Chasing Olivia (Trace + Olivia #2) (27 page)

The song ended and I clapped along with everyone else, still in a trance.

He cleared his throat and said, “I have one more song to sing before my wife gets up here. This is a song, that every time I hear it, I think of her.” A chorus of “awws” echoed around the coffee shop from the girls. He scooted the stool a bit closer to the microphone. “This is Mirrors by Justin Timberlake. Olivia, this one’s for you,” he looked into my eyes and began to sing. Everyone else disappeared and it was only us.

“’Aren’t you somethin’ to admire? ‘Cause your shine is somethin’ like a mirror. And I can’t help but notice you reflect in this heart of mine. If you ever feel alone and the glare makes me hard to find just know that I’m always parallel on the other side,’” his eyes closed for a moment and he bit his lip. “’Cause with your hand in my hand and a pocket full of soul I can tell you there’s no place we couldn’t go. Just put your hand on the glass. I’ll be tryin’ to pull you through. You just gotta be strong. ‘Cause I don’t wanna lose you now. I’m lookin’ right at the other half of me. The vacancy that sat in my heart is a space and now you’re home. Show me how to fight for now. And I’ll tell you, baby, it was easy comin’ back here to you once I figured it out. You were right here all along. It’s like you’re my mirror. My mirror staring back at me. I couldn’t get any bigger with anyone else beside of me. And now it’s clear as this promise that we’re making two reflections into one. ‘Cause it’s like you’re my mirror. My mirror staring back at me, staring back at me.’”

He stared into my eyes for the whole song. But it wasn’t like he was just
looking
at me. He was
seeing
me and there was a big difference for those that understood it.

I don’t know if he knew it would have that affect, but the love that shown in his eyes as he sang erased all my fears. When he finished the song, I didn’t hesitate to stand and stride towards him. “That was beautiful. Thank you,” I bent, placing a light kiss on his lips. I wasn’t one for public displays of affection, but I couldn’t stop myself.

“Glad you enjoyed it,” he smiled.

I grabbed another stool and sat down beside him. He lowered the microphone so it was at my height.

“Hi,” my voice cracked as I addressed the crowd.

I took a deep breath. I could do this. I might not have had the charisma on stage that Trace possessed, but I could do it. I could. In a minute. Okay, no more stalling.

“I’m going to sing Starry Eyed by Ellie Goulding,” my voice shook and I prayed that it didn’t shake when I sang. The last thing I needed was to sound like a dying cow.

I glanced at Trace and he smiled reassuringly, giving me a thumbs up.

I closed my eyes and placed my hand around the microphone. I needed
something
to hold me up.

“’Oh, oh, starry eyed,’” my voice was soft and hesitant at first. “’Hit, hit, hit, hit, hit me with lightning. Handle bars, then I let go, let go for anyone. Take me in, and throw out my heart and get a new one. Next thing we’re touching, you look at me and it’s like you hit me with lightning,’” my nerves vanished as I got into the song. “’Oh, everybody’s starry-eyed and everybody glows. Oh, everybody’s starry-eyed. And my body goes. Whoa oh oh ah ah. Whoa oh oh ah ah. Whoa oh oh. So we burst into colors, colors and carousels. Fall head first like paper planes and playground games. Next thing, we’re touching. You look at me and it’s like you hit me with lightning.’”

I grew more confident and by the time the song ended, I was grinning like a fool. I was always so scared to get up on stage and sing, but after I actually did it, I felt like I was unstoppable. It gave me a rush and nothing else could compare to it.

The crowd applauded us and I said, “Thank you.”

A slight blush stained my cheeks at the attention.

“You were great,” Trace assured me, taking my hand and kissing my cheek. He’d already put his guitar back in the case and it was slung over his shoulder.

“Thank you,” I told him. Shaking my head, I hastened to add, “Not for the compliment, but for convincing me to do that. There’s nothing else quite like it,” I explained, letting him lead me out of the shop. “And you,” I gasped, shivering as the cool night air touched my skin, “you’re so amazing, Trace. Why have you never pursued music?”

He shrugged, popping the trunk open. “It’s a hobby. It’s something I enjoy doing, but not something I want to make a living at.”

“But cars—”

“Cars are my passion,” he finished for me. He rubbed the finish on the Camaro affectionately. “Fixing something that’s broken and making it beautiful again…it’s amazing. When my dad and I fixed this together…it was one of the best times of my life. Watching this piece of junk get a new life, seeing it shine again, brought me joy.”

I turned away from him, chewing on the edge of my fingernail to hold back a lecture. His eyes had lit up when he was talking about cars. That was where his passion lay. I knew he still felt like it was his responsibility to take over his family’s company, but don’t we owe it to ourselves to be happy? Isn’t that more important than the feeling of
duty
? I didn’t want to argue so I opened the car door and slipped inside. I would bring it up again, eventually, because I loved him and I wouldn’t sit back and let him be miserable for the rest of his life.

It was well into the afternoon by the time we started on the road. We’d lounged around in bed for most of the morning and eaten a late breakfast before packing our bags.

I smiled fondly as we drove through the town one last time. This would always be the place where we got married, and therefore, it would always hold a special place in my heart.

“What are you smiling about?” Trace’s gaze flicked my way as he pushed his aviator sunglasses further up his nose.

My smile widened further. “I was thinking about how this will always be the place where we got married.”

“We’ll have to come back…if you’d like that,” he suggested.

“I would,” I nodded, pulling the bottom of my tank top down. We were fairly close to the town where I had grown up but I didn’t feel bothered by that. My life had been far from perfect, and anyone looking from the outside in had been oblivious to what was happening behind closed doors, but it had still been my home. While I had no desire to see the house I’d lived in, it didn’t bother me being here. It was…nice…and I knew that this wasn’t my home anymore. I’d been in Virginia for so long, that sometimes it felt like I had always been from there.

Trace turned down a street and I looked from side to side.

“Uh—this doesn’t look like the way to the highway.” I hated to sound like a nagging wife, but I didn’t want to spend an hour getting lost either.

“I know,” he answered simply.

“Where are we going then?” I looked at the houses surrounding on us each side. “Are we buying a house or something?”

“No,” he chuckled, scratching his stubbled jaw.

“Trace,” I groaned, “what’s going on?”

I hated being kept in the dark, but Trace was always trying to surprise me.

“I’m not telling,” he mimed zipping his lips.

I crossed my arms over my chest and watched as we passed even more houses. I racked my brain, trying to figure out what he was up to, but I kept coming up empty.

He parked in front of a cute cape cod style home. The siding was gray and the shutters were painted a dark green. The front door was wood with two lights beside it. Flowers and bushes lined the walkway. It was a comforting friendly-looking home.

“Why are we stopping here?” I asked, still staring at the home.

“You’ll see,” he climbed out of the car.

I pushed the door open and stood staring at the house.

“Are you coming?” He asked as he started up the walkway.

“Yeah,” I shook my head. “So, who lives here?”

“You’ll see,” he reached behind him for my hand. I reluctantly let him lead me to the front door. He pushed the doorbell and we waited.

After a minute, I said, “No one’s home,” and tried to walk away.

He tightened his hold on me. “Nuh-uh, stay here.”

I opened my mouth to protest but the door was opening. The man pushed the storm door open, glaring at Trace, and then his gaze flicked to me.

Those eyes.

That nose.

That
face
.

I was staring at Derek Wynn, the man who was my real father, and the one my mother had told me was dead.

“Dad?” I gasped and everything went black.

My head was pounding and I couldn’t seem to get my eyelids to open. I heard murmuring in the background but couldn’t make out what the voices were saying.

A warm hand pressed against my face. “Olivia? Wake up,” the voice coaxed.

I wanted to tell the person that I was trying, but I couldn’t open my mouth to speak.

A cool cloth was spread across my forehead. The feel of it soothed me.

“Olivia,” the voice started again. “Wake up. There’s someone that would like to meet you.”

Oh, holy shit!

The moments before I blacked out came rushing back at me.

“Dad!” I exclaimed, sitting straight up. The wet cloth plopped in my lap and Trace’s tan arm snaked out to grab it.

My dad squatted in front of me, laughing under his breath. “I’m not your dad, kid.”

“You’re lying,” my brows furrowed together and I glared at the man. “You’re Derek Wynn. You’re my dad. My mom told me so. We
look
alike.” I couldn’t believe I was looking at my
dad
. My mom had told me he was dead, but here he was in front of me alive and well. I wondered if she’d lied to me or if—

“I’m not Derek,” the man shook his head. “I’m his brother, Dexter. But call me Dex,” he held out a hand for me to shake.

“So, Derek really is dead?” I squeaked, staring at his hand. After a moment, I took it.

“He’s been six feet under for twenty-two years. He’s dead. Very dead. As in not coming back, dead.”

Trace laughed, pointing at Dex. “I like this guy.”

“So, you’re my uncle,” I stated.

“Seeing as how I was your dad’s older brother, yes, that makes me your uncle,” Dex rubbed a hand over his light beard. His dark hair and beard was speckled with gray.

“I-I-I-” I stuttered, looking at him. Finally, I forced my eyes to Trace. “How?” I had meant to ask him how he’d found Dexter, but I’d only managed to get the one word out.

He pretended to pick dirt out from under his fingernails. “I hired a private investigator. It didn’t take them long to track down the Wynn’s. The problem was in figuring out how to get you here, without telling you.”

My mouth fell agape. “This whole road trip was a ruse, wasn’t it?” I demanded.

Trace had the forethought to appear sheepish. “Yeah, kind of. I was going to wait and do it later, but after what happened with Gramps,” he cleared his throat, “I needed to get away.”

“I—uh—need some air,” I stood shakily with a hand against my throbbing head. I shuffled to the door and turned to find Trace behind me. “Alone,” I added in a harsh voice.

Pain flashed in his green eyes, but he nodded, ducking his head.

I pushed open the storm door and sat on the steps, breathing deeply in from my mouth and out from my nose.

There was a harsh pain in my chest and I grasped at my heart. Panic was rising from my stomach, up through my chest, clawing to get out. I hadn’t had a panic attack in a year, but one was hitting me now. I fought desperately to regain control of my body, but I couldn’t breathe.

The screen door slammed closed and Trace rushed around me, squatting in front of me. He took my face between his hands. “Breathe, baby. Just breathe.”

I tried to even out my breathing but it wasn’t working. Tears escaped the corners of my eyes and he wiped them away.

“It’s okay, Olivia,” he said soothingly. “Everything is okay. All you have to do is breathe.”

My gasps began to quiet and my chest didn’t heave near as much, but the panic attack hadn’t passed yet, and if I didn’t get myself completely calmed down it would start up again.

“I’m so sorry, Olivia,” he brushed my hair away from my eyes. “I should’ve told you. I thought you deserved to know about them. They’re your family. I wanted you to find that part of yourself. I didn’t want you to feel like you had no one. I know how often you look at your dad’s pictures and I know how much you wish you knew him. But he’s gone, and if you can’t know him, then I was going to be damned before I kept you from your grandparent’s and uncle,” he spoke fiercely. “I really thought I was doing the right thing,” he pleaded with me to believe him. “I didn’t tell you because I know how shy you are with meeting new people and that you’d get yourself too worked up to meet them. Clearly, I was wrong,” he chuckled humorlessly, “you got upset anyway.”