The girl storms into his silent bubble, unapologetically enthusiastic as she plops down beside Jace on the bench.
I climb onto Jace's lap to give her as much space as possible. Jace instinctively reaches for my paw—a gesture so natural between us it feels like two gentlemen greeting each other, an old ritual of mutual respect. His hand settles on my head, stroking it gently as the human tornado makes herself comfortable next to him.
"This cutie pie had me running through the whole park!" she says, laughing lightly as she digs through her bag. "I'm Cassie, by the way. I don't know if you remember me?" Her voice is cheerful, but I can feel Jace's irritation bubbling just beneath the surface.
"Are you trying to hit on me, Cassie? Because if you are, I'm not interested. Sorry." His tone is flat, cold—like he's brushing off a street vendor.
That's just how Jace is. If you're not interesting, attractive or useful to him, you might as well be invisible. A stubborn brick wall. I should know—I've spent enough time curled on his lap, watching him push the world away.
"Ouch! But no, I'm not silly. You're funny, but definitely not my type." She laughs it off easily, not even a dent in her enthusiasm.
"I was at Lucy's funeral," she adds, suddenly softer, the cheerfulness slipping away like mist. "I'm really sorry for your loss."
Her using that name—Lucy—makes Jace flinch internally, though he doesn't show it. She says it so casually, like they were old friends. But then again, he remembers how his grandmother insisted everyone call her by her first name. Still, it feels too familiar, too soon.
Jace doesn't answer. He just strokes my paw, his mind somewhere far away. I tap my paw against his hand. We fist bump sometimes—a little ritual just between us—but I only do it on rare occasions, when it feels like he really needs it. This seems like one of those moments.
He smiles. My human is so easy to please sometimes. I rest my head on his hand.
"I live three blocks away from Lucy's house. It's been almost a year since we moved to Belleville," Cassie continues, filling the silence with her chatter. "Your granny was so sweet—she brought us pies and cookies when we first moved in. My brothers, David and Philip, practically inhaled them. They kept pestering her for more after that… but they left after my parents divorced."
Her voice wavers a little before picking back up. "My sister, Shelly, though—she spent a lot of time with your granny, cooking together almost every week."
At that name, Jace's head lifts slightly. A flicker of interest stirs behind his tired eyes.
"Shelly, huh?" Jace says, voice low but curious. "I think my gran mentioned her a few times."
Honestly, I can tell that at the mere mention of Shelly's name, his sad Casanova side flickers to life—seeing her as just another name on the list of girls he clings to in a desperate attempt to soothe his sadness.
"Yeah, Shelly!" Cassie brightens at his interest, clearly excited by the breakthrough. But Jace's attention returns to me almost instantly, retreating behind his usual wall.
"She'd always bring home tons of pastries after cooking with Lucy," Cassie continues, her voice softening again. "Your gran was really kind. I liked her a lot."
Jace lights up a cigarette, inhaling deeply. The smoke curls into the air, thick and heavy. I can feel the frustration bubbling again—Cassie's voice, the memories, everything crashing into his peace.
"Sorry again… But, you know, smoke isn't great for Buddy's lungs… or yours, for that matter."
At the mention of my pet name, Jace stiffens, the irritation flaring visibly now.
"What do you want, Cassie?" His voice cuts through the air like a blade, sharp and cold.
"I… I just wanted to talk," she stammers, suddenly unsure of herself. "I know this might sound intrusive, but—"
Her hand reaches toward me, slow and cautious, trying to seem friendly. But sorry, Cassie—I don't like being touched by strangers. I swipe at her hand, claws out just enough to be a warning.
Jace chuckles dryly. "Go ahead."
"Okay… At first, I was just trying to get a picture of Buddy. I saw him at the funeral three weeks ago, and I just wanted to make sure it was the same cat since we haven't seen him around since…"
"And?" Jace's patience is running thin, every word dripping with irritation.
"Alright, alright—straight to the point." She exhales nervously. "My mom and I were just wondering… since you're from the city and might be leaving soon… we thought maybe if you couldn't keep Buddy, we could… you know… have him?"
I feel Jace's heart pounding—fast and heavy, like a drum in his chest. His body tenses beneath me. Anger, stress, and something deeper—fear?—boil to the surface.
Without another word, he stands up, lifting me easily and wrapping me around his shoulders like a scarf—a comforting habit for both of us. His voice is low, cold, final.
"No."
Cassie's enthusiasm crumbles into regret. "I didn't mean to upset you, Jace. It's just… people say you might leave soon, and your dad might sell the house. I just wanted to ask about Buddy before it was too late. I didn't mean to be pushy."
Jace freezes. The mention of his dad—that man—hits harder than anything else she's said.
Small-town gossip. Of course, it spreads like wildfire here in Belleville.
"You're bothering me with all this," he snaps, turning toward her with a sharp glare. "But thanks for your concern. Buddy stays with me."
He turns away, his voice flat but cutting. "Have a good night, Cassie."
As we walk away, I feel the tension simmering beneath his calm exterior. His thoughts aren't on Cassie anymore—they're tangled up in something darker.
The mention of his father stirs something inside him—a memory, a wound left too long to heal.
And the last thing Jace needs right now is to deal with that man.