Page 36 of Without a Trace
But I sat still. Like I’d done for years.
Watching her fall in love with the wrong people. Watching her laugh too loud and drink too fast and break her own heart before anyone else could.
I’d always been the one to hold the net beneath her fall.
And I never once resented her for it.
But tonight?
Tonight, ached in a different way.
I didn’t say the things I wanted to say.
That I remembered the sound of her laugh in the truck that night we snuck out our senior year.
That I still had the polaroid she didn’t know I took—her on the roof, arms stretched wide like she owned the whole damn sky. That I hadn’t stopped wanting her. Not once.
And now, she was here. In a hot tub. Between Trace and me. Acting like she wasn’t lighting every part of me on fire.
I didn’t tell her.
I just let her touch my chest.
Let her lean into me like she knew I’d never flinch.
Because she was right.
I wouldn’t.
I’d take whatever she gave me—even if it was a slow, sweet kind of torture.
She teased Trace and part of me burned. But another part—the bigger part—just felt tired.
Because I didn’t want to fight for her.
I just wanted her to choose me.
Quietly. Clearly. Without games. Without wine. Without the hot tub and the steam and tension so thick I could barely breathe.
I wanted her to look at me and justknow.
But maybe that was never how this would go.
Maybe I’d always be the one she could lean on, but never fall for.
Maybe that’s all I’d get.
But I’d take it.
Because loving her was never the problem. It was surviving it that might kill me.
Scarlett
Itook another sip.
The wine didn’t taste like wine anymore. It tasted like recklessness. Like power. I was slipping into a version of myself I’d only ever glimpsed in mirrors—wild-eyed, grinning, untouchable.
I traced a finger along the rim of the cup, pretending not to notice them staring at me like I was some unsolvable riddle they’d kill to understand.
