to meet her.”

  “I do too.”

  He reaches down and twines our finger together. I lean my head on his shoulder, hoping through touch alone that I can make him feel the smallest bit better.

  ***

  Jace

  Nobody’s come to collect us for dinner yet, which I find strange.

  “I’m going to go look for my dad.” I let go of her hand. “You wait here.” I point to my bed.

  “Are you sure? I can come with you.”

  I shake my head. “Nah, I’ll spare you the drama I’m sure is about to unfold.”

  She nods once. “Okay, I’ll be here then.”

  I leave her alone in my childhood room and head downstairs to my dad’s office.

  It’s funny how this house is exactly the same as it was when I was growing up, but it hardly feels like home. It’s further proof that it’s not the place that’s home, but the people.

  The hardwood floors creak beneath my feet as I head down the hall to my father’s office. It’s silent inside and I push the door open.

  “Dad?” It’s empty, the room dark.

  But I thought …

  I start to leave the room, but something draws me forward, to his desk. Papers are scattered there like he left in a hurry.

  I flick his desk light on and my eyes scan the papers.

  Confusion rattles my brain, but as understanding sinks in my heart begins to race at the reality of what faces me.

  Nova’s name flashes before my eyes, intermingled with Owen’s and his father’s. The papers are laden with dates and information about her. Fuck, I even see a report card.

  But that’s not what makes my blood run cold.

  I pick up the piece of paper, my hand shaking.

  Adoption papers.

  “What are you doing in here?” His voice booms.

  My head whips up, the papers clutched in my fist.

  “What did you do?” I glare at him.

  He steps into his office, dressed in a suit and his hair slicked back. The man always looks impeccable, like nothing can touch him.

  “You’re my son. After I spoke with Harry and he informed me of his son’s past with your … escort, I thought it was best to dig into her past myself, see what I was dealing with if my son’s associating with someone like her.”

  “Someone like her?” I scoff. “You mean someone who’s beautiful, and smart, and artistic, and fucking amazing? I’m lucky she wants someone like me.”

  He shakes his head. “She’s not on your level, son.”

  I spread my arms wide. “Who is, Dad? Tell me, who the fuck do you think is a match for me? You think you’re so much better than everyone else, and that by extension I am too, but you’re wrong. You’re the worst kind of person there is.”

  He shakes his head, still calm. “Everything I do, I do because I love you.”

  “Love,” I repeat with a laugh. “You think you love me. You don’t know the first fucking thing about love!”

  “Stop using that kind of language in my house, and do not raise your voice to me. You are a child.” He points an accusing fin
ger at me.

  “I stopped being a child the minute Mom died,” I tell him, anger shining in my eyes. “You weren’t here and I had to raise myself and last time I checked, I am twenty-fucking-three, which is hardly a child.”

  “I did what I had to do.”

  “You mean work? You worked all the fucking time and you made my life miserable. And Mom? She died and you weren’t fucking there! Where were you? Probably working or fucking some whore, because let’s face it, you never really loved Mom, did you? Fuck!” I cry out when he grabs me by the neck and shoves my face into the wall. I’m jolted, not having expected that at all. He’s never laid a hand on me, not once. He preferred to use words, not fists, but it seems something I’ve said has sent him over the edge.

  “Do not—” he shakes me “—ever, accuse me of cheating on your mother. I would never do that. If there’s one good thing I had in this world, it’s her.” He squeezes my neck slightly, a warning, and lets go.

  Air whooshes back into my lungs and I grab my neck. It’s going to be bruised, that’s for sure.

  Tears shine in his eyes, something I’ve certainly never seen.

  “Get out of my house, Jacen.”

  I don’t move. I think I’m stunned.

  “Out,” he yells.

  I force my feet to move and flee his office just as Nova starts down the stairs.

  “I heard yelling and banging. Is everything okay?” she asks, hurrying toward me.

  I shake my head. “We’re leaving.”

  “W-What?”

  “Come on.” I urge her to the door.

  “My jacket,” she mumbles, looking around blindly for it.

  “I’ll buy you a new one.” I push her toward the door. I need out of this house. Now.

  She watches me, wide-eyed, and seems to pick up on there being something of urgency.

  We burst outside into the blistery cold, both of us instantly shivering.

  I place my hand on her lower back, guiding her to my truck.

  We get inside and I start the truck, pulling out of the driveway as fast as I can.

  “What happened?” she asks. “Jace?” she prompts, placing her hand tenderly on my knee. “Talk to me, please. Don’t shut down.”