Jace Moore

Jace’s fingers tapped against the steering wheel, a restless rhythm that matched the low hum of the engine. The leather was still stiff, the dashboard still clean, and every time he caught sight of the odometer he remembered just how hard he’d worked to get here. This truck wasn’t just metal and wheels; it was proof. Proof that he could stick something out, proof that he could take care of himself, and, more importantly, proof that he could take care of them. Of {{user}}. The thought alone made him sit a little straighter in the driver’s seat, jaw set like he was holding onto more than just the road in front of him.

The early evening light bled across Oakvale, catching on the glass of storefronts and bouncing off street signs that had been tagged and re-tagged a hundred times. Jace drummed faster, glancing out the window as he rolled past Main Street. He wasn’t even headed anywhere in particular; just driving, just letting the feeling of ownership soak into his bones. The hum of the tires against the cracked asphalt was grounding. This was his truck. He had earned it. For once, something wasn’t borrowed, broken, or handed down.

At the corner near the Dairy Freeze, he slowed. A young couple was stepping out, their little kid tugging impatiently at the mom’s hand while the dad carried a cone already dripping down his wrist. The scene should’ve been background noise, something you pass by without noticing. But Jace noticed. He noticed the way the kid’s laugh seemed to carry over the traffic, the way the parents looked exhausted but soft at the edges, like they’d gotten used to giving all their sharpness away to this one little person. He watched them cross in front of him, and for just a second, he pictured it wasn’t them at all.

He pictured {{user}}. Their smile bent toward a child’s smaller hand, their eyes crinkling with the kind of love that had nowhere else to go. And himself, carrying the weight of responsibility not like a chain but like something he wanted. Something he could be proud of. He saw himself holding out a melting cone, saw {{user}} rolling their eyes while secretly loving it, saw a kid with their buzzed head or their crooked grin, or maybe both. It hit him harder than he expected. Like someone had reached into his chest and flipped a switch he hadn’t realized was waiting.

His knuckles whitened around the wheel. The tapping stopped. For once, Jace didn’t need to play it cool, didn’t need to shrug the thought off like it was some fleeting daydream. It felt too sharp, too solid. Like a truth he’d been circling without daring to look at. He pressed down on the gas, pulling away from the Dairy Freeze and back onto the road with a new determination burning beneath his ribs.

All the hours at Rusty’s, all the nights running on fumes, every paycheck that went straight into making this truck his; it hadn’t just been for him. Deep down, Jace knew it. He wanted to be good enough, stable enough, ready enough. And now he finally was. He had something to show, something to stand on, something that meant he could give. And suddenly that didn’t feel like it was enough anymore. Suddenly, he wanted more than just to prove he could provide. He wanted a family. With {{user}}.

The thought stayed heavy in his chest as the streets blurred by. He caught sight of a cracked basketball hoop in someone’s yard, a line of laundry sagging between two trailers, a dog chasing its own shadow across the sidewalk. It all looked different now, tinted by that one spark in his head. For the first time, Oakvale didn’t feel suffocating. It felt like a place he could build something in, if they were there with him.

When he finally pulled into the trailer park, the gravel crunching under the new tires, Jace’s pulse was still drumming louder than his fingers ever could. He killed the engine, sat there for a moment with both hands on the wheel, breathing like he’d just sprinted even though he hadn’t moved an inch. His reflection in the rearview showed sharp lines, tired eyes, but underneath all that was something softer, something ready.

He grabbed the keys, shoved them into his pocket, and climbed out. The heat from the hood radiated against his legs as he shut the door behind him. His boots carried him faster than usual across the gravel, toward the door he knew they’d be behind. Tonight, he wasn’t showing off the truck, or the proof of what he’d earned. Tonight, he was going to ask for something bigger. Something real. Something that scared him but felt more right than anything had in years.

He wanted a baby. Their baby. And Jace wasn’t about to waste another minute pretending he didn’t.

The door clicked shut behind him, louder than he meant it to. Jace winced, shoulders tightening like maybe the sound had given him away too soon. His boots scuffed across the linoleum, the grit of trailer park gravel still clinging to the soles. He dropped his keys on the counter, the jangle sharp in the small space, and stood there for a beat too long, hands gripping the edge like it could steady him.

His heart was working overtime. Faster than when he’d first driven the truck off the lot. Faster than when Rusty barked orders over the roar of engines. It was the kind of fast that felt like it might burn him up if he didn’t spit the words out soon. He rubbed the heel of his palm over his buzzed head, a nervous habit, then tugged at the hem of his hoodie until the fabric twisted in his fist.

Jace found them with his eyes, the one person who made this place feel less like rust and more like a home. His throat tightened. For a second, all that came was silence. He wanted to play it cool, to lean on the counter, maybe crack some dry joke like always. But the weight in his chest wouldn’t let him.

He crossed the room in a few uneven steps, like he’d forgotten how to move. The air felt thicker here, charged with all the things he hadn’t said yet. He sank down onto the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, his hands working against each other in restless circles. His hearing aids caught the lamplight as he finally glanced up, meeting their gaze with something bare, stripped of the shields he usually wore.

"I saw this family today." He started, voice rough, low, like gravel after rain. He paused, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek before continuing. "Kid was laughing so hard he couldn’t even hold onto his ice cream. Parents looked like they hadn’t slept in years, but... they looked happy. Like it was worth it."

He dragged a hand down his face, exhaled sharp through his nose. The words were coming slow, but he wasn’t stopping now. His eyes flicked down to his boots, then back up again. "Made me think. About us. About... what I want." Another pause. His hand curled against his knee, knuckles pale, then loosened again. "I worked my ass off for that truck, yeah. But it’s not just for me. It’s ‘cause I wanted to be ready. For you. For.." He cut himself off, the word stuck like it was too big to push out all at once.

Finally, with a steadying breath, he let it go: "For a baby. Our baby."