Different

48.

Good morning. What time do you want me to pick you up? Jace's text lights up my phone on Sunday, and for a moment, everything in me softens. A small smile pulls at my lips, even though I'm still tangled in blankets and half-asleep.

Whatever works for you, I reply quickly, almost instinctively. I hold my phone close, watching the screen as if his words might spill warmth directly into my skin.

Be there at 11, he texts back. 

Just reading it makes my chest feel lighter. It's only been two days since I saw him last, but when you're used to someone's presence—when their voice, their laugh, the way they brush the hair from your eyes, becomes part of your daily rhythm—two days feels like forever.

I pull myself out of bed, stretching as sunlight pours through my window. It feels good to have something to look forward to today.

Downstairs, the smell of fresh coffee and toast wraps around me like a familiar blanket.

"Good morning, sweetie," Mom says, her voice warm and light as she sets down a basket of warm bread.

"Morning, Mom," I say, taking a seat and offering her a smile. "Thanks for breakfast."

"No problem," she replies, handing me a slice of bread. "Are you ready to head back to college?"

I shrug, a soft laugh escaping me. "Surprisingly, yeah."

"Well," she says with a sly smirk, "I bet a certain someone is making the idea a bit easier. What time is he picking you up?"

I can't help the grin that breaks across my face. "Eleven. And I'm kind of sad Ava's in Cali visiting Ryan. I really wanted to see her before I left."

"She'll be here next time," Mom reassures me gently.

We finish breakfast with small talk, her voice anchoring me in the simplicity of home. Afterward, I head upstairs to get ready. My hair's already clean from last night, so I smooth it out with a straightener. I pull on light blue jeans and a white sweater, simple and comfortable. As I gather my things—books, chargers, my journal—I feel soft of anticipation for the day ahead.

When I descend the stairs, I'm caught off guard by the quiet murmur of voices. I round the corner to find Jace sitting on the couch with Mom, deep in conversation. My heart stumbles, the sight of him sending a ripple of warmth through me.

"You're early," I say, my voice half-laughing as both of them turn to look at me.

"Actually, I'm perfectly on time," Jace says, a crooked grin tugging at his lips.

I glance at my phone. 11:01 a.m. My cheeks flush. "Oh." I trail off, feeling silly.

"Ready to go, babe?" he asks, rising and stepping toward me. His voice, low and warm, sends a flutter through my stomach.

"Yeah," I murmur, nodding, cheeks burning softly from the way he says it in front of Mom.

Mom pulls me into a hug, pressing a kiss to my cheek. "It was nice to have you here, sweetie."

"It was good to be home. I'll see you in two weeks," I say, inhaling the comforting scent of her one last time. It's strange, the way something as simple as her perfume can make me feel so grounded, so safe.

She hugs Jace, too, a brief, affectionate embrace. "Take care of my baby, will you?"

"Always, Helen," he promises, his voice steady.

I wave one last time as Mom closes the door behind us, the weight of goodbye settling a little heavier than I expect. I don't know why leaving always feels like this—like I'm walking away from something I might need later.

Lost in thought, I don't even notice I'm walking ahead until Jace calls softly, "Hey, hold up."

I stop, and he catches up, slipping his hand into mine. He turns me gently to face him, his thumb brushing against my chin. "Sorry," I say, offering a half-smile. "I was...thinking."

"Good to see you," he murmurs, his forehead lowering to mine.

"Good to see you too," I whisper, the words melting between us as he presses his lips to mine, gentle and grounding.

"See? That's better," he teases, his laugh soft as he pulls away, and we make our way to his car. He tosses my bag into the trunk and we settle into our seats. His hand finds its usual place on my thigh, a simple touch that feels like an anchor. "Did you have a good weekend?" he asks, pulling out of the driveway.

"I did," I reply softly. "How about you?"

"It was good. Quiet," he says, glancing at me. "How were you feeling with everything?"

I hesitate. "Alright, I guess. There were so many stupid thoughts running through my head, but I tried not to let them take over."

"You know you can always check my phone, right?" he says suddenly, his voice cautious but sincere.

Something tightens in me. That's not what I want, not ever. "No, it's okay," I start to say, but my phone vibrates sharply in my pocket. "Sorry, I should get this. It's my dad." Jace gives my thigh a gentle squeeze, nodding for me to answer. "Hey, Dad," I say, holding the phone to my ear.

"Hey, Mila. How are you?" His voice cracks with something like regret.

"I'm good. What's up?"

"I found out Julie talked to you and Ava," he says quietly. "I'm upset. I wanted to explain everything myself, to tell you why things happened the way they did."

My heart sinks. I hadn't even thought of that—that he might feel like his story was stolen before he had a chance to tell it. "I'm sorry," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "But yeah, she called and told me everything."

"What exactly did she say?"

I recount what Julie told me—the other woman, the apartment, the drinking, the rumors. I know Jace hears every word, his hand tightening on my leg. Dad's voice shakes as he tells his side: how he tried to help a woman with nowhere else to go, how what started as kindness turned into something more complicated. He insists he's not an alcoholic, that it's one glass of wine a day. But he doesn't mention the shady business dealings. I don't press him. As he talks, a quiet anger blooms inside me—not for him, but for Julie. For taking away his chance to speak, for painting him in a way that might not be entirely fair. My heart aches, knowing there's so much more to the story than either of them can say.

By the time we reach Jace's apartment, my anxiety's riding high, my body trembling with the weight of everything. "Look, Dad, I have to go now. But we love you. We'll always be here, okay?" I hang up and exhale, my body sagging with the release of tension. "I'm so sorry," I murmur to Jace.

He parks, turning to me. "Don't apologize. Are you okay? You're shaking."

"I'll be fine. I just need a minute," I whisper, fumbling with the seatbelt as he grabs our bags.

By the time we get upstairs, I'm dizzy, my vision blurring at the edges. I lean against the wall, trying to catch my breath. I know I shouldn't get too worked up about something that isn't even happening in my life, but I'm already too far over the edge. I think of Jessica, Derek, Julie and my dad at the same time, and my head starts spinning. I already see little stars in the corner of my eyes.

"Shit, Mila," Jace says urgently, his voice filled with worry as he drops everything and rushes to steady me.

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