Like Gold

37.

37.

JACE'S HAND squeezed mine tightly, his fingers gripping mine like he'd disappear if we let an inch between us. His mother stared at us from the front door, the door handle still clutched in her hand. Her eyes grazed over my face before shooting to our clasped hands.

"Jace," she said, her stare flitting back up to meet his own. "I thought that I forbid you from going to physio today."

"No need to worry, Mom. Your little fit this morning put a stop to that plan. By the time I got there, the class was over," he shot back.

Her expression soured and she turned back to look at me, her eyes narrowed, and brow wrinkled in distaste. I refused to shift under her stare. Instead, I lifted my chin, my grip tightening in Jace's hand.

The last time I'd seen her, she had screamed at us. Screamed at me. I remembered how easily her sweet smile had morphed into an expression of darkness – contempt. I could feel her hatred as she dismissed me. As she drove off, speeding away from Jace and me.

I could still see her contempt now, as she stared at us, the pretend smile officially gone, her true feelings reflected in the tight frown she sent me.

"Are you here to apologise?" she asked finally.

I blinked at her. Then, I started to laugh. "Apologise? Shouldn't it be the other way around."

She folded her arms over her chest, frowning. "I don't see what you mean."

"Mom," Jace cut in, his voice withering and tired. "I want the car back. I want my phone back. I want my life back."

"Your life?" she echoed. She cackled, shaking her head. "Do you mean the life you so selfishly tried to take? Or the life that consisted of staying in bed until three in the afternoon? Or maybe it's the life that gave up on track, gave up on school, confined to your own bedroom. That life? Which is it, Jace?"

Jace boiled beside me, stepping forward in a fit of anger. I tugged him back, and he paused, inches away from his mother.

"I didn't give up, Mom. I tried out again. Or did you conveniently forget about my entire recovery process?"

"But you didn't get in, did you?"

He winced. It was only a tiny wince, but I saw it. I saw it in the miniscule narrowing of his eyes, the tiny wrinkle in his brow. I saw it in the way he took in a sharp breath through clenched teeth and tightened his grip on my hand.

Anna smiled at that.

"No. You didn't. Because, guess what, Jace? You gave up on it. Not only when we were back in California, but when you tried to take your life. When you had me worried sick for you in that hospital bed for weeks after. Until now!"

"I'm sorry!" Jace yelled, so suddenly that I startled. My eyes widened and I stepped closer so that our arms were touching. "I'm sorry, Mom, that I was so fucking depressed that living didn't seem worth it anymore! I'm sorry you were worried! I'm sorry that you had to move across the country, and pay my medical bills, and drive me to therapy, and – and I'm sorry for ruining your relationship with Dad! And for – for ruining everything – and –"

"Jace," I whispered.

He looked at me.

Looked at me, like he'd forgotten I was there. His eyes were wide, and his chest was rising and falling with heavy breaths, but as his eyes met mine, he softened. His mouth closed and his fingers loosened around mine, probably just realising now how tight he'd been holding onto me.