“Why are you walking home from school with him?”
That was the first thing her neighbor called out from across the street, voice sharp and nosy, as Ava turned the corner with Jace silently trailing at her side.
She didn’t answer. Didn’t look. Just kept walking, her jaw tight and fists buried deep in her jacket pockets.
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Not the walk. Not the silence. Not him beside her.
She’d needed space. That’s all. After the chaos of the past two days—the letters, the slap, the knock at her window—she needed air.
So when he showed up again, standing at the edge of her porch like he hadn’t cracked her wide open with five words and a thousand past sins, she didn’t scream. She didn’t slam the door. She just said, “Let’s walk.”
And now here they were. Side by side. Wordless.
But the silence wasn’t peaceful. It buzzed—hot and awful—like a wire ready to snap. Every step they took down her block felt heavier than the last.
Her heart beat louder than the rhythm of their feet on the pavement. Her breath came out in quick, clipped bursts that turned to fog in the cold.
Jace’s shoulder brushed hers once. She didn’t move away. He didn’t apologize.
And still, neither one of them said a word.
She didn’t know if they were walking toward closure… or toward the last mistake they’d make together.
When they reached her front steps, they stopped. The porch light hadn’t been turned on. The house looked dark, quiet, still—like it didn’t know how close she was to unraveling.
Jace rocked back on his heels, hands in his coat pockets. The glow from the streetlamp above them cast shadows beneath his eyes. He looked tired.
Not the kind of tired sleep could fix—the kind that came from guilt with nowhere to go.
“You were always brave,” he said, voice low, cracking the silence.
Ava turned her head, eyes narrowing. “What?”
He looked at her, and the softness in his gaze was unfamiliar. It made her stomach twist.
“Even back then,” he said. “You kept showing up. Even when we made it hell. I don’t know how you did that.”
She stared at him. “You mean when you made it hell.”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah. When I made it hell.”
She didn’t know what to say. She’d waited years for an apology, and now that one was dancing on the edge of his breath, it didn’t feel like enough.
He took a step closer. Not touching her. Just close enough that the cold couldn’t settle between them.
His hand lifted slightly, like he might reach for her—but halfway there, he curled it into a fist at his side. His eyes were locked on hers, and they didn’t move. Just searched. Just stayed.
The street was silent. The wind picked up, rustling dead leaves across the sidewalk. And all she could hear was her heart, punching against her ribs like it wanted out.
“I didn’t know I broke something real,” he said quietly, voice almost swallowed by the dark.
Ava’s breath hitched. Her throat ached with all the things she hadn’t said yet.
“You did,” she whispered. “You did break something.”
His face tightened. “I know.”
“Why now, Jace?” She took a step back. “Why are you doing this now?”
He looked at her like the answer was going to kill him. “Because I miss who I thought I was, when I was near you.”
She flinched. Not because of the words. But because part of her understood them.
“Don’t you dare say that like it’s beautiful,” she said, her voice trembling with fury. “You didn’t know me. You mocked me. You ripped me apart in front of people. You—”
“I know what I did!” he snapped suddenly, the heat in his voice clashing with the cold night air. “I know I don’t deserve anything from you!”
“Then why are you here?” she shouted. “Why keep showing up like this is some broken love story waiting to be fixed?”
He swallowed hard. “Because it’s the only way I know how to say I’m sorry.”
“You’re not saying sorry!” she cried. “You’re trying to kiss away guilt that should burn.”
He blinked. “I wasn’t—”
“Yes, you were,” she cut him off. “You leaned in. You looked at me like I was yours to reach for.”
“I just—” he choked. “I just wanted to feel something that didn’t make me hate myself.”
She stared at him, lips parted, heart in her throat.
“So you thought I’d be the fix?” she whispered. “You thought maybe if I kissed you, it would wipe the slate clean?”
“I thought maybe—” He stopped. Shook his head. “I thought maybe you still saw something in me worth saving.”
Her eyes burned. “You don’t ask the person you crushed to put you back together.”
He stepped forward again. She stepped back when his voice dropped low. “I don’t want forgiveness, Ava.”
“Then what do you want?” she snapped.
His gaze locked on hers, and this time there was no confusion. No hesitation.
“You,” he said. “I want you.”