Chapter 233: Chapter Two Hundred And Thirty Three

JACE'S POV

I was lying on my bed, scrolling through my phone's search history like a total loser. The bright screen hurt my eyes in the darkness, but insomnia was a bitch and I had nothing better to do.

The searches stared back at me, mocking:

How to get your shit together and be a better person

What gifts to say to your nerdy hot girlfriend so she forgives you

Patrick Mahomes highlights Super Bowl 2025

Jesus Christ. When had I become this guy? The kind of guy who Googled self-help advice at one in the morning like some kind of—

Footsteps.

I immediately put my phone down, face-first on the mattress, and listened. The house had been dead silent since the dinner disaster hours ago. Mom and the old man had disappeared upstairs, and whether they were having it out or just sitting in stubborn silence, I couldn't tell. The master bedroom was soundproof—probably a good investment given how much they'd need to yell to work through years of abandonment and resentment.

Either way, this was the first sign of life I'd heard all night. Might as well investigate. Gave me something to do besides stare at the ceiling and replay every screw-up I'd made in the past week.

I opened my door to find Martin standing in the hallway, looking small and lost in the darkness. His pajamas had little trains on them—of course they did.

"Hey, bud. What are you doing up?"

He immediately came over and wrapped his arms around my waist, his voice muffled against my shirt. "Has the man gone?"

Something twisted in my chest. "You shouldn't be scared of him, you know." I ruffled his hair, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "Not while I'm here."

The thing was, I had years and years to build up my resentment for the old man. I'd been there when he left, old enough to understand what it meant when someone chose work over their family, over and over again until the choice became permanent.

But Martin? He'd been barely three years old when Dad went on one of his extended business trips and just... never came back. He didn't remember having a father around. Didn't remember what it felt like to be disappointed by him, because you couldn't be disappointed by someone who was never there to begin with.

And it must have sucked, growing up without an actual dad like most other kids his age. Watching his friends get picked up from school by their fathers, hearing about weekend camping trips and baseball games, always having to explain why it was just Mom at every school event.

"He's really mean," Martin said quietly, his fingers tapping against his leg—one, two, three, four, five. "Is he going to stay? I don't think I want him to."

What the hell was I supposed to say to that? Defend the guy? I hated that our parents had put me in this position, stuck between my own feelings and trying to protect my little brother from the truth: that our father was a cold, calculating bastard who cared more about quarterly earnings than his own kids.

"Come on." I hoisted Martin up onto my shoulders so he was straddling my neck, his legs dangling down my chest. "Let's go."

He started laughing, grabbing onto my hair for balance. "Come on, put me down! I'm too old for this, put me down!"

"Nope, you're coming with me. I've got a juice box on my nightstand with your name on it." I walked back toward my room, Martin giggling and protesting the whole way. "If you're scared, you can always sleep in my room tonight."

"Okay," he said, more quietly now.

I was an insomniac anyway, and since Lena was being too much of a goody-two-shoes to sleep in my room with my parents around—responsible and infuriating as always—I was doomed to spend most of the night awake, staring at the ceiling and thinking about all the ways I'd almost lost everything today.

"Was that really Dad?" Martin interrupted my thoughts.

I set him down on my bed and grabbed the juice box, tossing it to him. "Yeah. That's him."

Martin caught it, examining the box like it held the answers to the universe. "I checked the pictures in Mom's office earlier, and I guess he really does look like me and you. He has your eyes."

I shifted uncomfortably, suddenly very interested in straightening the stuff on my nightstand. "Are you sure you don't want to get back to sleep, bud? You've got school tomorrow." Maybe giving him sugar at one in the morning wasn't my brightest idea.

"I'm sure." He poked the straw through the juice box and took a sip. We sat in silence for a moment, and I could practically hear the gears turning in his head. "Do you think he likes trains too?"

Oh hell.

"Or maybe I could bring him to career day next week?" Martin continued, his voice getting more excited. "Everyone else always brings their dads, and I never get to, but if he's here now, maybe—"

Doubt settled heavy in my stomach. The old bastard would probably be long gone by then, if he wasn't already packing his bags. He'd probably slip out in the middle of the night, leaving another note or a text message like he always did: Something came up. Important meeting. I'll visit soon. Lies, all of it.

I didn't want to crush Martin's hopes, but I also didn't want to build them up only to watch them shatter later. I'd had my fair share of times growing up when I thought there was some possibility I could grow closer to Dad. Thought maybe if I just tried harder, did better in school, stopped getting in trouble, he'd actually want to spend time with me.

But that never happened. And eventually, that wish curdled into something uglier. Into hatred.

I started acting out more, getting into fights, hooking up with girls whose names I forgot by morning. And more and more, I'd hear my parents talk about me the way they had at dinner tonight—like I was a problem to be solved, a disappointment they regretted. We don't know what to do with him. He's out of control. Maybe we made a mistake.

I'd sworn to keep Martin safe from ever feeling that way. To show up for every school event, every train exhibition, every damn thing that mattered to him. To protect him physically if I needed to, to be the person he could count on when everyone else let him down.

But Martin was getting older now. He was a smart, perceptive kid, and I knew that soon even my reassurances wouldn't be enough. Soon he'd start asking questions I didn't have good answers for.

I was just about to figure out what the hell to say when I heard a knock on the door.

Thank God.

I opened it to find Lena standing there in my old band t-shirt—the one she'd "borrowed" months ago and conveniently forgotten to return—and flannel pajama pants. She was clutching a pillow to her chest, looking nervous and adorable and way too tempting for one in the morning.

"Hey," she said softly.

"Hey."

She was blushing, the color creeping up from her neck to the tops of her ears. Her hair was down, falling in waves around her shoulders, and I had to resist the urge to pull her inside and—

"Changed your mind?" I asked, leaning against the doorframe.

"No. I mean, I'm not staying, I just..." She bit her lip, looking anywhere but at me. "I mean, I wanted to see how you were doing. I know it's hard for you to fall asleep, and you were probably thinking about all the stuff that happened earlier, so I just thought maybe..."

I grabbed her hand and pulled her inside while she yelped. "Hey!"

I couldn't help laughing. How did Lena survive in this world by hinting at things instead of just asking for what she wanted? It was ridiculous.

I tossed her a juice box from my mini-fridge and she fumbled to catch it, nearly dropping her pillow in the process. "Martin and I were just having a kickass party in here. It's really fun. You should stay."

"Hi, Lena," Martin said from the bed, waving his juice box at her.

"What? But it's one in the morning?" Lena looked between us, confused.

Martin yawned wide, his eyes already drooping. "It's okay. Don't worry, Mom's with Dad so she won't know we're up past our bedtime."

"Look at you, your eyes are half-closed." Lena set down her pillow and went over to Martin, taking his hand. I watched as she gently guided him to lie down, tucking the blankets around him even while he protested.

"I'm not tired," Martin insisted, even though he was clearly fighting to keep his eyes open.

"What about our party?" he mumbled.

"As soon as the sun's up, we're going right back to it," I promised. "Sound good?"

"Okay." Martin started to relax into the mattress, his breathing already evening out. Just before he drifted off, he said quietly, "Lena? Do you think Dad likes me?"

Lena looked taken aback for a second, her expression flickering with something I couldn't quite read. But then she smiled, soft and genuine, and brushed the hair back from his forehead. "Of course he does, sweetheart. How could anyone not like you? You're smart and kind and you know more about trains than anyone I've ever met. That's pretty special."

Martin smiled, satisfied with her answer. Within seconds, his breathing deepe

ned and he was out.

Now it was just me and Lena, standing in the dim light of my bedroom at one in the morning.