“Me too.” Trace rests a large hand on my thigh. His hand has been moving constantly on my back, up and down, or his knuckles drawing lazy circles. If he keeps on, he’s going to lull me to sleep. His hand gradually slows. I lift my head to tell him I’m about to fall asleep, as if he needs to stop, as if I couldn’t actually use the sleep, but his eyelids are hooded. “What?” His voice is gravelly. I’m not the only one tempted to sleep.
“Are you okay?” I didn’t know I was going to ask that question until the words were out of my mouth. I know what I look like on bad days. I know what to expect. With Trace, I don’t. It worries me that I haven’t learned him as well as he knows me. It scares me that he sometimes has to be prodded to talk to me. He doesn’t look okay, but I’m not sure. I don’t know what to do with this Trace.
“As okay as you are.” He starts rubbing my back again.
I frown. “That’s not comforting to know.”
“But you do know.”
“Why is it hard for you?”
His answer is simple. “I’d rather listen than complain.”
“It’s not complaining. I mean, you don’t think I’m complaining when I talk to you, do you?” Oh, god. What if he does think it’s complaining?
He sits up in the recliner, pulling me with him, and pulls my hand away from my wrist to interlock our fingers. “No, I don’t think that.” He takes a deep breath. “It just feels that way to me when I do it, and I hate that.” He searches my eyes before adding, “I’ve never been able to tell my dad, Britt, because it would be me burdening him and weighing him down with it. That’s part of why I’d rather not do it.”
I want to ask so many questions about his dad, but I don’t. Something tells me I’m going to have to wait for Trace to bring it up on his own. Therefore, I focus on what I can say. “But it wouldn’t be like that with me.”
He shakes his head. “It would, but in a different way. Are you telling me you haven’t thought about holding something back because I’m not in the best of moods? Or that you wonder how your bad day will impact mine? Thoughts like that?”
“Well, yeah, but I still want to tell you. I do still tell you. Normal people talk about their bad days. Why would we be any different? I mean, didn’t you talk about it with your ex-wife?”
It’s only for a second, but his body tenses beneath me. Trace shakes his head and I’m shocked. I stare at him. How is that possible? How did they not talk about it? Or was Trace pretty much okay during those times? But still. This doesn’t make sense.
Trace cups my face. “Give me time.” I nod because I don’t know what else to do. “Let’s eat.”
“Okay.” I move to stand, but Trace holds me in place. He kisses me softly and then we get up for the kitchen. We both nibble on our slices, not really hungry. I glance toward the window and see snow falling heavily. “I’m going to have to break up with you.”
Trace’s head snaps up. “What?”
I point toward the window. “It’s snowing again.”
He laughs, a real laugh, and grins. “You’re blaming me for the weather?”
“Yes, is that okay?”
He nods. “I can deal with it.”
I finish my slice of pizza. “I think I’m going to head back before it gets any later.”
Trace reluctantly nods. I don’t know if I want him to let me go, or ask me to stay. How is it possible to want both? I grab my purse with Trace following behind me. At the door, he gives me a kiss that definitely makes me want to stay as he holds me extra tight against him. The moment ends like all good things do.
“Let me know when you get there, so I know you made it safely.”
After nodding in agreement, I begin walking down the walkway toward my car. Then, the worst, most embarrassing thing ever happens.
I slip and fall.
A whoosh of air leaves my lungs as I land with a thud. Damn, the ground is hard and cold. Trace’s head appears over mine.
“Are you okay?” He helps me sit up.
“Yeah, just got the air knocked out of me.” My back hurts, but it doesn’t feel too bad.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Get me out of the snow, Trace.”
He chuckles and helps me up. Trace walks me to my car, kisses me one more time, and then I leave. Later, after Rebecca laughs at me over falling, my back still aches a little, and I’m lying in bed, staring at the wall.
I should have stayed with him.
I wish I was sleeping.
I hope tomorrow will be better.
Why didn’t Trace talk to his ex-wife? Why doesn’t he talk to his dad about it? If he can’t talk to them, how can he talk to me?
What if we don’t last? What if he never tells me anything? What if his ex-wife reenters the picture somehow? What if Trace feels like I’m too much work? What if he changes his mind about us? What if I fail my classes? What if I don’t graduate on time? What am I going to do about spring break? Will Rebecca be upset if I don’t go anywhere with her?
God, I wish I could shut my mind up and fall asleep already.
I should have asked her to stay.
The one thought plagues me for hours as I lie in bed. I didn’t ask her because I kind of didn’t want her here. I wanted moments of peace, and I wasn’t sure if she could give that to me based on how the night had been going. Not to mention, she seemed eager to leave. I didn’t want her to feel obligated or guilty.
The moment her car was out of my driveway, I felt her loss and regretted not asking. She’s probably worried about us now. She keeps peeling back my layers and I’m not so sure she likes what she sees. Maybe that’s why she was in a rush to leave. Nothing seems to twist me up as much as the idea of losing Brittany.
What I need to do is stop thinking about the possibility and start focusing on keeping her happy.
What I really need to do is go to sleep.
I roll onto my stomach and hope I’m out like a light soon.
The week, and January, end without anything exciting happening. I only see Brittany one more time, though I talk to her a lot, because Rebecca has been pressuring her to hang out with her. Mostly because Brittany told her she was coming to my house for the weekend. I’m hoping we can make this weekend more fun and less mental health issues.
“Did you grab the drinks?” I call into the living room.
“Yep!” Brittany shouts back.
I pour the freshly popped popcorn into a bowl and join her for Dateline. I’m about to sit down when there’s a knock on my door. Brittany looks surprised, and I frown. Who the hell could that be? I have no other friends here. She takes the popcorn.
I open the door and the panic hits me so hard, all I can do is stare.
“Well, are you going to let us in?” Dad asks.
I step aside to let him and his wife, Amy, into my home. What the fuck are they doing here? Why aren’t they in Texas?
“We decided to surprise you since you can’t be bothered to come visit,” Dad explains without me having to ask.
Shit. They have luggage.
“Trace?”
I whirl around to see Brittany, who looks worried.
“Who are you?” Dad asks her. He’s never been subtle, and that sometimes causes him to come across as rude. Except right now, he is being rude. Before she can answer, he turns to me. “Are you going to close the door, son?”
Right. I close the door and find the ability to speak. Brittany comes over to stand by my side. She tugs on my arm, pulling my hand away from squeezing my neck, and interlocks her fingers with mine. Dad is eyeing our hands like it’s a bomb. Saying he loved my ex-wife is an understatement. He was more crushed than I was about the divorce. They just bonded. With a deep breath, I say, “Y’all, this is my girlfriend, Brittany.” I glance down at her with what I’m sure are pleading eyes. “This is my dad, Clark, and stepmom, Amy.”
Brittany plasters on a fake smile. “Nice to meet y’all.” She looks up to me. “I’ll go back to campus and let you
spend time with your family.”
“Campus?” Dad questions, and I nearly wince. Why couldn’t she just say she was leaving? “You’re dating a student?”
“Can you give us a moment?” I’m walking away before I even finish the sentence. I tug Brittany to my room and close the door behind us.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“Be quiet for a second,” I say, sitting on the edge of my bed. I need to think. What am I going to do? They have luggage, so they are here for the weekend, I assume. Do I ask Brittany to stay? Or leave? Can I ask them to leave? How likely is it that they would actually leave? If I knew my dad wanted to see me so badly that he’d make a trip up here, I would have definitely gone down to visit, especially if this could’ve been avoided.
Hands cup my face, tilting it back, and Brittany has managed to stand between my knees. “Trace,” she says softly. “You’re taking too long to panic. They’re going to think we’re back here having a quickie or something.” She gives me a weak smile.
“What am I going to do?”
“He’s just your dad,” she reminds me.
“Yeah, my dad who showed up without any warning!”
“And now you need to go out there and face it. What do you want me to do?”
I grab her hips and decide to be honest. “I don’t know which will be worse: you staying or going.”
“Then I’ll stay. I promise no more slips that might ruffle feathers. C’mon. Let’s go face them.” She takes my hands and pulls me up. She doesn’t pause at all as she leads me out of the room.
My sanity seems to snap back into place. Dad and Amy are standing right where we left them. “Sorry about that. I’ll show you the spare bedroom, so you can put your luggage away.” They follow me down the hallway and Brittany stays behind. “Are y’all staying the weekend?”
“Yeah,” Dad answers. He places their luggage on the bed and faces me. “Amy, I need a moment with my son.” She nods and leaves the room. “She’s a student, Trace? What the hell are you thinking? You could get fired!”
I sigh. “Long story short, no, I won’t. Have y’all eaten yet?”
Dad eyes me before shaking his head.
“Okay, we’ll go out then.” I leave the room, knowing he’ll follow. I stop by my room to get our coats. Brittany and I have already eaten, but we’ll have to pretend we didn’t. She and Amy are sitting on the couch, watching Dateline. Good thing I had it set to record anyway. “Let’s go eat.”
The trip to the restaurant is quiet and awkward, with my hands either clenched to the steering wheel or my thumb tapping rapidly against it. I keep trying to remind myself that I do have a good relationship with my dad. He just doesn’t know about my problems, and I hate that he showed up out of the blue, especially when I am supposed to be spending my weekend with Brittany and Brittany alone.
Brittany and I walk a little ahead of my dad and Amy. I lean down to whisper, “Order something small if you need to, but not a salad.” She nods and I hold open the door for everyone. She was able to eat dinner easily earlier. It’s been a good day for us both. If she doesn’t have room for much else, something small will be fine. Dad would draw conclusions about her if she orders a small salad, though. He’s always been kind of critical in a ridiculous kind of way. I can hear him now. A small salad? What? She doesn’t eat? Who orders a small salad for a meal?
We’re seated quickly because the place isn’t that busy. Once our drinks are ordered, Amy surprises me by asking Brittany about herself.
“So, you’re in college?”
Brittany gulps and glances at me. “Yeah, I’m in my last semester.”
“What are you planning to do once you graduate?”
“Find a job with a company to work in community relations, which is sort of a more focused form of public relations.”
“Oh, that’s nice.” The waitress stops by and takes our food orders. “Are you from here?”
“No. I’m actually from a small town near Wilmington.”
Dad cuts his gaze to me with narrowed eyes. It’s not like she could lie, but now I’d bet my life that Dad is wondering if I met Brittany before I moved here. May even be wondering if I cheated on Faith with her, or had some form of relationship with her while I was married.
“How did y’all meet?” he asks. “How long have y’all been dating?”
Brittany looks to me to answer, which is perfect. “We met in Wilmington and have been friends for a while. We started dating shortly after I moved here.” Dad opens his mouth, but considering Brittany has been squeezing her wrist under the table, it’s time for my own questions. “How was the flight?” I reach over to hold her hand, resting our hands on my leg.
Dad shrugs. “It was a flight.”
“I hope we’re not intruding too much, Trace,” Amy begins. “I tried to tell him he needed to give you a heads-up.”
“It’s okay. It was going to be a laid-back weekend for us.”
The waitress comes with our food as Brittany peeks at her phone. She gives me a worried look and I glance down to see the screen. It’s her mom. Brittany always answers. I slide out of the booth.
“Sorry, y’all. I need to take this.”
Before she can slip away, I whisper in her ear, “Don’t run off. You have to come back.”
She laughs and answers the phone as she walks away.
Dad doesn’t even wait until the waitress leaves to say, “I guess she wasn’t taught that leaving the table to be on the phone is rude.” He seems extra critical. I don’t understand it.
“It’s her mom. She always answers.”
“It’s sweet that she’s close to her mother,” Amy says with a smile.
“Yes, it is,” I agree. “Y’all can go ahead and eat. Sometimes, she can get off quickly; other times, it can be a few minutes.”
“We can wait.” Dad folds his arms over his chest. “Were you seeing her while you were married?”
“Clark!” Amy chides him.
“No. I told you when I started seeing her. Can you tone down the third degree? That’s the least you can do for showing up out of the blue.”
“Sorry,” Brittany breathes as she walks back to the table. Her cheeks and nose are red from the cold, and I can’t help but kiss her temple when I stand to let her in. She’s beautiful.
“It’s fine,” I reassure her.
Brittany notices that all the food is untouched. “Oh, y’all didn’t have to wait on me.”
“That’s the way we do things,” Dad tells her.
We begin to eat and I ask, “How is everything and everyone back home?” Thankfully, this gets both Amy and Dad talking. They live in an extremely small town. We get updates on my family and pretty much everyone else in the town. They talk as we eat, as we pay the bill, and for some of the ride home. All I’m thinking about at this point is bed.
But then, Dad has to ask, “How’s Faith?”
“How would I know?”
“You were married to her.”
“Yeah, I was. I’m not anymore. I haven’t spoken to her in two and a half years.” Which he knows! Why would I keep in contact with an ex-wife when I have no reason to?
The air is silent and tense the rest of the drive home. I should probably ask Brittany if she wants to stay, but at this point, I need her to. I need her here. I need her, plain and simple. When we get to my house, I lock the door and then face Dad and Amy.
“We’re going to head to bed. Make yourselves at home, and we’ll see y’all in the morning.”
“Good night,” Amy says.
Dad only nods. I take Brittany’s hand and lead her to my room. She takes a deep breath once I close the door behind us.
“I promise he’s not usually this much of a dick. I’m sorry.”
She walks over to her bags to withdraw some items. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not,” I call after her as she disappears into my bathroom. I find my own pajamas and begin to change. I h
onestly don’t know what’s gotten into him. When he was alone after Mom’s death and I was already living in North Carolina, he never begged me to visit. He never asked, except for the holidays. Now, he’s married to Amy and he’s making unannounced trips across the country to my house because I didn’t go home for Christmas? I join her in the bathroom for the mundane nightly pre-bed routines.
“He’s probably just worried about you,” Brittany shrugs. “You moved, didn’t visit, and now you’re dating a college student.”
I pull my toothbrush from my mouth long enough to speak. “And that’s a good reason to be like he was?”
“No, but it’s an explanation.” She leaves the room, not waiting for a response.
The more I replay the night in my mind, the angrier I get. His treatment of Brittany was uncalled for, his showing up was rude, and it’s insulting to think he would question me to see if I’m a cheater.
“I guess it was pointless for Rebecca to replace my pajamas with this,” I hear Brittany say with a laugh.
I walk out of the bathroom to see her sitting on the edge of my bed in some sheer, black lacy nightie, or whatever the hell they’re called. My feet move quick to carry me to her. My eyes don’t know what to settle on. Her legs? Her breasts? There’s too much to look at and appreciate. The tips of my fingers trail over the tops of her thighs.
“Trace?”
I lift my eyes to hers, finally processing what she said. “Why is it pointless?” Because she’s not going to be wearing it for much longer? We hear the door to the bedroom across the hall close.
“That’s why.”
All I can do is shake my head. I drag my gaze over her again, over her cleavage, where the nightie rests at the top of those legs which are begging to be wrapped around my waist. I finger the material at the hem. This can not go to waste. I lean down and kiss her neck, but she grabs my shoulders and pushes me backward just enough so she can see me.
“Are you going to just kiss me?” she asks. I shake my head. “Trace.” Her eyes widen and I can’t help but grin. “We can’t.”
“Do you want me?”
Her eyes narrow. “That’s a trick question.”
Driving Me Mad (Sanity Book 1) Page 8