Falling Harder (22 page)

Chapter Eight

Nadia

Two Single People

“That is such bullshit,” Trace laughs, shaking his head in
disbelief.

“What?” I say, playing up my indignation, “What are you
saying?”

“Just that there’s no way you haven’t had any serious
boyfriends in the last ten years,” Trace says. We’ve made our way through the
concrete maze of downtown Chicago into one of the parks that presses right up
against Lake Michigan.

“I’m telling you the truth,” I insist, “I’m not saying that
there haven’t been men in my life. I’ve just...been more of a casual dater, is
all.”

“Ah, a real hit ‘em and quit ‘em type of girl, huh?” Trace
teases. I roll my eyes at him, trying very hard not to think about how handsome
his face looks, all flushed with fresh air off the wide water.

“What, you’re telling me that you’ve been in a ton of long,
lasting relationships?” I counter, “Somehow, I find that hard to believe.”

“Oh no,” Trace says, “But I’ve never been the type to get
wrapped up in romance.”

“I wouldn’t say never,” I tell him pointedly. He casts his
eyes my way, looking at me with a silent look of longing. “What’s wrong? Cat
got your tongue?”

“You’ve just always known how to push my buttons, Faber,” he
says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black jeans. “How the hell do
you do it?”

“I just know you, Trace,” I shrug, “Or at least I used to.
Maybe you haven’t changed all that much since we were kids.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he mutters, his tone darkening. I
glance over at him, wishing I could extract my foot out of my mouth with
something resembling grace.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, “That was...of course you’ve
changed. After everything you’ve been through, everything you’ve seen—”

“It’s fine,” he says, looking out across the lake. “Man. I
never spent enough time here when I was younger.”

“Yeah,” I say, going along with his change of subject,
“It’s...something.”

“It almost looks like the ocean, doesn’t it?” he says,
staring out across the calm blue expanse. It’s a remarkably quiet day, down
here by the water. Those infamous Chicago winds have given us the afternoon
off. Almost as if they knew that Trace and I would be wandering along the
shore, trading quiet remarks and half-remembered impressions. It’s the sort of
talk that needs a steady sky.

“I’m really glad you came to see me,” I say finally, not
daring to look Trace in the eye.

“You’re not angry with me then?” he asks.

“I was, at first,” I admit, “But I was happy, too. And
overwhelmed. And terribly sad. It’s not every day your first love just shows up
at your door after—”

“First love, huh?” he says, a smile twisting his lips into a
bow.

“Of course,” I tell him, coming to a stop along the walking
path. “Trace, you know I loved you. Didn’t you?”

“I guess I did,” he says softly, “It’s funny, I don’t
remember ever saying it out loud.”

“I don’t suppose we did,” I say.

“You know I loved you too, right?” Trace says, his eyes hard
and shining.

It’s all I can manage to nod and smile shakily. He can’t
possibly still love me, after all this time. He doesn’t even know me, not
anymore. I’m a completely different person than I was ten years ago. At
least...I always thought I was. But maybe more has remained from those long-ago
days than I ever imagined.

I turn back down the path and hurry along, knowing that
Trace can easily catch up with me. He’s always been tall, but now he seems
somehow larger than life. It’s as if all his experiences have transformed him
into something more than a mere man. And yet, beneath the rugged exterior, I
know that a clean-shaven young man with a broken heart and a troubled past
still remains. I hope, somewhere along the way, that the boy inside Trace got some
closure after everything that happened in the Daniels’ home. I hope that he’s
had the chance to heal, or at least begin to.

“You’re awful quiet over there,” Trace says, pulling me out
of my churning thoughts.

“Do you blame me?” I laugh, “There isn’t exactly an
etiquette for quizzing your childhood sweetheart about his time in jail and
military service.”

“Ask me anything,” Trace says, “I’m not shy.”

“I know you’re not,” I smile. “I guess...I just...Are you
OK?”

“That’s a pretty broad question,” Trace says, cocking an
eyebrow at me.

“I mean, after the war,” I clarify, as delicately as
possible. “I know that so many soldiers coming home from Iraq and Afghanistan
are dealing with PTSD. Or fighting to be heard by the VA, or God knows what
else.”

“You’ve been reading up,” Trace says. There’s a harsh
bitterness in his voice that takes me off guard.

“I’m not trying to pry,” I tell him, “I’m just worried about
you. Sorry if I sound out of touch. I don’t think anyone who hasn’t been over
there can imagine what you’ve been through.”

“Damn straight,” Trace says, “You know how many times I’ve
had total strangers thank me for me service? And all I can think every time is,
where were you people when I was a kid? How is it I’m suddenly worth a minute
of your time, just because I spent a few tours abroad? I wonder if any of them
would still be thankful, if they knew who I really was. What I’ve really done
in my life.”

“Of course they would,” I tell him, reaching instinctively
for his hand. As our fingers entwine, a warm radiance pulses through me. And I
can tell right away that Trace feels it too. “You’re a good man, Trace. As long
as I’ve known you, you’ve always stood up for what was right.”

“Yeah. Guess I’m a fucking hero or something,” he mutters,
unable to meet my gaze.

“That’s right,” I say, laying my other hand on his cheek and
turning his face to mine. “You’re a goddamned hero, Trace O’Conner. You were a
hero long before you shipped off to Afghanistan, too.”

“How can you think that?” he asks, looking down at me with baffled
wonderment. “I abandoned you in that house. We were supposed to be family. We
were supposed to stick together. Dammit, Nadia, I was supposed to look out for
you!”

“And you did,” I tell him, the breeze off Lake Michigan
tossing my hair against my shoulders, “You gave up everything to save me from
Paul that night. I owe you everything, Trace. Everything I am, everything I’ve
done with my life, is all thanks to you.”

“Are you happy, Nadia?” he asks adamantly.

My mouth falls open wordlessly as I search for a suitable
answer. I want to tell him yes, of course I’m happy. I have a fabulous
apartment, an incredible job, the best education a person could have, and...no
one to share it with. I try to let my eyes drop from his, but this time it’s
Trace who catches my face in his hands.

“You’re not,” he says softly, “I can see it, clear as day.
You’ve done so much since I saw you last, built this whole life for yourself,
but it still isn’t enough, is it?”

“Of course not,” I allow, “But—”

“I could have made you happy,” Trace says, cutting me off.
His emerald eyes bore into me, laying my soul bare with no effort at all. “It
was my responsibility to make you happy, Nadia. I should have been there with
you this whole time. And in that, I failed.”

“You think we would have been A-OK, had you not gotten
arrested that night?” I challenge him. “Our lives were still shit up until we
met each other, Trace. We had no home, no families, nothing to look forward to.
You think we were ever gonna have it easy?”

“No,” he says, “But at least we could have had each other.”

My breath quickens as Trace lets hands move down across my
shoulders. There’s not a foot of space between our faces, and even less between
his body and mine. My eyes flutter closed as his hands brush down the length of
my arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps as they go. He takes my hands firmly in
his and brings them to his chest, tugging me against him.

“All I want,” he says, his voice rasping determinedly, “Is
to somehow make it up to you. All those years you had to spend wandering
through this world alone. I’ll do anything, Nadia, just to know that I’ve given
you even a scrap of the happiness you always deserved. What can I do to make
things right between us?”

“This...” I begin, my voice low and fervent, “Is a pretty
good start.”

A slow smile spreads across Trace’s lips, and is
freckle-spattered nose wrinkles adorably. Before I can stop to think, I raise
myself onto my toes and plant a kiss just below his sculpted cheekbone. My lips
tremble as they brush against his sun-tanned skin. I feel like I’m sixteen
again, giddy and eager and scared out of my mind.

Before my heels touch the ground again, Trace’s hand finds
the small of my back. I open my mouth to speak, but my words rush away as his
lips press firmly against mine. For a moment, I’m too overwhelmed to respond.
But the taste of him brings a thousand memories rushing back to the forefront
of my mind. His kiss is one that I know so well. I fold into him, letting him
wrap me up in his arms as I kiss him back just the same.

He’s at once swift and tender, opening my mouth to his and
letting his tongue slide against my own. My fingers find their way into his
shorn hair, and I’m vaguely aware of how my body trembles against his. I can
feel hot tears slipping through my closed lids as I savor the feel of Trace’s
body against mine. This is the feeling I’ve been fighting to forget for a
decade. I couldn’t bear to remember how it good it felt, being with him.
Opening myself to him. If I’d remembered all this time, I would have missed him
too terribly to get out of bed in the morning.

Trace’s hands move along my back, working further down with
every passing moment. I swallow a low moan, secretly wishing to feel those
hands glide over the swell of my ass. Part of me wishes that we could just
steal away together for an hour or two and explore each other as we always
wanted to. The night of Trace’s arrest, we’d planned on making love. It would
have been my first time, ever. It would have been amazing to have shared that
with him. But there’s nothing wrong with making up for lost time, either.

The urgent chiming of a bicycle bell tears us out of our
moment. A cyclist races past us, nearly bowling us over along the way. I look
around and notice that we’ve planted ourselves smack in the middle of the
pedestrian path along the lake. I can’t help but laugh at us, making out in the
park like the teenagers we were when last we spoke.

Trace laces his fingers through mine, pulling me away from
the path. “I, uh, hope that wasn’t out of line,” he says.

“Are you blushing, O’Conner?” I ask.

“You’re one to talk,” he shoots back. He’s right, too. I can
feel my cheeks pulsing red with excitement and disbelief. This was not exactly
how I imagined I’d be spending my Saturday afternoon, thanks very much. I
thought I’d be knee deep in paperwork by this point in the day...

“Oh, shit,” I murmur, slapping my palm against my forehead,
“I’m such an asshole.”

“What?” Trace asks, taken aback by my sudden change in
demeanor.

“I’ve totally blown off all my work today,” I tell him.

“Isn’t it the weekend?” he asks with a laugh.

“Sure,” I say, “But that’s never stopped me from working
before.”

“You have a problem,” he tells me, “Always have. Since I’ve
known you, you’ve been the worst kind of workaholic.”

“Yeah, well,” I shrug, “We’re none of us perfect.”

“So...I guess that means you need to be getting back?” he
asks.

“I’m afraid so,” I say, grinning apologetically, “Not that
I’m not enjoying myself...”

“Right,” he smiles, “I could kind of tell.”

“Is your apartment close?” I ask him.

“Nah,” he says, “Totally in the opposite direction from
yours. This is probably where we’d part ways.”

“Oh. OK,” I say. I’m actually let down at the fact that we
won’t be walking home together. “Well...Goodbye then, I guess?”

“Oof, I don’t like that word,” Trace says, shaking his head,
“Don’t say ‘goodbye’. Just...tell me when I can see you again.”

“Well...” I begin, “It’s my birthday tomorrow.”

“No shit!” he crows excitedly, “I should have remembered
that. You moved into the Daniels’ the day before your birthday too, didn’t
you?”

“Oh...I guess that’s right,” I say. “Yeah, now I remember.
Conway left a Hostess cupcake with a tea light stuck on top beside my bed in
the morning.”

“Sounds like Conway,” Trace smiles. “But hey...you know what
that makes today?”

“What?” I ask.

“It’s our ten year anniversary,” he says wistfully.

For some reason, that simple statement brings the tears
rushing back to my eyes. I blink them away hurriedly, swallowing hard. Ten
years of lost time...that’s a pretty big hurdle to clear.

“Happy anniversary,” I say softly, doing my best to smile.

“Back at you,” he says. “But hey, tell me I can see you for
your birthday tomorrow, huh? Even just for a minute.”

“I don’t know...” I start, “Carly had these plans—”

“Blow her off,” Trace tells me, “Come on. You know she’s
probably just going to make you wear a fuzzy tiara and go clubbing or
something.”

I let out a bark of laughter. That is probably exactly what
Carly has in mind for tomorrow. The question is, what does Trace have in mind?

“Tell me I can see you,” he says again, “Please? It would mean
the world to me.”

“Oh...OK,” I sigh, “I’ll try and get as far along in my case
as I can tonight so that we can do something tomorrow.”

“Awesome,” he says, “I’ll figure out something for us to do.
It’ll be awesome. I promise.”

“No fuzzy tiara?”

“No fuzzy tiara.”

I smile and turn to go, but Trace catches my arm. “Hey,” he
says, “I’m...uh...Thank you. For letting me spend the afternoon with you.”