30. Trace
Trace
S he didn’t even fucking look back.
Just climbed off Alden’s lap like she hadn’t just ripped the air straight out of my lungs, stepped out of the tub, and walked inside, feet leaving fire in every goddamn direction.
Water trailed behind her like a fucking crime scene.
And I just sat there.
Staring.
Trying not to drown in four feet of water.
Alden didn’t move either. His hands still under the surface, still frozen in the ghost of where she’d been.
I wanted to hit something.
Not him. Just… something. Anything. I needed to bleed the ache out. Needed to break something to make it real, to ground myself, to stop feeling like I was coming apart from the inside.
Because the way she looked at me before she left? It was fucking brutal.
“Showing you both what it feels like to want something you can’t have.”
Yeah. No shit.
I almost got out of the water. Almost followed her across the porch, soaking wet and unhinged, just to grab her face and demand answers. Just to tell her to fucking stop.
Stop playing. Stop teasing.
Stop making me want her so badly I felt like I was losing my fucking mind.
But I didn’t.
I just sat there. Boiling.
Wanting her more than anything I’d ever wanted. Knowing if I touched her right now, I wouldn’t stop.
Not at one kiss.
Not at one night.
Not ever.
So, I stayed.
Soaked. Silent.
Completely and utterly fucked.