Chapter 4
Sorrow
I feel Trace’s intense checking out of me from my head to my ass. “I know you’re back there,” I toss over my shoulder. My words tremble. My body can’t decide whether to be excited or scared that he is stalking me like a predator on the hunt.
First, he threw a rock at the nice boy for talking to me, and now he has the nerve to follow me? What is he trying to prove to the other kids? That only he can bully me because I’m an inconvenience?
I hurry to the tree and put distance between us.
It’s what I overheard him telling one of his hookups on my way to the bathroom after he had cut class. That I’m a nobody, an inconvenience thrust on him by his parents.
Trace ignores me at school, looking past me when we’re in the hallways. When a girl asked him why he gives me rides to and from school if he hated me so much, he shrugged and said his parents would disown him if he didn’t.
He has a comeback for everything, making his parents out to be the bad guys.
What a jerk!
But what did I expect from a guy who is notorious for breaking girls’ hearts, a love-them-and-leave-them kind of guy who isn’t willing to commit to one girl?
I’ve read about his type in my romance books.
I’ve watched his type in the movies and the series I binge-watch.
I have no grand expectations that his type will ever fall for me like they do for the quiet, awkward heroines. Trace is clearly out of my league, and he’s unhappy and annoyed because I ruined his last year of high school.
Instead of hosting parties and bringing girls home for sex, he’s been strictly forbidden by his father to do so; otherwise, the money will run out, and his truck will be sold. It’s my fault that he lost the freedom to do whatever he wants.
I’m not happy about it, either.
He should have the freedom to party and sleep with as many girls as he wants to.
The thought is both depressing and disgusting. How many girls does he need to sleep with before he realizes he wants to commit? I have a feeling I’ll know after sleeping with one boy.
I hike my bag higher on my shoulder and walk-run faster. The trail is long, my flashlight app isn’t as bright as I thought it would be, and I’m already out of breath from being out of shape.
“Me following you wasn’t meant to be a surprise.”
My hand goes to my heart. Jesus, he’s close. “It’s creepy when you’re not making any noise to let me know you’re back there.”
It’s quiet. No one else is on this path. Are there people near the tree with the rope swing? If there are, I’m not hearing voices. But that could mean they’re doing other things. Things I have no experience with.
“Why are you following me?”
“Making sure you’re safe.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I’m sure you can.”
“Then leave. Go follow the redhead instead.”
“Jealous?” Said with a satisfied lilt.
How dare he call me out when he couldn’t care less about me?
I march to the tree with my arms crossed. But I deserve it, don’t I? I can’t deny that I was angry and jealous when I saw where he was looking. Phoebe is pretty and always well put together with her hair, makeup, and outfits, which she posts on her social media accounts.
Leigh showed me how to set up mine, and I follow the kids who go to Cambridge High. They don’t follow me back. I have four followers—Rue, Leigh, Malice, and Seven.
It hurt that Trace decided not to include himself, and it’s a good enough reason for me not to follow the group to Dumas University this fall.
I applied, but I haven’t decided whether to go if I do get accepted.
Leigh said I have a great chance of getting grants and financial aid because of my situation.
My situation.
My future is defined by what happened in my past. I can’t move forward in life when my past is holding me back.
What if I can change my future one small piece at a time? First, the job. Then, maybe I’ll earn enough to rent a room. My boss, Mason, said he might consider it. Would it be weird to live with my boss?
I finally reach the end of the path. We’re alone. The unobstructed view is absolutely breathtaking. The moon is bright and reflects in the lake below.
“Don’t stand too close, Sorrow.”
I listen. Safety is my exception when Trace tells me what to do. Does he boss every girl around, or is it just me? Does he think I don’t have a spine and can’t stand on my own two feet because my tragedies weigh me down?
After I pull out my bottled water, I set my canvas bag on the ground to keep my butt off the dirt. Trace takes off his ball cap, pulls his hoodie over his head, and using it as a barrier between him and the ground, he sits down next to me. He shoulder bumps me. “Warm enough?”
Like he does it all the time, he flips his hat in the air, catches it, and sets the ball cap backward on his head. I stare. My mouth falls open. Jesus, why does he have to do that? Guys are hot when they wear their caps like that. It changes the vibe from wholesome to panty-melting hot.
“Why?” Clearing my throat, I look away from his sexy profile. “Are you planning on offering me your T-shirt and freezing to death?” I sound ungrateful, so I backtrack. “I’m sorry. I’m warm enough. Thank you for asking.” I’m trying my best to undo what being around my father did to me.
My father used words as weapons to tear me apart, slicing into my self-confidence. Or he used words to beat me into submission and fear, claiming he had enemies who would kidnap and kill me without hesitation. He owed money to dangerous people. I believed him. Now? I’m not so sure.
I hug my knees to my chest and stare at the view of the lake. “Do you need more layers?” I glance sidelong at him.
The backward ball cap doesn’t hide what the girls clearly know.
Trace is so handsome with his tousled dark hair, cheekbones that a cover model would envy, full lips that would feel like heaven, broad shoulders that could shoulder a girl’s problems, and muscular arms that would hold her and keep her safe.
“I have a blanket in my bag,” I offer.
“Nah, I’m good.” With his arms extended out behind him and his legs stretched in front of him, Trace tips his face to the moon.
If he were a wolf, he’d be howling at it. Liking his relaxed posture, I get up, pull my blanket from my bag, and sit on it, mirroring him. It’s so peaceful to stare at the moon and the lake, reflecting the moonbeams like glass, and listen to the croaking frogs.
“I used to stare out the window and wonder what kids did at night.”
There’s a beat of silence before he answers. “Are you asking me in a roundabout way what I did?”
I am, and for how he’s staring at me right now, like he’d like to peel away my layers, Trace sees me in a way Leigh doesn’t. Is it because he’s a guy and guys think differently? I haven’t had guy friends—not that Trace is a friend—but would a different guy understand me in the same way?
That’s another piece of me I would like to change.
I need more experience with guys so that, one, I don’t get taken advantage of, two, I don’t fall for the first guy who shows me attention, and three, I know exactly how I’d like to be kissed and touched.
I nod. “Did, do. Yes.”
“Well . . .” He draws out the word. “Of course, there’s the partying, and”— he clears his throat—“sneaking inside a girl’s room, or sneaking her inside my room, hanging out with Seven and Malice, or staying up late playing video games.”
“Do you still do that?”
Do I want to know? Why did he bring it up other than to make me jealous again?
He gives me a sly smile. “Which part?”
I knew it. “Sneaking in and out of rooms.” I wave my hand, not sure whether I should be pissed that he baited me or flustered that he teased me. It’s a first from him.
“Can I take a pass?”
“Why bring it up, then? You could’ve left that part out.” I poke him, like he’s a slumbering bear and I have a death wish over my head.
Trace has the nerve to clap. “Bravo, little mouse. Anger and jealousy are great emotions to have, aren’t they?”
“You did that on purpose!”
“Guilty.”
I can hear the smirk in his voice. Seething, I bring my knees to my chest, hug them, and glare at the moon.
Since moving into the house, I’ve been quiet, unsure of what to do, how to act, and what to say to the Saints’s brooding son. I even stripped myself of any emotions he could use against me, like I did with my father, and haven’t fought back when Trace pokes at me with his jabs from left field.
No two days are the same with him. Some days, I don’t exist. Other days, I’m in his way, and my existence annoys him. I never know what I will get with Trace Saints, but I’ve never engaged until now.
I wonder whether my mom is proud or disappointed in me up in heaven on her perch. What does my father think, watching over me, sitting next to Mom?
My mother taught me to stand up for myself, especially when dealing with my father. He had a dominant personality. But she cowered when he so much as looked at her cross-eyed.
What was worse was when he yelled at her, something about how everything was her fault, and she cried until her eyes were puffy. I wanted to comfort her so badly, but my father would lock me in the basement and wouldn’t unlock the door until the next morning.
By then, it was too late. Shame set in, and my mother didn’t want to see or talk to me.
Then she took her own life, and my dad blamed all the bad shit that happened to him on me. It was a vicious cycle I couldn’t free myself from, so I did what my mother had done. I took the blame, avoided my father when he was drunk, and was grateful and spent time with him when he wasn’t.
Why didn’t my mom tell her depression to fuck off? Why did she allow it to destroy her will to live? Why did she abandon me? Was I not worth living for?