Trace + Olivia Series Boxed Set (138 page)

“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 braced 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 tightening. “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 me 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.

Hours later, with no sleep, a doctor finally appeared in the doorway.

“He’s awake now… if you’d like to see him.”

The hesitation his voice destroyed what hope was left inside me. His tone said,
you might want to say your goodbyes now
.

“Mom and I will go first,” Trace whispered, grasping the chair arms and using it to heave himself to his feet. He stretched his arms above his head, cracking his back. He reached for his mom, wrapping his arm around her shoulders as they followed the doctor.

Tristan crawled into my lap, burrowing his head under my neck. “What’s going on, mommy?” He asked, lovingly stroking my hair. Even at five years old he could sense the tension in my body and was trying to relieve it.

“Trent—your dad—has been hurt,” I whispered. It pained me to say those words.

“Is he going to be okay? Can I say hi?” Tristan looked up at me with wide eyes.

“I don’t know,” I answered, kissing the top of his head, his hair soft against my lips.

I wrapped my arms tightly around him, closing my eyes as I rested my head on top of his. All my regrets were piling on top of me in this moment and I felt like I was suffocating. Because of what I had done, Trent had missed out on being a part of Tristan’s life, and now Tristan might never get to know his dad.

I had been horrible and selfish to make the decision I did without telling Trent. I had been so young and stupid. Now, I was suffering the consequences.

I
should have been the one in there fighting for my life, not Trent.

I didn’t want to lose him.

Even if he didn’t belong to me, and I’d have to watch him love someone else eventually, I’d rather deal with that pain than this.

I hummed under my breath, rocking Tristan in my arms.

Tristan took a piece of my hair and twisted it around his finger. “It will be okay, mommy,” he whispered in his sweet voice.

“I hope so.” I felt tears sting my eyes once more. I didn’t know how someone could keep crying like this. Eventually you had to run out of tears, right?

Trace and his mom returned ten minutes later, their faces pale.

“He wants to talk to you,” Trace said, his eyes refusing to meet mine.

My stomach rolled with nausea once more.

“I’ll be right back,” I told Tristan, lifting him off my lap. He went scampering up to Trace, asking him a bunch of questions. “Tristan,” I warned, “leave Uncle Trace alone right now. He’s upset. Maybe you could give him a hug and make him feel better?” I suggested, knowing Tristan would like it if I gave him a task to perform.

Tristan nodded, wrapping his arms around Trace’s legs. Trace reached down and picked him up, and his cries pained me.

I wasn’t sure I could do this.

If Trace was breaking down like this, things didn’t bode well for me.

The doctor was waiting to lead me back. His face was grim, so I let my eyes follow the lines of the tile as he took me to Trent.

He opened a door and nodded his head for me to go inside.

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

I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth. I knew that once I got a look at Trent—at what was my fault—what was left of me would finally shatter completely.

I was that broken vase that kept being fixed in vain, only to topple off the table and break again. Eventually, the pieces grew too small to fit back together.