Page 50 of Floodgates

“Why?”

“It was too close.”

“It was not. You’re delirious.”

He leaned close, so no one else could hear him. “At one point, Trace, I could feel how very happy you were to be near me.”

“Oh, go to hell,” I grumbled, rolling over so my face was against the back of the couch. “I’m tired.”

“Okay,” he agreed, his chuckle warm.

I heard the coffee table creak as his weight lifted up off it, and I wondered for the millionth time why he had to be such a dick all the time before I fell asleep again without my soup.

I HEARD clinking, and when I moved and stretched, my feet hit something solid. I lifted my head and found Cord staring at me from the other end of the couch.

“Still here?” I asked my voice gravelly and low as I reached out for my glasses.

“Yep,” he answered, pulling my foot into his lap and squeezing it tight.

“Oh God,” I groaned because the way he was rolling his knuckles under the arch of my foot was bliss.

“Your whole body is tense,” he informed me.

“I’m aware,” I grumbled. I pulled my foot out of his grip and sat up, putting both feet on the floor. “I’m sore, too.”

“You hungry?”

I nodded as I put on my glasses.

“Tracy, honey,” my dad called over from where he and my brothers and Beth were playing what looked like Texas Hold’em. “Do you want that soup now?”

“Chicken noodle will make me puke,” I told him honestly.

“I made your mother’s sopón de pollo con arroz,” he said gently.

“You did?” I asked, standing up.

“Yes.” He smiled at me. “Beth helped.”

I turned my gaze to her. “Thank you.”

She nodded quickly. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re so welcome.”

I felt like she was treating me like a child, but that was okay since I was hurt and everything.

“Just sit,” my father ordered me. “I’ll bring you some.”

“Dad, I can—”

“Listen to your old man,” Cord told me.

I was about to argue, ready to leave the living room, when he took hold of me, his grip like iron on my wrist. “What’re you doing?”

His gaze met mine.

“Cord?”

“Siddown.”