Chapter 17 – Trace
chapter
seventeen
Trace
What the fuck had I just done?
For one split second, I'd been no better than Trevor.
You almost blew it.
One second I'd been holding myself back from killing that asshole, and the next I was kissing Lena Hartwell like oxygen was optional.
Not exactly according to plan.
My knuckles throbbed against the steering wheel. I glanced down. The skin split across two knuckles, already swelling, Matt's blood dried in the creases. I flexed my fist. Pain lanced up to my wrist.
Perfect.
Hitting Matt had been instinct. But not the way people think. I'd told him to let her go. He'd dropped her wrist, and then, because he was the dumbest man alive, stepped toward me. Six inches shorter, forty pounds lighter, asking me what I was going to do about it.
The crack of his nose under my fist was the loudest sound I'd ever heard in a library. Books rained off the shelf behind him. Blood pouring through his fingers.
Ten minutes later, I gripped the steering wheel with busted knuckles and a hard-on that wouldn’t quit. Couldn’t decide which was the bigger problem.
You lost control.
Hockey was known for the fights. Everybody expected them on ice.
It was part of the sport, part of the show.
But Coach Bergman had been deadly serious about changing the image of the program at Loveland U.
Shit happened during a game, fine. But if any of us pulled that kind of bullshit off the ice, it was an automatic two-game suspension and less ice time.
With the draft coming, I couldn't afford two games. I couldn't afford one. Not to mention I was supposed to be the golden boy. Stable, nothing like my brother. Any resemblance to Trevor would spell trouble with the scouts, with Aaron, with everything.
One phone call from Matt, and it was over.
Season. Done. Draft. Done. Legacy. Done.
I hadn't lied to Lena. The Coulter name would help if it came to that. But I'd rather not have to depend on it.
And you'd do it again in a heartbeat.
That was the part that should've scared me.
Then there was fucking Lena.
That look she'd given me, open and vulnerable, like she needed me.
So you kissed her like an idiot.
I'd lost myself in her, forgetting every boundary we'd set, every rule we'd agreed on.
Yeah, we'd kissed in the stands. At the bake sale.
But what just happened in that library was different.
And if I was being honest, I'd been fucking with her a little at the awards dinner too, just to see if I could make her break.
Asshole move. This is supposed to be an arrangement.
It was one thing to need her because of the Trevor situation. It was another thing to give in to that ache for her.
The first my brother would understand.
The latter would detonate everything.
I scrubbed a hand down my face. Fuck. I didn't know.
Tonight, the moment my lips found hers, everything else ceased to exist. Like I could feel that invisible string between us shift. This was brand-fucking-new territory and I had no idea what to do with it.
She was never supposed to kiss me like that. Like she meant it. Like she'd been waiting to.
Except she was never yours to begin with.
The taste of her was still on my tongue.
Cherry lip balm and something underneath that was just Lena, warm and sweet and completely fucking dangerous.
She'd breathed my name against my mouth, and her body had arched into mine when my hand slid under her hoodie, her skin burning under my palm.
I'd barely touched her. Just my thumb grazing the underside of her bra, and she'd made this sound.
That soft and broken sound she’d made nearly killed me.
You’re not supposed to still want her.
Not that I could help it.
I was going to hear that whimpering sound in my sleep for the rest of my life.
I shifted in my seat, adjusted myself, and kept driving. Waylon was going to have a field day.
I wasn't even supposed to be in that library. We’d had team practice, then headed over for our team volunteer work at the youth center, reading to kids, signing mini sticks, the wholesome shit Aaron loved for my brand.
I should've gone straight back to the house. Instead, I'd walked four blocks to the bakery just because they had a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls and I knew Lena was studying and she always forgot to eat.
You are so far gone.
That was it. That's what I'd told myself. That I was dropping off food because it’s the kind of thing boyfriends did. That someone might see us and solidify us even more. I was just being a good fake boyfriend.
Uh huh. Yeah okay.
Instead, I’d found her cornered. That piece of shit's hand on her wrist and that smug, condescending look on his face, and every rational thought I'd ever had, evaporated.
Look how that turned out.
This wasn't real. Nothing about what we were doing was supposed to be real.
Except kissing her in the stacks, her hands fisted in my shirt, her back against the shelves, her mouth opening under mine like a door she'd been holding shut for years, that had felt real.
Real in a way that terrified me.
I'd told myself a million times that Lena was off-limits. That crossing this line would detonate everything.
Yet there I’d been, making out in a library like an idiot with no impulse control, and it had felt more right than anything.
Not trophies. Not my dreams.
Just her. Pressed against me. Trusting me.
Her heart? You're delusional.
But the way she’d looked at me after I hit Matt. Like I was some kind of hero instead of a guy hemorrhaging control. That did something to my chest I couldn’t undo.
When I pulled into the driveway, the October air cut right through me, carrying the smell of someone's firepit down the street. I adjusted myself, grabbed my bag, and headed inside.
Waylon was sprawled on the couch, with ESPN highlights playing in the background. There was an empty Gatorade on the coffee table and he was tapping on his phone.
His gaze flickered to mine before his brows furrowed. “The fuck is wrong with you? You look…on edge.” Then his gaze narrowed and he sat up. “We need to fuck someone up?”
Man, I fucking loved that dude. Even a hint of some bullshit and he was ready to back me.
“Nothing I haven’t already handled.”
His gaze swept over me like he was sizing me up. “Okay then, in case anyone asks, you were with me since the youth center. The other guys headed to O’tooles so no one’s really been around.”
My lips tipped up at the corners. “Thanks man.” Felt good to have someone have my back, no questions.
“Need ice for your hand?”
I shoved my hand in my jacket pocket. “Nah. It’s nothing.”
"That's not nothing. That's someone's face." He muted the TV. “Just so I know, what did you do?"
I didn’t need him asking why I needed an alibi. “I handled something."
"Handled something." A beat. “That something go by the name of Matt Hendricks? And the location have security cameras."
I hadn't thought about cameras. My stomach dropped.
Well fuck. “It was the library stacks. So unlikely.”
“Right.” He dragged a hand over his face. "If Coach finds out —"
"He won't." My voice came out harder than I intended. "Matt grabbed Lena. He's not going to report that."
Something shifted in Waylon's expression. The lecture drained out and something colder replaced it, the same quiet fury I'd felt in the stacks.
"He put his hands on her?"
"Yeah."
Waylon was quiet for a beat. Then he nodded once. "Still stupid," he said it with a shrug. "But good hit. Hendricks might walk into another fist. Lena okay?"
Besides her letting me kiss her? "Yeah, she's okay. I got there before he could hurt her."
He rolled the Gatorade between his palms, staring at the label like it was fascinating.
“My old man used to grab my mom like that.” He said it the way you’d say it’s raining.
Flat. Matter-of-fact. A weather report from a life he’d already packed up and left behind.
“Penalty minutes aren’t always about the game, man.
Sometimes they’re just practice.” He stood up, tossed the empty bottle into the recycling from across the room, nothing but net, and headed upstairs. “Night, Coulter.”
I sat there for a long time after he disappeared up the stairs. The TV played highlights neither of us was watching anymore.
Then I took the stairs two at a time, his words still sitting in my chest like something I couldn’t swallow.
When I reached my room I slammed the door shut then kicked off my shoes and peeled my shirt over my head. Her scent hit me hard. Coconut from her braids and something warm underneath, still clinging to the fabric.
I should have thrown it in the hamper.
Instead, I stood there like a jackass, pressing my shirt to my face and breathing her in.
You’re absolutely gone.
The mirror in the bathroom caught me on the way past. And I looked like a mess with split knuckles, tight jaw, this wild look in my eyes I didn't recognize.
Maybe we could go back to pretending.
Good luck with that.
And somewhere out there, Trevor had no idea.
My brother would be an obstacle. But I had broken the pact. And I was more than ready to break it again.
What would he do if he found out?
I already knew. He’d explode.
Maybe you’ve prioritized him too much. He never once thought about you.
I turned the shower on. Waited for steam. Stepped in.
Hot water hit my shoulders and I braced both hands against the tile, head dropped, letting it pound against the back of my neck.
It wasn't guilt eating at me. It was something worse. The realization that I was in way over my head.
You are so fucked.
My brain replayed everything on a loop. The taste of her. The feel of her body in the stacks. Her fists in my shirt pulling me closer instead of pushing me away. The heat of her skin under that hoodie when my hand found the curve of her waist.
My cock throbbed and I gritted my teeth. I tried to hold off. Didn't last. My hand dropped.
Just this once.
My cock called bullshit. Okay fine. That was bullshit. I knew it. My cock knew it. But my brain was reeling and I needed the lie.
I'd told myself before I was going to stop jerking off to thoughts of her. That had lasted approximately zero days. The count was at four, five if wet dreams counted, which I'd decided they didn't because a man needed to preserve some shred of dignity.
Who are you kidding?
My hand moved. Slow at first, thumb circling the head until I shuddered against the tile.
Her face behind my eyelids. Flushed, stunned, wanting.
That broken little sound she'd made. The way I'd said holy fuck, Lena and she'd just looked at me and said same.
One syllable. Flat. Like it cost her nothing. It gutted me.
It could. It had.
Everything about her is forbidden.
My brother's ex. She’d hated me for three years. The girl who was only here because I could help her mom. The girl who'd run the second she realized I was falling.
My hand moved faster. I was past the point of stopping, past the point of pretending this was something I could control. The memory of her arching into me, her gasp against my mouth.
I came hard. Teeth gritted. Her name in my throat.
Afterward, I braced my forearm against the tile and let the water run cold. My legs shook. Not from the release. From everything underneath it. The want. The fear. The certainty that I was fucked in ways that had nothing to do with sex.
I toweled off without looking at the mirror.
Get a grip.
Like that's possible anymore.
Sweats. Bed. The room was quiet except for ESPN drifting up the stairs and Waylon cursing at a bad play.
My eyes landed on the nightstand.
Kindred. The worn paperback with Lena's handwriting in the margins. I’d had it for years.
I’d never told her I had it.
Three years. Never once thought about giving it back.
Because giving it back meant letting go of the only piece of her you had.
I picked it up. The spine was soft from use. My use, not hers. I'd read it twice. Not because I loved the book, but because her notes were like having a conversation with her. Funny, sharp, sometimes angry.
Just like her.
I set it down and stared at the ceiling. Streetlamp glow cutting through the blinds. Another night, flat on my back, brain refusing to shut up.
We had a deal. It was supposed to be for show. But the lines were gone now, not blurred. Gone. And I was drowning willingly.
The feelings weren't unwelcome. That was the terrifying part. They were too big, too fast, too fucking inconvenient. But I didn't want them to stop.
I could pull it back. I could keep this contained. I was not falling for my brother's ex-girlfriend.
I wasn't.
And Trevor is going to lose his fucking mind.