Page 54 of Without a Trace
I swallowed. “You too.”
He laughed under his breath. Not bitter. Just tired. “Yeah. Well it’s easier when no one expects much from you.”
My heart pulled sideways. “Is that how you feel?”
“All the time.”
I sat beside him on the edge of the porch, tucking my knees up to my chest, arms wrapped tight. “I expect a lot from you.”
He didn’t speak for a second. “That’s what makes it worse.”
The wind stirred again, lifting a curl of hair across my cheek. A ripple broke across the lake in the distance, barely audible.
“You ever feel like we’re all just… playing roles we didn’t audition for?” I asked.
Alden nodded. “Every fucking day.”
We sat in silence, passing the cigarette back and forth like some unspoken promise. He didn’t try to kiss me. I didn’t lean in. But something passed between us anyway—real, warm, heavy.
He walked across the porch, tossing the stub into a cup. “You should get inside,” he said, brushing a hand lightly against my shoulder.
“You’ll freeze out here.”
If he’d moved closer, I’m not sure I would’ve stopped him. Part of me wanted him to kiss me. I needed someone to want me enough to cross that line.
“Sleep good, Love.”
I wouldn’t, but I whispered, “You too.”
And as I walked back inside, my skin still humming, I wondered why it felt like the calm before a storm I didn’t see coming.
***
The air inside was thick with sleep and leftover adrenaline, like the night was still vibrating in the walls. I moved through it reckless, head full of porch smoke and Trace’s stare.
I didn’t turn on the light. Couldn’t stand the idea of seeing myself.
The bathroom door shut behind me with a soft click. Steam filled the air before the water even hit my skin. I stripped in a blur—hoodie, cover up, bikini—all of it hitting the tile like pieces of a past self I didn’t want to carry.
The water scalded. But I needed to burn.
My palms pressed to the tile, forehead resting between my arms. I tried to slow my breathing. Tried to think about nothing.
But my brain was a fucking mess.
Trace. Alden. Trace.
His eyes on me while I danced. Alden’s voice on the porch. The way Trace said “You have no idea what you’re doing” like he meant it, like he did.
I didn’t hear the door open.
But I felt him. Like heat. Like fate. Like something I should’ve run from hours ago.
I turned my head slowly—and there he was.
Trace.
Leaning against the doorframe like a ghost, like a goddamn decision I hadn’t made yet. Shirtless. Muscles cut and gleaming faintly into the haze. Swim trunks hanging low. Eyes darker than the night.
