Page 50 of Until Ace

Oh, God. He thinks the worst of me. I just said some awful things to my mom. Granted, she had it coming for years and years, and I only had the courage to say them now because Ace is here with me, and I knew he had my back. But what if he thinks I’m the one who’s in the wrong now?

Before now, he only knew what I told him about my family, and that wasn’t much to begin with. He never met my mom before. What if he thinks she’s right, that I should just swallow the shit they’ve been shoveling my way since I could walk and pay up in whichever form that came?

When he still doesn’t say anything or do more than his eyes boring into mine, like he’s trying to dig up all my secrets and expose them to the bright light of my living room, I start fidgeting.

It’s a tic of mine my mom hates about me, but I can’t help it.

I know from experience that after a long silence from someone, the next words that come out of their mouth is the one bearing the most pain.

“What the fuck are you sorry about?”

I have never seen him this angry. Not even when we came here and saw the state of my apartment. Sure, I haven’t known him that long, but still.

“Well, I…,” I start to say something, I’m not even sure what, but he stops me by stepping up to me in two strides and cups my face in his hands.

“You don’t have a single thing to be sorry about.” His words come slowly, forcefully. It’s almost like he’s trying to brand them into my brain. “You didn’t do anything wrong. All you did was look out for yourself.” He leans into me until all I can see are his brown eyes. “And it was a fucking beautiful thing to watch.”

“But—” I try to argue, but he's quick to shut me up by pressing his lips to mine. Even a small, quick kiss from Ace is enough to settle something in me until the turmoil is no more, and all I'm left with is silence and peace. The feeling of safety.

I still don't know what it is about him that does this to me, but on some level, I wish to never figure it out. I'm afraid if I do, the feeling will stop being so precious.

“It was fucking beautiful, baby,” he repeats the words right against my mouth.

“Ace,” I breathe.

“Get that shit out of your head. We have pressing matters to talk about.” He lifts his head but otherwise stays standing, holding me in his arms in the middle of my trashed apartment. It’s like we’re meeting up to have coffee and to talk about stuff that doesn’t mean anything, when in reality, they mean the world.

“Did you just tell me to get the fact that my mother basically disowned me out of my head?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, his mouth quirking.

“You can’t tell me that.”

“I just did.”

“Ace!”

“Mandy.”

“It’s not that simple,” I grumble.

“It is.”

“It’s not.” I'm starting to sound like a petulant three-year-old, but he doesn't know what he's asking of me.

“Yeah, baby, it is,” he says with strained patience. There's something in his eyes that he wants me to understand, but I'm not sure what that is. “I know you’re hurting, and I know it hurts like fuck. I’ve been there. I also know it’s best to cut them out of your life completely and not go back to try to salvage it, because all you’ll do is prolong that pain until eventually you feel like you’re dying a death by a thousand tiny cuts.”

“You know the hurt I’m feeling?”

“Yeah, babe. I know.”

“Your family?”

“Beverly is my family.”

“I know. But your parents?” I clarify, looking him in the eye, hungry to know.

From what Beverly shared, I know she took him in when he was a kid. But how that came to happen, she never told me.