Beautifully Damaged (12 page)

The following morning, Trace woke me from a sound sleep with breakfast in bed. It was a treat waking up to that face and even more so when he laid the tray down to help settle me against the headboard. He placed the tray on my lap and lay next to me to watch as I ate. After a few mouthfuls, I scooped up some eggs and offered them to him and he didn't hesitate to open wide, which made me smile.

"Thank you. I haven't had breakfast in bed since my ninth birthday when my dad brought me a Belgian waffle, smothered in strawberries and whipped cream." I lifted my eyes to him before I asked, "What are your plans for the day?"

"I need to get groceries. Maybe you could come with me."

"I'd like that."

Food shopping with Trace was definitely an experience. He tended to buy things in bulk and I understood this as I looked at him. His size alone requires him to eat at least twice what a normal person would. To watch him eat, you would never believe that he hasn't an ounce of extra flesh on his frame. Another interesting observation was people's reactions to him because he really was a sight with his dark beauty and his six-feet-four-inches of muscles and tattoos. Seeing him in all his hard-ass glory while he looked at the nutritional information on a box of cookies was so freaking adorable.

We were standing in the baked-goods section where I discovered that Trace has a sweet tooth. While looking at the case filled with sweet treats, he asked, "What do you like better, cakes or pies?"

"I like them both but I rarely eat them, too fattening." My cake-pop fetish doesn't count since they are so small they are almost nonexistent. Nevermind that I tend to eat several at one time.

He took a step back and, quite intentionally, looked me from head to toe and back again before a grin tugged at his mouth.

"You could stand to put on a few pounds."

"No way, I'm heavier than I look."

"Really?"

Faster than my brain could compute, he snatched me up over his head like a barbell and repeatedly pressed me as if I weighed no more than a sack of potatoes. He was causing quite a scene. Well, maybe it was my shrill screeching for him to put me down. He finally placed me gently back on my feet and actually got an applause from the people around us, which he accepted with a bow before turning back to me and laughing.

"Like I said, you could stand to put on a few pounds."

I strove for a stern face but the boyish look in his eyes was my undoing as I laughed right along with him.

I had to work throughout the following evening so by the time my shift was over, I was dead on my feet. I settled my checks with Trent and headed outside to hail a cab but as soon as I stepped into the cool night my feet stopped of their own volition to see Trace leaning against his bike.

"What are you doing here?"

"I figured you'd be hungry and tired so I came to feed you before getting you home and into bed."

He said it, his eyes darkened and I knew that he, too, was thinking of us, naked in bed. I had to fan myself from the mere thought of it as I said, "I like the sound of that."

"Behave." His voice was oddly hoarse when he issued that reprimand before he added, "...in bed alone."

"I didn't doubt it but a girl can dream."

I heard as he growled, low in his throat, which only made me grin before I asked, "I thought you had a fight tonight?"

"I did."

"Did you go?"

"No."

"Why?"

"I wanted to see you more."

I was speechless. He touched my cheek before he whispered, "Come on; let me feed you."

I smiled as my eyes sparkled with mischief. "...and take me to bed. Don't forget."

"I'm going to put you over my knee."

"Oh, I wish."

He was laughing as he straddled his motorcycle.

In the weeks that followed I started to see a change in Trace. He was happy. The coldness in his eyes was gone and that vacant look, which I'd seen too many times to count, was appearing less and less. He'd let me see a part of him that he kept hidden and I realized that I had been right, there really was so much more to Trace than met the eyes.

His demons still haunted him though and still influenced how he felt about himself. I wished he would talk to me and let me in but any attempt I made to talk to him about his past was very efficiently shutdown. Could people truly be happy if they were unwilling to put the ghosts of their past to rest? I suspected no.

Trace and I were out with Rafe at a local bar and as I watched them, I couldn't help but smile. There was a lightheartedness to Trace, something I knew that Rafe picked up on, too, if his looks in my direction were any indication. I was happy to see the change in Trace -- thrilled even -- but I had the sense that the other shoe was going to drop. I had the feeling that this more carefree Trace was just temporary and that eventually his past was going to catch up to him again. This time, when it did, I was at a real risk of having my heart broken because I had gone and done the unthinkable. I was falling in love with Trace and whenever he was to walk away, he'd be taking my heart with him.

On Sunday morning, I was awaken by a heavy object dropping onto my bed. When I peeled my eyes open I saw Trace grinning at me as he lay next to me with his head on his upturned hand. Like every other morning, I needed a minute because, damn, it was really nice waking up to that face.

"What time is it?"

"Seven."

"Ugh!" I pulled my covers up over my head and rolled onto my side. "Go away and come back when the big hand is on the twelve and the little hand is on the ten."

"What do you want to do today?"

"Sleep."

"Since I'm free today, we should do something. What do you normally do on Sunday?"

I lowered the covers and sat up since I'd come to learn that Trace was very chatty in the morning.

"I usually curl up on the sofa and read, sometimes I watch a movie, and sometimes I hog-tie overly jubilant morning-people and tickle them with a feather."

His smile was completely unrepentant and why I found that so endearing I couldn't say. "What do you do?"

He shrugged before he said, "Nothing."

"Nothing, like at all? You just, what, sit in the living room and stare at the ceiling?"

He reached over and tugged on a lock of my hair before he rolled onto his back and folded his arms under his head.

"I usually just watch TV but with you here we should do something."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Is there something you've wanted to do in the city that you haven't had an opportunity to do yet?"

"I'd like to see the Statue of Liberty."

He sat up at that and grinned. "Then that's what we'll do. Get dressed."

After Trace left my room I climbed from bed and quickly made it before tugging on a pair of jeans and a black sweater. I had to dig around in the closet for my black Converse sneakers before I ran a brush through my hair and pulled it up into a ponytail. After a quick trip to the bathroom, I was ready to go as I carried my leather jacket down the hall to the kitchen where Trace was already waiting.

His back was to me so I took a moment to soak up the sight of him. He was dressed in jeans but, instead of his standard t-shirt, he was wearing a sweater of a color in the exact shade of his eyes. Regardless of how the sweater looked, there was no denying the powerful body underneath it.

"I'm ready."

He turned and moved his eyes over me in a manner very much like the thorough perusal I had just given to him. When they finally settled on mine there was no denying the heat burning in them. He slid on his jacket and helped me with mine before he reached for my hand and led me from the apartment.

The drive through the city went pretty quickly since the traffic was so light and before long, we were parking near the docks. We climbed off his bike and Trace reached for my hand as we followed the signs for the Statue of Liberty ferries.

"Have you ever been to the Statue of Liberty?" I asked suspecting that he had been multiple times so I was more than a little surprised when he answered no.

"I thought you grew up in the city."

"No, I moved here when I was fifteen."

"Oh."

I could tell by the tightness of his voice, and the clenching of his jaw, that I was dangerously close to a topic he didn't want to discuss so I immediately attempted to switch gears.

"I can take apart an engine and put it back together again."

He stopped walking as he looked down at me with the oddest expression on his face.

"Yeah, my dad taught me. I was the only kid in shop class, who got an A on that assignment."

I watched as the tension drained from him and a smile tugged at his mouth.

"What else did your dad teach you?"

"I can run a pool table."

This had him laughing and the sound was so wonderful that I found I was looking for things to say to make him do it again.

"I can't bake though. My cakes could be used as building materials."

We started to walk again as his hand wrapped more tightly around mine before he asked, "And your mom, what did she teach you?"

Trace knew that I grew up with just my Dad but I never told him how or when she died. "She died when I was three, hit and run."

He stopped then and turned to me as his finger touched my chin to lift my face to his searching gaze. "I'm sorry."

"I was so young that I really don't remember her. Strange isn't it? I can't even picture her face or remember her voice. If not for my dad showing me pictures and telling me stories, I wouldn't know her at all. For him, she was the love of his life and even twenty years later, he still mourns her loss, misses her everyday, and loves her just as deeply as he had the day they married."

"She was my age when she died. They had been together for only six years, married for three, but their love was so strong that even the memory of it is enough for my dad. When I was younger, I couldn't imagine loving someone with that kind of intensity, and knowing that the one you're with is the only one you'll ever want."

I realized that I was rambling so I stopped talking as Trace just looked at me. His expression was completely unreadable. He wrapped his hands around my face as he looked deeply into my eyes before he whispered, "I can..."

My heart literally skipped a beat hearing those words from this man before I added, "...me, too."

I leaned into him because I wanted him to kiss me, I wanted to taste him again, to feel his arms coming around me. Instead, he pressed a kiss to my forehead where his lips lingered for a moment before he pulled back and took a step away from me.

I couldn't read his expression at all as he stood there silently watching me. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he offered me his elbow, "We don't want to miss the ferry."

My premonition turned out to be true and the other shoe did drop. Ever since our Statue of Liberty trip, Trace had been very careful to keep his distance from me. He would no longer wake me up by bouncing on the bed and, honestly, I missed it. The glimpse I caught of a more carefree Trace was just that, a glimpse, and if anything he was more reserved and brooding.

Sometimes it felt as if he didn't even remember that he was sharing an apartment with me but then I'd catch him watching me and I could only describe the look on his face as longing. I really didn't understand why he seemed so determined to keep away from me, when clearly we both wanted the same thing. I wanted to talk with him about it but he was rarely in the apartment any more.

One night I was curled up on the sofa reading when there was a knock at the door. I walked to it and pulled it open to see a beauty of a woman standing there. Her long black hair fell down around her shoulders, her green eyes were large, almond-shaped and thickly lashed and her figure was stunning in the black sheath she wore. She looked me from head to toe and back again and I could tell she thought me no competition before she purred, "Is Trace here?"

My heart just stopped as a numbness stole over my limbs. It was difficult to talk around the lump that had formed in my throat but I did manage, "No, he's not here."

"He told me seven."

It hurt, that damn organ in my chest, as I held the door open for her.

"Would you like to wait inside?"

She brushed past me as if she owned the place before she settled herself on the sofa and lifted my book to see what I was reading. Her eyes found mine and I saw a shrewdness in them when she asked, "Who are you to Trace?"

Good question that I didn't have to answer since at that moment the door opened and Trace walked in. I watched as those eyes moved from me to his date and back again but I couldn't read him. His expression was perfectly blank.

"Are you ready, Siobhan?"

"Yeah, baby."

He walked to her and reached for her hand, linking their fingers. The sight left tears burning the back of my throat. His eyes stayed on me as he brushed his lips over Siobhan's before he patted her on the ass and said, "Wait outside for a second. I need to talk with Ember."

"Hurry," she all but moaned.

I couldn't bring myself to look at Trace so I watched as Siobhan sauntered from the apartment. The flatness of his voice reluctantly pulled my attention.

"This isn't working, Ember. You need to move out."

His voice was so emotionless and his eyes had turned vacant. I knew deep down that there was a reason for what he was doing, one that he believed was in my best interest. I had protests screaming in my head and objections on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't pull any of them into a clear thought. I tried but the shock of his words and his abruptness left an ache in my chest as I felt my heart breaking. I held his hard stare and found the only word that would come to my lips was.

"Okay."

He stood there for a few moments and I swear I saw pain in his eyes but then he turned without another word and walked out. I knew this was coming, knew I'd set myself up for the pain, as Rafe's warning played in my head. I said I wouldn't let Trace just walk away but I realized, standing there in his apartment, that I didn't know if I could reach him. I naively believed that I could befriend him, love him and that would heal him. How stupid was I? I had very little experience with men and certainly no experience when it came to Trace and his damaged past. I wanted him but I was beginning to understand that wanting him was one thing but being good for him -- and him for me -- was something else entirely. Moving out was probably for the best all the way around.