Hey guys, this was meant to be up Friday, since my lovely beta Mads-hatter-15 had it done for me on Thursday. But life happens, and it so happend that two of my best friends were killed in a car accident Friday night, and I have not been up to posting this since. With that said...I do not know how often chapters will come now, since I have a lot to deal with at the moment. I would love if you could stick with me and know that updates will come when I can...thanks for being lovely readers, and with that...enjoy.

There was a sense of loss in his gut as the redhead's silhouette became smaller and smaller in his rearview mirror. She was his girlfriend, and the word plastered a goofy grin on his face. He had never felt so alive when he was with a girl. He had never wanted to be his best for anyone, until now. When Clary was around, Jace wanted to let his guard down, to let her in on all his pain and suffering. He wanted to take away her hurt and just protect her within the circle of his arms. His foot pressed down on the gas a little more. He'd left a little later than usual since being with Clary made him forget everything that had once mattered. He'd realized that those things were just fillers to plug the gaping hole that was torn through his chest with the death of his mom.

He hung a hard right, nearly missing the road to the college. The scars branded into his skin were blazing in reminder of what could happen when he disobeyed his father. To love is to destroy, Jace. He shook his head against the memory, biting down hard on his cheek to hold back a scream. Her glassy eyes, her deathly pallor, her still chest, her limp body filled his mind. To love is to destroy, Jace. His vision went bleary at the edges, and Jace gritted his teeth. The parking lot loomed just before him, but it felt as if it were miles away as he spiraled toward the horrific memories of his childhood. "Suck it up, Jace Herondale," he spat at himself, hitting the dashboard in frustration with himself. "The day that you let a Wayland get to you….is the day you die." His eyes cleared, and he swiftly pulled into the parking space closest to the locker room.

He was one minute later than usual, but still here before practice. The thought made him hopeful as he racked his eyes across his t-shirt. He'd refrained from putting it on until right before he left, but somehow, Clary's curly, red hair still managed to plaster itself to the gray fabric. He smirked in memory of the way his spitfire had said goodbye, his fingers finding themselves against his lips, remembering the whisper of hers against them.

He hurtled out of the car and into the locker room, carefully stripping away everything except his tank top before positioning his pads and linking his fingers through the facemask of his helmet. He squirted himself in the face with cold water to be sure to clear the flush that Clary had left in his cheeks and to dispel the dirty thoughts that would thoroughly distract him from being the best quarterback he could. Michael Wayland's voice sounded at the doorway, and the players immediately stood at attention. "Well boys," he sneered, his eyes working their way across the players before him, their brown depths filled with distaste at what he saw. "In less than a week, we play the homecoming game against the NYU Bobcats. And all of you guys are still sissies." His eyes hovered against Jace for a moment. "Give me fifteen laps around the football field. No breaks." The guys continued to stare at their dictator before he became annoyed and rolled his eyes. "Go."

Jace made to leave, but a firm hand against his chest stopped him from progressing any further. "Not you," Michael growled, shoving Jace down onto the bench. His teammates didn't give him a backward glance as they hurried faster to get out to the field. "Now...I have noticed that you arrived a few minutes later than usual." Jace just shrugged, continuing to lace up his black, top-of-the-line cleats. Wayland slammed his hand against the locker next to them and snarled. "You will listen to me when I speak!" Jace looked up reluctantly, unperturbed by the violent outburst. Of course, that was to be expected as he'd fared much, much worse. "Now, as I was saying, you've been late, your game has been noticeably sloppy, and there are very, very unattractive circles beneath your eyes."

The blonde boy bit down on the inside of his cheek, a witty comeback threatening to burst from his mouth at any moment. There was a silence as his stepfather waited for Jace to explain. Usually he did. Usually he had some foolproof, intricate lie woven up in his brain as to why he was tired, or late, or off, but all that he could think about at the moment was the spitfire of a redhead that waited for him back home. He was soon lost in the darker rim of green around the melted emerald pools that were her irises, the ringlets that escaped her signature bun and bounced freely around her face, the way her limbs moved fluidly as she stalked away from him, or shifted closer to him. Every curve, every inch, every freckle was branded into his mind, an extravagant picture of Clary painted before his eyes.

There was a loud, resounding crack as Michaels palm connected with Jace's cheek. Jace knew that even if someone had heard or seen, they wouldn't have said anything. Michael Wayland was just that scary.

"What have I told you, son?! Have I taught you nothing?! To love is to destroy! Hasn't that been imprinted in your brain? Or must I give you a reminder—" Michael drew his hand back and balled it into a fist, lashing out into Jace's gut as he stumbled backward toward the lockers.

"I'm…not…I'm not in…" he couldn't get the words out between the gasping breaths trying to force themselves through his esophagus. He fanned his palm about against the cool metal of the lockers behind him, bracing himself as he fought to catch his breath. "I'm not…in love." Michael cackled menacingly, his lips turning upward in a sneer.

"It's written all over your face, boy! I can tell when someone is in love. How can I do that? Because I was once in love myself. I was once a pathetic, meek man that was willing to throw his life on the line for some woman that didn't care at all." He looked away wistfully for a moment before his hard look returned. "Alright, son," Jace hated when Michael called him son; the man had murdered his mother and abused him, that was not a father-it was a monster! But he had no other choice, so he gritted his teeth and listened, "you return to practice, and we'll dispose of your little…problem…tomorrow." A wave of nausea curled through Jace's stomach as he thought of Michael's ways of disposing of a problem.

Jace nodded anyway, though his mind was whirling. "Yes, sir," was his curt reply as he slowly ventured toward the door, leaving Michael behind him fixing his colored, contact lenses. How was he going to protect Clary? Was he strong enough against his stepfather's torture? Could he keep her name a secret? He hoped that Michael meant that they would beat his love out of him, but that was wishful thinking. He would never severely injure Jace, not with homecoming and a big pay bonus for a won game. Who was it that had said money was the root of all evil? Jace didn't know, but for right now, they were wrong. Money would corrupt, yes. However it also could protect.

He pulled the helmet over his head and tried to lose himself in the mundane activities of practice. He just couldn't shake the nagging feeling that urged him to act out and protect Clary. But there was something bigger tugging his heartstrings.

Was Michael right? Did he love Clary? He certainly liked her. He liked her more than he'd ever liked anything before. Hell, he liked her more than football, and football was something he loved, something that he utterly adored. Did that by terms of transitive property mean that he loved Clary? If he loved football, and he liked Clary more than football, then he must love Clary. Right? So what the hell was stopping him from protecting her?

A shrill whistle split the cold, September air, drawing Jace's attention to the coach standing at the fifty yard line, shaking his head disapprovingly at Jace's less than perfect pass. "That was not a spiral, Herondale. I expect better. Twenty more reps." He groaned inwardly, but complied without fight, completing the next twenty passes with ease. His clung to his cool demeanor like a security blanket as his inner self was quaking in fear for Clary. He struggled to grope for a solution, for a way to protect her without hurting her. Surely if he pretended to not like her anymore, it would crush her. If he let her stick around with his stepdad(scratch that: step-monster) lurking in the shadows, she could face danger at every turn.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he barely noticed the team huddle up around him and chant their little saying that they did after the end of every practice. Never let good enough be enough. Jace shuffled back behind his team. Merely watching over Clary wasn't enough to ensure that nothing would happen to her. Michael was also scarily good at evading the cops and catching Jace before he went to the police. He ran his hands down his face as he crawled into the shower stall, striping himself of his sweaty clothes and feeling the steamy water run off of him. It dawned on him what he had to do. He'd been planning it for years. There was a suitcase in his trunk and everything. He'd strategically mapped out places to go and stay. Also he knew that Michael would never report him as a missing person, since that would draw federal attention to him. He finished his shower quickly then, and dressed himself switly, rushing out of the locker room without a simple goodbye to his loyal team.

Could he really just ditch everything in New York and take Clary with him? Would she come? The open road looked tantalizing and inviting as he dumped his junk into his car and settled in the front seat. Jace turned the key in the ignition of his car and glanced backward one more time at the field where he'd lost lots of blood, and sweat, and no tears. He looked back at the place where he'd beaten team after team, gone undefeated for two years. He eyed the stands where fans stood screaming his name, where the cheerleaders stood badly flirting with him as he waited on the sidelines. And suddenly, it all seemed so insignificant, like it was nothing. The thrill of the field was nothing compared to when Clary simply ran her fingers through his hair. He sighed heavily, oddly content with his decision. He could leave his football team, the dream that Michael had forced upon him, and go live his life. Clary would come with him. She couldn't decline of she felt the same way he did[and he was pretty convinced she felt the same]. She wouldn't leave him alone. She'd join him. She just had to.

The road from St. Xavier's to the Institute had never gone so quickly. Soon he was in the driveway, rushing up the already familiar path to Clary's room. He frantically pushed the elevator button, waiting for the signature ding. When the sound finally did come, Jace saw a sliver of red as the doors parted. Immediately his eagerness was replaced by the cool sense of calmness that he wore like a cloak around everyone except himself. "Whatcha doing, Testarossa?" He jerked away from her death glare. What was wrong? "Whoa, pardon me for my curiousness," his cocky attitude answered before his collected mind. That deserved a mental facepalm.

She breezed by him, emotionless as she pushed through the front door. "Nothing, Jace," she said in a very annoyed voice. "I just need to get some fresh air." He followed closely behind, watching as he bag bounced on her hip and knocked out a black, foam object that had been balancing precariously on the top.

"Really? Because you just dropped a kneepad." She looked defiant as she whirled around on her heel and stole the kneepad from his grasp, stomping in the other direction. He saw an unpleasant scenario flash through his mind, one that involved him leaving on the road alone and leaving Clary vulnerable. "Clary, come on," he said gently, leading her toward his Charger and helping her into the passenger seat. He then crawled in opposite of her and looked over. "Clary, we need to talk. You need to know about my past."

X.O.X.O.X

Clary remained silent as Jace swerved and curved around the many roads of New York, sometimes swearing over a missed turn and curling around the entire block to return to the passed street. The radio droned on in the background so quietly that Clary couldn't tell if there was a song playing or if people were talking. The sun was slowly falling closer and closer to the horizon, and the fall-colored leaves drifted from the tree branches.

Finally, Jace pulled the car over onto a cracked street. The windows were rolled down and air thundered in through the hole, whipping Clary's loose strands of hair wildly around. Jace didn't even seem to notice the way his blonde locks swished in the wind, drying the wetness that clung to the strands and mussing them gently. She thought that he was pulling over when he just turned back onto the interstate, speeding down the road faster than the other drivers. "Jace…" she said tentatively, reassured by the pleasant hum that sounded from his throat."Where are we going?" He looked over at her quickly before returning his eyes to the road.

"Do you trust me?" he asked quietly, his eyes focused intently on the orange Prius driving too slow for his taste. Clary momentarily pondered this. Of course she trusted him, but could she outright say it?

"Yes." Jace nodded and continued driving, weaving in and out of traffic. They made simple small talk until the sun started dipping below the horizon. She found out that Jace once had a pet bird that he adored. She found out that football was the only sport he enjoyed playing, though he also did basketball and ran in track. She shared her love of art that he already knew about, and she told him about Simon's annoying pet cat that was always sneezing on her. He had laughed at this. Finally, Jace pulled off the road into a parking lot to some crappy motel. Clary's eyebrows furrowed as he parked in a spot shrouded by shrubbery.

He looked at her momentarily before getting out and grabbing her volleyball bag and a suitcase from the trunk. He juggled it all and opened her door, reaching in for her hand. Clary took it without hesitation, smiling sweetly at him as they walked into the lobby and bought a room with two beds and a color TV set. The old man behind the desk joked with them good-naturedly about what a young couple could be doing in a rundown hotel. Jace just smiled at the man and jingled the keys as they traversed down the hall, the wheels of the suitcase humming against the ground. Clary always thought that if she'd been brought to a hotel room she'd be uncomfortable, worried, but with Jace, she was just calm, relishing in the way their fingers linked perfectly together.

They arrived at the door, and the lock clicked as it sprung free of the latch. Jace opened the door and allowed Clary to enter first before following in and sliding the deadbolt home. The noise echoed off the walls of the small room. There were two full-sized beds shoved very close to each other with icky motel comforters covering them. An ancient television set stood on a rickety table and a small door led to a tiny bathroom. Jace set the bags down and sat on the bed, shaking his head and closing his eyes. Boldy, Clary dropped down in his lap, loving the way his arms automatically held her against him, like she was doing something right by wanting to be close to him. She brushed small kisses on his closed eyelids and leaned her forehead against his.

His chest was shaky as he exhaled, nuzzling his face into the crook of Clary's neck so that her chin rested upon his blond waves. "Clary…I…I don't want you to think any less of me because of my past. I want you to know that I've come to terms with it and don't need you to feel sorry for me." Clary could tell this was taking a lot for him to come clean. She suspected it wasn't something he'd ever shared before, since he'd said that nobody had ever seen him shirtless.

"Never," she breathed, positioning herself more comfortably in his lap. He sighed heavily, staring deeply into her eyes. His mouth opened and closed as if he meant to say something, but couldn't force the words out. "It's okay, Jace," she said, running her fingertips down the length of his cheek, "take your time." Jace performed the subtlest of head nods before breathing her in. Clary liked that, that merely the scent of her could calm his nerves. She snuggled closer to him and traced her fingers along his chest.

She waited patiently as the only sound in the entire room was the hushed sounds of their breathing. Finally, it all spilled out in a big rush. Clary listened intently, hanging onto every word of his sad story, trying to hold back the tears in her eyes. She had to be strong for him. The memories from his past had him shaking.

"When I was very, very young…my dad…my real dad…he died in combat, and I never really knew him. But my mother was broken…until she met Michael Wayland when I was about two. They married soon after—" Jace continued with his childhood story, letting Clary in on the intimate details of almost each scar the decorated his body, and all the while, Clary sat by him, with her arms wrapped securely around his middle.

She held onto him as he described what it was like to grow up not knowing your father. What it was like watching your mother die before your eyes. What it was like to do something wrong and have your father lash out at you with a knife, leaving you bleeding in the corner. She saw his eyes glistening as he talked about what his father had taught him about love. "Do you think to love is to destroy, Jace?" she asked, fingering the hemline of his t-shirt.

"I don't know what I think anymore, baby," he said, and Clary froze. He called her baby. She secretly smiled inside as he leaned down and kissed the top of her head.

"Well, I think that love makes you stronger because when you're in love, you're a team, and two is always stronger than one." She looked up and saw Jace smiling. "Jace…" she said, returning to the task of ripping the stitches out of his worn t-shirt.

"Mmmm?" he replied quietly. Clary closed her fingers around the fabric of his shirt and looked up.

"Why are we in a motel?" Jace's face blanched and Clary immediately backpedaled. "Not that I don't want to be here with you. I mean it is very, very nice—" a finger to her lips quieted her.

"I just…need to get away for awhile, and I thought you might want to come with me." Clary smiled brightly, grabbing out her cell phone and dialing her mother's number.

"Mom?" she said into the speaker when her mother connected the call. "I'm going on a road trip. I just need to think about a lot of things, and I think this is best. " Her mother protested loudly into the earpiece, and Clary held it away from her ear. "I'll be safe, Mom. I promise. I love you." She hung up as her mother returned the sentiment and looked up at Jace. "I'd love to come with you." The shining grin on his face was enough to put her over the edge. Clary whimpered, and Jace pressed his lips against hers, tugging her down onto the bed so that they were tangled in a mess of limbs, lips, and hair. Jace's lips tasted of salty tears; the motel bed was uncomfortable and squeaky; and Jace made sure the clothes stayed on, but to Clary, everything was perfect as she cuddled up against Jace and allowed her eyelids to flutter shut. She felt Jace's beautiful lips on her forehead and heard the hushed words that made her heart sing. "I love you."

Did you like it? Review please, Lovelies. I need something to make me smile.

All My Love,

~BallinBlonde21