Chapter 30
30
T race wanted to die.
He lay sprawled on his bed, belly down, head turned so his good cheek pressed against the pillow. The right side of his face, where he’d taken most of JT’s punches, was swollen, and his back had scabbed over. Mostly. He’d needed nine stitches to close various deeper cuts on his face and hand.
The day after a fight was always the worst. He’d learned that in the prison infirmary.
His dad appeared in the doorway. “What was I going to the kitchen for?”
“Ice.” It was the third time his father had returned to ask. And he didn’t even remember having to ask the time before.
He gave Trace that blank stare.
“Ice, for me, Dad.”
“Oh, right.” He nodded, but still stared, confused. “What happened to you?”
Trace sighed. “Can you just get the ice?”
“Sure, sure.”
But after his dad left the room, the television clicked on, and a chair in the living room creaked.
Trace groaned and reached for the Advil on his nightstand. He popped three pills into his mouth and washed them down with water, wishing they would do something for the pain in his chest.
When he replaced the bottle on the nightstand, his gaze held on the clock: 2:15 p.m. He wondered how Avery was handling everything today. Wondered if Delaney had found someone to finish the café for her. He’d tried calling Avery twice already in hopes of talking her into letting his friend come help, but she wasn’t answering.
Not that he blamed her.
And fuck, that just made all the memories flood back in—the panic on her face when she’d begged him not to go after the truck, the relief swamping her when he’d returned, the alarm when she’d seen his injuries. But the worst—the very worst—had been her fear. That spark of fear when he’d reached out to touch her.
A throbbing ache kicked up at the center of his chest. Yeah, that was the real killer. After everything they’d been through and shared, she was still afraid of him.
But again, he couldn’t blame her. He’d been thinking about this for the last twelve hours while he hadn’t been able to sleep. He had been beaten up and covered in blood. JT had looked just as bad. By going after JT like a vigilante and kicking the other man’s ass just to get the appliances back, Trace had proven that while he may have paid his debt to society, he was still living on the edge of acceptable behavior.
And for the good girl who lived to please and nurture others with an ingrained need to make all things right, Trace had to look like a broken man with too many missing pieces to salvage the whole.
“Why aren’t you at work?” His father was in Trace’s room again and now shuffled to Trace’s bed and lowered to the edge.
Trace had already told his dad a half-dozen times why he wasn’t at work, but he told him again. “Because my job is over.”
But in some ways, Trace felt like his life had ended along with that job. At least the spark of life that had kept him going over the last few months. A spark named Avery.
“Then why aren’t you finding a new job? You’ve never been one to sit around.”
Trace huffed a laugh, but he didn’t smile. “Because I hurt everywhere.”
George looked at Trace as if noticing the bruises and cuts for the first time. “Oh, yeah, you’re a mess, aren’t you? Probably couldn’t get a job lookin’ like that anyway.”
“Good point.” And just one more bubble burst.
The front door opened, and Gram’s voice floated down the hall. “Hello, boys. I brought goodies.”
George’s face lit up. His posture straightened, and a smile turned his mouth. “Avery brought turnovers.”
Trace groaned. His father could remember Avery and her apple turnovers, but he couldn’t remember to bring ice from the kitchen.
Pearl stepped into the bedroom. George’s smile fell, and he shot Trace a look. “I don’t think that’s Avery.”
“Good eye, son.” Pearl found that amusing. “And what are all the handsome men in my life doing back here?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Pearl started toward Trace and ran her hand over his hair the way she had when he’d been sick as a kid. “Poor Trace. How are you feeling, honey?”
“As good as I look.” And he couldn’t take all this fuss. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to sit up. “Since you’re here, Gram, I’m going to run to the café.”
If he could stand without passing out.
His grandmother didn’t like that idea, but she was too busy answering George’s questions about apple turnovers to keep after Trace, and he slipped out of the house. He rehearsed his apology for the tenth time since he’d returned home that morning on his drive. His palms were sweating when he turned onto the café’s driveway.
His hopes died when he found the Jeep missing from where Ethan had parked it in front of the café last night. Ethan’s truck sat in its place. That meant either Ethan and Delaney were here, or they’d taken the Jeep into the shop and Avery was using Ethan’s truck until she could afford her own car.
Considering the simple logistics of making sure everyone had a car in the family would now be a huge ordeal since Trace had gone and put one out of commission.
Footsteps on the gravel tripped his heart. He turned his head, hoping to see Avery.
“Hey.” Delaney walked toward his truck instead. She didn’t look angry, but she didn’t look happy either. She leaned against Ethan’s truck, her gaze narrowed against the sun. “You look like refried shit.”
“Feel worse.”
“You should.” Her gaze slid over his arm and rested on his hand. “Bet those knuckles hurt.” Her tone quieted . “My Dad had knuckles like that.”
Trace’s mind flashed to the moment he’d reached out to Avery, to her eyes darting to his hand, to her flinch.
“I just talked to Ethan,” Delaney said, cutting into Trace’s thoughts. “He’s at the insurance adjuster’s office. They have the police report and talked to the truck rental company. There will be some hoops to jump through, but they’re going to give us market value for the Jeep, less our deductible.”
Trace’s brain realigned, and he breathed a little better. One good turn of events. “What’s the deductible? I’ll get a cashier’s check from the bank and drop it off later today.”
“Well, since you actually had your head out of your ass when you rented the truck and took out insurance with the rental company, it’s going to cover the deductible.”
Wow, why couldn’t he get that lucky in other areas of his life?
“Too bad all your decisions couldn’t be so well thought out,” Delaney said.
Bingo.
He nodded again, wondering what the best decision would be now—to check on Avery or just leave. The whole idea of walking away last night had been so he wouldn’t be associated with her. Yet here he was...
He’d made such smart decisions up until Avery. Ever since then, he’d been impulsive and reckless.
And spontaneous and alive.
And happy.
“Didn’t expect to see you here again.” Delaney crossed her arms and gave him that contemplative look.
“Guess I probably shouldn’t be.” He glanced at the café, wishing he could turn back the clock and pick up the phone to call the cops instead of going after JT himself. “I just...”
“Love her.”
Trace was nodding before he processed the words. “What?”
“Love her,” Delaney repeated as if he were dense. “You just love her. I know.”
His mouth formed words, but all that came out was “I . . . uh . . . that’s . . . well . . .”
Delaney laughed, the sound filled with true amusement. “You’re an even bigger idiot than Ethan was. He’ll be glad to hear he’s been taken off the top of that list.” She pushed off the truck. “I’ve gotta get down to the brewpub.” She rounded the front of the truck calling, “Don’t torture yourself anymore—Avery’s not here.”
Everything inside Trace slid two inches lower.
When Delaney reached the driver’s side, she paused and met Trace’s gaze. “And don’t bother coming back for a while. She’s postponing the opening. She took a mental health trip to the coast.”
“Ah, fuck .” He dropped his head back against the seat. He felt like he’d swallowed a rock. “Everything I did last night was so she could open on time .”
“No,” she said with you-dumb-fuck attitude, “everything you did last night was because you’re in love with her . Jesus Christ,” she muttered, “why do such smart men act like such morons when it comes to women?”
She asked the last more of herself as she climbed into the truck. The passenger’s window was open, and she continued speaking to Trace as she pushed the key into the ignition and started the engine. “You had such potential, you know?”
Trace lifted a brow. “Potential?”
She turned and met his gaze. “Yeah, potential. You know, that thing that happens when you drag yourself from the trenches and keep going. You had yourself on a great track. You’d suffered and sacrificed and worked your ass off. You took this job for next to nothing for the mere possibility of gaining work from it.”
Delaney looked through the windshield at the café and gestured to it. “That place is potential personified. You took it from an eyesore that everyone in town wanted to rip apart to a gorgeous place where they can gather together.”
Trace sat there, speechless. He’d been so focused on getting the building done, he hadn’t taken the time to appreciate how far it had come. How far he’d come.
How far he and Avery had come. Together.
“Or, well,” Delaney said, “you almost got it there.” She tipped her head, turning her gaze on Trace again. “The way you almost reached your own potential.”
The knife in his gut twisted.
Delaney put the truck into gear and laid her arm over the seat to back out. “It’s a shame, Trace.” Her gaze was sad but sincere. “Because you made Avery really happy. Like cheek-cramping, four-year-old-on-a-playground happy.”
Delaney backed out and continued down the drive, leaving Trace swimming in turmoil.