Page 34 of Trick

Trick is astute and has always been. Of course, he sees through me. The threads of my secrets are being tugged, and I don’t know how to handle it. I didn’t expect anyone to look too closely at me—they never have before.

“Does the reason matter?”

“Yeah, it fucking matters. After we talked, I went away and thought about your reaction. Something didn’t sit right with me.”

Shit. I’ve let my guard down too far.

“Why are you looking for mysteries when there are none here? I just don’t want to sit in a room full of people talking about the good old days.”

My words bounce off him. “I never noticed it before,” he says, as if I haven’t spoken, “but when you talk about him or that time, you get this look in your eyes.”

I don’t move even an inch, scared that if I do, my face might give something away. “I don’t get a look. Clearly, whatever drugs you’re on have rattled your brain.”

I reach for something in the first aid kit, anything to distract from this conversation.

“I know a thing or two about grief, Heidi. It beats in my chest every moment of the day.”

I should keep my silence, try to push him off this track, but Trick isn’t stupid. Anything I say is just going to add more suspicion.

My hand drifts to my throat. “His death changed everything.”

“I know,” he agrees, but he doesn’t know, at least not all of it.

The air is too thin, but his fingers are gentle as he brushes over my cheek, wiping away the tears I didn’t realise I’d let fall. The way he’s touching me shouldn’t invoke the feelings it does, but something stirs in the depths of my stomach.

Our eyes lock together, magnetised.

Heat builds between us, our shared trauma a balm to each other.

That’s all this is, right?

Trauma bonding.

“Trick…” I breathe his name, not sure if I’m willing him to move or stay. “Don’t.”

“Don’t comfort you when you’re crying? You expect me to just sit here and watch your tears?”

“I’m not your responsibility.”

“Heidi—”

“No, don’t tell me I’m family. I lost everything when Theo was murdered, and I’m so angry. I hate him for dying, and I hate the club for putting him in a position where he was killed. But most of all, I hate myself.” I sob out the last words, burying my face in my hands.

“Heidi, look at me.” I don’t. I can’t. “Now.”

The bite of the order in his tone has my lashes lifting. I expect to see anger, which is what I get from his brothers, but there’s none of that with him.

The room feels small and claustrophobic. My head spins and my lungs contract as dizziness swamps me.

Strong hands grip my cheeks, and the room stills. Trick peers at me through his puffy lids.

“You’re okay,” he tells me, but I’m not. I’m never going to be okay again. “Just breathe.”

I do as he commands, dragging a stunted breath into my lungs. It eases some of the tightness constricting my chest, but I still feel woozy.

“I’m here,” he says, and I don’t know why those words unlock something inside me. “Talk to me.”

I want to. His kindness and compassion makes me desperately want to admit the loss I have kept close for all this time, but the words stick in my throat.

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