CHAPTER 30: WHEN WORLDS MEET

Chapter 30

JULIAN POLE

Marco’s been talking for what feels like hours.

About Jace. About growing up together. About how his big brother used to take punches for him in high school and how he once got suspended for decking a kid who called Marco "soft."

He’s sitting in the chair by the window, one leg crossed over the other, a bag of chips in his lap that he’s been crunching through like it’s oxygen.

I’ve been pretending to listen.

Nodding every now and then, maybe smiling when he laughs, but honestly, my head’s somewhere else.

Everything feels heavy. The room. My chest. The air.

Everything.

I’m so fucking scared I think I’m gonna shit my pants. I’ve been glancing at the time for what feels like forever and I don’t see Jace or my friends. Marco is obviously avoiding talking about them.

"You know," Marco says, tossing another chip into his mouth, "he’s not really how people think he is. My brother, I mean."

That gets me to look up. "What do you mean?"

He shrugs. "People see the name, the face, the attitude. They think he’s all steel. But he’s not. He’s soft inside. Just hides it because, you know, our dad’s... what he is."

I stay quiet.

"He used to read to me when I couldn’t sleep," Marco continues.

"Real books, not kid ones. Philosophy, history, poetry. Stuff I didn’t get a word of, but he’d say, ’One day, you’ll understand.’ He’s like that. Wants everyone around him to understand something he can’t say out loud."

There’s something about the way Marco talks, like he’s trying to explain Jace to himself as much as to me.

"He sounds like a good brother," I say softly.

"He is." He smiles a little, eyes distant. "But he’s also stupid. Too stubborn for his own good. Gets that from my dad."

That makes me smile for real. "I noticed."

He laughs, and it fills the room for a second. It’s nice, that laugh. Feels normal.

Then there’s a knock on the door.

Marco blinks. "You expecting someone?"

I shake my head.

The door opens before either of us says anything.

And just like that, I forget how to breathe.

Mom walks in first. Then Dad.

Holy shit.

Fuck me sideways.

They both look like they’ve seen a ghost. Mom’s holding her purse like it’s a weapon, and Dad’s face is that unreadable calm that means he’s probably been thinking too much on the drive here.

"Julian," Mom gasps, hurrying to the bed. "Oh my God, sweetheart—" She cups my face immediately, inspecting every inch like she expects to find an injury hiding somewhere.

"Mom, I’m fine."

"You’re not fine," she snaps, though her voice wobbles.

"I got a call saying you collapsed in public! You didn’t even—" Her throat tightens. "You didn’t even call me."

"What the hell is happening right now?" she whispers through gritted teeth.

I look down. "I didn’t want to worry you."

"Well, that worked out great," Dad says dryly from the doorway.

He doesn’t come closer right away. Just stands there, scanning the room like it’s a crime scene. His eyes land on Marco.

"And you are?"

"Marco," he says, sitting up straighter. "Jace’s brother."

Something shifts in my dad’s face. He hides it fast, but I see it — that flicker of recognition.

"Jace’s brother," he repeats slowly. "I see."

Without Marco saying anything, he already knows them like the back of his hand, so I don’t know why he’s pretending not to know him.

Mom glances between them. "Who’s Jace?"

I open my mouth, but Marco beats me to it. "A friend of Julian’s," he says quickly. "He asked me to check in while he stepped out."

Dad doesn’t look convinced. His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t push it — not yet.

"Well," he says, stepping closer. "We’ll talk about that later."

No, he’s going to talk about it now. I don’t know why he’s still stalling.

Marco stands, maybe sensing the shift in tone. "I should probably give you guys some space."

"Thank you," Mom says automatically.

He nods once to me — a small, silent hang in there — and slips out the door.

As soon as it closes, the room gets smaller.

Dad steps closer to the bed.

"Are you okay, son?" I sense chaos coming.

I nod because I don’t know what to say. No — I have things to say, but I can’t. It feels like my tongue is tied and I’m going to have a panic attack all over again.

"One of my friends said they saw you in a location you lied to me about, and you were in a shitty situation." His voice is low and calm, and his face is neutral.

I’m trying to see what he’s thinking, but I can’t, because he’s masking his emotion so well and I’m fucking scared.

"Where are your friends?"

If my heartbeat was seventy before, now it’s probably a hundred and fifty. And the heart monitor — or whatever they call that machine that keeps beeping like crazy — is proof that my heart is beating too hard and fast because I’m terrified of my own father.

Mom sits beside me, still holding my hand. "Honey, please."

I’m trying to regulate my heartbeat, breathing in and out.

I push out the words, "I’m okay."

My father nods.

"Because I want to talk about this now, not later."

I knew it. Now this is my chance to make myself clean and tell my father what I really want. But still, I lie.

"My friends stepped out. They’ll be back soon."

"So are you going to tell me what’s going on? First of all, why are you hanging around a criminal and his brother, and second, you and your boys and your mother told me you were going on a school trip. The last time I checked, Veridian Hall is an auction hall for drawings. When did you start drawing, and why am I not aware of that?"

Is he breathing? Who am I kidding? He’s a detective. He asks questions for a living.

The room falls silent again.

"Jules, start talking. Because I feel like I don’t know my son anymore, or I’m just a shitty father."

Now I’m feeling guilty. And the way his voice softens — he’s giving me a chance to explain myself.

"I’m sorry that I lied," I say, shaking my head. "I’m sorry that we lied to you. But we really had no choice. Mom was just trying to help me do what I love, since you wouldn’t."

I didn’t mean that last part to come out like that, but my father stays silent, urging me to continue.

"I like drawing. I like painting. I like the smell of paper and pencils, the smell of paint. I like taking beautiful pictures and drawing them. I feel alive whenever I’m holding a sketchbook. I really love drawing. It’s in my blood."

"I don’t want to go to law school. I don’t like the smell of courtrooms. I don’t want to know what you’re supposed to do when someone robs a convenience store. I don’t want to be a lawyer or a judge or a cop. I don’t want to carry on the family legacy, Dad. I don’t want any of it." I take a deep breath.

"But I’m trying to be the perfect son you want, but you don’t even acknowledge me. I try my best, but at the end of the day, you only get more disappointed in me."

"When I graduate and get you that diploma or certificate or whatever it is you’re so obsessed with, then I’m going to fully do what I love."

"I don’t know if you love the family legacy more than your son, your only son. I don’t want to do this, Dad. I’m tired."

Tears gather in my eyes, but I don’t let them fall.

The room is silent again.

Until—

"Why didn’t you tell me all of this?" His voice is filled with guilt.

I look toward my mom, who’s still holding and squeezing my hands.

"I... I thought—"

"I’m sorry," he says. "I’m sorry that I wasn’t worthy enough for you to trust me with your secret, for you to tell me how you were feeling and how I made you feel like I don’t love you. I would kill for you, you know that."

"There is no soul that I love more than you two. I’m sorry that I failed you as a father and neglected your needs and made you succumb to what you don’t give a fuck about for what — years?"

I nod.

He closes his eyes.

"Son, I’m sorry. I never knew how you felt about all of this. I said I wasn’t going to parent like my dad, but I guess I turned out like him."

"No, Dad. No. You only wanted the best for me and my future."

He always tells me how he grew up and how his dad pushed him too hard. I don’t want him to think he’s just like his dad. No. I just wanted to tell him how I feel.

"Dad, I love you. You’re not a bad father. You’re the best in the whole world. Don’t beat yourself up. You wouldn’t have known unless I told you."

"Told you it would turn out good," Mom says.

"What?"

"We were pla—" Mom doesn’t get to finish before the door opens and Rico and Luka stand at the door like they’re frozen. My shoulders relax. I can finally breathe knowing they’re back and alright. But then Jace appears behind them.

"Son of a bitch," Dad mutters.

"Hi, Dad," Luka says awkwardly and walks into the room.

My dad narrows his eyes at him.

Rico follows.

"We, uh..." Luka looks toward Rico for help.

"What? Cat got your tongue now?" Dad starts again.

"You three are grounded when we get back home, and there’s going to be some explaining to do."

Yeah. You’re probably wondering how my dad can say that when he’s not even their father. Well, news flash — someone who’s been changing our diapers since we were kids and they basically live with me, yeah, he can say that.

The room falls silent again, and all eyes are on Jace, who’s still standing at the door.

"Well, young man," Dad begins, walking toward Jace. Jace straightens up.

"What an honor to meet you in person. You’ve been on my radar, and I want you to stop this — whatever relationship you have with my kids. Yeah? Can we do that?"

"Dad," I call.

"Don’t." He points his finger at me.

Jace looks toward me.

"I’m sorry, I can’t do that, Mr. Pole. This is my newfound family."

Am I proud? Definitely. Am I falling in love all over again? Yep.

"You’re asking to be arrested."

"Be my guest, sir." He glances at me. "I’ll see you guys later, hopefully." His eyes stay on me the whole time before he turns and leaves.

"A whole lot is going on that I do not know about," my dad says, looking from face to face.

Yeah, a whole lot.