Labeled Love (47 page)

A few minutes pass, and Dad walks back into my room, as Mom is practically rocking me like a baby on the floor. “We have some serious damage control.”

“What did he say, Steven?” Mom asks, concerned.

Dad runs his hands over his scruffy face. I know that means he’s not happy. “They’re pressing charges.”

“Steven?”

He looks from my mother to me. “Aggravated assault,” he says seriously. Then, he repeats himself as though we didn’t register what he said. “Aggravated assault. That’s not good, Shay. Jace almost killed Cole.” He rubs his face again. “Cole is in the hospital, Shay.” I tuck my face against my mom’s neck, trying to find some sort of comfort in this disaster.

“What does that mean, Dad?”

“I can’t be certain. I just know Jace could be facing jail time if he’s found guilty.”

“No! Cole pushed him! Cole always pushed him!” I yell.

“That doesn’t matter to a judge, Shay. Jace chose violence.”

I push through my dry throat from crying and ask, “Dad, what can we do?”

“My hands are tied right now. I can’t do anything.”

“What do you mean you ‘can’t do anything’? Celebrities get off all the time.” Anger bubbles inside me, taking the place of fear.

“Jace isn’t a celebrity, Shay.”

“But we have money. Can’t we bail him out?”

“No. Until we know what they are going to do with him, we have to wait it out.”

My mom looks down at me. “Why don’t you try to get some rest, Shay?”

I break free from her embrace. “I can’t rest while Jace can’t!”

“Don’t raise your voice to your mom,” Dad says.

“I’m sorry… I know you’re just trying to help me.” I look up to her. “Mom, I love him so much.”

“I know you do, baby,” she says, wiping the fresh tears that have fallen down my face. She looks up to my dad, as he stands in the doorway, arms crossed and troubled face. “I’m going to go put on a pot of coffee.” She gets up and walks toward the door. As she passes Dad, he stops her and kisses her cheek. When she goes down the hall, Dad looks back at me.

“Take a shower. You have makeup running down your face.”

I get up on shaky legs and walk straight into my bathroom. Turning on the shower, I get under the water and let the flood of tears go. I’ve never cried like this in my entire life. I’ve never had anything to cry about.

My phone rings, startling me. I jump out of the shower to answer it.

Jace!

Holding it, I drip water everywhere. “Hello!”

“Are you okay? Have you heard anything yet?”

Jules.

“No… nothing,” I tell her.

“I can’t sleep. I’m coming over,” she says.

“Thank you.” I hang up. My phone is filled with water from my hands, and I try drying it with a towel. I type a quick text to Landon, letting him know I will be ready first thing in the morning to see my boy.

WHEN WE GOT
to the jail, they cleaned me up. I’m sure so I wouldn’t scare the other guys in here. I looked like I had just killed someone with the amount of blood all over me. Damn, the forehead sure can bleed. Their focus was cleaning my face and trying to stop the bleeding on my forehead, so my blood-soaked shirt was cut off of me. Still visible on my hands is Cole’s dried blood.

I’m sitting here in a cell with four other guys. Two of them look like thugs from the neighborhood. When I look around, they are staring daggers at me. There is no way I’m getting any sleep tonight. Another guy is drunk off his ass, and the last one looks homeless. Who knows? That might be me before long. We’ve already managed to dodge two eviction notices in the last couple of months.

After this, Shay’s dad is definitely not going to let us move in together. I run my hands through my hair in frustration. Between thoughts of Shay’s frantic voice, the panic in her eyes, and the fact my forehead keeps pulsing in pain, I can’t rest.

Sitting back, I stare in front of me. I wonder what the charges are going to be. This is my first offense as an adult, so hopefully they won’t be too bad. It’s not like I robbed a bank. I just beat someone up. Still, Shay is probably going crazy right now with worry.

Shit.

I really kicked Cole’s ass. I really fucked up. I just want to hold her right now. “I’m so sorry, baby,” I mumble, rubbing the back of my neck.

“Who you talking to, boy?”

I look over at the drunk next to me. “I’m talking to myself,” I answer, turning away from him, clenching my fists. Pain radiates through them. I look down. My knuckles are bruising, and there are cuts all over them from the pavement. I want to wash my hands. I need to wash away what I’ve done.

Everything replays in slow motion in my head. Cole taunts me relentlessly. I lose it. I don’t want to stop. His head hits the ground. I can still feel my fist pounding into him over and over.

What have I done?

Shay, baby, I’m so sorry.

I sit in the cell for hours. I’m sure the sun must be rising by now, but I can’t tell. I’m just assuming. I just wait. It’s cold in here. Just cold. I feel the bars that keep me from getting to my girl. The metal is cold. I start panicking. I need to get out of here.

“Hello,” I mutter through the thickness that has gathered in my throat. I’m thirsty. Pulling at my hair, I try to relieve the pressure that’s building. I need to talk to Shay. Don’t we get a damn phone call? “Hello!”

“They won’t come until they’re ready to,” the drunken guy says. He sounds sober now. This must not be his first time in here.

“I need to get out of here,” I tell him, cracking a small smile.

“Yeah, well, we all do, but the cops don’t give a shit. You’ll be in here all day.”

I gulp loudly. I’m so fucking thirsty. “I can’t be in here all day.”

But, no one comes. And, when they finally do, I’m not prepared for what they tell me.

ON OUR WAY
to Jace’s house, I see bars on the windows of almost every storefront. I can’t believe how far removed my life is just a few miles up the road. Once we get to the building, we walk up the shaded pathway to Jace’s apartment.

His home.

The place he has never let me see. I feel a mixture of sadness, fear, and anticipation. I want desperately for Jace to answer the door, open his arms wide, and bring me in to him. I want to smell him, touch him, and check the gash on his forehead. I want to make sure he’s okay. I need to look into his love-filled eyes. I want that so badly.

What I get is a totally different scenario.

A red paper is stuck on the door. Landon grabs it and reads it. It’s an eviction notice. He looks at me. “Jace mentioned to me that they were getting kicked out soon if they didn’t pay their rent.”

I put my hand over my mouth to hold back the gasp of sadness that escapes. “Why wouldn’t he tell me that? I could’ve helped him,” I say sadly.

“Seriously, Shay, do you really think Jace would let you help him?”

“I know if my parents knew they would help him. I could have done something.” 

“He wouldn’t have let you,” he says sharply.

Looking away, I focus on the paint-chipped door, picturing him coming home to this after every time he saw me. Memories hit me. Jace listening to me tell him all about my wonderful life and then coming home to this broken door. Guilt runs through me as years of conversations about movie premieres, family dinners, and countless days lounging by my pool flood my mind.

He always listened with a smile on his face. My heart is squeezing so hard in my chest for him. He
always
smiled, looking at me like I was everything to him, while I never once stopped to think… I never thought about what he went home to. I feel like the worst person ever. Jace kept this part of him so secretive that I just never thought. To me, he is no different from me. No matter what is behind this broken door, he is still everything to me.

As Landon knocks on the door, my hearts starts racing so fast in my chest that I have to put my hand over it. When the door opens, I never expect to see what’s on the inside. I try to look unaffected, but it’s hard. I can’t… I mean, I never pictured Jace’s mom to look like this. 

“Who are you?” she asks with a drunken slur, looking me up and down like I’m trash. Landon speaks first because I’m frozen.

“Is Jace here?” 

“No,” she replies, walking out from inside the apartment and standing next to the front door. The sun shines down on her. I can’t believe this is Jace’s mother. She looks nothing like him. She’s very skinny, frail even. Her hair is an ashy blonde, and her eyes are brown. As she stares at me, I feel so uncomfortable that I start to sweat. “He never came home last night.” She scratches her arm. “Why? Is he in trouble again?” she asks, the smell of stale beer strong on her breath.

Again?

“No one contacted you?” Landon says while standing next to me. He’s rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. He’s making me even more nervous.

“I don’t have a phone,” she answers.

How does she not have a phone?

“Listen, Grace. Jace was arrested last night.”

Rolling her eyes, she says, “What did he do?” She has no concern in her voice.

“He didn’t do anything,” I speak up for him. Landon glances at me. 

Once again, she looks me up and down. “I asked who you are,” she spits out.

“I’m Shay.”

She laughs bitterly under her breath. “So, you do exist, huh?” And, that’s where I see the resemblance to Jace. She lifts her mouth up into a slow smile and lowers her eyes, studying me. That’s exactly what Jace does, except he always does it in a loving way. She’s more condescending, but the similarity is still there.

“I hate to meet you under these circumstances,” I say, trying hard to be respectful, when really I want to shake her and say, “Did you just hear us? Your baby is in jail!” Something tells me she wouldn’t care, though.

“I bet he got in a fight. That boy doesn’t know how to keep his hands to himself.”

I can’t understand everything I’m hearing, between Landon telling me this is Jace’s first offense as an adult, and now his mother’s words. How would I not know that Jace has been in fights? I guess I suspected a couple of times growing up, but this seems normal to them. Then a memory hits me. Oh my God, I remember when he came to the center with a black eye. Twice. Both times he made light of it. I had no idea, completely oblivious. The first time he kissed me he had a bruised eye, and Valentine’s Day when he told me he hit his eye on something at home. I remember thinking maybe he wasn’t telling the truth because he wouldn’t make eye contact with me. He had been in a fight.