Total Fabrication Read online

  I don’t know what I expected but when Jace wakes up and goes about getting ready while ignoring me, I feel the break up all over again. My reasons for ending things are getting weaker in the light of what happened, but instead of mutual kinda-blow jobs bringing us together, it’s put up another wall between us.

  Jace barely talks to me all day and he avoids the cameras like he’s allergic. He makes excuses to go out and buy shit when this early in the week, he’s usually helping clear out all the demolished room. I know I’m not being paranoid, but the distance between us is making me careless and a work site is really the last place I should be in this kind of mood.

  That night when we go to bed, he turns pointedly away from me. He kept his distance during dinner too, and I’m not sure how to talk it through with him. I don’t want to push him away, but I also know that messing around again is not a good thing for my emotions.

  Or his. Even if he’s over the idea of us by now.

  I almost choose to sleep on the couch and give him his space but that would be weird. Instead, I climb in, face away from him, and slowly drift off to the sound of waves tonight.

  The whole next week is the same, and the one after that. Jace barely talks to me, and at first I understood, figured he just needed time, but with each day passing he gets even surlier and it’s really starting to grate on me. I grit my teeth every time he snaps at me, and make excuses for the film crew, but my temper is getting thin. And I’m not the only one.

  “Jason!” I call as soon as he steps in the door. We’re well on our way to having the kitchen cabinets fitted, but with only empty shells, my voice echoes in the space.

  He actively avoids meeting my eyes as he glances around as though determined to make sure we’re installing everything in the right spot. I want flip him off and remind him how many times we’ve done this but I manage to hold back and instead step around the enormous island bench and make my way over as though I’m happy to see him.

  “Babe, Olsen has been trying to catch us for another interview.”

  His blank expression doesn’t change. “Yeah, just been busy.” He glances around again, taking in the plastic covered cabinetry. “They sent the two tone?” he asks absentmindedly.

  “Sure did. Everything you planned is coming together, as always.”

  He nods and goes to walk off, but I quickly grab his arm. “Interview, remember?”

  “Could I possibly forget something you mentioned a minute ago?” His lips curl like they’re trying to sneer, but his heart isn’t in it. “I’m going to go dump these bags and I’ll be back. Jesus.”

  He’s muttering, but I drop his arm like he’s snapped at me. Focusing on the kitchen this week has been a lot and he’s not the only one who’s stressed. It’d be easy to write his attitude off to the pressure we’re under but then I’d just be lying to myself; the tension is putting unnecessary additional strain on us.

  Time to figure this shit out. I follow him through the house into the living room and find him checking through the bags, making sure everything is still there—or avoiding me more like it. I step inside the room and close the door softly behind myself. It’s not until I clear my throat that he realizes I’m there.

  Jace jumps and swings around to see who’s followed him, quickly looking away again the second our eyes meet.

  “After something?” He keeps his voice bored, even. I want to shake him.

  I reach down and switch off my mic, gesturing for him to do the same. “Yeah, an explanation.”

  “Excuse me?” He shoots to his feet and I know that expression. He’s ready for a fight and has been for a while. “You need an explanation?”

  “Well, duh. Ever since … you know … you’ve been acting like I have some life ending disease or something.”

  His laugh is dry and bitter. “You. Are an asshole.” The extra pause gives him additional impact. I reel back.

  “I’m an asshole? You’re the one who’s been avoiding me.”

  “And you’re surprised?”

  “Yes.” Isn’t that obvious? “Things were going okay again and then after what happened—”

  “I know what happened,” Jace cuts in. “You don’t have to keep talking about it.”

  “You sure? Because it seems like you’re trying to forget.”

  “How are we having this conversation?” he explodes. “Yes, I’m trying to forget. Obviously. The last thing I need is to remember you’re the best damn lay I’ve ever had.”

  I blink. A couple times. What he’s saying sets in and I start to laugh. “You’re insulting me by … complimenting me?”

  “You don’t get it.” He shakes his head as he drops back to sit on the couch and I slowly approach.

  “Jace …”

  “You broke up with me!” And hell, when he turns his accusatory look on me, there is a slight sheen to his eyes that spells angry tears.

  “You know why.”

  “No I fucking don’t.”

  I open my mouth to respond when Jace’s attention snaps to the door. Kiara and Olsen have pushed it open, camera on us, and thank god Jace picked up on their entry because I didn’t hear a thing. The blood drains out of my face as I realize I don’t know what they did hear. Jace wasn’t exactly quiet.

  “Can you please give us a minute?” I ask as levelly as I’m able to.

  Kiara ignores me, camera propped on her shoulder, and Olsen stares like he’s ready to grab some popcorn and watch this train wreck implode. I shake my head and try really hard not to pinch my nose with frustration. My fists ball up as I turn back to Jace.

  “I know this week is stressful, babe.”

  His eyes dart up to mine and narrow in a spiteful glare. “You have no idea.”

  “This is the fastest renovation we’ve ever done,” I say, trying to cover why we were arguing on the off chance they didn’t hear what we were talking about.

  “I dunno. We’ve managed to rip things apart efficiently, wouldn’t you say?” he asks.

  Now it’s not just Kiara and Olsen’s presence that has me on edge. “We’re a team, Jace.” I lower my voice. “I know things are a bit shit right now, but we can talk about it tonight. We’ll finish up early and I’ll take you out somewhere.”

  Kiara squeals. “Yes, that’s perfect. We’ll be able to add a brief date night break in one of the kitchen week episodes. We can frame it like you guys are always so far ahead, you’re able to go out and do those kinds of things.”

  I turn to look at her. “Actually, I’m thinking this can just be a Jace and I thing.”

  Olsen snorts. “Yeah, that’s not what you signed on for. We’ll be there.”

  I barely manage to hold back my groan. Jace jumps up from the couch and moves toward me and I’m completely unprepared for him pulling me into a tight hug. For just one crazy moment I think maybe everything’s okay.

  Proving that yeah, I’m an idiot.

  He tilts his face up so his lips are by my ear. “I knew being here was going to be hard, but I didn’t think it would hurt this much. So fuck you for pretending everything is okay, because spoiler alert, Blake: it fucking isn’t.”

  He breaks apart from me before Kiara can get that damn camera near us and storms out the door.

  I’m still reeling.

  Tripping up over that one word Jace uttered.

  It hurts?

  It could mean any number of things but my brain grabs hold of two options of what could possibly not be okay.

  Having to be here with an ex he can’t stand …

  Or having to be here with an ex he’s not over.

  Damn it, my head is a mess. I’m still disgustingly in love with Blake, it’s almost embarrassing. I can’t get over the other night. How I backed him into a situation where he felt like he had to reciprocate.

  When we left for dinner earlier, Blake took my hand and he’s barely let go since. While I drove, he ran his thumb up and down the back of my neck, and when we got to the table, he pulled out my chair wi
th a mocking grin. This pretend relationship is too much. How did I think I could do this? I should have been out hooking up with anyone I could find, working him out of my system, getting the wild out before I’m hopefully accepted to Pratt Institute. I don’t feel antsy though. I feel all kinds of lost and it’s making me pouty and angry but oh damn, everything hurts. The angst is killing me.

  I need to set everything out between us, and I want to do it now, but sitting in this restaurant with the two cameras circling make that a little difficult.

  We’ve been sent to a Mexican restaurant so of course there’s a jug of sangria on the table and an appetizer of tortilla chips, salsa, and guacamole, which neither of us ordered but have to eat. Apparently we need to make sure we’re seen eating but do it quickly, so then we can make cute faces at each other and share witty conversation.

  I don’t feel cute, or witty. As the cameras circle, and the lights on their fronts shine on us, the microphones hovering somewhere over the lenses, my head spins. It’s like being in a fishbowl. And while, yes, this whole competition was my idea. And yes, I’d assumed Blake and I would kill this challenge like we’ve done with everything else we’ve been faced with, being on constant watch is something I hadn’t thought about.

  Cameras and being on TV? Cool.

  Being constantly followed and made to do random mundane things over and over again, so mean people can sit at home and flood social media with what a shit person you are? Not cool.

  But Blake is a natural. Obviously. I don’t think he’s ever encountered a situation he hasn’t been able to handle.

  “After today,” he says, mindlessly making his way through the corn chips. “We just need the countertops to go on, the tiling to be done, then the flooring can go down and we’ll paint.”

  “And style,” I add. Because while I understand it’s not important in his eyes, it is to the judges and the people who are going to buy this damn thing.

  “Of course, babe.” He scoots his chair a little closer. “But I don’t do much for that part except put things where you tell me to.”

  “You are remarkably easy to boss around.”

  His golden face lights up as a smile spreads across it. “I just know what a kick you get outta being bossy.”

  Well aware of the cameras, his obvious flirting is nothing more than an act, and I need to catch up with him if we’re going to keep doing this thing.

  “Only bossy when it comes to you.”

  “You go ahead and think that.”

  “I will. But not because you told me to.”

  Blake laughs a little. “You’re so stubborn.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I said stubborn, not determined.”

  I lift a shoulder. “They’re one and the same.”

  “Oh that’s right, they’re both synonymous with pain-in-my-ass.”

  I snort. “Since when do you know what a synonym is?”

  “Hey, I got through junior year before dropping out. We covered off those and the … what’s-you-call-it … metaphors! Yep, I definitely remember metaphors.”

  I open my mouth to say you’re too cute but quickly shut it again, cursing my brain. Then again … it’s what I’m supposed to be saying, so why should I bother holding it back? My grin comes freely.

  “Blake, you’re a dork.”

  He smiles in return. “No, I’m your dork.”

  And like that, the brief flare of I can do this dissolves, left in the wake of the real world. I quickly snatch up the red menu off the rough dark wood table.

  We order and eat, Blake somehow managing to keep snatching up my hand when I’m least expecting it, and just before the dinner can wind down, Kiara and Olsen say they’re heading out. The only highlight of the night is that dinner is covered by the show.

  Blake watches them until they leave the restaurant, then tugs his mic off and unclips the back from the waistband of his pants before taking mine, and gently tugging the mic cord back down my shirt. He shoves them in his pocket, grabs my hand again, and tugs me to my feet. He practically drags me out, back into the warm fall night, and it’s not until we’re headed along the walkway toward the stairs that I’m finally able to talk. “Where are we going?”

  “Anywhere they can’t find us.”

  “I think they’re gone.”

  He glances back over his shoulder. “You never know.”

  We don’t talk until I work out where he’s taking me. There’s a little ice cream shop on Fisherman’s Wharf that we visited the first time we stayed in San Francisco. We both said how we’d love to move here one day, but after devouring the most delicious ice cream sandwich, I’d pointed out he better be prepared to love me with a snuggly body because those things were to die for. He took me back there every visit.

  So when we walk into the shop, bright and welcoming even though it’s late, those memories of goofing off and eating until my stomach hurt, consume me. I don’t want to take another step, but Blake doesn’t release my hand, not giving me a choice.

  Without asking, he orders the same thing as last time and I’m momentarily relieved I’m not expected to have any input into this situation because my head can’t stop spinning. Does he know how weird this is for me? Is it a coincidence, or is he trying to tell me something?

  When Blake has his raspberry cheesecake cookie filled with caramel ice cream and chocolate chips, he hands mine over.

  My mouth immediately starts to water, and I’m suddenly thankful I could barely stomach dinner. The choc fudge cookie, vanilla and peanut butter swirl ice cream covered with M&Ms and sprinkles is the best combination of anything I’ve ever tasted.

  Blake snatches up a handful of napkins on the way out and he leads me back through to the Wharf to look out over the water just off Pier 45. I eye him as he sets the napkins down on the guardrail then props his elbows on them so the breeze doesn’t carry them away. He doesn’t say a thing as he starts to lick around the edges.

  I stare at my sandwich for a long moment before I finally take a disgustingly large bite.

  Blake immediately starts to laugh. “Never could wait, could you?”

  “What do you mean?” I mumble through my mouthful.

  “You. Always gotta dive right in. Every time you’ve had one of those things you’ve ended up with your face and hands a sticky mess, but never stopped to think if there was a better way to do it.”

  I’m not entirely sure he’s just talking about the ice cream. Shrugging, I try to appear nonchalant as I take another bite. “All the best things in life leave you feeling that way.”

  Blake chokes on his inhale, clearing his throat as subtly as he can. When he takes a step closer, I don’t turn to look.

  “Not all the best things.”

  Okay, now I’m looking. “Fine, I’ll play. Like what?”

  “Like … when we watch a movie together. Or go grocery shopping. That time we spent an entire day driving around looking at houses and you got more excited as we went.”

  I roll my eyes. “Those moments barely even count as moments.”

  “They count to me. Every time I start missing you so much it drives me crazy, those are the moments I think of.”

  Frowning, I turn to him, wondering what the hell that’s supposed to mean. “You don’t get to miss me. You’re the one who broke up with me.”

  He hangs his head, staring at the place a drip of ice cream has made its way onto his thumb and is slowly rolling down the side.

  “You know why I did,” he whispers. “It was never for me.”

  “Well it sure as hell wasn’t for me, so don’t start with that shit again.”

  “Of course it was. You applied for Pratt, and we both know they’d be stupid not to take you. You know that, and you applied anyway without even telling me. I broke up with you?” Blake’s face falls as he shakes his head. “It was only because I knew you were going to end things anyway and I couldn’t stand being around you any longer, knowing you would be gone.”

 
; I stare at him for one long, drawn out moment, where neither of us talk.

  “You. Fucking. Moron!” For the first time in over a month, I don’t give a shit who’s listening. My hand clenches the sandwich so hard, ice cream oozes out into my palm. “I was never going to break up with you.”

  “You applied for a school in New York, Jace. On the other side of the fucking country. I don’t blame you for going after your goals, but hell, you could have at least told me first.”

  The second his voice breaks, that’s it for me. My vision clouds over with tears and I’m trying to control the hope that tries to swallow me whole, but I’m rapidly losing the fight.

  “You didn’t want to break up with me?” I whisper.

  “Are you kidding? These last few months have been torture. Seeing you kiss that guy nearly drove me insane.”

  Hand shaking, I scramble to pull my phone out without getting melted ice cream everywhere. It’s harder to access my photos lefthanded but eventually I manage to scroll back to the one I’m looking for. I flip my cell around and show him the screen.

  Hard lines fill Blake’s forehead as he tries to figure out what he’s looking at.

  “W-what is this?”

  “The house I was going to buy for us. It’s right near the train lines into Manhattan. I wanted us to live there while we did it up and I studied. It would have been our biggest property yet, and if I’d gotten a degree from Pratt Institute, it could have taken us to that next level.”

  “But …” He looks like he’s gone numb. “You don’t need a degree, your design skills are already amazing.”

  “I do if I want to be an architect.”

  His focus finally leaves the phone as it shoots up to me. “An architect?”

  I look down. “I wanted it to be a surprise.” This time my voice breaks. “You’ve always said we were unstoppable before. This would have taken us from one off jobs, into actual development.”

  Blake falls back a step. “And the business?”

  “Rodney’s been killing it. If you offered him a management position, he’d take it in a heartbeat.”

  As my words sink in, Blake’s eyes widen like it’s all just fallen into place. “You didn’t want to leave me.”