Page 58 of Without a Trace
Scarlett
The porch smelled like last night.
Smoke and silence and something I couldn’t name. My coffee had gone cold. The sweatshirt clung to me like armor I hadn’t earned. The lake stretched out in front of me, calm and unbothered, like it hadn’t watched me fall apart.
Alden’s footsteps were soft behind me.
He was quiet at first. Just sat next to me, letting the wood shift under his weight.
“Want me to make you something?”
I shook my head. “Don’t think I can keep anything down.”
He nodded, eyes on the water.
I could feel him watching me. Not in the way Trace did. Not like fire. More like a spotlight I wanted to crawl under.
“You always do that,” he said after a while.
“Do what?”
“Pretend you’re not breaking.”
He leaned back on his elbows. Exhaling slowly. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re allowed to be a mess right now.”
“I don’t want to be.”
“Doesn’t change that you are.”
That got a laugh out of me. Barely.
His knee brushed mine. Deliberate. “I won’t let anyone touch you, you know.”
I looked at him, eyes wide. Breath caught. Heart slamming into bone.
His voice was low. Steady. Dead serious.
“I don’t care if it’s Trace or someone else or the fucking wind. If it hurts you, it answers to me.”
Something in my chest cracked.
Before I could respond, we heard tires. Gravel crunching.
A black car rolled slowly up the drive. Sleek. Expensive-looking. Windows tinted so dark it felt like a threat.
Alden stood immediately. I followed, heart already pounding.
The engine cut.
The door opened.
And out stepped a tall man. Broad shoulders. Brown skin that caught the light, warm and smooth like polished mahogany. His hair was short and neat, sharp around the edges, the kind that said he didn’t give a shit what anyone thought. Tattoos climbed out from under the collar of his shirt, curling around his forearms like smoke.
He looked... familiar.
But not in a comforting way.
His eyes landed on me. Dark. Curious. Too amused.
