CHAPTER 38: AFTER GLOW

Chapter 38

JULIAN POLE

When I woke up again the first thing I noticed was the silence. It wasn’t the kind that signifies rest, but the kind that feels like waiting. Like the air itself is holding its breath.

The bed beside me was empty. The sheets still held a residual warmth, which told me he hadn’t been gone for long.

For a moment, I simply lay there, staring at the ceiling. My body felt heavy with sleep, or perhaps with the lingering weight of the night before. My mind was foggy. The air in the room carried a faint scent of soap, pine, and him.

I rolled over and pressed my face into his side of the pillow. It felt pointless, but the scent lingered. That blend of clean cotton, his cologne and something else I couldn’t place, like the smell of rain hitting dry concrete.

The clock on the nightstand showed it was almost ten. Morning light was slipping through the curtains, cutting across the floor in soft, golden lines. The house was too still. No voices. No movement. Just the faint ticking of the clock and the quiet hum of the heater.

I swung my legs off the bed and stretched. My shirt was twisted around me, and my hair was a mess. I found my hoodie on the chair, pulled it on, and padded out barefoot into the hallway.

The place looked different in daylight. Quieter, softer. The windows let in a pale glow that made the wooden floors look warm despite the cold air. From the living room, I could see the lake through the glass doors. It was calm and silver, appearing untouched by the night.

I called out, just once. "Jace?"

Nothing.

The silence pressed back.

I was debating whether I should start searching for him when I heard a car door slam outside. Seconds later, footsteps approached. Then the front door opened.

"Morning, sunshine," Marco’s voice called out.

He entered carrying a small paper bag in one hand and a bundle of folded clothes in the other. He looked too alert for the hour—hair neat, jacket unzipped, a ready grin in place.

"Hey," I said. "You went out?"

"Yeah, grocery run. And laundry, apparently." He held up the clothes. "These are for you. From Jace."

I took them, slightly surprised. They were neatly folded. A sweatshirt, sweatpants and what looked like a new shirt. "Where is he?"

Marco set the bag down on the counter. "He stepped out for a bit."

"For what reason?"

He shrugged, casual but quick. "Business stuff, I think. You know how he operates."

I know.

I tried to read his expression, but Marco wore the same easy smile he always did when he was being deliberately vague.

"He said to tell you not to worry," he added, pulling a takeout container from the bag and placing it on the table. "He also said you need to eat before you pass you."

I smiled faintly. "He thinks I starve myself?"

Marco gave me a knowing look. "You barely ate anything yesterday, did you?"

I didn’t answer. He grinned like he’d won a small victory.

"Anyway," he said, opening the lid. "Breakfast of champions—pancakes and bacon. You’re welcome."

I sat down at the table and took a bite. It was warm, buttery, and good enough that I forgot to be polite. Marco leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching with amusement.

"So," I said between bites, "where were you two last night? I didn’t even hear you return."

He smirked. "That’s because we weren’t in this wing."

"Wing?" I asked, my mouth full.

"Yes, this house is massive. We were on the east side. You likely didn’t hear a thing. Which," he added, giving me a teasing look, "was probably for the best."

I choked a little. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," he said, his grin widening. "Just that you and Jace weren’t exactly quiet, either."

"Marco."

"What? I’m complimenting your enthusiasm."

I groaned and deliberately put a piece of pancake into my mouth to avoid responding. He laughed and took that as his cue to leave me to my breakfast.

But even after he left, the question remained. Where had they been last night? And what was Jace doing now?

Something about the way Marco had said "business stuff" didn’t sit right with me.

It was almost noon when Jace finally returned.

I heard the sound of the car first, then his footsteps outside the door. I tried to look composed. Sitting on the couch with my phone, pretending to be scrolling through something important but the moment the door opened, my chest tightened.

He looked distant. Not unwell, but preoccupied.

His hair was damp, as if he’d run his hand through it repeatedly, and he wore a black shirt under his coat. He looked like someone who had spent too much time thinking.

"Hey," I said, standing up.

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Hey. You’re awake."

"Yeah." I took a step closer. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah," he said quickly. "All good."

I raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

He nodded. Then he crossed the room, leaned down, and kissed my forehead, as if to dismiss the question. "Did you eat?"

"I did."

"Shower?"

"Not yet."

"Go do that," he said, brushing his thumb across my cheek. "You’ll feel better."

I studied him for a moment. His hand was warm, but his gaze kept shifting away from mine. "What’s happening, Jace?"

"Nothing," he repeated. "Just tired."

He started to move past me, but I caught his sleeve. "You’re not telling me the truth."

He paused. For a moment, it seemed like he might finally speak. But then his face settled into that familiar, gentle smile.

"Little bear," he said quietly, "not now. Please."

There was something in his tone—not anger, but deep exhaustion. It was the sound of someone holding up a heavy weight that was about to break them.

I let go. "Okay."

He cupped my jaw and kissed me again, slower this time. "Don’t worry about me, alright?"

I nodded.

The way he’d answered, the immediate shift in his eyes—it confirmed everything I already suspected.

Something had happened out there, something he didn’t want me to know about. That familiar wave of irritation hit me. I genuinely disliked when he did this, when he walled off a piece of his life and expected me to just pretend I hadn’t noticed.

My first instinct was always to challenge him, to pull the truth out of him, but I stopped myself. I wasn’t going to order him to confess. It was clear he was already carrying a burden, and pushing him now would only make him retreat further. I had to choose to trust his silence, even if it felt like a growing gap between us.

Later, we were both lying on the bed again, the afternoon light softening behind the curtains. He had finally relaxed somewhat, one arm beneath his head, the other draped loosely around my waist.

I could feel his heartbeat against my back. Steady, but heavy.

He was speaking, mostly him, about random things. A film he wanted to show me, how Marco snores like a broken engine, how the lake completely freezes over in winter.

I laughed in the right places. I tried to match his calm tone. But beneath it all, that quiet space existed between his words. It felt like he was talking just to keep that silence from consuming him.

At some point, he asked, "You’re heading back tomorrow morning?"

"Yes"

He nodded, still tracing idle circles on my arm. "You’ll be okay there?"

"I think so. Luka’s expecting me. We have exams coming up."

"Good."

There was a pause. Then, softly, he said, "I wish you didn’t have to go."

I turned to look at him. "You could come with me."

He smiled, a small and sad gesture. "You know I can’t."

"I know."

We lay quietly for a while. The wind moved through the trees outside, causing the windows to creak faintly.

He brushed a strand of hair from my face. "You should sleep early tonight."

"Why? Are you planning to leave again?"

He hesitated, just long enough for me to register it. "No. Not tonight."

I didn’t press him. I simply leaned into him, feeling his warmth through the thin fabric of my hoodie.

When the light finally faded, the house felt even quieter. Jace turned on the small lamp beside the bed, its glow soft and gold.

He reached for me again, pulling me close, and for a moment it felt like the world outside the room was suspended.

No families.

No threats.

No deals waiting to collapse.

Just this. Just him.

He kissed the top of my head and whispered, "Don’t worry about tomorrow, okay?"

I didn’t answer. Because I was already worrying. About the way his eyes looked faraway even as he held me. About whatever truth he was withholding.

But I nodded anyway, because it seemed like the only correct response.

He kept talking softly, his voice fading as he began to drift. Little things. Jokes about Marco, questions about my classes, plans for a winter break that I knew might never happen.

His hand remained on my back until I finally fell asleep.

And even then, somewhere in the quiet of the house, I could feel that tension again. The peace that wasn’t genuine peace.

The stillness before a collapse.