Home of a mother, wife, writer

We’re on to a new month and my focus is back on drafting. I have several projects in the works, as well as one that’s just about ready to be published. Among all that, I’m still posting Come Back Down on Wattpad. This week, we have Chapter 4:

I kept my gaze on Trace as he moved around the living room of the clubhouse. It had been two days since we’d been in town. He hadn’t asked me any more questions about my past, and I’d given him the same courtesy. That haunted look still hadn’t left his eyes. I’d thought I’d heard him cry out the last couple nights. We hadn’t been alone together again, either. Had that moment unlocked memories he’d kept carefully caged up?

It disturbed me I was the reason he was being haunted by them now.

“Not my fault,” I whispered as I sat back against the couch. I had to keep telling myself that. None of it was Trace’s either. I shouldn’t let myself feel this frustration toward him. Why couldn’t I seem to stop it?

He’d been the victim of something awful. He never said exactly what Henry had done to him those nights. It hurt Trace no matter what name you put on it. And made him ashamed of his natural urges. I found myself wishing Icarus had aimed his gun a little differently as well.

“Are you ever going to come join me?” I asked him.

He stopped in his moving around, it wasn’t quite pacing, but it didn’t seem to have a purpose, either. He kept moving from one thing to another. I’d seen him like this more than once. When his mind couldn’t settle down, his body couldn’t, either.

He looked over at me, and I was sure shadows lurked behind his eyes. I wished I knew what I could do to put his demons back where they were supposed to be. Wished there was a way I could fight them for him. He’d done enough fighting for more than one lifetime.

Trace finally made his way over to the couch and sat beside me. But there were still a couple inches between us. I hated this distance. Both the physical one and emotional. I wasn’t sure how to bridge it without sending him running in the other direction. Icarus kept reminding me I had to be patient.

But, damn, it was hard.

He slid his hand across that space of the couch and slid his fingers over my hand, until our fingers were laced together. “It’s not you,” he murmured. “I need to-”

I already felt tears brimming. I didn’t cry often. Not until recently. Now, it felt like I did it all the time. “You don’t need to do anything,” I told him. “You don’t need to explain anything, or try to make me feel better. You just need to be okay, Trace. That’s all I want for you.”

“I know you want-”

“I want you, Trace,” I said, interrupting him again. “I’ve wanted you almost since you first showed up. I want all of you, not just a few of the pieces. None of us are completely whole. I have some broken pieces, too. Why wouldn’t I accept yours?”

For Trace’s answer, and the rest of the chapter, check it out here.

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