“It’s the reason you were near my bathroom. You were listening. Were you laughing the whole time?” How could he? “My dad used to do that. Hover around. It was after my mother died. I found her. Did you know that? Does everyone know that?” I’m panicking. I’m angry. There’s no fear. Only rage. I jab my finger into his shoulder. “Say something, you jerk!”
“You don’t remember the nightmares, do you?” His face softens.
Oh God, brooding Trace Saints doesn’t show concern unless something awful happened.
“What nightmares?” My voice rises. Someone clears their throat behind us.
“We’re not having this conversation here, Sorrow.”
There’s pity in his voice. What did I say in my sleep? What did he hear that I can’t remember? No, not remember. It’s what I’ve suppressed—suppressed memories. My therapist brought it up, and I refused to listen to her, moving on to a different topic, like school and how great the kids are to me. Lies. All lies.
Trace steps away from the door and bumps into Rush. Rush stumbles back. His face is twisted with anger. “If you hurt her, Saints?—”
“No one’s hurting anyone, Gray. Mind your own fucking business.” He goes to shut the door. I grab the handle and shut it before he can. I roll the window down so I can hear them.
“I’m picking her up tomorrow.”
“No one’s stopping you, bruh.”
“You better not,” Rush mutters before he walks away.
9
Trace
She slams the truck’s door and rushes up the steps to the front door. I don’t go after her. Sorrow has a house key, and I’m giving her time to digest what happened back at the clearing. I’m also taking the time to compose myself.
I’m pissed off at Rush Gray for interfering in my business with Sorrow.
I’m pissed off at her for giving him the time of day.
What I won’t lose sleep over is letting Phoebe know I am done with being her comfort fuck. She needs to do something other than getting a different guy under or over her after a bad breakup. The emptiness after our hookup isn’t worth five minutes or less between the sheets. Maybe that’s why my beast is dormant. He’s looking for something more meaningful.
Sorrow unlocks the door, hurries inside the house, and slams the door behind her.
Fuck me, she’s pissed off. I’ve never seen Sorrow this angry. Smirking, I shake my head and lock up my truck. There’s a fighter inside that small, skinny body, and I aim to poke at her until she’s had enough and takes a swing at me.
That girl needs a good fight and a good cry like no one’s business, and I’ll be there to witness her coming apart at the seams of her stoicism with a grin of satisfaction on my face. Then I’ll catch her when she falls and hold her tight in my arms, letting her know I’m here for her.
I kick at the dirt. Jesus H. Christ. What kind of loverboy shit is taking up space in my head? There’ll be no poking Sorrow. She’ll keel over, and with my luck, I’ll have to give her mouth-to-mouth and breathe life back into her fragile body.
I enter the house and close the door behind me. The lock clicks in place and echoes through the house. I walk to the kitchen, set my keys on the counter, and grab a bottle of water from the fridge. I plop down on the couch and wait for Sorrow to get out of the bathroom.
There’s the sound of running water followed by the bathroom door opening. I barely hear her footsteps on the wood floor. She took off her boots and left them near the door.
Sliding my arm along the back of the couch, I shift my body and watch her walk toward me. Her arms are crossed over her stomach. Sorrow doesn’t look at me. Her gaze is downcast. I get it. My temper scares her. My brooding makes her nervous. The tense, thick silence on the drive home didn’t help. I didn’t say a word to break the silence. I was too pissed off, and my words would have carried some serious fucking weight that would scare her more.
I need to learn to keep my temper in check.
I need to remember that Sorrow is dealing with some serious trauma from her past and having to see her father die in that damn fire.
I need to remember that she is in my life temporarily.
She intends to move out of the house and rent a room with Mason. That’s the proverbial bomb Seven dropped on me a few days ago while we were playing Call of Duty. He’d overheard Leigh and Sorrow talking when he went to pick up Leigh after her shift ended at the auto parts store. Fuck me, why would Sorrow think it’s a good idea to room with a thirty-something-year-old grown-ass man? I sigh, knowing the reason.
Sorrow would rather risk living with a man she barely knows than be a burden to a family that took her in because my father and her father were old business partners until my father parted ways with hers. I’m not sure what happened, but it had to be for a good reason. My father doesn’t ruin a partnership unless there was one.
I rise from my seat and turn up the thermostat. If she’s going to be uncomfortable, she might as well be warm. I sit, and she takes a spot on the opposite end of the couch. I offer her my water. She shakes her head. I down the bottle, then slide off my shoes. There’s silence. I wait for her to bring up something, anything.
