Page 6 of Without a Trace
Because Trace was here.
And nothing was the same anymore.
Eventually the kitchen returned to the chaos in the way only our group could manage.
Rhett back to DJing while flipping bacon, humming along to a moody indie song about heartbreak while the smell of grease filled the air. Sloane threatening to physically harm anyone who touched her cold brew. Lena wiping up juice with the sleeve of her sweatshirt because “it’s already stained anyway.” And Alden—of course—sitting on the counter like he owned it.
And then there was Trace.
Leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, not saying a word.
He didn’t go to our high school. He was older. A blur of tattoos, boots, and smoke. Slipped into our world like he didn’t belong and stayed like he couldn’t help it. Until he wasn’t.
Now he was here. And everything felt different.
It felt distant, wrong and familiar all at once—like my body was a step ahead of me, waiting.
Kane bumped hips with Rhett as he passed him a spatula. “You’re burning it again.”
“Shut up,” Rhett muttered, grinning anyway. He had that kind of face—warm, a little sun-worn. Scruff on his jaw and a scar near his eyebrow that made him look like trouble even whenhe was being sweet. One of those guys people trusted without knowing why.
Kane looked like he should be on a football field or in a fight. Tall, broad-shouldered, always in a sleeveless shirt even when it was freezing. He wore a chain around his neck I never saw him take off, and his laugh came out like thunder. Big, stupid energy. And underneath it? Something steel.
And Alden—he was the golden boy. Clean jawline, soft hazel eyes, a mouth that was always on the edge of a smirk. The energy that made people lean toward him without realizing it. The kind that made girls think he was safe.
He wasn’t. Not really.
None of them were.
The four of them moved like they shared one brain. Fought like brothers. Protected each other like something worse was always lurking.
“Tell me again why we let Kane cook,” Sloane said, plucking a burnt piece of toast from the stack.
“Because I’m hot and can bench press a small car.” Kane smiled.
“Debatable,” she muttered.
“You just like when I lift shit.”
“God,” Lena groaned. “Can we not flirt until after I’ve had carbs?”
Trace remained still, eyes fixed on mine with the weight of everything unspoken.
“Coffee?” I asked him, voice quieter than I meant.
His gaze dropped to the mug in my hand. “You made it?”
“Yeah.”
“Then no.”
Rhett choked on a laugh, almost dropping a pan. “God,” he muttered. “Ya’ll don’t even try to be normal.”
Alden threw him a look, while Kane raised a brow, clearly waiting to see if I’d kill Trace where he stood—sipping his drink like he was watching a live-action soap opera.
I just smiled. “Still an asshole.”
Trace tilted his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Still dramatic, Sunshine.”
