by Fiore, L. A.
"I'm calling it a night. I'm not as young as I used to be." He turned to Trace and put out his hand which Trace immediately shook.
"Thanks for hanging with an old man."
"Thanks for letting me."
"See you in the morning, Emmie."
"Good night, Daddy."
Trace settled next to me, pulling the blanket I was using over his lap, too. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders as I rested my head against his chest and snuggled more firmly against his side.
"Did you have fun?"
"I did but it's some male rite of passage so I can't tell you what we did."
"You bellied up to the bar at Bud's and nursed one beer all night while exchanging whose-is-bigger stories."
A smile spread over Trace's face as he reached up and touched my nose. "Exactly."
And just like that his mood changed as he shifted his position so he could frame my face in his hands before he lowered his head to mine.
"Do you think your dad will mind if we make out on the sofa?"
"I've never made out on the sofa before."
"Really, well, there's always a first time for everything." And then his mouth was on mine as he wrapped me in his arms and pulled me across his lap. Oh boy, I really liked making out on the sofa.
Two days later it was Thanksgiving and I had gotten up at six to get the turkey in the oven before going back to bed until eight. When I came downstairs again, I was surprised to find Trace already up, dressed in flannel pajama pants and a white t-shirt. He looked so perfect standing there that I felt both pleasure and pride.
My attention was pulled from his most excellent form when he started chopping celery and onions like a chef on the cooking channel. I had seen him cook before but I never really paid attention to the fact that he knew his way around a kitchen like a professional chef and I wondered how he learned to cook like that?
"Where did you learn to do that?" I asked and Trace looked at me from over his shoulder.
"I picked it up when I was younger."
I suspected he was being cryptic on purpose and wondered about that, too, but I didn't want to press it so instead moved further into the kitchen and stopped just behind him to press a kiss right between his shoulder blades.
"Good morning. How did you sleep?"
He placed the knife down before he turned around and wrapped his arms around my waist.
"Surprisingly well, once I got past thinking of you in that bed of yours all alone."
I tilted my head and studied him before I said, "I tried sneaking into your room but my dad's right; the stairs do creak."
His expression turned serious, almost tragic, and something I couldn't quite discern flashed in those eyes before he said, "It's your dad's house. We have to respect his wishes."
An odd chill went through me at the hollowness of his tone and the hard glint in his eyes suddenly made me suspicious that what he was saying and what he was thinking were two different things.
"Trace."
I watched as he came back to himself and I saw the tenderness return to his eyes. He held me more tightly as he lowered his head and pressed a kiss on my lips. His mouth lingered for a moment and then he said, "I've got to finish the stuffing."
"I'll help. We have an hour before the parade starts."
He pulled back and grinned down at me. "You watch the parade?"
"Every year! It's my favorite part of the day, well, outside of the food and company, of course."
"Have you ever watched it in person?"
"No, that's not the same. I like being toasty warm in my house with my coffee and a fire. What about you?"
"I've never watched the parade."
I knew I looked incredulous but how could someone have lived twenty-eight years and never have seen the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade?
"Not even on television?"
"No, but I do so look forward to experiencing it for the first time with you."
He kissed my nose and then turned to pick up the knife before he said, "If you wash the sweet potatoes, I'll chop them."
I started toward the pantry wondering what the hell kind of childhood he had?
Chapter Ten
Growing pains could be such a bitch. Trace and I were attempting to assimilate ourselves into the each other's lives. My life was pretty simple. Outside of Trace, there were only a handful of friends, the closest of whom was Trent.
For me, I got along just fine with Trace's fighter-friends but it was the women, the hordes of women, with whom I was having a bit of trouble. It was very hard to watch the familiarity of a hand on his arm accompanied by the knowing look, the one that said "I've seen you naked." To know that the deeply intimate acts we shared in the bedroom had been shared with countless others --yeah, I wasn't having an easy time of it.
I knew that he came home to me, that it was I who shared not just his bed but his life yet I still in good conscience couldn't admit that it was true. Sure, he shared his fighting and his friends but his past, his family, and the dark secrets that still haunted him -- no, he didn't share any of that. I was hopeful though that in due time, he would feel more comfortable around me and would open up after we were together longer since we had only been together for a short while.
On the personal front, I decided that it was time to take a more active role in my career as a writer and, as much as I loved working at Clover with the unreal tips, I didn't want to lose sight of my dreams. Writing novels is fun and I knew at some point that I'd have a story to tell but in the interim, I wanted to get into journalism. I knew that catching a break in journalism would be hard since most publications were suffering from the trend toward publishing on-line in real-time instead of printed periodicals.
I applied for a few positions with local on-line journals and was ecstatic when I got a call for an interview at the place I was dreaming about working. The job would be writing about current events, focusing mostly on the arts. I nailed the interview but they had other applicants to consider so I was doing the waiting game. With any luck I'd have my own by-line for one of New York City's premiere, on-line magazines, In Step.
To celebrate my successful interview, Trace and I went to an up-and-coming jazz bar, and while he was off getting us drinks, I sat at a table listening to some seriously good blues.
A shadow fell over me and I looked up into the pale blue eyes of a woman. It took me a minute to place the face but she was the one who Trace had brought to Clover for the fundraiser. She really was beautiful but then she opened her mouth reminding me that she was also a shrew.
"So, you're Trace's flavor of the month. Welcome to the club." She then pulled out the chair across from me and sat down, brushing her long, pale hair behind her so it cascaded down her slim back like a golden waterfall.
"I'm Heidi."
"Ember."
"You were the waitress that night, weren't you?"
"Yes."
She leaned back but kept her eyes fixed on me. "So it looks like you got him for more than an evening. How exactly did you pull that off?"
"I love him; he loves me."
She waved that off as completely inconsequential. "He loves all of us, sweetheart." She must have seen me flinch when she leaned up to more closely study my face.
"You don't really think that it's different with you, do you?"
"It is different."
"Well, sure you're living with him, and I give you credit for pulling that off, but Trace has demons, surely you've figured that out for yourself, and his demons hold all the power. He's given you the line, right, that he isn't good enough for you?"
I paled and I knew that she saw it because an evil, little smile touched her lips before she forged on.
"He'll never love anyone enough to move past those demons, to bring them into the light. It's just how he's made. You know that all of those angels on his arm who see, hear and speak no evil are all the people in his life who knew the secret and kept quiet. You've got to be pretty fucked up to
mark yourself with your own nightmare."
I'd been with Trace for a while and knew of Trace's demons but also knew that he hadn't done second dates before me so how could Heidi possibly know so much about him. I leaned closer to her and asked her that very question.
"He doesn't repeat dates yet you seem to have a pretty thorough understanding of the man. How the hell do you know so much about him?"
Her reaction was interesting to me as a slight blush tinted her cheeks. I realized that she was embarrassed but what exactly could make a haughty bitch like her embarrassed?
"Holy shit, you're stalking him aren't you?"
"No!"
I tilted my head and really studied her before I leaned back in my chair and laughed.
"Are you the President of the Trace Cast-off Club?"
She looked down and smoothed her hands over her lap before she returned her eyes to me. "Don't be ridiculous."
"Yet here you are reaching out to me. I'm not arrogant enough to believe that I'm the only one you've done this with so how many others have you treated to this little chat?"
I didn't think she was going to answer me but she surprised me. "Enough to paint a fairly accurate picture."
"And you care, why?"
She wasn't quite so cocky when she replied, "I'm not used to being unwanted."
"Trace hurt your pride so you stalk him? I think, Heidi, that you need to get over yourself." I leaned closer and held her stare with a hard one of my own.
"I love him. He loves me. It is different with me and I think we both know that. Move on, Heidi, because he has."
She then stood and without another word she was gone, getting swallowed up in the crowd. Though I knew that everything she said was likely just sour grapes, I couldn't help the feeling that there was more truth than spite in her words.
Trace returned a short time later with our drinks and, as he laid my glass of wine on the table, he leaned over and kissed me before taking the seat that Heidi had just vacated. He folded his large frame into the chair and studied me for a minute before reaching over the table and taking my hand.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, just a little tired."
"Do you want to go?"
"No, the music is very soothing."
"Okay, but let me know if you change your mind."
We sat there in silence for a bit and listened to the music. A steady stream of people stopped at our table to say hello to Trace and through it all, I sat there brooding, playing back Heidi's words in my head over and over again. I refused to believe that Trace, if asked, wouldn't share with me his past and so I worked up the nerve to ask the one question that I wanted -- no -- really needed him to answer.
"Trace, would you tell me about your childhood?"
His transformation was disturbing as his face went completely blank and his eyes turned eerily empty. His body was tense, his shoulders stiff and I knew before he even answered me that he wasn't going to share.
"No."
"Why?"
He looked at me and his eyes were burning with something dark before he leaned closer and bit out, "Because the past is the past. Talking about it doesn't change it."
"Have you ever talked about it?"
"No, and I have no plans of ever doing so."
"And your parents?"
"May they rot in hell."
I tried to reach across the table to hold his hand but he pulled it away and when he looked at me, there was a remoteness to him that I had never seen before.
"There are things that I don't talk about, ever, and to be with me you need to accept that."
"Is that really you on your arm?"
I knew my question caught him off guard. Surprise flashed over his face before he stood and as he leaned over the table, I really looked into his eyes and saw more than anger burning there; I saw torment.
"Yeah, Ember, it is. I was one of the masses in the pit but I pulled myself out and now I'm the master of my own hell."
He turned and walked away and as I watched him go, I knew deep down that Heidi's warning to me hadn't been all sour grapes. I sat there no longer interested in the music and wondered where he went off to and for just a moment, my thoughts turned to the bevy of babes who were just waiting for the signal from him. I really did believe that he loved me but I wasn't quite as certain that he loved me enough.
An hour later, he still hadn't returned so I decided to go look for him but as I stood up, Rafe appeared. It was clear from the look on his face that he wasn't happy to be there.
"He left, didn't he?"
"Yes."
"Son of a bitch." I pushed back from the table as an irrational anger burned through me.
"Where did he go?"
"A fight."
"And you, what are you my babysitter? Is that how it works, Rafe? He loses his temper and has a fucking temper-tantrum and you come and clean up his mess? Am I the first or is this just part of the Trace Montgomery special?"
I pulled my hand through my hair as I worked to control my anger.
"I'm sorry, Rafe."
"He shouldn't have left, Ember."
I looked up into understanding green eyes and felt a fresh wave of temper. "Fuck it."
With that I stormed out of the club and saw a cab dropping off passengers so I jumped into it. As the cab pulled away, Rafe appeared on the curb and our eyes locked as the cab drove off.
I hadn't gone home until close to four in the morning and I didn't think that Trace would even be home. That's why I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard his deep voice coming from the shadows as I closed the door. He came at me from the sofa in a very predatory way and when I flicked on the lights and saw his face, I actually took a step backwards. He spoke with a hoarse voice but I couldn't tell whether that was from anger or something else.
He said, "Where did you go?"
"To cool off."
"Do you not realize the dangers for a woman walking alone in this city?"
"I do and I've had my fair share of trouble but you left first, Trace, not me."
"Rafe was there."
"Yes, and how very thoughtful of you to storm out on me but make sure I have an escort home. Is that how it's going to be, Trace? I say something you don't like so you walk out? Will you do the same thing to our children if they step over some arbitrary line?"
His face blanched before he whispered, "I don't want children, Ember."
Though I hadn't thought about having children, that comment effectively took the wind from my sails since I still liked the idea of having the option.
"Never?"
"No, I won't subject any child to the shit that runs through my veins."
He held my stare and asked in practically a whisper, "Are you going to leave me now?"
"Why do you think that I would?"
"Because nothing good lasts."
My eyes moved to the tattoo on his arm as I reached up and traced the man on the throne. I felt tears burn the back of my throat thinking about how really fucked up he was but I loved him. I loved him enough to stay and when I looked up at him, I knew that my feelings were right there in my eyes but I spoke the words anyway.
"I love you and that includes all of your demons. I'm not going anywhere."
His mouth came down on mine as he pushed me against the door. His kiss was almost brutal, stirred by all the emotions that were raging through him. He dropped to his knees and lifted my skirt to pull my panties down my legs and I steadied myself on his shoulder to step out of them. His eyes looked up right into mine as he leaned closer and took me into his mouth. Our eyes were locked as he pleasured me in a way that I had never experienced before. When I felt myself start to break apart, I closed my eyes and rested my head against the door as he brought me to a staggering climax.
My legs were weak and I almost slid down the wall in utter contentment when I heard his zipper. Desire again burned through me as Trace lifted me onto himself and filled me. I wrapped my legs around his waist and f
used my mouth to his. It was with an almost single-minded determination that he moved deep and hard. He pulled his mouth from mine and pressed his lips to my neck, grazing my throat with his teeth. I felt myself coming apart again and felt him stiffen as we came together.
After that night we didn't speak of the argument, didn't discuss children (or the lack thereof), and I didn't pry into his past. Though Trace seemed more than happy with our arrangement, I was not so much. We were, for lack of a better metaphor, avoiding the elephant in the room. I was consoled by the infancy of our relationship and the hope that trust and full disclosure might have come later.
I was working at Clover one night and as I approached a table with an older couple, who were maybe in their fifties, I was struck for a moment by how very familiar they seemed. I stopped at their table and offered a greeting prompting them both to look up at me.
"Good evening. Can I get something for you to drink while you look over the menu?"
"Aren't you a pretty young woman. What's your name, dear?"
"Ember."
"Hello, Ember."
The way they were looking at me was a bit unnerving. I almost had the sense that they were dissecting me, looking for all of my secrets, and the sensation had a chill slithering down my spine.
"Are you from around here?"
I thought that was an odd question and wondered why they would care but I answered, "No, I'm from Fishtown, Philadelphia."
"How lovely."
"Vivian, order your drink."
The man's voice was hard, and unyielding, and I noticed the woman reacted to it immediately, like a turtle moving into its shell. She barely glanced at me when she said, "vodka and tonic, three olives."
"Glenlivet, neat." And then I was dismissed. Vivian made no further attempt at small talk when she placed her dinner order and when the bill came the man paid, leaving me twenty-five percent tip, and they left without so much as a goodbye. Why that encounter stayed with me, I didn't know, but it did.
That night I left the restaurant to find Trace waiting for me. He was leaning against his bike with his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and, no matter how many times I'd seen him like that, it never got old. A smile touched his lips as soon as he saw me and, when he reached for me, I went right into his arms, pressing myself against him as closely as I could. His lips brushed over my ear before he whispered, "Rough night?"