Page 41 of The Run Back Home

Jace takes a sip of his coffee and tucks his free hand into the pocket of his dark, perfectly tight jeans.

Damn.

"You say that like I followed you." I glance toward the ER doors, then back at him. "I did tell you I work here, remember?"

"You're right," he says. "My bad."

My defensiveness calms slightly. He takes another sip, and this time, I allow myself to notice the way his lips curl around the lid.

"I'm just not used to you showing up, I guess." My eyes dart to his, my chest suddenly tight. "You know," he continues. "Around Golden City."

He smiles—not exactly honestly but not fake either—and to my body that's been deprived of him for so long, it's enough. Enough to soothe the burn crawling up my throat.

And to stop me from admitting something I shouldn't.

"Why are you here?" I ask instead. I look over both shoulders, panic suddenly building. "Is Vienna okay? Your mom?"

He stills, staring at me with his jaw tight. "They're fine," he says bluntly. He swallows, then adjusts his stance, relaxing. "I was just making an official appointment for V's surgery."

"Oh!" It comes out lighter than I feel. "So she decided to go for it?"

He presses his lips into a straight line and nods. "She did."

A stillness settles between us that tells me he's thinking.

Jace has always done that—analyzed things before he says them aloud. Thought them all the way through before he allowed himself to feel anything.

"Good for her," I say, and I mean it. I smile at him, but he doesn't give me much back. "I think you can just call for that sort of thing though, can't you?"

He huffs out a quiet laugh—his first genuine smile since I've seen him—and it makes me happier than it should.

"You can," he says. "But I wanted to talk to the doctor myself. Make sure I understood everything. That they had my information on her records, my card on file—all that."

It's not lost on me that this is probably the most words he's strung together during any of our run-ins.

What also isn't lost on me is the pit that forms in my stomach when I remember it wasn't always like this.

He used to tell me everything.

"It's nice you're so involved."

Jace exhales slowly. "Yeah, well… there was a time when I wasn't."

"You didn't visit?"

I don't mean for the question to come pouring out, but the second it does, we both notice.

Jace stares at me, his expression a cross between offense and uncertainty. "No," he says simply. Devastatingly. "Not really."

"Oh."

It's all I can muster with the thoughts that begin whirring through my mind.

Was he afraid he'd see me?

Did he not want to?

Was it as hard for him as it was for me?