“I honestly do need a partner though. At least until I’ve got more mobility,” Cole said, oozy-sweet adoration unmistakable in the look he gave Jeremy. Trace did not take to the idea of love at first sight, but she made an exception when it came to her father and Cole. The relationship had been rocky at first, naturally, but they were hooked from that first moment the social worker brought Cole to the house.
“Happy to help. You know where to find me,” Jeremy answered with a sparkling wink.
Trace took Cole’s crutch from where he’d leaned it against the workbench and handed it to him, setting the tools back where they wouldn’t get knocked over if her dad decided to park in the garage tonight. Cole started the hobble toward the house.
She leaned close to her dad and asked quietly, “What do you think?”
“He’s quite a carpenter.”
“I mean, about Cole. Emotionally. Think he’s going to be okay?”
Jeremy beamed and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “More than okay. For all that boy’s been through, he’s got a level head and a good heart. He’s got a long road ahead, but he’s more than just a survivor. We’ll make sure he knows he has stability and people who care about him, like always.” Her dad kissed her temple as he released her. “You, Trace, are going to be okay, too.”
“What? I’m fine,” she said, scoffing at the implication that she might not be doing great at this very moment. “Cole’s recovering from trauma I cannot even imagine. I’m in a transition. Completely different.”
“Take all the time you need to get your head on straight and figure out what you want.”
“Dad. I really am fine. Head is firmly attacked to neck.” She exaggerated a shrug to prove her point. “See? Fine. Let’s focus on Cole.”
“Not all rough patches are obvious, nor are they equal in intensity, but I’ve got plenty of room to worry about you both,” he said gently, backing up a few steps ahead of her. “Your mother and I are so proud of everything you’ve accomplished. But… now don’t get offended. You’ve got a hell of a spirit. A confidence we like to credit ourselves for having a small hand in building,” he said with a wink. “But you haven’t been shining as vibrantly these past few years.” Before she could respond, he shook his head. “Nope. I know it. You know it. She’s right there, under the surface, brighter and bolder even than the girl who left ten years ago. You’ll find her, but that’s on you.”
“Thanks, Dad. I only realized it a few weeks ago. Mojo lost. I’m cranky about it.”
“We know you better than you think. Just saying. Now go get all set up for a relaxing evening.”
“Okay,” she said, smiling as she followed him out of the garage.
Upstairs, she slipped into her bedroom and threw open her closet. She glared down at her standard ensemble. Baby blue ankle pants today, with a simple navy sweater and beige ballet flats. Seriously, it was a cute look. But it was the same look. Every day. Boring Trace in her uniform.
Not even boring guys were into her these days. Even her students noticed. As her students were bailing for Friday night fun tonight, she overheard a cluster whispering over whether they thought Miss Perry was a virgin. How sad, to be a middle-aged virgin.
Ugh. Trace yanked off the blouse. Tension boiled in her hands as she crumpled it, wrung it, and chucked it. For fuck’s sake, she wasn’t even thirty. And she’d had a lovely sex life since she was… their age.
Yeah. She probably wasn’t the best example for her students. Not back then nor now.
The point was, if a bunch of fourteen- and fifteen-year-old kids were noting her pathetic sex life and mature image… her unintentionally but solidly constructed bubble of don’t-notice-me had failed so badly that people now noticed how unremarkable she was.
Stomping out of her pretty ankle length pants, she growled at herself and glared into her closet. Multi-pack of bikini cotton panties neatly rolled in the basket next to the comfort-fit bras. Pastels. Neutrals. No graphic tees, no leather, no lace, only intact denim and not much of it. Who was she? Wasn’t she telling Haley to remember that little girl who climbed trees higher than houses and didn’t own a pair of jeans without grass stains?
Argh. Own fucking medicine. Choke on it.
Under the row of neatly hung blouses and sweater sets, she found a handled paper bag peeking out. Giddiness fluttered under her skin and she knelt down, pulling out the bag. At the sporting goods store, she’d picked up some workout clothes.
Tags still on, as she hadn’t worked up the guts for even her parents to see her daring attire, she drew out a pair of black leggings with a funky mesh pattern on each of the legs, sexy but tasteful, and grinned as she held them up. Absolutely not a gym person, she had indulged and purchased workout clothes that madeherhappy.
Trace snapped off the tag and slid her legs into the smooth, flexible fabric. Grinning at her genius, she wiggled her butt and did a little dance as she reached into the back of the bottom shelf, into the stack of play clothes. Like painting, hiking, or, most often, alone time. She found a favorite sleeveless heathered gray tank with her alma mater’s mascot on it, plus some splashes of paint from various projects.
It had been a tick since the last time they’d had movie night upstairs like this, and it had usually been Trace in the middle of the couch between Cole and Finn. Occasionally, Cole would bring a date, but rarely the same one twice. In and out, she forced her mind, her breath, her pulse to slow as she opened the door. Cole didn’t need to witness a midlife crisis moment. Normally reserved for the middle of life, apparently Trace needed one now. She had always been precocious.
Cole came hobbling up the stairs, a six-pack hooked in his fingers that gripped the crutch, and a cloth bag filled with goodies hung from his neck like a pack mule.
Trace snorted a laugh and dashed over to rescue him.
As she lifted the bag from his neck, he released a self-effacing chuckle and shook his head. “I went down for water, and Ellen started hooking stuff from me like a coatrack. Jeremy is picking up the pizza, about thirty minutes out. I can’t believe Foothills still hasn’t figured out delivery service.”
“Right?” The bag was heavy, filled with a picnic care package from the bakery. “I thought my mom was picking the pizza up on her way home. Why is my dad going to get the pizza when he’s not even going to be home to enjoy it? I could have gone.”
Relieved of his load, Cole breathed in extra oxygen as he continued his trek toward the couch. “No idea. Ellen was already almost home, so Jeremy said he’d get it. I offered, promising I was perfectly capable of driving, but he said something about a gift-horse and a mouth.”
