Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 126580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
“Trace,” she whispered.
She drew in a breath, but the emotions were there. Wetness was shimmering just on her eyes, slipping, pooling on her lower eyelids. She closed her eyes, and some of the tears were pushed out. They tracked down her cheeks. “I hate crying. Hate it.”
I reached for her, praying she wouldn’t step back.
I needed to touch her.
My hand grazed her face, and she sucked in her breath, but she didn’t push me away. She stepped toward me, opening those eyes, and I saw the pain. I saw the plea, too, and that was all I needed.
I moved in as she was reaching for me.
I needed her, but she needed me just as much.
We were both addicted.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
JESS
Six in the morning and I couldn’t sleep.
The sun was peeking through the curtain in my bedroom. My old bedroom. I had softball trophies on a shelf. A few basketball ones. Volleyball. You name it, I played it. And my sports teams’ photos. They’d been framed and hung on the wall, along with some pictures of my friends and me.
Trace rolled over in bed, his arm coming down to rest on my waist, and he moved in, kissing my shoulder. “You okay?”
No. Yes.
I put my hand on his and entwined our fingers. “I have no idea.”
He tensed, raising his head. Studying me.
“Hey.” He lifted himself so he was resting on his side, looking down on me, and I rolled my head on my pillow, taking him in. His hand, still with mine, flattened on my stomach. I shifted my hand so his palm was on my tummy while my fingers were still locked with his.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
I reached over, grabbed my phone, and showed him the text. “I got this an hour ago.”
Bear: Your mom is coming home today. She’d like to see you. Maybe come around the house tonight?
“He doesn’t know you’re already here?”
I shrugged, lifting my shoulder up on the bed. “I’m guessing not. Not surprised. This place wasn’t being taken care of by anyone.”
He gave me the phone back, his palm beginning to rub over my stomach. “She’s your mother. She went through months of treatment. For someone to stay that long, that means she chose to stay. I think it’ll be fine.”
He didn’t know my mother. “She hates me, and I don’t know why. Unless she really is mad that I went into law enforcement and Isaac is in prison, if she blames me for that.”
“It’ll be fine.”
“How do you know? I mean, really. How do you know that? You don’t. You have no idea if it’ll be okay or not.” I needed to move. “I’m sorry. I’m just on edge.”
I needed to be busy. Do something. I couldn’t sit here and dwell.
I couldn’t sit here and feel.
I pushed up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
Trace sat up with me. “What are you doing?”
I shook my head, standing. I grabbed for a sweater and pulled it on. “I have no idea. Shower? Then coffee? Then I’m going to clean every damn room in this house until they show up, I guess.”
I padded barefoot to the bathroom, pulling the curtain back and starting the water.
I couldn’t wait for it to get warm.
I couldn’t wait for anything.
I peed. Washed my hands. Brushed my teeth. And looked around, waiting for that water to warm up. There were no towels. Jesus. Where’d all the towels go?
But the shower was still going. Was it ready?
I exhaled a deep breath. I needed to get my stuff together.
“Hey.” Trace had come up behind me. He placed a hand on my back, and it soothed me, just through that touch. Some of his calmness seeped in. He leaned around me, tested the water, and moved the knob until it was a good temperature. As he waited, he stayed behind me, moving in so his body was touching mine.
I breathed him in, needing some of whatever he had that seemed to center me.
“Okay.” His voice was husky. “It’s ready.”
I nodded before taking my clothes off, but I was moving slower now. More languid. The need to “escape” wasn’t overtaking me so much. Trace helped me remove my tank top and my underwear, and as I stepped into the shower, his eyes were laughing.
I didn’t pull the curtain closed, stepping under the water spray.
He leaned against the wall, folding his arms, and he watched me as I showered.
As I wet my hair. Shampooed my hair.
His gaze dipped low, moving up and down my body as I began rinsing the shampoo out, then applying some conditioner. After that, body wash, but he stepped in with me. His hands covered mine as I began to move the washcloth over my body, the body wash seeping out in bubbles.
No words were shared.
My whole body heated up, but I was still soothed at the same time.