Page 27 of Without a Trace
Untouchable.
Theirs.
Even if I was too afraid to choose.
Heavy footsteps followed behind me and I knew it was him.
Trace.
I kept walking, gravel biting at my feet, sipping my wine.
“Scarlett,” Trace said, low behind me.
I didn’t slow. “I don’t want to do this right now.”
“Then don’t. Just walk.”
So, we did. Past the edge of the lights, down the gravel path that led to the trail and back again. Just enough to feel the dark. He walked beside me, not saying a word. Just breathing like he was trying not to say too much.
Finally, I broke. “Why’d you come?”
“Because I had to.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He exhaled hard, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “You think I don’t know I shouldn’t be here?”
I stopped walking. Turned to face him.
“You think I’m not trying?” My voice cracked. “To move on. To be okay. And then you show up and look at me like that—like you still feel it.”
“I do still feel it.”
That wrecked me. “Then why did you leave?”
His eyes were darker than the trees behind him. “Because I thought it was the only way to keep you safe.”
“From what?” I scoffed.
He hesitated.
I blinked. “From what, Trace?”
His voice dropped, rougher this time. “Everything.”
For a second, I swore he was going to reach for me. Say more. Say too much. But instead, he shook his head. “Come on. They’re probably wondering if I pushed you off a cliff.”
I let out a breath that hurt my ribs. Then nodded once and started back towards the house.
We didn’t touch. Didn’t speak again. But every step back felt like a choice I didn’t want to make.
Scarlett
The air smelled like pine and birthday cake. The stars were blurry, and I wasn’t sure if it was the wine or my brain.
Probably both.
I curled up on the porch swing, legs pulled tight. The voices inside spilling through the cracked window—laughter, music, clinking glasses.
