Chapter 120

Chapter 120
Jace woke with a sharp and dry gasp, like someone had pulled him up from underwater too quickly. His vision was a smear of light and shadows at first, the brightness from the curtains slicing straight through the pounding in his skull. He winced and squeezed his eyes shut, then forced them open again.

The first thing he registered was the bed or rather—the empty side of it. The sheets still rumpled, faint impression of a body that had lain there, but cold now.

Morgan was not there.

A long breath fell out of him, it was relief first, then dread, then something muddled and embarrassing that he refused to name. The events of last night came back in uneven flashes, the call...the drinking....the dancing.... the way he could not even feel his heartbeat without it hurting.... the way he kept chasing numbness until numbness finally swallowed him whole. Then Morgan, waiting up for him, apologizing, catching him before he stumbled straight into the doorframe.

Then Jace kissing him.

Hard.... Messy..... Wrecked.

And Morgan trying to stop him but Jace had not listened. He had dragged Morgan down with him, desperate and drunk out of his mind.

And Morgan...
He had given in.

Jace groaned and dragged a hand over his face. His head felt cracked. His throat burned. His stomach churned like he had swallowed gravel.

He sat up slowly but carefully, afraid that any sudden motion would send knives shooting through his skull. The sheets slipped from his chest, and he stared down at his bare skin, the faint bruised marks on his hips, the work of Morgan’s hands.

A mistake....

He told himself that firmly.

A mistake that he was not going to repeat. A mistake he did not even remember clearly, thank God.

He swung his legs over the bed and waited for the dizziness to pass. It did not. It hovered like a threat, but he pushed up anyway, wobbling to his feet and steadying himself on the nightstand.

The house seemed too quiet and still

He pulled on sweatpants and a T-shirt that smelled like laundry detergent, then moved toward the door, one hand braced against the wall as he made his way down the hall.

Every step felt like a drumbeat inside his skull.

When he reached the staircase, he paused. He could smell something warm and savoury. Eggs? Toast? Coffee? The scent drifted up, easing around his headache in the gentlest way.

Jace muttered under his breath, “Please don’t let that be who I think it is.”

He descended the stairs slowly, gripping the rail like an old man. When he reached the bottom, he turned toward the kitchen.

And froze.

Morgan stood at the stove.

Still wearing the gray sweatpants he had worn last night. Hair slightly damp, as if he had showered early. Shoulders broad and relaxed as he flipped something in a pan. The quiet morning light caught on his dewy skin on his forearm and the faint bruise on his jaw—courtesy of last night’s collision with Jace’s overly enthusiastic mouth.

Morgan turned when he sensed movement.

“Morning,” he said softly.

His voice was deep, calm and far too steady for someone who had slept with his emotionally imploding employer just hours earlier.

Jace swallowed, but his throat felt stiff.
“Where is Mo?” he asked, because it was the only thing he could think to say.

“She went to the store to pick up a few things we may need at home.” Morgan slid the eggs onto a plate. “She said she will be back soon.”

“Oh.” Jace blinked. “Okay. And...” he tried to ask about Mila, about his daughter, about the one person his foggy brain could still think of with clarity. “And...”

“Mila’s still sleeping,” Morgan added gently, before Jace could finish.

Silence settled.

Morgan set the last plate on the counter, then moved to set the table. His movements were quiet but efficient. The silverware placed neatly, the plate centered, cup turned upright. He did not look at Jace, but he did not avoid him either. He was just… being Morgan.

Jace shifted his weight. He should say something. Anything. Maybe something responsible, apologetic or mature.

He opened his mouth...
“Morgan, you do not have to—”

But Morgan stepped behind a chair, pulled it out for him, and something in the gesture hit Jace like a fist to the chest.

Because for a split second...
a split, aching second....
it was Elias he saw instead.

Elias doing the same thing on their honeymoon.
Pulling out his chair with that quiet, old-world gentleness he barely let anyone else see.
Touching the back of the chair as if guiding him into place was a privilege.

His stomach twisted sharply.

Their honeymoon had felt unreal at the time, like walking on the edge of something dangerous and thrilling. Elias had surprised him then. In the mornings, he had always done that little gesture, small but intimate, just as Morgan was doing now.

Jace’s chest tightened.
Because all he could hear now was his own voice from that night—

“Goodbye, Jace.”

Jace blinked hard, forcing that thought away....forcing Elias away.

Morgan straightened, still holding the chair out for him, waiting patiently.

Jace inhaled slowly.
He did not want Morgan doing all this. Breakfast, pulling chairs.... Quiet caretaking. He did not want Morgan stepping into places that belonged to someone else. He did not want— He did not know what he wanted.

He just knew he felt hollow and exhausted.

And he did not have the strength to untangle anything yet.

So instead… he just let himself sit.

He simply slid into the chair, surrendering to the inevitability of the morning.

Morgan pushed the chair in gently. His hand brushed Jace’s shoulder. Jace swallowed.

Morgan sat across from him, quiet, composed. He hadn’t touched any food yet—he was waiting for Jace to start. Always waiting for Jace.

The silence was not suffocating this time. Jace stared at his plate for a moment, trying to gather himself.

Morgan cleared his throat softly. “I did not know how your stomach would be, so I kept it simple.”

Jace forced a small nod. “Thanks.”

His voice sounded rough.
Worn down at the edges.

He picked up the fork, then paused, staring at the food without seeing it. He could feel Morgan’s gaze flick up occasionally, checking on him without making it obvious.

Jace hated that.
Or maybe he did not hate it.
Maybe he hated how much he needed it this morning.

He took a slow bite. His head throbbed, but the food helped a little.

Morgan finally picked up his own fork.

They ate in quiet rhythm.

Halfway through the meal, Jace leaned back and exhaled, rubbing his temples.

Morgan set his fork down. “Headache?”

Jace nodded. “Feels like my brain is trying to escape through my skull.”

Morgan’s mouth twitched in a sympathetic half-smile. “I can make you something for that.”

“You already made me breakfast,” Jace muttered. “You are not my—”

Jace stopped himself....what were they now?​