“I can vouch for Trace.” Seven’s face takes up my phone’s screen. “He wasn’t in the bathroom. He was talking to the horticulture teacher about what flowers can be grown from seeds this month. I’m not sure why. Trace isn’t a plant person. He was into the discussion and lost track of time. Never seen my boy so excited and focused. It’s the reason he was late picking you up.”
Trace remembered my story about planting seeds in little pots and putting them on the windowsill? A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.
“Knowing how a vindictive, jealous girl like Phoebe can be, I bet that tape is old as fuck, and she saved it for when it counted the most, making you question what Trace feels for you.”
“How are you so sure that tape is old?” I can’t let it go. That Phoebe lied.
I agree with Seven. Phoebe is vindictive and jealous, and of course, she would lie. She’s a horrible person. She assaulted me. But Seven didn’t hear Trace say the words. I heard them with my own ears. That’s it, sweetness. Suck my cock. Choke on it. How could he? Any ounce of happiness I felt when Seven told me about the seeds vanishes.
Trace isn’t here to answer my questions. He didn’t come to visit, and it’s for a reason. He has something to hide.
“I just do, Sorrow. Can we leave it at that?” He’s avoiding looking at me.
“He’s not answering my texts or calls. Please, Seven. I have to know. Not knowing is eating me up inside.”
Seven sighs. “I’m not in the habit of tattling on my boys, but this is important to you, and you’re important to my girl, so I’ll tell.”
Leigh snagged a good guy. She is one lucky girl.
“Here’s the deal, Sorrow. Trace hasn’t been with a girl in months. He wasn’t feeling it.”
“He told me six months.”
Seven nods. “He cares for you. Otherwise, he wouldn’t share something so private.”
“A guy can change his mind,” I say. “Lust is one of the deadly seven sins for a reason. Lust destroys.” I want to bawl my eyes out.
“I get it.” Seven nods again with his eyebrows low to his nose. “You’re hurting.”
“I am,” I admit, my chest aching. “When you said Trace hasn’t been with a girl, does that, um, include everything that, um, brings someone pleasure?” A flush creeps up my neck and settles in my cheeks. It’s difficult to articulate what I’m asking for.
“We guys don’t kiss and tell, but if Trace ain’t feeling it, he ain’t gonna go looking for it or give anything up when the girls do the chasing after. Understood?”
“Yes.” The ache in my chest fades. “Why doesn’t he want to see me? He didn’t even come to visit or say goodbye.” I checked with the nurses and even asked my dad to ask security about it, in case they caught him on the security cameras. But he didn’t set foot onto hospital property at all.
“You’ll have to ask him. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you, Seven.” I push my eggs around on my plate. I love Dad’s cooking, but I miss Trace’s more. I miss his special pancakes with whipped cream for eyes and chocolate syrup for the smile. “Why’d he get suspended?”
Seven’s face lights up before it darkens. I startle. He is like my Trace. He has dark needs, too, beneath his smirks and the loving way he looks at Leigh.
“He found Phoebe and the d-bags who beat you. Phoebe, he can’t touch, her being a girl, and all, but the guys . . . He broke their noses with his fists and broke their legs with a baseball bat. Those motherfuckers won’t be walking for a long-ass time, and they sure won’t be breathing for shit either until the swelling goes down. He did them in good, Sorrow. For you.”
He did it for me. Yet he didn’t come to see me. I absently reach for my butterfly pendant. How it survived my being beaten up is beyond me, but it’s a miracle that my necklace, my gift from Trace, wasn’t ripped off my neck and stomped on.
“Thank you. Can you get Leigh in the frame, too? I have something I want to tell both of you.”
Leigh gets in view of the camera.
“I’m coming back. I want to graduate with our class. I’ll follow you all to DU. Please tell Trace I’ll be in Cambridge. I’ll be there as soon as I can convince my dad.”
Now that he’s found me, or rather, Trace helped reunite us, he doesn’t let me out of his sight. He has my cousins following me wherever I go, including my classes. The teachers put up with it because they’re scared of my uncle and his men. Cillian McCabe, apparently, has a reputation—or it’s just a rumor—that he’s the head of a family of Irish mobsters. To me, he’s not a monster, even though he looks like one with half his face scarred from hot oil thrown at him and his face catching on fire. He’s been nothing but kind to me.
The other students at first didn’t know what to do with me, but I learned my lesson from when I was rescued from the fire, discharged from the hospital, and thrust into the real world. I didn’t stay quiet. I let my personality come out.
Isla helped with the makeup and the clothes. I’ve met some nice boys and made friends with girls who remind me of Leigh and Rue. But the boys aren’t Malice and Seven. They’re not Rush, Beckett, and Gunner. I miss them. I miss Leigh and Rue. Most of all, I miss living in a small town where everyone knows everyone.
“You really mean it, Sorrow? You’re coming home?” Leigh’s eyes light up. The phone moves. She’s jumping up and down.
