“Where’s Brandon?”
“He’s asleep in the bedroom. Jace,” she crosses the room and places her hands on my shoulders. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say.
“No,” she cups my cheek and shakes her head. “I don’t think you are. Tell me why not.”
There are a million reasons rushing through my head all at once. Which one do I start with?
“I killed people.”
“They were bad men, Jace.”
“I shouldn’t have murdered them.”
“It was self-defense, Jace. They would have killed all three of us if you hadn’t stopped them.”
“I don’t want you to think less of me.”
“Oh,” she says, and I can tell she’s surprised. “Is that what you’re worried about?”
“Yes.”
“Jace, I would never think less of you. I mean, you saved me. Jace, you fucking rescued me like a damn hero. You get that, right?” She wraps her arms around me, and she hugs me tightly.
“That’s it?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you aren’t mad?”
“Jace, I could never be mad at you.”
“Polly, there’s always an alternative to violence.”
“Really?” She raises an eyebrow. “Did you know that Greg had a gun?”
What?
He did?
I didn’t even see it.
“Yeah,” she jerks her head toward the kitchen table. “He must have dropped it when he tried to fight you because I found it next to the door. Jace, this guy wasn’t letting us walk away. He was going to go all out when it came to destroying us. You literally saved us, Jace. You’re a hero.”
Polly kisses me, and I can taste her.
I can taste so much of her in this moment.
I can taste her desire.
I can taste her happiness.
I can taste her gratitude.
She really believes all of those things she just said, and maybe I owe it to myself to believe them, too.
“Polly,” I whisper. “I don’t know what to do next.”