Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Trace froze with one foot in the pant leg of his joggers, and his eyes widened. “He admitted he took it?”
“First, he blamed Shay, but then he said he was the one who took it,” I said. “I don’t think Shay knows.”
“Where’s the journal now?”
I tilted my head toward the bathroom door. “Your car. It’s in my pack—”
Trace froze again, this time with one arm in his sleeve. “The pack you let me carry down the mountain?”
“I only have the one pack, so… yeah. Obviously.” I frowned. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” He waved a hand and finished pulling on his Made Marian tee. “I’m great. Just means a lot that you trusted me with that. Keep going.”
I shrugged. “Anyway. I have it back now, but he could have taken pictures of the pages.”
“Fuck. I’m sorry, baby.”
I nodded glumly. Of course Trace didn’t get how big a deal this was—
He lifted my chin. “That information is yours to share, Wolfe. With whoever you trust to have it. In whatever way makes you comfortable. It’s not okay that he saw any of it in the first place. It’s sure as fuck not okay that he’s trying to blackmail you with it.”
I stared at Trace with wide eyes. He did get it. Fuck, he totally got it. He didn’t know the details, but he understood anyway.
I had a truth I wanted to tell Trace right then.
Not about being Fletcher Coe—though yeah, that too. Eventually. After I figured out how I wanted to handle this situation, so Trace would know I’d told him because I wanted him to know, not because I needed his help.
No, what I wanted to tell Trace was even bigger and more precious. A secret I’d kept nestled safely in my heart for more than a decade. One I’d never been able to speak, but that had colored every damn lyric I’d ever written.
I love you was on the tip of my tongue…
“Baby?”
I blinked at Trace, who had squatted on the bathroom floor beside my bench. “Yeah?”
He smiled, amused and patient. “I asked if you were hungry.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. Now that he mentioned it, I realized I was ravenous, and the rest would keep. “Yeah, let’s eat.”
We quickly packed back up and drove the short distance from the bathroom building to my van. When I stepped inside, I used the countertop to hobble directly to the cabinet over my kitchen counter. “I have pasta—”
Trace moved behind me until the warm length of him was pressed against my back, and his hands landed on my hips. “Lie down. Let me do the cooking while you elevate your ankle, yeah? You have an ice pack or something?”
Though I’d been working through it successfully all day, some remnant of my earlier fear of Trace treating me like a child reared its head. I set my jaw mulishly and turned to face him. “I’m perfectly capable of cooking—”
“I know. Do you want to cook right now?”
I blinked. “I mean… not really. But it needs to be done, so—”
Trace nodded like that was all he needed to hear. He backed me three paces to the bed. “You fucking crawled down a mountain today, Wolfe. You don’t need to prove anything to me.” He pushed gently, and my ass bounced on the mattress. “You never did. Got it?”
I took a deep breath. “Got it,” I said softly.
He pushed my damp hair back from my forehead. “I like taking care of you. And if you’re around next time I come in from a few weeks’ camping in the backcountry, believe me, I’ll let you return the favor.”
That sounded fucking amazing. Taking care of Trace. Being equal partners with Trace. Being with Trace fucking period.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m sensitive about—”
Trace’s fingertips brushed down my cheek. “I get it. I hurt you. You wanna move past it, but it’s gonna take time to trust me and to heal. Speaking of which…” He knelt by the small fridge and handed me the flexible ice pack I’d gotten earlier in the trip.
I rolled my eyes and settled back on the bed with the ice pack on my ankle.
The truth was, it was really fucking nice letting Trace take care of me. Watching him move around my tiny kitchen space, wearing his Made Marian tee, was a reminder that he wasn’t just the sexy-as-fuck man I adored. He was family. Dependable and trustworthy. Comforting and safe.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t let myself bask in the feelings. I had too much other shit to think about. Like that impending life explosion.
I reached over and grabbed my journal out of the muddy pack on the floor. It was time to assess just how much damage Jake could cause by reviewing what was in it.
Trace’s voice surprised me, but his words shocked me even more. “Love pressed flat like petals between the pages of a journal no one reads…”