Chapter 8 #2
“Sorrow! Get your ass over here, now! It’s time to fucking go.”
Rush smirks. “That’s the kind of guy you’re giving a chance to?”
I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing.
Taking me by surprise, Trace rushes up to us, picks me up, and puts me over his shoulder.
My bag slips off and falls to the ground.
Trace picks it up and shoves his arm through the handles.
My big bag looks like a small clutch against his tall, muscular body.
Trace walks us down the path with me staring at the ground.
I lift my head and address Rush. “What time are you picking me up tomorrow?”
“Dinner’s at six. Five okay?”
I give him the thumbs-up sign. Smiling, he rocks on his heels.
“You are not going over to that d-bag’s house.”
“Sure I am.”
“What did I tell you about guys and being alone with them?”
“We won’t be in the dark, and we’re having dinner with his parents.”
Trace carries me all the way to his truck. The party is still going. The other kids stare. He yanks open the door and sets me inside before buckling me in.
“Did you know Rush plans on going to AU and playing rugby for them?” I ask.
“What’s that got to do with us?”
Us. I like the sound of us. I hold back my smile.
“Well, I haven’t decided whether to move to Alexandria or Montgomery, but if it’s Alexandria, I’ll know at least one person in the city.
Plus, Rush’s cousin works at Crimson nightclub, and according to Rush, he’s tight”—I use air quotes—“with the owner. Maybe he can help me find a job.”
“You’re not going to college?”
“I will be. I applied to DU, AU, and MU. Maybe Rush’s cousin can rent me a room, too, and I won’t have to pay for room and board.”
“Believe me, you won’t have to pay for a thing. You have no family and no income. Either of those schools would be happy to help you out.”
I shrug. “It’ll be nice to know someone from our school.”
“Rush ain’t it. I’ll find people to watch over you, even if I have to hire them.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would. You think I throw around money as if it grows on trees?”
He doesn’t give me time to answer.
“Nah. I’ve invested my allowance since I was thirteen. That is five years of fucking compound interest.”
Trace is great with math.
I flunked math.
I like that he’s smart. I like it a lot.
“I’ll spend whatever it takes to keep you safe, Sorrow.”
“That’s a forever problem,” I point out. “Teach me the hard lessons, and you’ll never have to worry about me.”
“That’s the thing. I’ll always worry.”
“But if our experiment is a success”—I lower my voice—“you’ll know I can keep myself safe from the hungriest predator of them all—you.”
There’s silence before he tosses his head back and laughs. Trace’s laughter is this deep rumble from his core, and I can’t look away from how his face transforms from handsome to boyish.
Someone else laughed at my father’s attempt at making jokes.
I couldn’t see the man, but I heard his voice.
It had a cutting edge when he demanded money from my father.
The hazy memory lingers and then disappears.
I mindlessly reach out for it. The noise around us drops to silence, like a vacuum sucked every sound, even the croaking frogs, into an air-tight canister.
A finger glides over my forehead, smoothing out the worry lines. “Hey.” Thick fingers grasp my chin. “Everything all right?”
I shake my head. “A memory.”
“A bad one.”
I nod.
“You get those.”
“It’s happened before?” All I see is his body. He’s blocked me from the other kids’ views.
“Nightmares.” He confirms my suspicions.
“It’s the reason you were near my bathroom.
You were listening. Were you laughing the whole time?
” How could he? “My dad used to do that. Hover around. It was after my mother died. I found her. Did you know that? Does everyone know that?” I’m panicking.
I’m angry. There’s no fear. Only rage. I jab my finger into his shoulder. “Say something, you jerk!”
“You don’t remember the nightmares, do you?” His face softens.
Oh God, brooding Trace Saints doesn’t show concern unless something awful happened.
“What nightmares?” My voice rises. Someone clears their throat behind us.
“We’re not having this conversation here, Sorrow.”
There’s pity in his voice. What did I say in my sleep?
What did he hear that I can’t remember? No, not remember.
It’s what I’ve suppressed—suppressed memories.
My therapist brought it up, and I refused to listen to her, moving on to a different topic, like school and how great the kids are to me. Lies. All lies.
Trace steps away from the door and bumps into Rush. Rush stumbles back. His face is twisted with anger. “If you hurt her, Saints—”
“No one’s hurting anyone, Gray. Mind your own fucking business.” He goes to shut the door. I grab the handle and shut it before he can. I roll the window down so I can hear them.
“I’m picking her up tomorrow.”
“No one’s stopping you, bruh.”
“You better not,” Rush mutters before he walks away.