Beautifully Damaged (Beautifully Damaged series) by L.A. Fiore (9)

Congratulations on your first journalism interview!” Trace’s enthusiasm touched me.

One of Professor Smythe’s inquires panned out and I got an interview with one of New York City’s premier online magazines, In Step, days after we returned from Philly.

“How do you think it went?” he asked.

“Really well, but they’ve got other applicants to consider, so we have to do the waiting game.”

His arms wrapped around me and he pulled me close. “Either way, it’s something to be proud of just getting an interview. We need to celebrate!”

True to his word, Trace and I went to an up-and-coming jazz bar later that evening, and while he was off getting us drinks, I sat at a table listening to some seriously good blues.

I had difficulty keeping up with Trace’s moods from one day to the next. He either came across as the affectionate Trace who was deeply interested in my life, or the closed-off Trace who had no wish to share anything personal about himself and hated me prying.

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. Every time we made love, it was in my room. It was as if his room, like a part of his heart, was off-limits to me. It bothered me way more than I wanted it to. There was this whole part of him, his past, his family, and the dark secrets that still haunted him that he wouldn’t share. 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 it had only been a few weeks since he’d told me he loved me.

A shadow fell over me and I looked up into the pale-blue eyes of a woman. It was Heidi. To know that the deeply intimate acts Trace and I shared in the bedroom had been shared with countless others—yeah, I wasn’t having an easy time dealing with that. 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 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.

“We never officially met. I’m Heidi.”

“Ember.”

She leaned back, but kept her eyes fixed on me. “So it looks like you reeled Trace in. How exactly did you pull that off?”

“I love him. He loves me.”

She waved that off. “He loves all of us, sweetheart.”

I got along just fine with Trace’s guy friends, but it was the women, the hordes of women, with whom I was having a bit of trouble. It had been hard to watch the familiarity of a girl’s hand on his arm accompanied by the knowing look, the one that said, “I’ve seen you naked.” Being forced to talk to one of those women sucked, particularly since Heidi wasn’t just one of the horde, she was the specific one Trace used to drive me off. What was so special about her or their relationship that made him choose her over the others? It wasn’t a question that I wanted to hear the answer to.

She must have seen me flinch since she leaned up more closely to 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. 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.”

How could Heidi possibly know so much about him?

“He is not forthcoming with information on his personal life, yet you seem to have a pretty thorough understanding of the man. How?”

A slight blush tinted her cheeks. I realized that she was embarrassed, but what exactly could embarrass a haughty bitch like her?

“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 Castoff Club?”

She looked down and smoothed her hands over her lap. “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. How many others have you treated to this little chat?”

I didn’t think she was going to answer, but she surprised me. “Enough to paint a fairly accurate picture.”

“And how exactly did you make the leap that he was tormented just from stalking him?”

“I recognized the symptoms.”

She didn’t offer more. I suspected she was talking about herself, but either way she needed to move on.

“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? You need to get over yourself.” I 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 stood then and without another word she was gone, 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 set my glass of wine on the table, he leaned over and kissed me before taking the seat that Heidi had vacated.

“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. I refused to believe that Trace, if asked, really wouldn’t share his past with me, so I worked up the nerve to ask the one question that I needed him to answer.

“Trace, would you tell me about your childhood?”

“When will you hear about your interview?”

I had gotten used to Trace changing the subject when the topic was too close to home, but I wasn’t going to back down this time. “You don’t talk about your past. Why?”

Irritation moved over his features before he said, “What’s done is done. No point in talking about it.” His body language made it very clear that the discussion was over. “Do you want to dance?”

“No. I want you to fucking talk to me!”

His face went completely blank and his eyes turned eerily empty. His body tensed, his shoulders stiffened, and I knew before he even answered me that he wasn’t going to share.

“No.”

“Why?”

His eyes were burning with something dark before he bit out, “Because talking about it doesn’t change it.”

“Have you ever talked about it?” I tried to reach across the table to hold his hand, but he pulled it away.

“No, and I have no plans of ever doing so.”

“And your parents?”

“May they rot in hell. There are things that I don’t talk about, ever, and to be with me you need to accept that.”

“Is that you in the tattoo 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, anger and torment consumed the dullness of his previous expression.

“Yeah, it is. I was one of the masses in the pit, but now I’m the master.”

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 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. I was tempted to go hunt him down at the gym, but I was so angry I was afraid I would say something I couldn’t take back.

I didn’t go home until close to four in the morning. Kyle, being a really great friend, had let me vent when I showed up at his apartment. I didn’t think that Trace would even be home, so 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 predatory way, and when I flicked on the lights and saw his face, I actually took a step backward. He spoke with a hoarse voice, but I couldn’t tell whether it was from anger or something else.

“Where did you go?”

“To Kyle’s 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, not me. Is this how it’s going to be, Trace? I say something you don’t like, so you walk out?” I was so angry that I spoke the next words without conscious thought. “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.”

Though I hadn’t really 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 and I reached up and traced the man on the throne. He really was fucked up, but I loved him. I loved him enough to stay.

“I love you and that includes all of you. 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 to step out of them. His eyes looked up right into mine as he leaned closer and took me into his mouth. 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 almost gave out from under me in utter contentment, until I heard his zipper. Desire again burned through me as Trace lifted me up and onto him. I wrapped my legs around his waist and fused 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 I 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 wasn’t. We were, for lack of a better metaphor, avoiding the elephant in the room.