Chasing Olivia (Trace + Olivia #2) (32 page)

Finally, I had to release her and hug my grandpa and Dex.

“We’ll see you soon, kid,” Dex ruffled my hair.

I smoothed my fingers over the top of my head to fix my hair. “Bye,” I frowned, backing away. My eyes flickered over their faces, trying to memorize every detail.

“Bye,” they waved.

Fighting tears, I forced myself to turn around and get in the car.

“Are you okay?” Trace asked. “We can stay longer if you want.”

“Two days was enough,” I forced a smile. “I know we still have to get to Maine. Maybe we can stop by on our way back?” I asked hesitantly.

“We can do that,” he assured me, taking my hand.

A few minutes later he stopped in front of a flower shop.

“Would you like to pick them out?” He asked.

At first, I wanted to say no. But if I was visiting my dad’s grave, then I should be the one to pick out flowers, not Trace.

I nodded slowly and slipped from the car. He followed me inside, not saying anything, but his presence alone kept me calm.

I picked out an arrangement of all white roses and lilies. It was simple and beautiful. I didn’t know what Derek would have liked, but I hoped wherever he was that he was happy with what I had chosen.

We paid for the flowers, and using the directions Margaret had given him we drove to the cemetery.

He parked the car and looked over at me.

I bowed my head, staring at the flowers.

I knew I needed to get out of the car and face this, but I didn’t want to. Seeing his grave would make it even more real.

I
knew
he was dead, but that didn’t mean I wanted to believe it.

“Olivia,” Trace said my name softly, like I was a small frightened rabbit that might run away at any moment.

“I need a minute,” I whispered, taking deep breaths.

I could do this.

“Do you want to go alone? I don’t have to go with you. I’ll stay here.”

I looked up then and shook my head. “No, I want you there with me. I…I
can’t
do this alone.”

“Okay,” he smiled and sat patiently waiting for me to get out of the car.

I watched the clock in the car, counting as five minutes passed.

I shook my head roughly and grabbed the door handle.

“I’m ready,” I whispered unnecessarily.

He waited for me to get out of the car before he joined me, not wanting to push me.

I stood at the cemetery gates for a moment, gazing at the intricate design of vines.

Trace took my hand and waited for me to give the cue that I was ready to move forward.

Taking a shaky breath, I placed my hand on the gate and pushed it open. It squeaked loudly on its hinges and I flinched at the shrill sound.

We made our way down the path with slow steps.

The sun shined brightly in the sky, warming my skin. I felt like the sky should have been gray and dismal to reflect my mood.

I repeated Margaret’s directions in my head and veered off the path. I counted the headstones and came to stop when I got to the fifth one.

D
EREK
A
LLEN
W
YNN

I hadn’t even known his middle name until I read it on the grave marker. How horrible was I that I hadn’t even asked what his middle name was?

I sank to my knees and placed my hand against the cold stone. I was trying desperately to feel
something
. But I was empty.

The man that lay beneath the ground I sat on was my father. But I didn’t
know
him. And I never would. That fact broke my heart. So many people took their family for granted, but up until a few days ago all I had was my mom. Trace’s family was great, I loved them completely and I knew they loved me too. But it wasn’t the same.

Trace’s dad was dead now too, but at least he’d known him.

I didn’t have that luxury. All I had was this headstone and a few pictures…the jar of origami stars too, but that wasn’t enough to ever let me get a feel for the kind of person he was. People could tell me stories about him, and I could listen, but they weren’t
my
memories. I would never get to hold his hand. Or have him walk me down the aisle. I’d never hear him say my name or call him dad. These were all simple things, but they were powerful moments in a person’s life. Moments I would never experience.

I lowered my head, letting my hair fall forward to conceal my face, as a pain filled sob escaped my throat.

Trace didn’t say anything as I cried. I think he knew I didn’t want to hear it.

I placed my hand on the stone, rubbing my fingers over his name.

The flowers lay forgotten at my side. I clutched my stomach in one hand as my sobs threatened to overwhelm me.

I didn’t even know why I was crying.

Was it possible to mourn someone you’d never met? The answer was yes. Because somehow, in this messed up world, we’re all connected.

Trace let me cry until all my tears were shed then helped me up and back to the car.

He turned the car on and sat there. After a moment, he looked over at me and there was pain in his eyes. “I don’t like seeing you like this,” he admitted.

“I’m okay,” I tried to reassure him, but since my eyes were swollen and I barely had a voice, it didn’t do much to make him feel better.

He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed loudly. “Maybe it was a bad idea coming here,” he pointed to the cemetery gates.

“No,” I bowed my head, “I needed this.”

He reached over and cupped my cheek, turning my face towards his. “Are you sure?” He swiped his thumb over my lips. “Because this doesn’t seem very beneficial.”

I rubbed my swollen eyes. “I needed to see the grave. I guess a part of me didn’t want to believe he was really gone. Silly, I know.”

“No, not silly. It’s understandable,” his gaze was sad. “All the time, I want to think that what happened to my dad was a really bad nightmare. But it’s real and I’ll always have to live with his loss.”

I scooted over and draped my leg over his, so that I was straddling him. I laid my head against his chest and closed my eyes, listening to the steady beating of his heart. I counted the beats, letting the rhythmic sound calm me. His arms wrapped around me and he rested his chin on top of my head.

“Thank you,” I murmured.

“For what?” His fingers tangled in my hair.

“For this. For everything that you do for me,” I whispered

“It’s not much,” he chuckled.

“It is,” I pressed my lips against his forehead and his eyes closed. I slid off his lap and buckled my seatbelt. “I’m ready to go.”

“You sure?”

I nodded, braiding my hair and securing it with a ponytail holder. “It’s time for our honeymoon.”

He chuckled, pulling out of the cemetery parking lot. “I like the sound of that.”

“You know, when you said
lake house
somehow I envisioned a cottage. This,” I eyed the palatial house, “is definitely not a cottage. It’s huge.” I craned my neck back, staring at the house.

“It’s seven thousand square feet…a lot smaller than the mansion,” he reasoned.

“Yeah, but way bigger than the one house that most people own. It’s a
second
home for Pete’s sake. Why does it need to be so big? I might get lost,” I frowned as he opened the garage door and pulled inside.

“You’re not going to get lost.”

“You don’t know that,” I argued. “I don’t have a very good sense of direction.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your sense of direction,” he snorted. “Stop making excuses. I know you’re really going to love it here.” With that, he slipped from the car and I was forced to follow.

Once we got on the road, it hadn’t taken us long to reach the house in Maine. Like with the mansion, the house was located off the beaten path. There didn’t appear to be any other homes anywhere near here. Just the woods. And a lake, I assumed. Why else would they call it the lake house?

He grabbed our bags from the trunk and I followed him up the steps into the house.

We entered a darkened mudroom and he flicked a switch, bathing the room in light.

The walls were covered in paneling, but not the cheap kind, this was definitely expensive. I kicked my sneakers off and he did the same with his boots.

“I’m going to take these to our room,” he shook the duffel bags, “and then I’ll give you the grand tour,” he winked.

“Okay,” I smiled.

He left the room and I heard his feet smacking against wooden stairs as he headed to the second level.

Since I had no desire to stand in the mudroom and wait for him, I ventured further into the house. All of the rooms were dark, but it didn’t have that unlived in smell that some homes got. I figured the Wentworth’s had someone stop by periodically.

I turned on a light and looked up.

A bloodcurdling scream escaped my throat and I slapped a hand over my mouth.

“Olivia?!” Trace called from upstairs as his feet thumped against the floor in his haste to reach me.

“I’m okay!” I called out to calm him.

“Then why were you screaming?” His voice grew closer as he descended the steps. He stood in front of me with a raised brow, waiting for me to reply.

“Because, um, I looked up and saw that,” I pointed to the giant moose head hanging above the fireplace. “I really hope that’s fake,” I wrinkled my nose.

“It is,” he chuckled. “We may hunt, but do you really think Grammy and my mom would allow us to hang a real one?”

“No,” I giggled, ashamed of my reaction, but that thing was really scary looking.

“I want to show you something,” he said softly, placing a hand on my waist and guiding me to the back of the family room. The whole back wall was windows and French doors opened onto a deck.

He opened the doors and stepped back so I could go first.

“Wow,” I gasped.

The deck led straight down to a dock and there were even jet skis.

But that wasn’t what left me breathless. It was the view.

The forest surrounded the house, cocooning it like a blanket, but the back was open and for as far as I could see there was water.

“That doesn’t look like a lake,” I breathed, placing my hands on the railing of the deck and leaning forward.

“It’s not. It’s the Atlantic Ocean. We just call it the lake house, because it doesn’t really look like a beach house, so that seemed weird.”

“Of course, because that makes so much sense,” I laughed.

The water lapped against the muddy shore. There was some sand, but not much, mostly mud, rocks, and grass.

Birds chirped incessantly and squirrels ran around the yard. It was peaceful, as if the chaos of the outside world hadn’t touched this place.

“I’m glad you brought me here.”

“You are?” He chuckled, leaning his hip against the railing. “It’s not too country for a city girl like you?” He faked a deep southern drawl.

“I’m hardly a city girl,” I rolled my eyes. “Besides,” I placed a hand on my hip, smiling in challenge, “I do know how to shoot a gun.”

He chuckled at that. “And you learned from the best.”

“Really?” I raised a brow. “Because I didn’t think he was all that good.”

“Oh,” he grinned mischievously, “now you’ve done it.”

I squealed as he tossed me over his shoulder and jogged down the deck steps.

“Trace!” I screamed. “You’ve got to stop doing this!”

“Never! It’s too much fun!” He smacked my butt.

“You. Are. Ridiculous,” I spat as he jogged straight for the water. When I saw what he was about to do I pleaded with him to stop, but to no avail.

He tossed me straight into the chilly ocean water and I sank below.

I came up sputtering, holding my nose. “You jerkface!” I screeched. “Water went up my nose!”

He chucked from the shore, the bottoms of his jeans were wet from where he’d walked into the water to throw me.

He shrugged and held his hands out to his side. “You shouldn’t have questioned my teaching techniques. I assure you babe, you couldn’t have learned from anyone better. And not only am I a beast with a gun, I’m also proficient with a cross bow, as well as a plain old bow an arrow. I’m a jack of all trades.”

“What are you? Katniss?” I growled, rubbing my eyes as I trudged out of the water.

“Who’s Katniss?” He questioned.

“You know, from The Hunger Games,” I stopped in front of him. “Surely you’ve heard of it.”

“Oh, yeah.” He smiled. “But I’m a lot cooler than Katniss.”

“And why is that?” Only Trace and I would argue over a fictional character. If there was an award for weirdest fight between a couple, we’d surely win.

“Just look at me,” he plucked at his shirt. “I’m way hotter.”

I glanced down at the muddy shore, fighting a smile. “Not as hot as Peeta.”

“Peeta is a pussy, I am a man,” he pointed to his chest. “If the Hunger Games were real, I could protect you…even with my bare hands.”

“Really, now?” I tilted my head. “Please, explain exactly how you would do that.”

“I’d snap their neck of course. But I’d also use my hands for more important things,” he grinned.

“Like what?”

“Well, first,” he stepped in front of me and bent his head, “I would take your face in my hands like this…” His hands came up to cup my cheeks. “Then I would lower my head like this…” His head came closer to mine. “And then, when I knew you were sufficiently breathless, I would graze my lips lightly against yours…” And he did. A small gasp escaped my lips and I shivered. “Then, when I knew you were good and ready I’d kiss you, and it would be the best kiss of your entire life.”