Page 22 of Without a Trace
Scarlett
The hike back wasn’t long, but my legs grew heavier with every step. Maybe it was the sun. Maybe it was the way Trace hadn’t spoken since we surfaced. Maybe it was the thousand little thoughts crowding my chest like bees in a jar. My tank top clung to my spine, and sweat beaded at the small of my back, but it was the silence that made me itch.
Kane was tossing his shirt into the air, like a flag, trying to catch it on his head, Rhett pretended not to be amused, but the corner of his mouth gave him away. Alden walked a few paces behind me and Trace… trailed just far enough behind us I couldn’t read his face anymore. Which was probably the point.
I looked down at Hemingway trudging along beside me, his tongue hanging sideways like a little pink flag of surrender. His stubby legs were done. He gave me that look—the I’m tired, pick me up, why do you hate me look.Same. Done. Over it. Ready to be carried.
I crouched to scoop him up, Alden’s voice cutting through the trees behind me.
“I got him, Love,” he said, stepping forward and reaching out.
I hesitated, eyes flicking to his. He didn’t smile. Didn’t try to charm me. Just looked at Hemingway like he’d been waiting for an excuse to carry him all day.
“He’s heavier than he looks,” I warned, holding him close.
“I know,” Alden muttered. “I’ve carried him before.” The way he said it… didn’t feel like it was just about the dog.
I let him take the dog from my arms, and just like that, I felt… weirdly lighter.
Alden cradled Hemingway against his chest. His biceps flexed slightly under his damp t-shirt. Unintentional. Unavoidable. And I looked. God, I looked. I realized maybe for the first time in a while—how strong he really was. Not in the loud way. In the you could lean on him, and he’d hold the weight kind of way.
We walked for a few seconds in silence before I realized I was holding my breath, trying to nonchalantly exhale.
“You’ve been quiet,” he said finally, eyes still forward.
I shrugged. “Just tired.”
He didn’t call me out on the lie. Didn’t press. His thumb stroked absentmindedly along Hemingway’s side. Calmer than I felt.
Just the sound of leaves crunching beneath our feet and Kane whistling something off-key drifting ahead like static sat between us.
Eventually Alden spoke again, voice low. “You’ve been somewhere else lately.”
I turned to look at him, but he was still staring ahead.
“You don’t have to say where,” he added. “Just… I see it.”
That wrecked me. More than I wanted to admit.
Because I hadn’t realized how long I’d been hoping someone would notice.
And of course, it had to be him.
Alden, who had always been there. Who probably would’ve said something years ago if Trace hadn’t gotten between us—if life hadn’t rearranged itself in all the wrong ways.
I didn’t have to ask if he still loved me.
I knew.
The truth was, they both did.
And that terrified me.
Because loving one of them meant breaking the other.
And part of me still hadn’t decided which part of my heart I could live without or if I was strong enough to survive either choice.
Trace
