Page 23 of Without a Trace
The trees creaked above me, their branches shifted with a kind of knowing. I didn’t belong here.
I’d slowed my steps and fell behind without meaning to. Or maybe I did. Maybe it was easier to let the space grow between me and everything that looked like it still made sense.
They were all laughing, talking, carrying the afternoon like it didn’t weigh a fucking ton. Like it wasn’t full of glances and tension and shit none of us were saying out loud.
My fingers curled at the nape of my neck, pulling slightly, grounding myself in the sting when I glanced up the path.
That’s when I saw her.
Scarlett.
And Alden.
He had the dog in his arms—Hemingway’s face half-squished into his shoulder like he belonged there. And Scarlett… fuck, she was smiling. Tired, maybe. But soft. Arms loose at her sides. Hair still damp, clinging to her collarbone. The sun gilded her skin, as if she were dipped in something forbidden to me.
They weren’t touching. But they didn’t need to.
They had that familiarity. The kind that comes from years of almosts and never-quite-wents. From knowing someone too well.
From seeing too much and saying too little.
And god, it made me want to break something.
Because I didn’t get to be that for her.
I was the mistake in the dark. The silence in the room. The voice she only let in when no one else was listening.
And I couldn’t stop looking at her.
She’d looked like something out of a fucking fever dream in that water. Hair slicked back, neck arched. Eyes like green fire under the sun. When she floated away from the group, I followed without thinking. When she dipped under the stone ledge, I swam after her like I didn’t have a choice.
I still don’t.
I wanted to touch her in that grotto. Wanted to pull her into me and say the things I’ve buried for years. But she pulled away.
And now she’s smiling at Alden like maybe that’s easier.
Like maybe he’s the one she’s supposed to pick.
I leaned against a tree, breath tight in my chest.
He’d be better for her. He always fucking would be.
But the idea of watching that happen—watching her slowly, quietly choose someone else—felt like a noose around my ribs.
I don’t know how to be around her and not want her. Don’t know how to exist in a world where I don’t get to call her mine, even if I never deserved her. Even her name in someone else’s mouth makes my ribs feel like they’re splintering.
Maybe that’s the problem.
She was never mine.
But god, I think I was always hers.
Scarlett
The upstairs bathroom smelled like curling irons and perfume. Feminine. Familiar. The kind of smell that made you feel like something was about to happen—even if you didn’t know what. Sloane stood in front of the mirror in her satin slip, applying mascara with the intense focus that could shatter worlds. I watched her like I always had half in awe, half wondering how she never broke. Lena, already in a sage green dress was curled up on the edge of the bed with a mason jar of wine.
The satin tie of my robe tangled in my fingers. I kept twisting it tighter. Like that would keep me from unraveling. Realizing the fact that my twenty-second birthday felt less like a celebration and more like a spotlight on everything I hadn’t figured out.
