Page 51 of Without a Trace
The boat rocked gently beneath me, and I hated how fast my heart was beating. Like I was guilty. Like I owed him something.
Fuck.
What was I doing?
I wasn’t here to fall apart. Wasn’t here for him.
So why did it feel like everything was spiraling the second he looked away?
The wind hit me as I turned the corner toward the back deck. Quieter here. Darker. Just me and the ache I kept trying to drink away.
And then I heard them.
Low voices. Sharp. Too close.
“—you think she’s ready for what’s coming?” Rhett asked. “Because I’m not. None of us are.”
I froze.
Trace’s voice was lower. Gutted. “She doesn’t know.”
“No shit,” Rhett said. “That’s the problem. You already let it get too close.”
My blood ran cold.
“She’s not walking away clean this time,” Rhett added. “And if you think she will, you’re fucking lying to yourself.”
Trace didn’t respond.
And I—because I’m an idiot—rounded the corner like I hadn’t heard a damn thing.
I walked straight up to Trace, slung my arm over his shoulder, and leaned into him like I owned the night.
He tensed, his body saying ‘don’t.’ Mine said ‘try me.’
“You boys talking about me?” I asked, syrupy sweet.
Rhett blinked. “Jesus.” He looked to Trace. “Good luck.”
He vanished, leaving me pressed against someone I wasn’t supposed to need.
“Don’t get all mysterious now,” I said, brushing my fingers against Trace’s collar. “It’s our last night. You should at least pretend to have fun.”
His eyes locked on mine.
Flat. Dark. Dangerous.
“You don’t know what you’re doing.”
I grinned. “Maybe. Or maybe I do.”
His hand snapped to my waist, hard enough to make me flinch. But it wasn’t fear. It was fire.
He leaned in, breath hot against my ear.
“You’re playing with fire, Sunshine.”
Then he let go.
