worried," I sniffed. "Just hoping you're staying out of trouble."
His eyes flashed before he looked down at his ice cream. "You know me." He said it with inflection, clearly meaning it in a joking, lighthearted way, but his voice was heavy.
I had no interest in pretending the answer to that was a positive one. "Actually, I don't. Not anymore."
He put down his spoon. "I guess you have a point. Ask me anything. I'll tell you what you want to know."
I avoided the real question I wanted to ask, and we talked about my first year of college. My major.
“Let me guess,” he mused. “Biology, pre-med?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Guilty.”
“Like father, like daughter, eh?”
I knew he was joking, but something rubbed across my skin like a scouring pad.
The playfulness dimmed, replaced by genuine curiosity. “Becoming a doctor, that’s what your family wants of you. What do you want, Victoria?”
I reared back, his question surprising me. “What do I want?” I blinked rapidly, nibbling on my bottom lip. “I want to be a doctor.”
He gave me a long, pensive look, like he didn’t believe me. Hell, I wasn’t sure if I believed me. I hadn’t asked myself that question in a long time.
For some bizarre reason, the memory of Mark Benton’s face flashed in my mind. Swollen and unrecognizable. My throat tightened as I remembered my mother’s accusation that Jace probably worked for the man behind Mark’s beating.
“So, I’m helping out at my dad’s practice this summer, and a guy came in, practically beaten to death.” I stared at Jace, watching for any evidence that he knew anything about it. He just ate his ice cream nonchalantly, his eyes giving nothing away.
“Oh yeah?”
I nodded slowly, my heart leaping with joy in my chest. Of course he had nothing to do with it, silly! “One of the nurses thinks maybe Macone had something to do with it.”
Jace raised an eyebrow. “That’s quite the accusation.”
“Oh please,” I scoffed. “Anything rotten that happens in this town has Macone written all over it.” I didn’t wait for him to tell me I shouldn’t run my mouth. I kept seeing Mark’s face, his eyes filled with terror. “Someday, he’s going to pay for all the terrible things he’s done.”
Jace studied me for a moment, then one side of his mouth curved upward. “We all have to pay for our sins, sooner or later.”
I frowned. What was that supposed to mean?
I shrugged away the awkward moment, steering the conversation toward him. “So what’s been keeping you busy?”
I half listened as he told me about the gym he worked at now. There was no hiding from the one question that had haunted me for the past three years: why? And he was sitting awkwardly straight, the look on his face like he was preparing for said question, but I chickened out. I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answer. If he told me something like he thought he was saving me, that he truly thought I deserved better, I didn't know if I was strong enough not to leap across the table and kiss him. I'd forgive him—and I just couldn't. Forgiving him meant I'd have to admit things that made me vulnerable. And I couldn't be vulnerable ever again.
I never should have come here.
I sprang to my feet, ignoring the shooting pain in my knee when it collided with the table. “I—I can’t do this.”
His eyes were sad, but he still made jokes. “Eat ice cream?”
I clutched desperately at the pain. The only thing that could save me from getting hurt again. “I can’t pretend that I forgive you and everything’s okay. I don’t forgive you, Jace. I don’t think I ever will.”
Chapter Twelve: Jace
I felt like a train had run me over. My head weighed a thousand pounds, too heavy to lift. Too heavy to move. Pain pulsed behind my eyes, and I felt the overwhelming urge to vomit.
That's what happens when you mix a line of shots with four beers, dummy.
"Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time," I said aloud with a groan,