Deck and Trace used to hang out a lot growing up. I wouldn’t consider them best friends necessarily, but they were the closest of the boys we grew up with. Mainly because they’ve always played football together. Going to their games at a young age was how Seren and I started getting closer. And even now, they’re still kind of close, I’d say. They make a killer team on the football field. Though, I’m not sure how Declan would feel about Trace if he found out we’ve been seeing each other. Or what he’d have to say to me, for that matter. But I guess now, he wouldn’t even bat an eye seeing as he’s too busy carelessly destroying his own life.
"He hasn’t said anything to me, but I’ve noticed it too, Livie. I just think he might be going through something that none of us know about. But you can't possibly feel the need to take on that burden as your own." Trace tries to help me understand by feeding me whatever therapeutic bullshit most people mightsay. But Trace isn't most people and though I can agree with his words—neither of us can possibly come up with answers to something that we don't really understand—how can we try to help him if he won't let anyone in?
"He's my brother, Trace. Besides my dad, he's all I got left." I finally build up the courage to look Trace directly in his eyes. I know he's been waiting for this moment, and I immediately feel what I do every single time.
Fire. Honey. Molten amber burning at the edges of my core as his hazel eyes pierce into mine. I feel my skin set fire every time he looks at me and right now is no different. It never fails. He literally lights my heart ablaze.
Trace holds his hand out, palm open, right next to my cheek. I take the hint, and step into it, letting my skin connect to his as he caresses my face with the softness of his touch.
"You have me," he professes, letting his thumb swipe gently under my eye.
"I don'thaveyou," I state, not oblivious to the fact that I am usually the one who ruins the mood with my uncanny ability to slip in my words of pessimistic realism.
"But not because ofme," he tells me, and I know that what he says is true. It's not because of him that we haven't been able to get past the secret rendezvous we've been having since the day he approached me after his football game.
We’re in secret because of me. Because of my fear of rejection by those around us. Because he has the power to break my fucking heart. Because I know hecan hurt me if he wants to. And I’m scared of what it would feel like to lose him.
I dip my head, allowing his hand to fall and I regret the way it feels to let him slip away like that.
"You won't lose him, Livie," Trace says, taking a step backward and shoving his hands in his jean pockets. "You just need to give him time to figure out how to navigate whatever it is he's going through."
"What if he never figures it out?" I question, knowing that this might not be something I should subject Trace to talk about, but he shows me time and time again why I have always known that he is the only one who will ever be able to make me feel good enough for the world.
"You have the kind of heart most people search the ends of the world to find, Olivia. And you don’t let a lot of people in so those who know what your heart feels like should consider themselves the luckiest mother fuckers in the world. But if Deck, your own brother, isn't going to open his eyes to see that, then at least you can say you tried and it’s his loss."
I sigh, knowing that he's right even if I need to be told it to believe that’s true. I have always tried to be the kind of person others can count on. And I always look out for those I care about even if that circle is small. But if they don't want to let me in, I can't force them. But it still hurts to watch them suffer.
Trace holds out his hand. "Do you want to get out of here?" he asks.
"Yeah," I say. "Where?"
"I know a place," he replies, and I take his hand, allowing him to pull me deeper into the forest and away from my troubled mind.
"An abandoned house?" I say, staring up at what looks to be the decayed aftermath of a full scribe cabin.
In the glittering light of the moon, the wood of the house looks slightly eaten at, like animals have taken a few pieces here and there. The roof has some missing parts to it and the wraparound porch has sunken into itself. Other than the noticeable features I'm able to make out, the shadows from the trees don't allow for more visual observation. The only thing I know is that besides this house being battered and derelict, it kind of gives me a sense of mystery and thrill.
"It's been untouched for years," Trace says from beside me, breaking me out of the warp the house seems to have me in.
"Do you know who lived here before?" I ask, turning to him.
From here, I can actually make out more of his face seeing as the moonlight is able to shine past the clearing of trees—not that I don't know every minute detail of his face like the back of my hand. But I have to turn away quickly just because I can feel my heart pounding in my chest and it’s a bit overwhelming.
"I don't know but it's up for sale actually." He takes a few steps closer to the house, and that’s when I realize that we're still holding hands.
It just feels natural to be with him like this though, even though it also feels forbidden. But I kind of likethe secretiveness that we've maintained. Though I won't lie, I really wish I didn't force us to be this way; I can see how badly Trace wants to be with me and he desires to do so publicly. There’s just a lot up in the air right now and if I technically don’thaveTrace, I can’t lose him.
"What exactly are we doing here?" I ask, following him as he drags us deeper.
"Follow me," he says, and I don't think twice about doing so. I trust him with my life.
As we enter the cabin, I nearly fall through a hole in the porch. Trace grabs on to me and saves me from the drop before he directs us to step over a few loose pieces of framing. I can feel just how hollow the inside is. The wood has sunken in in a few places, the atmosphere is dreary beyond belief, and there are still dusty old pictures hanging crookedly along some of the forgotten walls—images faded from time. It’s fascinating.
ButI don't focus too much on the old memories hanging haphazardly on the wall as I follow carefully behind Trace through the desolate home. Creaks can be heard beneath us as our feet brave the wood floor and before I know it, we're turning a corner where light can be seen glowing from a distance.
We approach a room at the end of a hallway, the light getting brighter as we do and as Trace leads me through the open door, my eyes go wide with surprise.
"Trace," I breathe his name with wonder laced in my words.
