Page 55 of Traces Of You
Their futures shining on each other.
But if he didn’t believe her, it’d never happen.
He moved her to the couch, his hands burning through his old sweatshirt that she’d been wearing.
Each day she’d put one of his articles of clothing on. If not a sweatshirt to wear around the house, then a T-shirt to sleep in.
Something that once touched his skin would cover hers in a secret form of protection.
“Come sit down,” he said. “We need to talk. I need answers.”
“You need to be convinced,” she said.
“I do. I’m sorry if that hurts you. Nothing about this situation is normal. You know that. I can’t help if I don’t know everything. I’m not even close to knowing it all. So talk.”
“We have to talk,” she said. “But I don’t know why you’re asking me this. Why do you think I’d do that or lie to you? And I want to know what you found out and if I’m in danger. Do I need to leave?” The wetness on her cheeks told a story of her coming undone. She’d tried so hard for years not to let anyone see her pain. See her fears. Those people in her past only fed on them. But with Ford, she needed him to see everything there was about her. “I don’t want to leave.”
If he saw her pain again, he’d believe her. She knew that deep down and told herself to open up. Let the grief and dysfunction of her life shine brightly for him to see, embarrassment aside.
He held her stare, her chest heaving as she gasped for air.
His firm no bullshit glare disappeared and one of sympathy replaced it.
He pulled her into his arms and held her as she cried.
She didn’t know if the tears were emerging from his accusations or the fear of never seeing him again.
That fear was why she’d stopped last week.
Just one more glimpse, she’d told herself.
To see how he’d turned out.
After driving around without seeing him, she realized it wasn’t meant to be. It was only a slim chance anyway.
Until it was time to drive away for good and there he was.
That was meant. That was fate.
She didn’t want that shattered.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said softly. His hand was running up and down her back as she got closer to his chest, the warmth from his embrace relaxing her tense muscles.
It was her job to get him to believe her.
“I swear to you I don’t do drugs. I don’t have any on me. Nothing. I hated when Oliver did them.”
She felt him tense, then let out a sigh.
Ford might feel she withheld that from him now that it was out.
She wasn’t though. Lots of people did drugs.
“I had Clay look into Oliver, which led to his cousin Randy. That’s the information I’ve got and it’s what steered my question tonight.”
“What did you find out?” she asked, running her hand under her nose. “I never liked Randy. Ever. There was something evil in him that frightened me.”
“More than Oliver?” his head angled.
