Chapter 6
JULIAN POLE
Luka was still laughing when we tumbled into my room. He threw himself across my bed like he owned it, arms flung wide, while Rico sat at my desk, already doodling in that little notebook he carried everywhere. I dropped onto the floor with my back against the bedframe, tugging at the hem of my borrowed shirt. Jace's shirt. Still smelled like his detergent. Still fit too well for me to pretend it wasn't obvious.
And of course, Luka noticed first.
"Bro, you realize what this means, right?" His voice was deadly serious, which meant it was absolutely not serious at all.
I groaned. "Don't."
"You're married now." He clutched at his chest like he'd just witnessed the grandest love story of our generation. "Professor Jace put his clothes on you. That's like… sacred. That's, like, vows."
Rico didn't even look up from his sketchbook. "That's not vows. That's pity. Or dry-cleaning avoidance."
"Wrong," Luka shot back, rolling over so he could peer down at me. "That's destiny."
I tried to laugh it off, but the worst part? I kept replaying the whole car ride home in my head. The way Jace had kept his eyes on the road, sharp profile lit by streetlights, like nothing about last night had rattled him. The way his voice had dropped lower when he said, 'Shower. Change. I'll drop you home.' Not a suggestion. A command. And I'd just… listened. No fight. No smart comeback.
You always have something for commands remember.
Stupid thoughts.
I tugged the shirt higher around my neck. "He didn't even want me there. I threw up on his shirt, remember?"
"Oh, please," Luka said. "You think he'd stick around all night watching you sleep if he didn't care?"
I froze. "He—what?"
Luka grinned, sharp and satisfied. "Rico told me."
Rico finally glanced up, expression flat. "I didn't. I just said he looked tired this morning."
"Same thing!" Luka crowed, pointing at me like he'd won a court case.
My face heated. I kicked Luka's leg half-heartedly, but he just laughed harder, rolling out of reach.
"It's not like that," I muttered, but even I could hear how weak it sounded.
The rest of Saturday bled into one long blur. Luka eventually passed out on my bed, limbs everywhere, snoring like a chainsaw. Rico left sometime after lunch with a casual, "Don't text me unless you're dying," which was his version of affection. That left me alone with my thoughts—never a good thing.
I lay on the floor staring at the ceiling, still wearing the damn shirt. I told myself it was because it was comfortable, soft cotton, better than half the stuff I owned. But every time I caught the faint clean scent of it, my stomach tightened.
Jace . My professor. The one who called me out in front of everyone,, who told me I was "wasting potential" like it was a crime. The one I'd sworn I couldn't stand.
And yet.
He'd carried me out. Stayed up all night. Let me crash on his couch like… like I mattered.
I pressed the heel of my hand to my eyes. God, what's wrong with me? I'd had crushes before, sure, but this was different. This was inconvenient. Dangerous.
My phone buzzed against the floor. I scrambled for it, pulse jumping before I even checked the screen. Not Jace.
Rico:Homework's due Monday. Don't bomb it.
I snorted, tossing the phone aside. But it reminded me: Monday was coming. And with it, Jace's so-called "tutoring."
I wasn't sure if I wanted the weekend to end or stretch forever.
Sunday night dinners with Dad weren't really dinners. They were interrogations disguised as meals.
The house was too quiet without Mom. She was on the night shift at the hospital again, which left me sitting across from my father at the dining table. Just us. His plate was half-empty, mine barely touched.
He carved into his steak like it had committed a crime. "You've been distracted."
I swallowed, fingers tightening around my fork. "I'm fine."
His eyes flicked up, sharp and unblinking. "Your grades don't say fine. Your teachers don't say fine. And word gets back to me that you were seen… downtown." He said it like the word itself was dirty.
My stomach dropped. Of course he knew. He always knew.
"I wasn't—" I started, but he cut me off.
"Julian." Just my name, flat and heavy. It landed harder than yelling ever could. "You don't get to waste your time on parties. You don't get to fall behind. You're a Pole. That means something. Or at least it should."
The words stung. Not because they were harsh, but because they were familiar. I'd heard them a hundred times, in a hundred different forms.
"I'll do better," I muttered, pushing cold potatoes around my plate.
"You will," he said firmly, setting his knife down. He leaned back in his chair, watching me like he was waiting for cracks to show. "I don't want to have to save you from your own mistakes, Julian. Not now, not ever."
Silence stretched across the table, broken only by the ticking of the kitchen clock. I wanted to say something—anything—that would make him believe I was trying. That I wasn't hopeless. That maybe I'd found help.
I kept my head down until he finally pushed back his chair and left the table, leaving me with a plate of food I couldn't eat and a knot in my chest that wouldn't loosen.
By the time I made it upstairs, I'd already made up my mind: I'd show up to that tutoring session. Not because I wanted to. Not even because Jace asked. But because failure wasn't an option under this roof.
My room was dark except for the glow of my phone screen. I'd been staring at it for so long that the outline of the clock blurred every time I blinked. Midnight came and went.
I told myself I was just waiting for Luka or Rico to text, but the truth was obvious: I was waiting for him.
When the buzz finally came, I nearly dropped the phone.
Jace:First tutoring session starts Monday. Don't be late.
I bit back a smile, typing quick before I lost my nerve.
Me:Do I get to bring bodyguards?
Jace :you'll need them.
Me:I'll risk it.
I was grinning like an idiot, staring at the screen long after the chat went silent. The banter shouldn't mean anything. He was my professor. My tutor. My problem-solver for grades I couldn't fix on my own.
So why did my chest feel lighter?
I rolled onto my back, the phone still clutched in my hand. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the same image: the way he looked at me in that chaos of flashing lights and gunfire. The way his arms steadied me before the floor could.
Safe. That's what it felt like. Safe in a place I had no business being.
My eyelids grew heavy, and the phone slipped lower against my chest.
My last thought before sleep dragged me under was one I shouldn't have admitted even to myself—
I wanted Monday to come faster.
But I also wasn't ready for it.