Sundaynightwastheworst night of the week. Back to work the next day, early bedtime. Except, as far as her work knew, Trace had a terribly contagious illness and would be out for several days.
Tonight was the worst for so many other reasons. How did he stand the waiting? For someone to bust in shooting or something comparably nightmarishly awful?
Or maybe he couldn’t stand the waiting. Cole hadn’t been able to sit still and had gone to the garage to work on another project, taking a few of the dining chairs. Maybe he’d glue them back together, again, as the dowels were constantly popping out and someone was going to get hurt one of these days. Ear to the ground, he acted busy, but she knew he was setting things in motion, his mind always on the job.
Thus, Trace was restless and irritable and felt completely useless. Clearly, her parents were in similar boats.
Cole distracted Jeremy by claiming he needed help fixing the wobbly dining chairs, and they took them to his makeshift workshop in the garage.
Ellen baked like there was no tomorrow, as, well, chances were, there wouldn’t be. Ugh. She hated having her parents in the middle of this.
Seven o’clock rolled around, and Cole had kept her dad busy, moving onto Trace’s car while the glue set on the chairs. She knew her mom had brought dinner out to Cole and to her dad while he pretended to help. Trace had a quiet dinner with her mom in the kitchen, while her mother futzed with diabetic friendlier recipes.
Eight o’clock.
Was he going to come upstairs at all? Sleep would be important, before… fuck. She didn’t even know.
She washed up for bed, and then stood in front of her closet, pulled out her normal, minimalist sleepwear and glared at it, then back to the drawer. The pink silk getup was neatly folded, after she’d unpacked and rearranged her bedroom to keep occupied.
There was a gentle tap on her door. “Trace? It’s me,” he said.
In her panties and an old t-shirt, Trace dashed across the room and opened the door a crack. “Yes?” she asked, melting instantly when she saw him grinning at her, lips curled up, one side devilishly plotting as it lifted higher than the other.
“Freya texted me, said to ask you about a pink thing?”
Guards at every corner of the house, scattered across town. Cole in the thick of a fight, yet again. She opened the door and nodded for him to come in. “I’m not sure now is the best time for… the pink thing.”
His brow dropped low, and he chewed the edge of his cheek, holding her gaze with his. “Now is the best time for… a pink thing.”
“How can you think about… sex and pink silk things and… and… anything other than the fact that your identity was compromised and your life is in danger?”
“Trace,” he murmured, his expression relaxing as he studied hers. “I’m not going to lie and say you get used it, but at some point, you realize that if you let your life constantly be dominated by worry and fear, or even preparing for the next steps, you’ll never get to enjoy the good parts.”
“What if you’re caught off guard? You aren’t supposed to have worries this life-threatening anymore. What if they come during the night? Or while we’re… you know. It happens all the time in horror movies. I’ll be riding you and getting off and a sniper will shoot me in the chest and it’ll be bloody and gruesome and… and…”
Cole grinned and laughed and leaned in and touched a soft kiss to her lips as he drew her close. “They want something from me, and you are their most effective tool against me. So, until we’ve been captured and they have what they want, I think we’re safe.”
She growled and kissed him back. “You are the exact opposite of boring.”
“Hope that’s okay,” he said as he kissed her again. “I would have kissed you with tongue and probably grabbed your ass on the bridge.”
She snorted a laugh and nipped his bottom lip. “I believe I kissed you first.”
“I might not be boring, but I am very patient.” He sucked her tongue before kissing her hard and long. “You keep thinking I’m going to run, and maybe I should, but I’ve spent half my life obsessing over you.” He framed her face in his hands and she saw the ache boiling in his bones. “You are so much more alive and wild and sweet and sexy and… fuck, Trace, I will never get enough of you.” He leaned in and touched a soft kiss to her lips, then leaned back against the door. “When I was a kid, my favorite part of the day was art class. Finger painting. Glitter exploding all over the table and colors blending chaotically. Charcoal and the stain of it getting all over my fingers. Painfully early on, I learned to indulge in moments that make me happy. To not stare at the door, waiting for the principle to walk in and drop a bombshell, like another social worker wanting to talk to me or that my mom had finally been arrested or that my grandma was here to take me again.”
Trace fiddled her tongue over her tooth, studying his expressions, so much hidden behind a smile, and so much hidden behind each scowl. Needing that contact, the feel of him near her, she tucked her hips against his. “That’s got to mess with a person, never getting to feel safe.”
“You weren’t wrong, that I run.” He reached up and brushed her hair out of her face. “There was always this sense of terror, that if I sat still for too long, it would all catch up to me.”
“You say that like it’s in the past, but how can you be sure? You’ve never sat still long enough to know that you even can. And don’t put that pressure on me, to be the only thing keeping you from running again.”
Brow lowering, he kissed her with a heartbreaking sweetness. As he drew back, he fell into a subtle smile, the ache simmering, broadening. “I missed the quiet of this place. I missed Jeremy and Ellen. Peanut butter chocolate chip cookies and mountains and having a beer with my friends around a bonfire.” Tipping his forehead to hers, he swallowed hard. “When I was so broken I thought I might actually be dead, I began to wonder if you had only ever been my imaginary friend.” He laughed softly, hoarsely as he tipped his head back against the door and hooked a sheepish smile. “I came back because this is home. Because this is where I belong. Where I’m happy. If I can get us out of this, I’m going to spend every day for the rest of my life proving to you that I will never get enough of you. Whatever happens, I’m glad I got to see how real you are.”
Something constricted around Trace’s ribs, crushing her sternum, her legs threatening to collapse. Struggling to stay afloat, she braced her hands on his middle, refusing to let him see how terrified she was. Of so many things. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.” Trace swallowed hard and set her hand on his cheek, tracing her thumb over the pulsing in his jaw. “I am so in love with you, and I think I always have been.”
He crushed his mouth to hers, kissing her long and deep and aching with so many moments that may never happen. He held her close and tipped his forehead to hers, framing her face so they were the only two people in the world. “I’ve waited so long to hear you say that.”
Hands sliding under the hem of his shirt, she grasped his waist, palmed his back, the desperation so different from last night. A laugh under her breath, she asked, “Aren’t you going to say it back?”
