Chapter 19
Sorrow
“Well, what did you think?”
“Of what?” I glance up at Trace. We’re under the covers in my bedroom.
The lights are off, and moonlight shines through the windows.
“Your attempts at cooking the eggplant, that you became butthurt because it didn’t turn out as planned and the guys made fun of you?
Or how happy I am that you’re getting along nicely with Rush and his friends? ”
“All of the above.” He smooths his large palm over my hair, and I resist the urge to purr like a cat.
Turning into him, I wrap my arms around his neck. I have my PJs on, and he’s wearing a white T-shirt paired with gray sweatpants. “It was a great day and a wonderful evening. Thank you for making it happen. For setting aside your ego and being nice to the guys.”
“They like you, you know.”
“As a friend. Or more like a sister.”
“Yeah. They sure loved giving you knuckle sandwiches.” I can hear the smile in his voice.
“Thank you for helping me decorate the tree.”
“It’s nothing. Anyway, it was a team effort.”
He’s right. Rush, Beckett, and Gunner helped.
“But it is something. You don’t like Christmas.
” It’s what he grumbled about while we waited for the tree to get wrapped with the netting.
“So for you to help with the tree and put up lights on the house and the trees around it when you could’ve let Rush and the guys do it .
. .” My heart swells with happiness. “I could kiss you.”
“Whatcha waiting for, beautiful?” He waggles his eyebrows.
“Close your eyes, then.”
He does. I flutter my eyelashes over his eyelids and across his smooth, warm cheeks.
He groans. “Fuck, I’ll never get tired of these kisses.”
“You like them that much?”
“I like them too much, Sorrow.”
“Good. I love giving them.”
We smile at one another. I love being with him. He’s my peace, my safe place.
“Are they good at playing video games?” I don’t know much about what they were playing, but it was very violent, and after half an hour of enduring body parts getting blown up, I excused myself and baked chocolate chip cookies.
“I’d say they’re the GOATs.”
I smile. “Greatest of all time.”
“Yep.”
I nuzzle my face to his neck and rub my nose back and forth against his heated flesh.
“Careful. You’re gonna give me a stiffy.”
I laugh. “You’re funny.”
“And you’re turning me the fuck on.”
I bring up a dangerous topic I’ve been thinking about relentlessly while making cookies. “Did Phoebe turn you on when you were talking to her?”
“How—”
“Rush. He said that was the reason you didn’t come back with my coffee.”
“I’m sorry, Sorrow.” He kisses the top of my head, and I fortify the shield over my heart. He’s showing affection because it feels right to do in the moment. Other than our proximity, Trace would’ve kept his distance from me.
Had his father not fired my father as his business partner, Dad wouldn’t have let his drinking get out of control.
Had the firing not happened, Dad would have still homeschooled me and then permitted me to leave the house.
Except he didn’t remove the lock when I turned eighteen.
Why didn’t he? Why do I keep torturing myself over why my parents, then my father when Mom died, kept me away from the world?
After Leigh broke into the house, I could’ve left at any time. She was in. I had a way out. But I stayed because I worried about Dad and the threats he held over my head, that as soon as I left the house, bad people would kidnap me and keep me until Dad paid his debts to them.
Father was already unhappy with his lot in life, and I wouldn’t make it worse for him if I had the control to do something about it.
So, I stayed until he thought it would be safe for me to leave.
Then the fire happened, I was thrust into a world I knew little about, and I’m safe. Nobody came for me.
It’s depressing to realize his words were all lies, and resentment toward him threatens to consume me, but I won’t let it.
I won’t dwell on my past; it has too much power to hurt me and bring back my insecurities.
Am I good enough? Am I pretty enough? Am I smart enough?
Would people like me more if they didn’t know about my terrible past?
“Did you like talking with her? Does she want to, um, you know, hook up soon? Once the hero and heroine in my books have sex, that’s all they do,” I admit, taking the risk of being vulnerable.
Trace Saints isn’t my guy. I shouldn’t care that he talked to one of his hookups.
But the ache in my chest hasn’t gone away, even when my heart races with his nearness and butterflies flutter in my belly.
How can I hurt, be jealous, care, and be turned on?
I hate all these feelings. I should go back to being numb, scared, or nervous, but going backward seems like a waste of time.
“It wasn’t about that. Anyway, I told her we’re not doing that again.”
“Hooking up?” I need him to be clear with me.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He pulls me on top of him. In the darkness, his bluish-green eyes seem to glow. “I like how I feel when I’m with you.”
“How? When?”
“Why do you need to know?” He slides his hand under my hair.
His fingers grip the back of my neck. His body is solid beneath mine.
The temperature in my bedroom is just right.
Not too cold. Not too warm. My heartbeat speeds up.
My pulse jumps under my jaw. I’m lightheaded when he puts pressure on my neck with his fingers digging into my hyperaware flesh.
“Trace.” I melt into his body. His erection nestles between my hot spot. “You have a stiffy,” I accuse with laughter ready to burst from me. I’m happy he’s turned on.
“Pointing out the obvious.” He lifts his head. “Tell?” he murmurs on my mouth. “Remember, we aren’t supposed to catch feelings. It’s only been three nights. You catching feelings for me, Sorrow? Is it why you care so much how I feel when I’m with you and when it started?”
“I’m curious, that’s all.” I fold my arms on his chest and rest my chin on my arms. “Thank you for treating my friend Ember with kindness. Rush was a jerk to her.”
“Something happened between them when she was sixteen.”
“Her scar—”
“Not from him.”
I release a breath. “For a second, I thought I was wrong about him. He can be rough around the edges, but I didn’t think he could hurt someone. I don’t think she’s okay, Trace. And here I was, planning on setting her up with him.”
He tucks pieces of hair behind my ears. “It’s best to leave that one alone.”
“I will. But I won’t stop being friends with Ember.”
“You’ll be good for her.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. You have a big heart.”
I light up with a smile. “Thank you. No one’s ever told me that.”
“Your parents?”
“No. But don’t think they’re monsters because of it. They had their issues to work through. I was just along for the ride.” I shrug.
“A fucking bumpy one.” He scowls.
“Hey, turn that frown upside down. How about we change the subject? So, how else do you feel when you’re around me? When did all this start?”
He lets go of my neck and wraps his arms around me. His large palms rest on the small of my back. His thick fingers toy with my waistband.
“I’m happy when you’re happy. I was proud of how you opened up to the guys.
You weren’t quiet or reserved like you usually are.
You gave as good as you got when they teased you.
It tells me you can hold your own with guys who have enormous egos.
I was also proud of you for sticking up for your friend and fucking demanding that Rush give her a sizable tip.
She did well for her first day on the job. ”
“He’s a jerk,” I repeat. “He has no right to treat her like that just because they have a history together.”
“He’ll come around. Just give him time.”
“Is that what you needed with me? Time?”
“Nah. I just needed a girl to drop an experiment in my lap that gave me the chance to treat her better than I’ve been treating her. I was a dick, Sorrow. I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?”
He really is a good guy beneath the smirk and nonchalance.
“I do, Trace. We’re all living this life for the first time, aren’t we?”
“We are.”
He cups my face. I turn into his touch.
“I didn’t help my cause when I walled myself off from everyone but Leigh.
Now I know better. Being vulnerable and open to new experiences and people is a risk I never thought I’d be willing to take.
I’ve had my nose stuck in a book my whole life, or I was fine being with my parents, because I thought it was normal.
Even when it didn’t feel right, I should’ve gone with my gut instincts.
I’ll take more risks. It’s the only way to know what I like and don’t like, what will hurt and won’t hurt, and to learn from my mistakes for next time, right? ”
“You got that right.”
“When?”
“When what?” he asks with a smile.
I smack his shoulder. “You know what. When did how you felt start?”
“At the cliffside. When I told you the frogs croaked because they’re horny, and you laughed. You laughed straight from your soul—carefree, genuine. That’s when I started to feel.”
“I’m with you.” I felt the same as him at the same time. “Tell me more about Phoebe. Was she hurt?”
“Nah, she and I are past that. She knows I’d never develop feelings for her, and the same for me.”
“Whatever you two spoke about must’ve been important if you forgot my coffee,” I tease.
He blows out a sigh. “It was, but it wasn’t Phoebe.
It was what she was telling me. Phoebe’s into real-life crime and can go on and on about it.
She’s been really curious about you and your family, and she mentioned several crimes where—” He reaches over and turns on the bedside lamp.
“We need to have a serious talk, Sorrow. What Phoebe said ties in with your nightmares. We never finished our talk about it, from when you stared off like you remembered something horrible. What I heard was gut-wrenching.”
He pushes to a sitting position and takes me with him. I straddle his thighs with my arms around his neck. “I’m ready.” Am I? Trace said Phoebe’s into real-life crime. What little I recall of my nightmares is darkness, screaming, and the gurgling of a man slowly dying, choking on his blood.
“If at any time you want me to stop talking, and you’d rather we turn in for the night, tell me, okay?”
“You’re scaring me.” I let go of Trace’s neck.
He takes my arms and circles them around his neck again. His eyes focus on mine. “Remember, this is a true-crime story from Phoebe, who likes to overdramatize stuff to make it sound macabre.”
“That’s a big word.” I backtrack. “I’m sorry. I’m nervous.” I grasp and let go of the hair at his nape.
“I’m here, Sorrow.” He slides his arms around me and interlaces his fingers over my lower back. “Ready?”
I nod. He exhales.
“Phoebe said there was an instance in the news around the time you were born of a pregnant woman being gutted and her baby stolen from her belly. This happened in San Francisco. The perpetrator was never found. Same with the baby. Phoebe sent me the article. I didn’t want to show it to you.
I will only if you’re ready to take everything I show you in, Sorrow.
What I show you could be life-changing.”
“It’s that bad?”
“Good. It’s good, Sorrow. Well, a mixed bag, really.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, inhale, and exhale. Am I ready? I have to be. What could be worse than losing my parents and being the social pariah of the town? I open my eyes. “I’m ready.”
Trace grabs his phone off the nightstand, unlocks the screen, and shows me a picture.
The girl in the picture looks like me. Same long black hair and eye color. Next to her is a man in his late forties with dark-brown hair and blue eyes. He’s in a police uniform. They must be at a high school graduation. She’s wearing a royal-blue gown and a cap.
“The woman is Isla McCabe. Her father is Ian McCabe. She’s eighteen in this picture.”
“The same age as me,” I say with awe. We look so alike we could be twins. I enlarge the picture and zoom in on the cap’s tassel. “Isla would be twenty-one now.”
“Yes.” He tightens his hold. I relax into his strength. “Her mother, his wife, died eighteen years ago. Phoebe believes you’re the baby.”
I tear up. “She looks just like me.” I can’t get over how much we look alike.
“She does.”
“This is my family.”
“I believe so.”
“Then what’s wrong? Why is it a mixed bag?” Hope soars in me. I have a family. An older sister. A father who is a police officer.
“Sorrow, the McCabes are Irish mobsters.”