Chapter 6 – Trace
chapter
six
Trace
You’re about to ruin your life, and you know it.
My conversation with Aaron had kept me up all night. During the party I'd barely finished another beer before crashing out early. My opportunity was sliding out of my hands because I hadn't been able to keep my dick in my pants.
But that wasn't the only thing keeping me awake. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Lena's face when she'd realized it was me. The way her expression had shuttered, walls slamming down so fast it made my chest ache. Three years of careful distance, and one dance had brought it all crashing back.
The early morning light filtered through the half-drawn blinds of my room and the place was dead quiet.
On the top shelf, tucked behind the others where no one would think to look, was a photo from senior year homecoming.
Me, Trevor, and Lena. She was grinning, full dimple, her body pressed between us, Trevor's arm possessively around her waist while my gaze gave away everything I felt but never said.
Pathetic. Even then, I'd been transparent as fucking glass.
I'd tried to forget, but I couldn't. Every woman I'd been with since had been measured against a ghost I couldn't stop wanting.
Who the fuck got bored with pussy? Apparently, me.
My phone buzzed against the nightstand and I rolled over, squinting at the screen—Trevor.
Idiot Brother: Sorry I didn't make it down to the party. Ended up taking a little detour. Vegas. Got up to no good.
Then a string of photos—Trevor with women draped over him at a blackjack table, Trevor with a bottle of something expensive, Trevor looking like consequences were a concept that happened to other people.
I swiped through them, each image more obnoxious than the last, then dropped back against my pillow and held the phone above my face. While I stayed up nights worrying about what might have been, he was blowing through cash and women like they were disposable.
Like she had been disposable.
The fucked-up part was that I missed him.
The kid who used to sneak into my room at two a.m. to watch hockey highlights when we were supposed to be asleep.
The brother who'd taken the brunt of Dad's disappointment so I didn't have to, because Trevor never cared what Dad thought and I cared too much.
On the one hand, I loved Trevor's ease with life. He never took himself too seriously, never stressed himself out. Money, good looks, and the Coulter name greased the wheels, and that's how he liked it.
Me: Thanks to your antics I need to find a girlfriend.
Idiot Brother: Oh shit, for real? Sorry Bro. At least pick a cute one.
Me: I'm thinking someone you know.
Idiot Brother: Who?
I stared at the screen for a beat too long. Then chickened out.
Me: Haven't decided yet.
Idiot Brother: Well when you do, make sure she's got big tits and an ass to bite into. But no clingers. And no relationship.
Of course that would be his advice. We loved each other but we were different people, and sometimes it felt like there was nothing else there. My stomach turned. Was this how he talked about Lena when they were together?
The thought made me want to put my fist through the wall.
There was also a text from Aaron. I scrubbed a hand over my face and read it.
Money Man: Have you figured out how to solve your problem?
Yeah, that was going to be an issue.
I tossed the phone on the bed and stared at the ceiling. The house was still dead quiet except for that drip.
Within forty minutes I was showered, dressed, and out the door.
The hot water hadn't done shit for the tension in my shoulders.
I already knew who I was going to ask. I'd known since the party, since I'd watched her walk away and the plan had crystallized like it had always been there, waiting for me to stop pretending I had other options.
Lena.
The problem wasn't finding the right girl. The problem was that the right girl would rather set me on fire than help me.
I made a sharp left at the student center, face buried in my phone, pretending to check my email when really I was drafting and deleting the same text over and over.
Hey Lena, funny story— Delete. I know this is going to sound insane— Delete.
Remember how you hate me? What if we used that? Delete, delete, delete.
Fuck. Fuckity fuck.
I was so locked into the screen that I didn't see what was coming.
Someone soft and warm slammed into me.
Before I knew what was happening, there was a squeal, a yelp, and a girl was going down.
Hockey instinct took over—the same reflex that made me catch a puck out of the air mid-play—and my arms wrapped around her waist before my brain registered what I was doing.
But we went down together. My back hit the grass hard, the impact knocking the wind out of me, and then she landed on top of me and the wind left for entirely different reasons.
Lena.
Draped over me like the universe had a sick sense of humor.
Her hands were braced on my chest, fingers splayed wide, and I could feel the heat of her palms through my shirt like a brand.
Her thigh had landed between mine and her face was inches from my neck.
The coconut shampoo hit me and my cock responded before my brain even caught up—zero to aching in the space of a heartbeat.
From this angle, I could see the dimple in her chin that I'd spent years trying not to stare at, and the rapid pulse hammering at the base of her throat.
Down, boy. We are not doing this on the quad at nine in the morning.
My hands were still on her waist. I could feel the bare strip of skin between her top and her skirt, warm and smooth under my fingers, and my thumbs moved over her hip bones without permission—the same spot I'd held her on the dance floor.
Let go of her. Let go of her right now.
I didn't let go.
Hands. On. Her. Skin.
My hands were shaking, and not just from wanting her.
Terror.
Because I was about to ask her to pretend to be mine, and pretending might actually kill me. Having a taste of her would make losing her again infinitely worse.
Her eyes went wide and her mouth hung open. Her hands were still on my chest and every point of contact was doing things to me that would get me arrested if I acted on them. Then she came to her senses. "Oh, for fuck's sake. Twice in one weekend. Jesus."
She tried to push off of me, but all it did was shift her hips and grind the sweet heat of her directly over my cock. Her thigh pressed harder between mine and I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted copper.
Her eyes went wide when she realized what was going on and she squealed. "Oh my God. Oh God, just hold still."
From beneath her, I drawled, "Isn't that supposed to be my line?" My voice came out rougher than I intended and I watched her register it—the way her breath caught, the way her fingers curled into the fabric of my shirt before she caught herself.
Her brows snapped together. "Are you laughing?"
I bit the inside of my cheek, but the grin won. "Well, it is pretty funny. Last night you were busy grinding on it like you wanted my cock in your ass, and you're doing basically the same thing right now."
Shut up. Stop talking before you make this worse.
I couldn't be sure, but I thought I saw a flush creep under her brown skin, and it made me grin at her like a lecher.
Oh yeah, way to go, asshole.
She shoved my chest and propped herself up.
When she stood, she was in workout gear—a turquoise sports top and one of those short running skirts, her golden brown skin on full display.
From my angle on the ground, her legs went on for miles, toned calves tapering to strong thighs that said she'd been hitting the courts on her own.
Her hair was tied up in a high ponytail of braids cascading down her back.
And why, oh why, did I want to wrap those braids around my wrist and tug?
And there it was—the guilt. Because she should be on a D1 team right now. She should have that scholarship. Instead she'd given it all up, and people like me never had to give up a goddamn thing.
What right do you have to ask her for anything?
I shook myself free of the image and pushed to my feet, brushing grass off my back. My shirt was damp from the morning dew. "Since you're not going to ask—are you okay?"
She brushed grass off her skirt with sharp, irritated strokes, not looking at me. "Yes, I'm fine. If you hadn't bumped into me, I would've been fine."
The muscle in my jaw flexed. She was right—my fault. "Sorry."
She finally met my gaze, and the flatness there was worse than anger. "Whatever."
I scrubbed a hand over the back of my neck. "Look, Lena—"
"You're okay. I'm okay. Let's just go our separate ways." She was already backing up, putting distance between us, her jaw tightening the way it used to before a big serve—bracing for impact.
You selfish piece of shit. What did you expect, a fucking hug?
I deliberately turned around, grabbed my bag off the grass, brushed the dirt off my jeans, and walked in the opposite direction. My hands were shaking and I shoved them in my pockets. My palms still felt warm where her skin had been, and I curled my fingers into fists to hold onto it.
That was worse than the anger. The anger I could work with. Indifference was a closed door.
And then it hit me—not a new idea, but the old one stripping away the last excuse I had to stall.
You already decided. You decided at the party. You've been stalling all morning because you're a coward, and the universe just literally threw her into your lap.
I tried to shake it off. Asking her was madness.
There would be war when Trevor found out.
But as I took the long way around to the cafeteria to grab some granola bars, every step confirmed what I already knew.
It followed me through the line, past the coffee station where I poured a black coffee I didn't taste, out the side door and across the quad.
She was the only one who made sense. She knew the Coulter world, could handle the scrutiny, and she already hated me—no risk of messy feelings on her end.
Also, she's your brother's ex.
Yeah. That small detail.
Trevor would have a fit, but after what he'd pulled and the bind he'd put me in, I'd let him know it wasn't even real. He wouldn't like it.
But you need someone. And you need someone soon.
I found my quiet corner on the third floor, back left, the carrel tucked behind the astronomy section where nobody ever came.
Morning light slanted through the tall windows and the whole place smelled like old paper and dust and quiet.
This was where I actually studied, where the noise in my head usually went still.
Not today.
I was going to ask Lena to be my fake girlfriend, and it was going to destroy me.
And what are you going to do when she finds out your secret?
But maybe if there were rules. Structure. Lines I couldn't cross.
You think some rules are going to save you? Good luck with that.
I pulled out my worn notebook and started scribbling out ground rules. Not a contract—I wasn't a fucking lawyer—just a list of boundaries, the shit that would keep my heart intact when this inevitably ended.
No kissing unless someone's watching. No staying over. No real dates. Public appearances only.
End date: when the draft buzz dies down and Aaron stops sweating. Clean break, no hard feelings, walk away like none of it happened.
I stared at that last one until the words blurred.
Walk away. Like you did at Jason's party. Like you've been doing for three years.
My coffee went cold beside me. Somewhere on the floor below, a printer whirred and someone's phone alarm went off and got silenced.
In the margins of the notebook, my pen drew her profile from memory—the curve of her neck, the fullness of her lips, the way her ponytail swung when she walked away from me.
I caught myself doing it and pressed the pen down hard enough to leave an ink blot.
Ground rule number one: don't fall in love with her.
Too late for that, asshole.
The pen kept moving anyway. Ground rules for her, really. Because I already knew mine wouldn't hold. I'd break every single one of them if she let me, and the only thing standing between me and total self-destruction was the certainty that she wouldn't.
But even as I wrote out the rules, even as I tried to convince myself this was about saving my career, I knew the truth.
This wasn't about Aaron or the draft or Trevor's fuckups.
But I was already reaching for my phone, already typing out the text that would change everything.
Because when it came to Lena, I'd never been strong enough to do the right thing.