9. Trace
Trace
I told myself I wouldn’t go near the fire pit again.
That I’d keep my distance, stay inside. Do the right thing for once in my goddamn life.
But distance doesn’t mean shit when your whole chest still smells like her.
The fire was mostly out by the time I made it down the hill—just low coals, the ghost of heat left in the sand. The tequila bottle was still there. Half-empty. Abandoned like it didn’t carry her fingerprints all over it.
Crouched next to the embers, I let the smoke sting my eyes. My hands wouldn’t stop moving. Restless. I ran them over my face, then through my hair, trying to shake her out of me.
She didn’t know I left to protect her.
Thought I ran.
Maybe I did.
I reached in my pocket for a cigarette, then spotted it near the firepit, half-buried in gravel beside a bottle of tequila.
Her lighter. The one she used all those years ago and never gave back.
I picked it up, slid my fingers along the engraved crest she never asked about, and lit the cigarette.
My fingers trembled slightly as I brought it to my lips.
That night plays in my head like it’s mine to suffer—her eyes on me, that look like she knew.
Like she fucking knew I loved her and just didn’t say it.
Because saying it would’ve been the point of no return.
Because once I crossed that line, I wouldn’t survive. That’s the thing about Scarlett. You don’t fall for her once. You fall forever. And then you fucking drown.
I loved her. It’s why I left.
And now I’m back, circling like a fucking vulture, waiting for the fallout.
Footsteps echoed behind me.
Alden sat beside me, arms resting on his knees like we weren’t about to unravel the only thread we all still had in common.
“She still doesn’t remember,” he said.
“No.”
He nodded once. “She’s going to hate us.”
“All of us.”
Silence lingered for a minute, the sound of waves brushing the shore, the occasional crack of burning wood hanging between us.
“You think we made it worse?” I asked.
Alden gave a humorless laugh. “What, by pretending we were just her friends? By not telling her who we really are?”
“By letting me fall in love with her,” I said.
He looked at me, jaw tight. “You think you’re the only one?”
He didn’t have to explain. I knew what he meant.
“We all love her,” he said quietly. “That’s the fucking problem.”
There wasn’t anything to say.
He was right.
“You were the only one who left,” he added. “You could’ve stayed—Like the rest of us.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
I looked at him. “Because I would’ve ruined her.”
“She’s not something to ruin, Trace.”
“She’s not something I deserve, either.”
I rubbed my wrist, hoping it would quiet the buzz under my skin. It never did—not since her.
Alden didn’t argue.
Just stared into the fire as if it would answer for us.
“She’s going to figure it out soon,” I said. “The lies. The past. Me.”
“Yeah.”
I flicked ash into the sand. “And when she does?”
“We lose her.”
I crushed the cigarette into the ground.
And for the first time in a long time, I wondered if maybe we deserved to.