Trace + Olivia Series Boxed Set (137 page)

Trace ran towards the cars, with Tristan’s arms wrapped around his neck in a stranglehold. Tristan’s giggle carried back to us with the breeze. It made me smile watching Tristan interact with his uncle.

Ivy peered up at me as we walked along. Olivia was beside us with Dean propped on her hip.

Ivy didn’t say anything, but I could tell she was thinking really hard about something. She was a lot like me in that way. We were both deep thinkers who rarely spoke our thoughts out loud.

She stopped walking and I halted with her. She bit her lip, looking around, and I knew she was nervous to ask whatever was on her mind.

“What is it, Ivy?” I prodded. “You can ask me anything, you know that.”

She nodded, but still didn’t say anything. After a moment of thought, she looked up at me. “Are you really going to be able to keep me?” She squeaked. “Tristan’s your kid, but I’m not,” she frowned. “I don’t want them to take me away from you,” tears pricked her hazel eyes. “I don’t want to be a foster kid.”

“Oh, Ivy,” I crushed her to my chest, “I will never let anyone take you from me,” I vowed.

I knew the night my mom died that this was a thought weighing heavily on Ivy’s mind.

“You have nothing to worry about,” I assured her, smoothing my fingers through her soft hair.

She nodded, but the look in her eyes told me she didn’t quite believe me.

That was okay, though, because soon enough I’d be able to prove her wrong. I wasn’t going to let anyone take the kids from me—not that I thought they’d try. I was an adult, I had a roof over their heads, and I made enough money to support them. The court had no reason to find someone more suitable.

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, following 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 narrow 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.

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?”