Chapter 14 #2
“Yes,” I admit. “You weren’t nice. You said mean things about your parents when the others asked about why you did things for me. You made your nice folks out to be the bad guys rather than telling the truth. And you were a jerk saying those things knowing I was in earshot.”
I hate hurting him with my words, but I told him the truth when I said he could be better. Feeling emotions and understanding what they are and the reasons for feeling them will help him be better.
Locking down emotions isn’t it, and he’s done it for so long that I wonder if he could be better. But I believe in him, like he believes in me. Together, we can be better people.
“Guilty. But I said what I said to keep the girls from picking on you. They’re jealous and are taking it out on you. Saying stupid, untrue shit behind your back. Wishing they were in your place.” He removes my palms from his face. “Straddle me.”
I run my gaze down his body, from his damp hair to his curly chest hair to the dark strip of hair disappearing below his swim trunks. I shake my head. “You’re half-naked, and a bikini is like being in my bra and underwear.”
“Just do it, Sorrow, or don’t.” He looks away from me, but not before I see the conflicting emotions on his face.
He feels the same as I do. I want to straddle his thighs and feel his erection, thick and long, pulsing against my core, but I’m also scared of losing control with how close we’d be with hardly any layers between us. But it’s about more than our desires. Trace wants to comfort me.
I unseat myself from his lap and straddle his thighs.
We’re seeking comfort more than desire, and I trust Trace not to let things get out of hand between us.
Sliding his hand under my hair, his face softening, he brings me to him at the same time he leans forward.
Trace kisses my forehead before he sets his forehead on mine.
“I also said what I said to stop the guys from thinking you’re easy and that you were putting out for me every night, several times a night, just because we’re in the same house, my parents are gone more than they’re home, and I have a reputation.
I won’t let my rep tarnish your innocence, Sorrow.
Not if I can fucking do something about it. ”
“I’m grateful for the explanation, but I’m a big girl and can take care of myself.” I cradle his face.
He turns into my touch. “What you went through—”
“Is the reason I need to fight my own battles.”
“What if I change my mind? What if I don’t want you to fight them alone?” He covers my hand with his.
His hand is so big that it completely covers mine.
“Then you’ll be doing me a disservice. Fighting my own battles is the only way I’ll survive out there. You won’t always be with me, Trace.”
My voice falls to a whisper. A deep sadness threatens to strip away my newfound confidence.
Maybe I’m not strong enough, and I need someone like Trace with me.
Then I remember seeing my mother on her bed, curled up in a fetal position with her hair matted to her face.
It was a hot summer day, the AC wasn’t working, and my mother refused to remove the extra covers.
She’d sweated, hadn’t showered, and hadn’t eaten in I don’t know how many days.
When I finally pulled the covers back to help her to the bedside commode, I was struck by how much weight she had lost in just a few days. She was skin and bones, and her eyes were sunken. I don’t want to be like her. I don’t want to give up simply because the world is harsh and cruel.
I need to deal with and put a stop to the jealous bitches spreading lies about me.
It’s not Trace’s fault that they’re jealous. Those girls are creating a story in their minds and believing it. Instead of going to Trace, they should speak their words directly to my face. I’ll put them in their place.
“Sorrow? Baby?”
“Hmm?” I’m hearing Trace from a distance.
“You can let go of the death grip on my hair.”
Huh? I blink. The image of seeing my mom alive before I found her dead fades into the murkiness of my memories. I blink again, and I’m back in the present. My hands are bunched in Trace’s messy strands.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry, Trace.” I let go.
Trace wraps me in his arms and drops a kiss on the top of my head.
“I’m sorry, too, Sorrow. You’re right about everything.
I was a jerk. I shouldn’t have talked smack about my parents.
Next time, I’ll answer honestly and leave my parents out of it.
If I could have a do-over, I would make sure you felt comfortable and unafraid.
” He grasps my chin and brings my face closer to his.
“You’re right. I was butthurt that you had a good time with Rush and his parents.
They’re nice people. They show up for the football games when a rugby game isn’t on the same day and sit with my parents.
They’re closer to my parents’ age than the other parents are. ”
“I noticed. How old are your parents?”
“My mom is thirty-seven and my dad, thirty-eight.”
“Your mom had you when she was super young.”
“Eighteen when she got pregnant. Nineteen when she had me.”
“Were your parents high school sweethearts?”
“Yeah. They married because of me. I was an accident. Otherwise, they’d probably have gone their separate ways and would be with other people instead.”
I love that he trusts me enough to let his guard down. I hook my arms around his neck and scoot closer until my body is flush against his. “You can’t possibly know that. There’s not a magic crystal ball that shows us the future.”
Then he drops a proverbial bomb on me, one I didn’t think he’d trust me with.
“I saw my dad with his secretary, Sorrow. Town center. She had her arms wrapped around his and was leaning into him. She fucking laughed at something he said, and he laughed back like they were in fucking high school rather than grown-ass adults.” He jams his fingers in his hair and blows out a breath.
“My mom was in Montgomery, visiting my grandma. If you want to see the city, I plan on going midweek.”
His hand falls from his hair and lands on my hip. He cups my other hip with his other hand.
“I’d like that.” I stare into his eyes.
All sorts of emotions swirl in their depths—anger, regret, fear, uncertainty. I’ve felt all of them with my parents at some point in my life. I don’t want to psychoanalyze Trace. I want to help him work through his feelings.
He’s helped me separate fear from excitement when around a boy. I didn’t feel either with Rush. I felt both with Trace. Can tell them apart when I’m with him now. I’m not feeling either. Instead, my chest aches for him.
It must not be easy seeing his father with another woman. It must kill him to believe his parents married and stayed together after high school because of his mother’s unplanned pregnancy.
“Have you talked to your dad? Your parents?” The part about going with him to Montgomery to see his grandmother was thrown in there to throw me off the obvious. Trace is upset about having to see his father with a woman who isn’t his mom. It’s a big secret to keep.
“It’s too personal. Anyway, it’s their life.” He shrugs.
For some reason, his giving up and slipping that mask of nonchalance back on pisses me off.
I push him onto his back before feeling for the lever on the lawn chair.
When I pull on it, the chair fully reclines.
I grasp his chin between my fingers and press my nose to his.
His pupils dilate. His eyes widen. His Adam’s apple bobs.
With nervousness, excitement, or something else, I couldn’t care less.
He has to know his birth was meant to be and was written in the stars. Trace Saints is no one’s mistake.
“You said we can’t choose our parents, and you’re right. But you can take control of your life. You also told me that, remember? What they do affects you. My parents’ actions sure as hell affected me. Guess what?”
“What?”
“I decided I’m going to find out more about where I came from.
My parents watched over me their whole life.
I’ve had nightmares of running into a woman who looks like me, with my eye color.
She’s screaming and is a bloody mess from the notch of her sternum to her bikini line.
” Anatomy and physiology is one of my favorite subjects.
“My parents have dark hair and brown eyes. Why is my eye color different?”
“It is unusual.”
I beam. “Thank you for the compliment.”
He smiles back. “You’re welcome. It’s a good plan, Sorrow.
Want me to help? Seven’s mom is great with computers.
She can hack a few systems for you and find out where you were born and what other places you’ve lived at.
Your father only became my father’s business partner six years ago.
He moved here for the position. Do you remember other places? ”
“Is it weird to say that I don’t? That I believe I lived in that house my whole life?”
“Did he drug you? Give you meds that made you forget? Move you out at night?”
I wouldn’t put it past him. “I don’t remember, Trace.” My memories are hazy. When my therapist asks, it’s the same. There’s this haze, this murkiness, that surrounds my past, and nothing I do will make the images clear.
“Hey, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out together.” He smooths his hand over my hair. My heartbeat slows. I hadn’t realized I was panicking until Trace crooned and comforted me with his voice and caress.
“Can I help you with your parents?” I fold my arms on his chest and rest my chin on my arms.
He bops my nose, and I scrunch my face, earning another smile. “Hell yeah. I have a feeling I’ll need all the help I can get, as well as a shoulder to lean on.”
“You want to lean on little me?” I ask, surprised.
“You’re stronger than you think, Sorrow.” He slides his hand under my hair and cups my nape.
“You think so?”
“I know so.” He massages my neck. “Tell me more about your time with the Grays. Was Rush nice to you?”