he didn't notice the discomfort. It was minor compared to the aching emptiness that filled him every time he thought of Lily. He could see her face above him, suspended in the darkness, as clear and sharp as if she were really there.
The harsh ring of the phone popped the image like a soap bubble. He stirred sluggishly, exhaustion making his movements slow and awkward. There'd been too many nights with too little sleep. He fumbled for the phone, his movements becoming more coordinated as he registered the late hour. Phones didn't ring at midnight unless there was something wrong.
"Hello?"
'Trace? It's Lily. I'm sorry it's so late."
He sat up, the sheet falling away from his bare chest. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"
"No, it's not me." Her voice shook and she stopped to regain control. Trace waited, his fingers knotted over the receiver. "It's John. He's been in an accident."
"How badly is he hurt?" Trace was reaching for his jeans as he spoke, thrusting his legs into them and grabbing for a shirt.
"I don't know. I'm at the hospital but I just got here and the doctor is still with him."
"Stay cahn. Chances are he's going to be fine. I'll be there as soon as I can."
He hung up the phone and shoved his feet into a pair of boots before snatching up a heavy jacket and the keys to his motorcycle, since the 'Vette was still out of commission. The freeways were empty and he pushed the motorcycle past the speed limit. He barely noticed the chill night air rushing by his face.
Lily needed him and he had to be there for her.
Chapter Thirteen
The waiting room was softly lit as if perhaps the dim light would help to soothe the anxieties of those who had to wait there. It didn't help. When Trace strode into the room, Lily was sitting on the edge of a soft chair, her feet set neatly together, her hands in her lap. The very composure of her position made her tension all the more obvious.
"Lily." He called her name softly and she looked up.
"Trace!" She flew across the room and into his waiting arms.
Trace held her close. Her slim body was trembling and his arms tightened around her, offering what comfort he could. Forgotten was the need to keep his distance from her. Forgotten was the fact that he wasn't good for her. She needed him and he had to be there for her. It wasn't a choice so much as a deep visceral compulsion.
"It's going to be all right, honey. It's going to be all right." He held her, murmuring quietly, until the trembling had eased. She drew back, looking up into his face with such love and so much trust that he felt as if his heart would stop.
"I knew you'd come."
"Of course I came." He brushed the hair back from her forehead, struggling with the urge to tell her he loved her. "I'll always be here when you need me."
"I'll always need you."
Trace shut his eyes in pain as she laid her head against his shoulder. How could he fight such simple honesty, even when he knew he had no choice?
*'Tell me what happened." He chose to avoid the issue. Now was not the time to confront it. He led her over to a chair and sat down next to her, holding her hand.
'*I don't really know much. The hospital called me. I guess the phone number was in his wallet. All they told me was that he'd been in a car wreck. I got here as soon as I could but they don't really know that much more. There was a highway patrobnan here waiting to ask John some questions but the nurse told him it was going to be a while before the doctors were through examining John and I guess he left. He said John's car was pretty well totaled."
'That doesn't mean that John was badly hurt. I've seen people walk away from cars that looked like they'd been through a trash compactor. Was John unconscious when they brought him in?"
"I think so. I don't know. They really haven't told me much."
'Tm sure he's going to be all right."
"As a matter of fact, we're pretty sure he is, too."
Trace had been concentrating so much on Lily that he hadn't noticed the doctor stepping into the doorway. He stood up and turned to face her, keeping Lily's hand in his.
The doctor was younger than he'd have expected and quite pretty, not the grizzled emergency room veteran he'd been picturing.
"I'm Dr. Levine. I presume you're friends or family of John Lonigan?"
Lily couldn't seem to find her voice so it was Trace who answered her. "More or less family. As close as he has, anyway. How is he?"
"He seems to be all right. He's got a nasty bump on the head, a few cracked ribs and a leg that's just short of bro-
ken. All in all, not too bad for someone who ran his car into a mountainside."
"When can he come home?" Lily asked, her voice shaky.
"Tomorrow, I think. We're going to keep him in overnight for observation and he should be able to go home tomorrow."
"Can we see him?"
Dr. Levine shook her head. "I think it would be better if you didn't. He's pretty groggy and we're trying to coax him into going to sleep. He needs rest more than anything else right now. Why don't the two of you go home and get some sleep and we'll call you in the morning?"
Trace nodded, sensing Lily's reluctance but seeing the logic in the doctor's suggestion. "Come on. We'll come back the minute they let us know he's awake."
"I just feel like he ought to know we're here. He doesn't have anybody else."
"We'll tell him," Dr. Levine offered. "You've both had quite a fright. Get some rest and come back tomorrow."
Trace left his motorcycle at the hospital and drove Lily's compact home. There was no question of leaving her alone. He could sooner have cut off his own arm than walk out on her now.
"I could use something hot to drink." Lily hung her coat in the hall closet, looking over her shoulder at Trace as she spoke.
"Sounds good to me. I could make some of my world-famous hot chocolate."
"World-famous?" She arched her brow, her pale face taking on a touch of humor.
* * Semi-world-famous?''
"Hot chocolate sounds great, even if it's only locally well-known."
They drank their cocoa without talking, each wrapped in thought. And when the cups were rinsed and put away, it
seined the most natural thing in the world for them to climb the stairs together. Trace hesitated outside her door. His common sense told him that he was playing with fire, but looking at Lily's pale face, he couldn't bring himself to just turn and walk away.
"I could stay with you tonight, if you'd like." He didn't look at her as he spoke, half hoping she'd say no. Staying with her tonight would only make it hard to walk away again. And he had to walk away in the morning. At least until whoever was after him had been caught.
He felt Lily's eyes on him, full of questions he couldn't answer.
"I'd like that. I don't really feel like being alone tonight."
So he followed her into her room, slipping off only his shoes before lying on her bed. Lily took her nightgown into the bathroom, and when she came out, he thought he'd never seen her look more beautiful. The plain blue cotton gown covered her from neck to toes, hinting at feminine curves without revealing anything. She crawled into bed without questioning the fact that he was still dressed, and Trace reached out to shut off the light.
In the darkness, it was possible to pretend that he belonged here. It was possible to forget that someone wanted him dead, forget that Mike's death lay on his conscience, forget everything but Lily's slim body cuddled so close to his, her head on his shoulder. He fell asleep with his arms around her, his face against her hair.
It was midmorning when Trace came downstairs. He'd slept more deeply than he had in days and he felt rested. It was a feeling he'd almost forgotten. Lily had already gotten up when he woke and it was a measure of his exhaustion that she'd managed to rise and dress without disturbing him.
The scent of fresh coffee floated from the kitchen but he hesitated at the foot of the stairs. The barriers he'd tried to build between them were showing signs of cracking a
nd he wasn't sure about the wisdom of letting those cracks widen.
Lily looked up from the morning paper as he walked into the room. Her eyes reflected the wariness he felt. So much lay between them. So many questions that couldn't be asked or answered.
"Good morning." Trace moved to the stove and poured himself a cup of coffee.
"Good morning." Lily folded the paper and set it aside. "I called the hospital. They said John is doing just fine and they'll call and let us know when he's ready to be released."
"Great. That's great." Trace took a swallow of coffee, almost choking as the scalding liquid hit his throat. There was something in the set of Lily's jaw that made him uneasy.
"I want to talk to you, Trace."
The uneasiness increased and he took another gulp of coffee. "About what?" His voice sounded raspy, which didn't surprise him. The way his throat felt, he was surprised he had a voice at all.
"I think we need to talk about what's been going on."
She fixed him with a look that demanded honesty and Trace glanced away. "Going on?"
"You blow hot and cold. It's a wonder I haven't caught pneumonia from the way your moods change. I thought about it at the hospital last night. I thought about how I'd feel if it had been you they were working on, and it made me realize that life is too short to play around with it."
"I agree, but I don't think this is a good time for this conversation."
"Why not?"
"Why not?" He stumbled over the simple question. "Well, we're going to have to go get John in a h'ttle while."
'"The hospital will call us. Trace, I love you. And I think you love me. I know you love me. Why do you keep fighting it?"
Trace stared down into his coffee, wishing he could just drown himself in the dark liquid. Maybe he was still suffering from the strain of the past few weeks. His brain didn't seem to be working as well as it normally did.
"You want to know what I think?"
"Do I have a choice?" he asked with a weak attempt at humor.
"No, you don't. I think you're afraid of what you feel for me. I think you're afraid that you're going to get hurt or you're afraid that I'm going to get hurt. I'm not sure which it is."
"Lily, this really isn't a good time—"
"It seems like a good time to me."
Why hadn't he ever noticed how persistent she could be?
"Do you love me?"
"Lily, I-"
"Do you love me?"
Trace set his cup down and ran his fingers through his hair, avoiding her eyes. How could he answer her?
"I don't think-"
"Don't think, just answer me." She pushed her chair back and stood up. She was right in front of him. If he took a deep breath, he could inhale her scent. If he moved just a few inches, they'd be touching. "Trace, please. Do you love me?"
He felt crowded, hemmed in, pressured. Everywhere he looked, she was there, her eyes demanding honesty, asking for the truth.
"Lily-"
"Do you?"
"Yes. Dammit, yes." The admission was pulled from him. He felt a certain release that he'd finally told her how
he felt. Lily stared at him, her eyes wide, as if she hadn't really believed he'd say it. He watched elation fill her face, turning her eyes a bright sparkling green. "But it doesn't' mean anything," he added weakly.
"It means a lot to me. Oh, Trace, don't you see? All you had to do was say it. Why didn't you tell me? Why have you been acting like you couldn't care less?"
"Lily, just because I've admitted that I love you, that doesn't mean there's some kind of fairy-tale ending to this. All the same problems are still there."
"What problems?" She smiled up at him and set her hands against his chest. "Trace, whatever you think the problems are, we can work them out. This is right. We're right. Don't you feel it?"
He didn't trust what he was feeling. Life had taught him that when you wanted something bad enough, you could convince yourself of almost anything. The feel of her hands seemed to bum through the fabric of his shirt, warming his skin, making it easy to forget reality. He shifted, moving away from her, away from that tantalizing scent, away from her touch.
"Lily, I can't be the kind of man you need."
"What?"
"I can't be what you need. I'm not the right man for you." He got the words out with difficulty, aware of an aching wish that he could be what she needed, what she deserved. He might have expected several different reactions. Denial, hurt, even acceptance. He hadn't expected anger.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" She spit the words out and Trace turned to look at her, startled by the violent tone of her voice.
"What?"
"Just who the hell do you think you are to start telling me what I need and what I don't need? I'm a big girl now,
Trace. I don't need anyone to tell me what I need or what I want."
"You don't understand. I didn't mean it like that." How had he come to be on the defensive?
**Just how did you mean it? And what makes you think you aren't what I need?"
*'Look at you, you're beautiful, you're intelligent, you could have anyone.''
"And I want you. If I'm so intelligent, why do you assume I've made the wrong choice?"
"Lily, I'm a nobody. A white trash farm boy from a town in Oklahoma that nobody ever even heard of. My father wrapped his car around a telephone pole, my mother married a drunken wife beater and stayed with him because she didn't have the guts to get out. I didn't finish high school, I didn't go to college. I haven't traveled anywhere—"
"Stop it!" Lily broke into his words, facing him with her hands clenched into fists, her face flushed and angry. "That's a lot of nonsense. Who cares what your father did? And your mother did the best she knew how. Not everyone is as strong as you are. And you are strong. Look at what you've done. You took care of your mothei* the best way you knew how, and when I came along you took care of me. You ran away rather than see me get hurt. You were just a kid yourself but you took responsibihty for me and I never felt frightened as long as you were close.
"I may not remember everything about the time before we found Mike but I remember enough to know that it must have been pretty scary for you. But you never let me down."
"I—" She gestured sharply, cutting off his attempt to get a word in.
"I'm not through yet. After we came to Mike, you worked hard to gain his respect and to keep it. Mike loved you and he thought you were worthwhile. Are you going to say he was wrong, too?"
"If s got nothing to do with loving/' He thrust his fingers through his hair, ruffling it into dark blond waves. How could he make her understand when he wasn't even sure he understood himself? '*It's got to do with who I am. What I am. Deep inside I'm always going to be a white trash farm boy. Can't you see that?"
*'No. I can't see that. I>eep inside you're a warm wonderful man with a lot of love to give someone if you'd only let it go. You're afraid to let it go. You're afraid you'll get hurt."
'*No!" He took a deep breath, trying to regain control. "I'm afraid I'll hurt you."
"How? How could you hurt me? The only way you'll hurt me is if you keep denying what's between us."
"What if I end up like Jed? What if I start beating you?" Until the words were out, he hadn't even acknowledged that fear to himself.
"Trace, it takes two people to allow what happened to your mother and Jed. Your mother stayed with him. She gave him a kind of permission to do what he did to her. Even if you wanted to beat me up periodically, do you see me allowing it?"
"I—" He broke off and stared at her, realizing the truth in her words. "No, I don't." She was knocking down his arguments one by one but there was still one argument she couldn't get by, one she didn't even know about. And he didn't want her to know about it.
"Trace, don't you see? Whatever is wrong, we can work through it."
"No. No, we can't. Can't you just take my word for it? It's never going to work. There are reasons why it can't wor
k."
"What reasons? Tell me."
He thrust his fingers through his hair again, feeling as if he were on a merry-go-round that was spinning faster and
faster. There'd been too many pressures for too long. His self-control was getting thinner and thinner, stretched taut.
"What reasons?" she repeated. Her delicate jaw was set with a stubbornness that spoke of infinite patience. "I'm not giving up until I know what reasons. Whatever they are, we can work them out."
"No, we can't." The words were spaced a little too far apart and spoken a little too loud. "We can't work out the fact that Mike's death was my fault."
Lily stared at him, her mouth open to refute his argument, but nothing came out. He watched her, waiting with a kind of morbid fascination to see what her reaction would be.
"Your fault? How do you figure?"
"There v/as a note left on my windshield the day after the shooting at the grocery store."
"The day after we made love."
He nodded. "The day after we made love. It said that it should have been me, not him, but that I'd pay anyway."
"Wnat did it mean, you'd pay anyway?"
"Someone is apparently trying to kill me. Mike got in the way. I was the one supposed to die that day, not Mike. He died in my place.''
He waited to see anger or distaste or even hatred come into her eyes. She looked at him for a long moment. "Do you think I'm going to hate you for this? You can't possibly believe I'm that stupid. Even if it was you they were after that day, it's not your fault that you weren't there."
"Technically, maybe, but the end result is still the same. It was supposed to be me."
"Trace, you can't believe even for a moment that this would change the way I feel about you."
He stared at her, his heart full of a confusing tangle of emotions. Elation—she still loved him. Guilt—no matter what she said, he couldn't help but feel responsible for
Dallas Schulze 'TaY^
Mike's death. And fear—how could he keep her at a distance? How could he keep her safe?
And beyond that, there was a part of him, deep inside, that knew he wasn't right for her. He couldn't be right i:r her. It wasn't possible.
"This person who killed Mike and left the note—do you know who it is?"
Together Always Page 18