Tempting Rowan (Trace + Olivia #3) (31 page)

Trace unwound Tristan’s arms from around his neck and lowered the little boy to the ground.

Tristan ran to me, jumping up and down excitedly, asking if he could ride in Trace’s car. He was completely unaffected by the fact that we’d just been by the side of a dead person.

“Uh…” I looked up at Trace.

“It’s fine,” he grinned crookedly. “Why don’t we all head to my mom’s place for an early dinner? Your grandparents, Jude, and Tatum can come too.” He leaned against the side of his large black SUV with his arms crossed over his chest.

I thought it over for a moment. I hated to be a burden, but I really didn’t want to be alone right now. Besides, he’d extended an invitation.

“Sure,” I replied.

“Yay!” Tristan shrieked, running into his uncle’s arms.

It amazed me how quickly Tristan had embraced Trace—but at his age, the kid never met a stranger.

I removed Tristan’s booster seat from the car and put it in Trace’s. I buckled him in while Trace tended to Dean. Ivy had already gotten in my car. I let Jude and Tatum know what we were doing and that they were welcome to join us. They both seemed unsure if they should or not. They knew the truth about Tristan now. Neither had said much to me about it, but I knew it shocked them.

My grandparents had been stunned when I told them the truth about Tristan. I noticed they’d already left. I knew they were hurt that I hadn’t confided in them about my son and how horrible my mom was. They’d been relatively clueless to her actions. They’d known she drank, but not that she hit me.

As I sat behind the driver’s seat and prepared to leave, my eyes landed on the parking lot across form the funeral home. A very familiar black car was parked there and a shiver ran up my spine. Even though he was so far away, and I couldn’t see him through the tinted windows, I felt his eyes on me. It was like his gaze alone was a caress.

“Row, they’re leaving,” Ivy warned, snapping me back to reality.

I put the car in drive, fo
llowing Trace’s large black SUV so that I didn’t get lost on the way to the mansion. My body hummed with a nervous energy, wondering if Trent would show up. A part of me hoped he did, and another part hoped he didn’t. I wasn’t ready to face him yet, after I told him I loved him and he did nothing. In fact, I didn’t think I’d ever be ready to face him. I felt like everything had been said between us and there was nothing left.

“You look sad,” Ivy
remarked from the backseat. “Is it because of mom?”

“No,” I answered, probably too quickly considering it was my mom who was dead and I should feel a tiny bit remorseful.

“Then what is it?” She asked.

Ivy was far too observant for her own good.

“It’s nothing,” I replied. I didn’t need to go into details with her of the fuckedupness of my life.

Ivy’s plump pink lips turned down in a frown and her fingers clasped together as I watched her briefly from the rearview mirror. Her gaze left me and she propped her head on one hand as she looked out the window. I knew she was mad that I wasn’t telling her what was wrong with me. But she was eight years old. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to tell her, but more my need to keep her a child.
I’d had to grow up fast, and I didn’t want the same fate for her. Unfortunately, I was afraid it had already happened.

Unless you’ve experienced
it, you didn’t understand what growing up in a household like ours did to a person. You constantly had to live in fear of doing or saying the wrong thing. My mother—as far as I knew—had never laid a hand on Ivy or Tristan, but she had hit me in front of them on more than one occasion. If I had left, what would have stopped her from taking her anger out on one of them?

When we turned down the narro
w drive that led to the mansion Ivy sat up straighter. “Where are we?”

“This is where Trace and his brother grew up,” I answered.

“Why don’t you ever say his brother’s name?” She commented, peering around the seat at me. “Is it because he’s Tristan’s dad?”

Since Trace was constantly hanging around, and wanted to be a part of Tristan’s life, I’d been forced to tell both of the kids about Trenton. It had been hard, especially because Tristan didn’t understand.

“You miss him, don’t you?” She continued when I didn’t answer.

I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat. “Yeah,” I squeaked.

She nodded, tapping her fingers against the glass window. “Why don’t you tell him that?”

“It’s complicated,” I ground out—not angry with her, but
at myself, because I still cared.

“When you love someone, it shouldn’t be that complicated,” her hazel eyes met mine in the rearview mirror.

Leave it to an eight year old to be wiser than most adults.

“Whoa!” She bounced excitedly in her seat as the mansion came into view. “This is a house?!” She exclaimed, her eyes round with awe.

“Yeah,” I replied, parking the car.

“It looks like something from a movie!”

I couldn’t help laughing, but she was right. The large house didn’t seem like it could possibly be real, and once you got inside, that seemed even truer. It was so easy to get lost in there.

As we followed the Wentworth’s inside, Tristan and Ivy both looked around with their mouths hanging open.

“Wow,” Tristan gasped. “Can we live here?”

I laughed, ruffling his hair as we entered the foyer, heading for the dining room. “We have a home.”

“I like this one more,” he pouted.

“You can visit anytime you want,” Trace piped in. “We have a pool…two actually.”

“Two pools?” Ivy exclaimed, then slapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she muttered, looking nervously at the shiny floors. Ivy had been very shy around Trace and his family—she was a cautious person—so her outburst clearly embarrassed her.

“Yep!” Trace clapped his hands together, before pushing open the door to the
dining room. “They’re great!”

Ivy’s smile was small as she tried to hide behind me.
I think Trace’s exuberance always frightened her. She wasn’t used to someone like him.

We sat down at the table, and I wasn’t surprised when Tristan stole the seat beside Trace. Tristan thought he was the most amazing person ever. If only he knew his dad. I doubted Trent was going to reach out to me, and with my mom out of the picture, I knew I should contact him and let him see Tristan. I was scared he had changed his mind and wanted nothing to do with our son. So, I hadn’t done anything.

Someone I didn’t recognize brought out a meal that had already been prepared in anticipation of our arrival. My eyes widened at the delicious looking grilled chicken sandwich. My stomach rumbled. I hadn’t even realized I was hungry until food was set in front of me.

“This looks yummy,” Ivy smiled shyly at the people seated around us.

“I hope you think it tastes as good as it looks,” Lily smiled back.

It
amazed me how Lily, Trent’s mom, had embraced Ivy, Tristan, and me. I thought she’d hate me for what I did, but she never looked at me like it mattered. She was always nice and went out of her way to look after us. Despite the fact that Ivy was of no relation to her, she seemed to genuinely want to get to know her and make her feel comfortable. The Wentworth’s were truly the greatest people I had ever met. They didn’t let their status affect them, and it was a beautiful thing to see.

I took a bite of the sandwich and my eyes closed. That had to be the greatest thing I had ever tasted. I wish I could cook that well.

“It’s as good as it looks,” Ivy said after she’d taken a bite, causing all of us to chuckle.

Her cheeks flamed pink and
I bent my mouth to her ear to whisper, “It’s okay, Ivy. You didn’t say anything wrong. It was cute.”

She nodded, but didn’t speak again through the rest of the meal.

I kept waiting for Trenton to appear, but he never did. I wasn’t sure whether I should be relieved or disappointed.

I guessed it didn’t matter.

chapter twenty-one

Hours later
I had Tristan and Ivy put to bed and was crawling into bed myself.

I was exhausted after today.

Attending the funeral and seeing Trent had really taken a toll on me. I’d tried not to show it, but now that I was alone, I let my face crumple. I didn’t cry, but I did allow myself to hurt and that counted for something.

For so long
I had kept my feelings on a tight leash, not allowing myself to feel any emotion. I had been dead inside. Like he had when we were teenagers, Trent had woken me up and broken down all my carefully constructed walls. He hadn’t meant to, but he taught me it was okay to feel. We’re human. It’s okay to be happy, sad, or angry. It’s a part of life. I had allowed my mom to make me into a drone—always going through the motions where nothing could hurt me. I had been wrong to let her do that, but it had been my coping mechanism. It would be easy, almost too easy, to allow myself to fall back into that destructive pattern of not feeling. I was fighting it though. I was trying really hard to let myself feel
—
to
hurt
.

I was realizing that emotions aren’t a bad thing.

Passion
isn’t wrong.

What is wrong
is when you let those feelings build up and you lash out. I always thought that if I let myself feel too much I’d end up like mother. I never wanted to hurt anyone the way she hurt me—her words more cutting than her fists.

I wanted to be
a better person and this was me trying.




A vicious pounding woke me up.

I came awake quickly, sleep slipping away like a loose blanket around my shoulders.

A quick glance at the clock told me it was after one in the morning. I had no clue what kind of crazy person could be at out door at this time of night. I grabbed my phone so I could dial 911 if I needed to.

Ivy and Tristan had been awakened by the noise and both looked at me blearily as they rubbed their eyes.

“What’s that noise?” Tristan asked.

“Why’s somebody at the door?” Ivy questioned, stifling a yawn.

“I don’t know,” I frowned. “Just stay there,” I warned, holding my hand out in a gesture for her not to leave the bed, “and keep quiet.”

I typed 911 into my phone and held my finger over the dial button. There was no peephole, so I would be forced to open the door to see who was there. I suddenly wished I had some pepper spray or a gun. I was utterly defenseless and at the mercy of the person on the other side of the door.

“Rowan! Open the door!”

I knew that voice.

I threw the door open. “Trace,” I gasped as relief flooded my lungs at hearing his voice and then seeing him, “what are you doing here?”

“We have to go,” he spoke quickly, his eyes darting around. “Get the kids, we have to go
now
.” His body hummed with a nervous energy.

“What’s going on?” I drilled him as he pushed past me into the apartment.

He ignored me. “Come on, kids,” he reached for Tristan on the top bunk, “we have to go. Grab some toys. Rowan,” he called to me, “you might want to get dressed.”

“Where are you taking us?” I asked, panic lacing my tone.
He was so frantic—not like Trace at all—and I couldn’t begin to fathom why. He acted like the place was about to blow up or something.

He finally stopped, and that’s when I saw the tears in his
eyes.

“What’s going on?” I repeated in a soft tone, backing away, my hands brace
d protectively in front of me. Something told me I wasn’t going to like what he had to say.

“It’s Trent,” he sighed
, his voice cracking.

“Is he okay?” I asked, my breath catching as my heart clenched painfully behind my ribcage. Oh God, something bad had happened. I knew it
. I could feel Trent slipping through my fingers like a fistful of sand.

“Get dressed
and then we’ll talk,” he turned away from me, grabbing up some of the kids toys.

I rushed into the bedroom, dressing as quickly as I could. I’m pretty sure my socks didn’t even match. When I left the room, the apartment was empty. I rushed outside, my fingers fumbling as I locked the door.

Trace was waiting in the Land Rover, he tapped the horn, urging me to hurry.

I ran down the steps and into the empty passenger seat. Olivia wasn’t with him.

“
Please
, tell me what’s happened,” I implored as I fumbled with the seatbelt. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

He nodded, the muscle in his jaw visibly tightenin
g. “He confronted your step-dad and he shot Trent.”

“Oh, God.” I hadn’t expected Trace to be so blunt with what he said, but I should’ve known, that was Trace—no sugarcoating.

I doubled over, my stomach clenching painfully.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I mumbled, sweat breaking out across my forehead as bile rose in my throat.
I had expected something like Trent had been in a car wreck, not that he’d been
shot
.

“It’s
not good,” Trace continued, his body taut with tension, “my mom just got the call, so of course she rang me, and I came to get you. He’s been in surgery for several hours,” he rubbed his stubbled jaw angrily.

“And they just now called you?” I gasped.

Trent,
my
Trent, he’d been alone this long, fighting for his life? That wasn’t right!

Trace nodded. “He didn’t have his phone on him, only his wallet, so it took them a while to track us down
. Our numbers aren’t exactly listed publicly.”

“Is he going to make it through the surgery?” I forced the words out of my mouth, terrified of the answer he might give me.

“Honestly?” Trace asked, his eyes
venturing to mine before returning to the road ahead. “They said it was a fifty/fifty chance. The bullet barely missed a vital artery in his heart, and he’s lost a lot of blood.” Trace’s breath turned shaky. “We’ll know more once we get there.”

In the back of the car, the kids were sniffling as they cried, but I couldn’t make myself shower them in words of comfort.

I was numb once more, drowning in an ocean of pain and solitude. I was going to lose him—I already had, but this was worse, because this was forever.

Everything was a blur as we arrived at the emergency entrance of the hospital. I forced myself to stay calm and follow Trace.

Inside, he asked the information desk about his brother and they directed us to the correct floor—the intensive care unit. This was so fucking bad.

My hands shook with panic. I couldn’t imagine a world in which Trenton Wentworth didn’t exist. Thoughts of him consumed me—his smile, his laugh, the first time he over spoke with me, every memory flitted through my mind in rapid succession.

We rushed through the wide white halls, our shoes squeaking on the tile floors.

Ivy and Tristan each held onto my hands, as I all but dragged them along.

We burst through the set of double doors and into the main hallway of intensive care.

“Trace,” his mom breathed in relief when she saw us. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. She looked horrible, and that scared me. Had she gotten bad news? Was he gone? Were we too late?

I released the kids’ hands and dashed into the bathroom I spotted to my right.

The door slammed closed behind me as I fell to my knees and emptied the contents of my stomach. Tears stung my eyes, one trailing down my cheek and under my chin.

I felt like my whole world was crumbling around me.

I’d always prided myself with being
okay
. I had always been able to cope with bad things, but this was something I wasn’t prepared to handle.

I flushed the toilet and cleaned myself up, wiping my face free of tears. I kept making a strange stuttering gasping sound as I tried to hold back more tears.
I couldn’t fucking breathe. I clutched the fabric of my shirt in my hand as I forced myself to calm down.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

Calm down, Rowan,
I warned myself.
You need to be strong.

But the last thing I could be in this moment was strong. I’d thought I’d escaped the hold of my mother and Jim, but it had all been a façade. I could never escape them. Jim had managed to take away something that mattered dearly to me. Trent might not have liked me at all anymore, but I took comfort in knowing he was out there somewhere thriving. If he didn’t make it through this…I was pretty damn sure he’d take a piece of my soul with him.

I loved him. God, I loved him so much that it felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest and stomped on.

I reached for more paper towels, drying my still damp face. I couldn’t stop the tears. I knew I needed to get myself under control before I left the sanctuary of the restroom.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

I wasn’t okay.

This
wasn’t okay.

Nothing
about the fact that Trent was here, fighting for his life, was
okay
.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

I took deep breaths, inhaling in through my mouth and out through my nose. I needed to get my shit together and be strong. Breaking down like this wasn’t going to help Trent.

I turned the water on, splashing the cool liquid onto my face.

My eyes were swollen and red from crying. I didn’t care though. I no longer saw tears as a sign of weakness, but of strength.

I took a few more calming breaths to make sure I was ready to face this.

I opened the bathroom door and looked down the hall. Trace was waiting for me and he waved me forward. With my head bowed, like a child in trouble, I hesitantly stopped in front of him.

“The kids are with my mom,” he pointed over his shoulder to the waiting room before continuing, “he’s out of surgery now.” Trace hesitated, his eyes filled with pain. I had only ever seen the guy happy and smiling, so seeing him like this was shocking. “He’s not in the clear yet though. There’s still plenty that could go wrong.”

“He’s no going to make it, is he?” I forced myself to ask, my lower lip trembling.

“I don’t think so,” Trace’s voice cracked and tears began to spill from his eyes. He looked up at the ceiling,
clearly hating that I was seeing him break down like this.

I found myself stepping forward that last little bit and wrapping my arms around his torso. My ear was pressed against his chest where I could hear his heart racing with panic and anger at the thought of losing his brother. My tears soaked the fabric of his shirt as he lifted his arms to wrap them around me.

“This hurts so bad,” I confessed, my voice thick from my tears. I sniffled, trying to hold them back, but it was pointless.

“I know it does,” his voice shook. “I almost lost Olivia once, so I know exactly how you feel right now, and it’s the worst feeling in the whole world.”

I hadn’t known that, but now wasn’t the time to ask questions about Olivia and his past. Right now, our focus needed to be on Trent.

“I fucking hate this hospital,” Trace groaned, his voice muffled by my hair.

“Why?” I asked.

“
This is where they brought Olivia, then Gramps passed…although, the stubborn old man made them release him so he could die at home,” I felt Trace crack a small smile but it quickly crumbled, “and now Trent’s here, fighting for his life. If it wasn’t for the fact that Dean was born here,” he said, pulling away and I let my arms drop to my sides, “this place would only hold bad memories for me.”

“Your family has really bad luck,” I remarked, trying to bring some light to the situation, but it was pointless. I knew we both felt like falling apart.

“Yeah, something like that,” he muttered, glaring at the tiled floor.

We
stood there a few moments longer before joining his mom and the kids in the waiting room. I felt like I didn’t deserve to be there. After what I had done they should’ve hated me, not embraced me like family.

Tristan sat on Lily’s lap and she talked to him, forcing a smile here and there for his benefit.

I settled into the uncomfortable plastic chair, figuring we’d be waiting awhile before we knew anything.

Trace took the seat
beside me, resting his elbows on his knees with his head in his hands.

Ivy was seated in the other chair next to m
e and laid her head on my shoulder.

“It’ll be okay, Row,” she looked up at me with innocent hazel eyes, “love conquers anything, right? Even death?”

God, I wished that was true.

I nodded for her benefit as I leaned my head back against the wall
and closed my eyes. If I slept, maybe I could convince myself that this was all merely a nightmare.