**The character names of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2011. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.**
Chapter Fourteen "People Always Leave"
Thank you to LLWB for beta'ing this chapter. :)
Chapter songs:
**London Rain (Nothing Heals Me Like You Do) – Heather Nova
**Give Me Love – Ed Sheeran
**Shattered – O.A.R.
**Daydream Believer – Mary Beth Maziarz
When Clary awoke the next morning, she wasn't in her own bed. Her mind, still in those precious few moments of not asleep and not yet awake, where everything was a hazy blur of reality and dreams, started to clear. The sound of rain pattered against the window and low gray light filtered in through the glass. A naked blonde woman sitting on a black stallion stared seductively down at her from the ceiling, only the long, bleached locks shielding Clary's eyes from all the girl-parts she didn't want to see.
She blinked the sleep from her eyes and looked around. More posters of partially clothed or naked women, overflowing trash, and piles upon piles of what Clary assumed were dirty clothes stared back at her.
The certainty of where she was clicked in her mind. She was in Sebastian's room. And then something else clicked too.
She wasn't alone.
Clary became very aware of a weight pressing on her abdomen. It wasn't too heavy, but it was enough to make taking in a deep breath difficult. She looked down and again saw blond. But this blond wasn't bleached and draped over a naked woman's chest. This blond was golden, slightly curled, and attached to a very warm and very asleep boy. Heat pooled in her cheeks as Clary realized what this meant.
She'd slept with Jace Wayland, but like, actually slept this time.
He lay sprawled across the bed—while she was pushed all the way to one side—his legs tangled in a dark blanket, and his head resting on Clary's lower chest. He had one arm tucked against his side and the other wrapped around her stomach, holding her as if she were a pillow. Which, if she wanted to get technical, she kind of was. Clary bit her lip to hold back a laugh. It was so cute the way he was twisted up with her, the way he held her like a possession, even the way he was a total bed and blanket hog. She couldn't see his face, just all that blond hair everywhere, but she imagined his face in sleep would be just as cute. He seemed to hate that term, but Clary couldn't help but think that's what he was—along with beautiful, hot, gorgeous, whatever other adjective one wanted to use to describe a good-looking guy. But the cuteness wasn't about his looks; it was about him, who he was, what he was.
He was cute, and Clary liked cute.
Clary could have stayed there all day, letting his weight press down on her, letting him hold her despite the inability to breathe deeply (Who needed to breathe when they were in this position with a beautiful boy?) but her oddly kinked back had other ideas. She shifted a little, trying not to wake him, but his grip tightened around her. It was at that moment that her stomach gave her that familiar, warning jolt.
"Oh, no," she said to herself. Swallowing against the beginning of the nausea she knew would only get worse, she lowered her hand to Jace's hair and threaded her fingers through it, shaking him slightly. "Jace? Jace, I need to get up."
He started to stir, but didn't move off from her.
"Jace, please," she said, breathing slow and deep through her nose to hold the nausea at bay.
"Hmm?" he hummed into her shirt, his voice still thick with sleep.
If Clary hadn't been about ready to puke, she'd have thought that was adorable too. "I need to get up," she repeated.
"Why? It's still early."
"Well, I could just blow chunks in your hair if you'd like?"
Clary didn't think she'd ever seen anyone leap so fast, but she didn't have time to consider that. She jumped up and raced to the door, realizing in horror that she had no idea where to go. With her hand over her mouth, she croaked out, "Bathroom?"
"Across the hall," Jace said, the sleep almost completely gone from his voice now.
Clary flung the door open, the knob bashing into the wall with a loud thunk, and raced across the hall to the nearest doorway. Once inside she slammed the door shut behind her and knelt beside the toilet. She curled her fingers around the cool seat and tried to support herself with her shaking arms. Her stomach squeezed and her throat clenched involuntarily as she tried to swallow. She gagged a few times, enough to illicit a thin layer of sweat across her forehead, but nothing came up. Letting out a slow, cleansing breath and closing her eyes, the nausea abated somewhat, leaving her stomach aching and tight.
She pressed her face to the back of the toilet. The porcelain tank felt cool against her cheek. God, she hated this. An unhappy rumble came from her stomach just as she heard a light knock at the door.
"Just a minute," she said, her voice coming out raspy. She cleared her throat. "I'm almost done."
"It's just me," came Jace's voice through the door, "I brought you something."
Clary opened her eyes and leaned back against the tub. "Oh. You can come in."
The door opened a crack and Jace stuck his head inside, finding her immediately. His hair was a riotous mess of gold, his eyes concerned. "You okay?"
She lifted her hand to gesture to the toilet. "False alarm. For now anyway."
"Oh. Good." Jace looked down and bit his lip. "Well, I, uh, I got you these." He held out a sleeve of saltine crackers and a bottle of water. "You said they helped so . . ."
Clary blinked, astounded, amazed, that this boy, this eighteen-year-old boy who shouldn't have to think about anything like this, would remember what she said helped when she felt sick. It took her a second to get a hold of herself, and then she gestured him forward. He stepped inside the bathroom, closing the door behind him, and walked over to her, handing her the crackers and bottled water. Clary tipped her head toward the floor, offering him a seat beside her. He hesitated.
"It's okay," she said. "I promise I won't puke on you."
Jace closed the distance between them and lowered himself to the ground beside her. Clary opened the packet, taking one cracker for herself then offering him one. He shook his head and looked down at his hands, a tiny bit of pink coloring his cheeks. Clary snickered.
Jace glanced up. "What?"
"Nothing." She shrugged. "You're just cute, is all."
He frowned. "How many times do I have to tell you, Clary, I'm not 'cute'. Men are not 'cute'."
"Yes, you are." Clary reached up and touched his face. "I don't mean here. Here you're . . . well, more. But here," she lowered her hand to his chest, making sure to touch lightly over his bruises, "here you're cute."
"Pretty sure I'm not cute there either. Unless you equate blood and muscle and veins to puppies and kittens."
"Ugh," Clary smacked him in the shoulder. "I thought the point of you bringing me crackers was to get me not to puke?"
"Sorry, but you had it coming." Jace grinned and then his face went serious again. "But I'm not cute," he reminded her.
"Fine. You're hideous. Disgusting."
"At least that's better than cute." He settled back against the tub, his arm brushing hers with the movement. The heat of him reminded her of the night before, how his hands felt on her bare skin; how he'd touched her in a way she couldn't remember ever having been touched before. Goosebumps rose on her flesh.
"Out of curiosity," Clary cleared her throat and munched on a few more crackers, taking sips of water in between to help her swallow the salty, dry crumbs, "why don't you like being called cute? It's supposed to be a compliment."
"Because it's used an equal amount of time as an insult." He paused. "My dad uses it when he's telling us we're doing something wrong: 'Oh, how cute, now let's actually play football.' Or: 'Now that we've gotten through all the cute and cuddly, let's hit like real men.' You know," Jace shrugged, "it kind of doesn't mean the same thing anymore."
Clary had the urge to junk-punch Jace's father. "Well, can I call you sweet? What about adorable? Charming? Pretty?"
"Pretty?" Jace looked at her in horror. "Shit, no. Hot? Yes. Gorgeous? Yes. Sexy as hell? Double yes. But under no circumstances are you allowed to call me pretty."
She snorted and went back to her crackers. Giving him the side eye, she shook her head. "Nah, I'm sticking with cute." Jace groaned and Clary laughed harder. "But I don't mean it in a rude way. I mean it like I'd say it about a sweet, adorable, little baby—" And the words just died in her mouth.
Baby. She'd said the word baby, and everything around her came into sharp focus again. The reason they were sitting there, in that room, with her eating those crackers at all. She swallowed hard, the sound seeming loud and disruptive in the sudden silence.
"Sometimes I forget," Jace said quietly. "When I'm with you and we're just talking and laughing and stuff, I forget about that. I forget about everything but you."
"There's nothing wrong with that," Clary said, setting the package of crackers down on the floor beside her, her appetite gone.
"Isn't there? Shouldn't I always remember? It's not like you get to forget."
"I just did." She glanced up at him. "Sometimes when I'm with you, I forget too. I like forgetting, Jace. For just those few moments, it's nice not remembering that I have to make some really big decisions, that everyone who looks at me will know what I did, that soon I'll have to tell my parents and face whatever they throw at me. So, no, I don't think there's anything wrong with not remembering sometimes, and I don't think either of us should feel bad about it. There will come a time very soon, that no matter how hard we try, we won't even have those few seconds of not remembering anymore."
Jace closed his eyes, draped his arm across her shoulders, and pulled her into his side. His lips brushed lightly over her forehead. She liked how it felt there in the curve of his arm, how no matter where they were or what they were facing, she was safe there.
"What we did," he said.
"What?"
"You said everyone would know what you did, but it's what we did. Everyone will know what we did."
"Oh, right." Clary's cheeks heated. "That's almost worse."
"Why?"
"Because . . . because it's private. What we did. No one else needs to know."
"Are you ashamed?" he whispered into her hair.
"I . . . I don't know," she stammered. "Are you?"
Clary felt his breath tremble against the skin of her temple. "I'm not ashamed of what we did," he said, and she closed her eyes as he continued. "But I am ashamed of how it happened. That you were drunk and I took advantage of you. That I stole something that wasn't mine. That I didn't protect either one of us, and for what resulted because of that. Those things, yes, I'm ashamed of, but never of being with you."
Clary looked up at him. "When are you going to stop feeling so guilty about that?"
"Probably never." He smiled, but it was small. "And I don't really think I should."
"You didn't steal anything I wasn't willing to give, Jace. Even though I don't remember much about that night, I know that."
He shook his head and looked away from her, unwilling to forget, to forgive himself.
She sighed and shifted until she sat on her knees between his legs, her hands resting on his thighs. "Would it help if I tell you what I remember about that night?"
He shrugged. But the look in his eyes as they shifted from one of hers to the other, said that maybe it would.
"Okay." She glanced around the room and let out a slow breath. "I remember coming up here with you and I was bleeding. You . . ." she reached down and took his hand, "you took care of me and put a Band-Aid on my finger. I'm pretty sure I told you I liked your hair and I thought you were pretty." Jace laughed, and Clary shook her head at the memory, before looking up and meeting his gaze. "And then I told you I wanted to stay here with you. Even though you said we should go. Even though you tried to make us go, I remember not wanting to leave. Somehow, I tripped and pulled you with me into the door. I grabbed you by the pockets of your jeans and I held you against me, and I told you again that I didn't want to go." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "I didn't want to let you go. So you see," she swallowed, "you can just stop feeling bad about it. You tried to go, but I wanted you to stay. And you did. You stayed."
Jace stared at her for a moment, letting her words fill their heads and the spaces around them. Then he reached for her, cupping his hand around the back of her neck and drawing her forward. With the lightest touch, he kissed her lips, mouth closed and so softly it could have been a breeze. And then he pulled her in, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close, tight. So close and so tight, it was as if he needed her to hold himself up. She couldn't remember ever being held like that before, not by her mother, nor Simon, nor anyone. It was so unyielding, so all encompassing, Clary could have sworn she felt his heart beating in her own chest.
"I'm glad I stayed," he said into her neck. "As stupid and wrong as that is considering what's happened, I just can't bring myself to regret it. Because if that hadn't happened, we might not have met at all, and even if we had, I highly doubt we'd be together right now."
"No," Clary agreed. "Probably not."
"I like where we are right now," he whispered. "I like how this feels. In spite of everything, God, I like this. And I want to stay, Clary. I really want to stay."
"You can, Jace. You can stay right here."
"But what if I can't? What if when everyone finds out . . . what if I can't?"
Clary didn't want to think about what would happen when their parents found out. She was almost certain their fathers would be irate, but she didn't know what they could do about any of it. What was done was done. They couldn't change the fact that she and Jace wanted to be together. They couldn't change the fact that she was already pregnant. But even as she tried to reassure herself with those thoughts, the echo of Jace's fear whispered in her ear: What if I can't? Not wanting to consider the implications of the question, Clary closed her eyes and squeezed Jace tighter.
"You can," was all she said in return.
.o.O.o.
Jace winced at the ache in his chest as he pulled his now clean jeans and boxers from the washer and switched them to the dryer. Actually, it wasn't so much of an ache as an all out horrid crushing pain that made him almost gasp for breath. But he could handle it. Pressing his palms to the top of the machine and leaning into it, Jace breathed in as deep as he could manage and closed his eyes. It was going to take everything he had to pass it off like it didn't kill.
"I don't think that works the same for boys as it does for girls," a voice sounded behind him.
Jace turned, the pain tweaking in his chest, and met the dark eyes of Isabelle. "I thought that was only the washer. You know, the spin cycle."
"Yeah," Isabelle rested her shoulder against the wall next to the closet holding the washer and dryer. "But the dryer has good vibration." She grinned and Jace returned it. He was thinking this was the first time Isabelle had ever spoken to him just to speak to him and didn't threaten any of his man-parts. "Where's Clary?" she asked.
"Bathroom." Jace nodded to the closed door a little further down the hall.
Isabelle's brows raised and she stood up straight. "She okay?"
"Yeah—at least she was when I left her."
"You were in there with her?"
Jace shrugged. "I brought her some crackers."
A strange look passed over Isabelle's face. Jace wasn't sure what it meant, but it didn't give him the impression he should be covering his balls or anything. Her face, usually hard and unforgiving, softened just a little.
"Okay, well," she pushed away from the wall, "I'm just gonna go check on her then."
Jace nodded and started back toward Sebastian's room, when Isabelle grabbed his arm.
"Thanks," she said.
"For what?"
"For not being the massive asshole most guys your age would have been in this situation. In the midst of all the unfairness and crap of this whole thing, if this had to happen to her, I'm glad at least it happened with someone like you."
"So, you're saying you're glad I'm the one who knocked Clary up?" Jace frowned. "That's not a very nice thing to say to a friend."
"We're not friends." She reminded him and slugged him in the shoulder. "And you know what I meant—it was a compliment to your surprisingly low level of douchiness."
"I'm not sure that that would be considered a compliment from a normal person, but from you . . ."
Isabelle narrowed her eyes, the corners of her mouth curling up just slightly. "From me it may be the best you'll ever get. I'm not easily impressed; you should consider yourself lucky, Wayland." She backed toward the bathroom and thrust her thumb at the door. "I'm gonna go now before you make me rescind my compliment."
Jace smiled as she disappeared into the room across the hall. As quickly as it came, the smile faded and he was alone. Slowly, he made his way back to Sebastian's room. The total disaster of it struck him again. How could Sebastian stand to live like this? Jace's skin crawled, and his fingers itched to clean. Ignoring his impulses, Jace grabbed his phone from the nightstand and was about to shove it into the pocket of Sebastian's borrowed shorts, when he noticed the message light flashing on the front. He pressed the button and saw he had received one new voicemail.
From his father.
Jace sighed and sat carefully on the edge of Sebastian's bed, twirling the phone between his fingers. He didn't want to listen, didn't want to hear the rant if his father was still inclined to give it to him. He felt shitty enough, losing that game. But he also knew if he waited, he'd be wondering what it said all day, so without another moment's hesitation, he pressed the message button and lifted the phone to his ear.
It took a few seconds of listening to silence before his father's voice filled his head.
I'm assuming you stayed with Verlac last night, since I saw you leave with him. His father paused, and Jace furrowed his brows. He didn't seem angry, as Jace had expected. Call me back, son. I wanted to check on you and . . . and we really need to talk. Just—just call me.
The message clicked off, and Jace sat there in disbelief for a moment. Then he pressed play and listened again. Listened for anything he'd been expecting: a trace of anger, a sliver of disappointment. But there was none. Nothing. Slowly, he lowered the phone from his ear and pressed the off button. He sat there, unmoving and staring at the touch screen. What the hell was that all about?
Jace lifted his hand and ran his fingers through his hair. He couldn't understand what was going on. He'd readied himself for rage, for disappointment, for . . . anything. Except the calm and worried tone he'd gotten. Jace didn't know what to do with that. So, he didn't do anything. Not yet. He needed to wrap his mind around this change first. He stood and tucked the phone into his pocket, then made his way down the stairs.
The living room wasn't as big of a disaster as Jace had imagined, though it wasn't what he'd call clean by any means. There were dozens of red plastic cups scattered over every surface, and several empty bottles of hard liquor. But other than that, it was surprisingly in order. No bras hanging from the ceiling fan, no passed out partygoers on the floor. Definitely not a typical Sebastian Verlac party.
"Dude," Sebastian said from his sprawled out position on the couch, his leg hanging out from under a twist of blankets and his arm covering his eyes. "Please tell me you didn't defile that sweet girl on my bed."
Jace stepped fully into the living room and scowled, his eyes settling on his best friend. "Don't ask me shit like that."
Sebastian lifted his arm and looked at Jace, his brows raised. "What? It's a valid question. I'm entitled to know if there's foreign jizz on my sheets." He paused. "Are those my shorts?"
Jace glanced down at the black basketball shorts hanging from his hips. "Oh, yeah. I didn't want to sleep in my jeans." Especially after he'd made a mess of them, but Sebastian definitely didn't need to know that shit.
"Oh, but, seriously. Jizz? Sheets?"
"God. No! Don't be an asshole, Sebastian."
Sebastian sat up and tried to stand but couldn't seem to untangle himself from the blankets wrapped around his legs. "Not that I don't want you to get lucky, man, but that's my bed. I have to sleep in there. And if I had to imagine you getting all up and in that, well . . . actually, I wouldn't mind that much. Not that I want to see that much of you, but Shortcake would be—"
Jace picked up a throw pillow from the end of the couch and smashed it over Sebastian's head. "Don't talk about her like—you know what? Don't talk about her at all." He flung the pillow back to the couch. "And not that I have to tell you anything but I didn't have sex with her, okay?"
"That's too bad. I'm betting Shortcake is a naughty little—"
Jace yanked the blankets that were wrapped around Sebastian's ankles and pulled him to the ground. Sebastian yelped as his butt hit the floor with a loud crack, but Jace wasn't deterred. While his friend was rubbing his ass, Jace moved forward, grabbed Sebastian by the arm and flipped him over onto his stomach. With his knee digging into Seb's back, Jace wrenched Sebastian's arm behind him and pushed his face into the floor. Jace's chest protested, but he ignored it.
"Ow! Shit, dude, take a joke!"
"Maybe I will when you learn to shut your mouth. I told you not to—"
"You see, Clary? This is the type of trouble they get into when we're not around to watch them."
Jace and Sebastian both whipped their heads toward the voice. Isabelle and Clary stood in the doorway to the room, looking at the two boys with amused expressions. Clary was dressed in the same clothing she'd worn the night before: light colored jeans and a long, fitted, gray t-shirt. It wasn't anything special, not flashy or outwardly attention seeking like Isabelle's short black skirt and tight white shirt, but maybe that was why Jace liked it. Because she wasn't looking to impress anyone, yet she did all the same. Her damp hair was pulled into low pigtails that hung half on her shoulder and half down her back. The color looked much darker than the normal orangey-red. The hairdo made her look younger, but the color older.
"You know," Isabelle continued, "I'm not usually into guy on guy action, but I could be okay with this."
Clary tilted her head to the side then crinkled her nose. "No. No, I don't think so." She moved across the room and grabbed Jace by the hand, pulling him to his feet. "This one's mine. Find someone else to fulfill your torrid fantasies, Iz."
Jace's stomach squeezed just a little. She called him hers. She considered him hers. Never in his life did he think he'd like that, but he really liked that.
Sebastian flipped over onto his back and grabbed Jace's leg. "Wait! How can you leave me for her, Sunshine? Does our love mean nothing to you?"
Jace laughed and kicked Sebastian's arms off. "Get off me, asshole."
"Well, can I at least have a round with Shortcake?" Sebastian gave a sly smile. "I'll be gentle."
"God-damn it, Seb. What did I just tell you?" Jace lunged forward, but Clary caught him by the arm.
"Now, now, boys, there's plenty of me to go around."
Sebastian hooted in approval from the floor.
"The hell there is," Jace said, grabbing Clary and lifting her into his arms. He grunted quietly at the pain that shot through him, but did not pause as he strode across the room into the kitchen.
Once inside, he set her gently on the counter island. Her cheeks were flushed and her breath was ragged. For a moment, he thought maybe he'd hurt her, but she was smiling.
"A little caveman, aren't you, Sunshine?"
"Shit," Jace groaned, and not just from the fact that she'd used that awful nickname. His breath came faster and shallower than usual.
Her smile faded and she reached out to lay her hand over his aching sternum. "Idiot," she whispered. "You're going to hurt yourself worse carrying me around like that."
"Nonsense," he said. "You weigh, like, three pounds."
"I weigh a lot more than three pounds." The light in her eyes dimmed, and she lowered her gaze to the floor. "Soon I'll weigh even more."
Jace stepped closer to her, fitting himself between her legs, and rested one of his hands on her hip. The other, he raised and touched under her chin, bringing her face up to his. "And I'll still carry you then."
Clary closed her eyes and exhaled a heavy breath. "Sometimes I think you say stuff like that just to get me to kiss you."
"Do you want to kiss me, Clary?" He let his thumb trace the line of her jaw, and she shivered.
"I always want to kiss you."
Jace leaned in until their foreheads touched, then their noses, until her lips were only a breath away. "You can, you know," he whispered. "Whenever you want, you can."
And he expected her to, wanted her to. But she didn't. Instead, she opened her eyes and raised them to his. It was strange, being that close. It gave him the same sensation as crossing his eyes. But from this distance, he could see every fleck of green and gold in her irises. It was amazing and beautiful, and even though it was uncomfortable, Jace could have stayed there forever.
"Sometimes I'm afraid to. Like if I do it too much, you'll disappear. Like it'll be my punishment for what we did, for taking what shouldn't be mine, and I'll wake up and discover that all of this—us—was just a dream, but I'm still pregnant and alone."
Jace pulled back. "Why are you always so insistent that I'm going to walk away? That you don't deserve to have me, when I'm giving myself to you? Why can't you trust that?"
"I'm trying, Jace. But," she met his gaze, "people always leave me. It's natural for me to assume it's going to keep happening."
"Not me," he said. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise."
"You can't promise that."
"I can." He cupped her face in his hands and kissed the tip of her nose. "I just did."
"Jace . . ." she said, her eyes closed and her brows furrowed.
"You're my girl, Clary." He kissed her nose again, her cheek, her chin. "And this," he lowered his hand to her stomach, splaying it across the area under her belly button, "this is mine too." Clary gasped and Jace closed his own eyes, his heart beating a fast, uneven rhythm against his ribs. He was so very aware of where he was touching her, of what he was acknowledging and the promise he was giving. But he meant it. He meant it so much and so completely, he wasn't sure he'd ever meant anything more. Earlier, he'd been afraid their fathers would tear them apart, but he'd decided, in that moment, he wasn't going to let that happen. "I'm not leaving either one of you. Okay? No matter what."
Clary raised her hands and threaded her fingers through his hair, holding his face against hers, and sighed. "What am I going to do with you, Jace Wayland?"
"I can think of several things you could do to and with me on this countertop. Though I fear Isabelle would probably make good of her threat to de-man me if we did."
Clary snorted and Jace could feel the promise of her lips hovering right in front of his. "I fear you're most likely right. So you should probably," she kissed one corner of his mouth and then the other, "take your hand out from under my shirt."
Jace glanced down and realized his hand was under her shirt, his fingers tracing back and forth over her ribs. "Shit," he removed his hand. "I didn't mean to . . . I wasn't really trying—"
"I know," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing him in closer once again. "I was just teasing."
"That wasn't very nice." He couldn't help but smile.
She grinned in return, her nose brushing his. "So? I never promised to be nice."
"You should be. I'm injured, remember?"
"Oh, that's right. I forgot, what with you being such a stud carrying me around and everything."
"I mask my pain for the benefit of others, but that doesn't mean I don't still feel it."
"Well, excuse me. Is there something you'd like me to do to help ease your suffering?"
Jace grinned wider. "Also another question you should never ask if you don't want me to sound like a perverted ass."
"Maybe I like your perverted ass." She paused and her brows drew together. "Wait . . . I didn't mean—"
"Oh, yes, you did." Jace leaned in and touched his mouth to the lobe of her ear. "It's okay, baby, I like yours too."
Clary let out a sound of mock disbelief and shoved Jace playfully away from her. It wasn't meant to be malicious, Jace knew, but it hurt all the same. He drew in a sharp breath as pain sliced through him and he stumbled back into the refrigerator. Closing his eyes, he let out an involuntary groan and lifted his hand to his chest.
"Oh! Oh, God," Clary said, and Jace heard the sound of her feet hitting the floor. His breath was tight and ragged against his aching ribs. "I'm—I'm so sorry. I forgot. God, are you okay?"
Her hands fluttered against his arms, like she wanted nothing more in the world than to hold him, to soothe him, but was afraid to touch him. Jace opened his eyes and focused on her face. Her brows were drawn together and her eyes shone with a thin layer of unshed tears. Another pang shot through him, but this one had nothing to do with pain—at least not the physical sort.
"I'm all right," he said, once he caught his breath. Lifting his hand, he brushed his thumb under her eye and collected the moisture gathering underneath. "Don't cry."
Red colored her cheeks and Clary looked at the ground, a quiet, breathy laugh escaping her lips. "Telling me not to cry is kind of like telling me not to puke at this point. I can't help it." She looked up and raised her hand again, letting it hover just over his chest. "Are you sure you're okay? I didn't mean to hurt you."
Jace trailed the back of his fingers down her cheek, then opened his hand and laid his palm against her face. She was so small, so tiny, his fingers wrapped almost around to the back of her head. "You didn't hurt me."
"But I just—"
Jace shook his head and pressed his thumb to her lip. "Kaelie hurt me. She did. Everything that results from that is because of her, not you."
"Jace . . ." she said from under his thumb.
"No more talking," he said, and bent to kiss her.
Her lips were stiff and hesitant, but Jace was not put off. He brought his other hand up to her face and let his fingers trace the line of her jaw, his lips brushing back and forth against hers to caress a kiss from her reluctant mouth. Finally, slowly, she loosened up, first her shoulders and neck, and then her lips. They turned from hard and unwilling, to soft and eager. She reached up and grasped his arms, pulling him into her with careful insistence. Jace felt his mouth curve into a grin before opening and taking the first taste he'd had of her that day. And it was just as good as the night before, just as hot and sweet and perfect. He wanted to taste more, to feel more, but just as his fingers tightened to pull her in, to deepen the kiss further, a voice sounded from the entrance to the kitchen.
"For Christ's sake, Wayland, is there going to be a day in the near future when I don't walk in and see you molesting my sister?"
This time Jace and Clary did not wrench apart. Instead, Jace removed his lips from Clary's, rested his forehead on hers and counted to ten, then turned in the direction the voice had come. And there, looming in the doorway like the damn cockblocking mood killer he was, was Jonathan Morgenstern.
.o.O.o.
Jonathan stared them down, his eyes hard and cold, and his lip curled slightly in a snarl. He resembled, to Clary, a large guard dog intent on keeping the mischievous cat from capturing the sweet, innocent mouse. But Jace wasn't a cat and Clary certainly wasn't a mouse. Resentment flowed through her at the insinuation that she was not smart enough, or strong enough, to take care of herself. Even if Jonathan had yet to really say anything, the look on his face was enough to tell her what he was thinking.
"Perhaps if you gave a little warning before barging in on us every time, I could arrange it so you missed the 'molestation' part," Jace answered.
"Jace," Clary scolded, and stepped back from him. His hands fell from her face, but did not leave her completely, as he let his fingers tangle with hers. "Jonathan, what are you doing here?"
Jonathan's gaze focused on hers and Jace's clasped hands and his jaw clenched before he looked back up at her. "I could ask you the same thing, but I think it's pretty obvious what you're doing here."
Clary felt Jace's grip on her hand tighten. She squeezed back and locked her elbow to keep him from going all protective boyfriend on her again. "We've been over that already, Jon. Now tell me what you're doing here or just go. I told you I'm not arguing with you about this."
Jonathan opened his mouth to speak, when a loud buzz came from behind Clary. She turned and Jace looked down at his pocket. Letting go of her hand, he reached in and pulled out his phone, his forehead creased.
"It's my dad. He already left a message this morning, so I should answer this." He glanced at Jonathan and then back at Clary. "You gonna be okay?"
Jonathan huffed. "I'm her brother, not a serial killer, dickhead. I'm not going to hurt her."
Jace's eyes narrowed. "How am I supposed to know that? You knocked her on her ass just yesterday."
"That was your fault! You shouldn't have been touching her like—"
"All right!" Clary stepped into the space between the two boys and held up her hands. She turned to Jace. "Take your phone call. I'll be fine." Then she looked at Jonathan. "And you, quit being stupid."
Jonathan mumbled something under his breath and looked toward the window in the front of the kitchen. Jace, glanced between brother and sister for a moment, definite signs of hesitation in his eyes.
"Go," Clary said, and nodded her head toward the door leading to a closed-in porch. "Jonathan would never hurt me on purpose."
Jace eyed Jonathan once more, and without moving his gaze from Clary's brother, leaned in and brushed a kiss to her cheek, whispering, "I'll be right outside."
She smiled and nodded, noticing from the corner of her eye, her brother turn and glare at Jace and Jace glared back. Internally, Clary rolled her eyes. They were both massive idiots.
Clary watched as Jace crossed the kitchen and exited through the door. She could still see him through the narrow windows next to the frame, the phone to his ear, his slim hand thrust into his hair, the tight gray wifebeater clinging to his frame, the black shorts hanging from his hips. It was suddenly very hot in that kitchen.
"If you stare any harder, I'm sure you could burn down that wall between you," Jonathan said, his voice hard and annoyed.
Clare sighed and turned back to her brother. She crossed her arms over her chest. "You never answered my question. What are you doing here?"
"I came for you."
"Why didn't you just call?"
"I tried. It went straight to voicemail every time."
"Oh." Clary frowned. "My battery must have died. I forgot to check the power on it . . ." She eyed her brother. "How'd you even know where to find me?"
Jonathan smiled, but it was not a happy expression. "I have my ways. But from the display you put on last night, I knew wherever he was," he jerked his head in the direction of the porch, "you'd be. And he's not hard to find in this town." He glanced out at where Jace stood then back at her. "Did you sleep with him, Clary?"
Anger and annoyance ignited in her belly, but she answered him truthfully. "Yes." Jonathan made a choked sound and his face paled. "Oh, but if you meant did I have sex with him last night, then no."
"Jesus Christ," Jonathan said, and clutched his hand over his chest. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."
"Maybe you shouldn't ask such stupid and highly personal questions. Even if I did 'sleep with him' in the way you meant, I don't have to tell you. I wouldn't tell you."
"Clare-bear, you don't understand. He—"
"No, you don't understand, Jonathan. You think you know him because you played football against him and because his bitch of an ex whispers crap into your ear—which, if you're sleeping with her, you should be aware that up until today, she's being doing her damndest to get back with Jace." The look on Jonathan's face told Clary much more than she wanted to know about the extent of which her brother "knew" skanky Kaelie. "You don't know him at all, so stop trying to warn me away or protect me or whatever the hell this is. I don't need it. I don't want it."
"Fine!" Jonathan said. "You don't want me to protect you? Fine. Do this on your own. But don't come crying to me when he breaks your heart. When he screws you then dumps you and tells everyone what he's done. Because, Clary, as much as you hate this shit between his dad and ours, you can't change what already is. Jace is a Wayland, and you are a Morgenstern. The two aren't meant to mix. Sooner or later you're going to figure that out, and I'll be damned if I'm going to pick up the pieces!"
"Well, I'll be sure to remember that," Clary said, her voice cold.
He sighed and closed his eyes. "I don't want to fight."
"Then go home."
Jonathan looked at her again. "Not without you."
"I don't need a babysitter, Jonathan," she echoed his words from the night before. "Besides, I came with Isabelle. She can take me home."
"No, that's not . . ." Jonathan paused as if to collect himself. "I have to take you home. Dad sent me for you."
Clary furrowed her brows in confusion, and then it dawned on her. "You told him?"
"No," Jonathan shook his head, "I didn't tell him anything."
Relief flooded through her. "Then why does he want me home? I told him I was staying with Izzy, why—"
"It's Mom," he said.
"Mom? Wha—what about her? Is she okay?" Panic fluttered at the edges of her consciousness.
"She's . . ." Jonathan looked down at the floor and then back up at Clary. "She's home."
Clary blinked. "Okay . . . so, why . . . ?"
"She's home and she's packing."
Clary stared at her brother, even more confused. So? Mom came home for a few days often and packed more things to take on the road with her. This was her busiest time of the year, what with all the touring of galleries she did.
"She's packing, Clary." Jonathan seemed to be trying to tell her something, but she just wasn't grasping the importance. "She's packing everything."
A sickening weight dropped into Clary's stomach.
"She's leaving him, baby girl," he said, his voice cracking. "She's leaving us."
.o.O.o.
Jace clicked off the phone and stood frozen to his spot. He stared out at the mass of gray and watched as the sun broke through a few spots and shown down in beams. The phone call he'd just received from his father was not the one he'd been expecting. Actually, he didn't know what the hell he'd been expecting, but whatever it was, it wasn't what he'd gotten.
"Hey, Dad," he'd answered, rubbing his forehead with the tips of his fingers and trying to ward away the headache forming in his temples. "What's up?"
"'What's up'? Is that how you greet your father?"
Jace sighed. "No, sir."
His father grumbled something Jace couldn't make out, and then said, "I got a call from Coach Pangborn this morning."
Jace stood up straighter, his breath catching. "Really? Why?"
"He heard about our loss last night."
Jace closed his eyes and lifted his phone to his forehead and let out the breath he'd been holding, before lowering the phone back to his ear. "So, that's that then?"
"That's that," his father said.
God-damn it. All that work. All that . . . everything. All for nothing. His dreams all came crashing down in one damn moment. One moment where a stupid girl decided to do a stupid thing and now his life was over.
"So, now what?" Jace asked. "What's next? Do I just—"
"I don't think you understand, son." His father's voice was softer.
"What? I—what? Is it just . . . over now? Is that it? I have no other choices? What about Western? Or State, or—"
"No, son," his father said. "He offered you the spot. Starting quarterback for the SEU Giants next fall. Full ride scholarship. It's not over. It's just the beginning. We did it, son. You did it."
Jace could barely breathe as he stood there after the call, his hand nearly crushing his phone. He'd done it. He'd made it. All that work hadn't been for nothing. He was going to start for the SEU Giants. He couldn't wait to tell Clary—
And then he remembered.
Jonathan Morgenstern was the current starting quarterback. Jace was going to take his spot. Shit. This wasn't going to be good. What would Clary say about that? Would she be upset? He turned around and froze when he saw what was happening in the kitchen. Clary was standing still, her hand over her mouth and staring at the wall in front of her. Jonathan had her wrapped up in his arms and seemed to be talking to her. But all Jace could see was the look on Clary's face. It wasn't anger or sadness or even fear. It was devastation.
Jace moved forward and pulled open the door to the kitchen, stopping dead in the doorway when Jonathan lifted his head from Clary's shoulder and peered at Jace. His eyes wore the same expression as his sister's.
"What—what's wrong?" He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
Jonathan pulled back and glanced down at Clary. "I'll go wait out front."
She nodded and Jonathan exited the room without sparing Jace a passing glance.
"Clary?" Jace said.
She looked up, her eyes glazed and distant.
"What happened? Are you—"
"My mom's leaving my dad. For real this time," she said, her voice so devoid of emotion she barely sounded like herself. "She's back and she's . . . she's packing now."
"Clary . . ."
Jace moved toward her, but she stepped back and held out her hand, warding him away, not wanting him to touch her. He couldn't deny that that stung. She swallowed visibly enough that Jace could see her throat move. He could almost feel her pain in the space between him. It was that thick, that tangible.
She wouldn't look at him. "I need to go home. I need to . . ."
But she didn't finish her sentence; she just stared at the doorway leading out of the kitchen.
"Okay," he said, and managed to take a few steps toward her. He was close enough to touch her now, so he reached for her hand, but just as his fingers touched her skin, she jerked away as if he'd burned her.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "But if you touch me, I'll lose it. I don't want to cry."
A tear streaked down her cheek and Jace itched to wipe it away. "You're already crying."
Clary drew in a ragged breath and swiped the tear away. "I have to go," she repeated, and turned away from him, starting toward the doorway.
Jace wanted to stop her, to pull her into his arms despite her protestations to the contrary. He wanted her to know he was there, that if she needed him, he was there.
She paused when she reached the doorway. With her hand resting on the wall beside it, she turned back and finally met his eyes. "I told you," she said. "People always leave me. Always."
Then she was gone, out the doorway and out of his vision. Jace stood there silently, unmoving, for what felt like forever. The cold truth of her words washed over him, as he realized she was right. People did always leave. His mother had. Her brother had. Her mother was. No one was immune to being left or leaving.
With that painful revelation came another. The leaving and being left wasn't over. Far from it. And after the conversation he'd just had with his dad, the news he'd just received, he understood the cruel reality of who was supposed to leave her next.
Him.
A few things I must address:
An anonymous reviewer posted the following question and asked me to address it: "When are you going to write 'real' lemons. Like Jace doing things to Clary and what she's feeling."
-Um, I'm not really sure exactly what you're asking. If what you meant by 'real' lemons is a very descriptive, detailed accounting of everything they do, feel, say, smell, taste, hear . . . then never. That's not how I write lemons. What you saw in the last chapter is my style of writing intimate scenes between the characters. My focus has always been on the emotional impact of sex and other intimacies. You will get some of the physical, but only enough to give you an idea of what's happening. I really don't think you need me to tell you every little thing. Sometimes imagination is better. ;) If what you meant was "when will Clary get her turn," then the only answer I can give is: when she's ready. Jace asked if she wanted him to "help her along" as she did for him, and she declined.
On the subject of updating and length between them. Sigh. Please read my tumblr post here: ddpjclaf(dot)tumblr(dot)com/post/19513131048/response-to-anonymous-questions-and-comments-about
It explains my stance.
Thank you to everyone who is reading and reviewing this story. Your enthusiasm and love of these characters is what keeps me going when I feel like giving up (writer's block is evil!). I appreciate your words so much.
Until next time XOXO ~ddpjclaf