by M.A. Stacie
Drum interrupted the conversation, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. He’s not seeing her again.”
Nix ran his fingers through his brilliant blue hair. “Just a one-night thing, then? I hear you. Enjoy your freedom. Sow those oats.”
Trace picked up his beer. “What oats?”
“Dunno,” Nix replied, shrugging his shoulders. “Isn’t that what they say?”
Laughing, Trace gave his friend another shove with his shoulder. “You’re full of shit. All it’ll take is one girl and you’ll be on your knees begging her for scraps. I bet you.”
Drum agreed before standing up and walking over to the bar. Nix and Trace stared at one another, Nix’s mouth opening three times and closing just as many.
“Spit it out.”
“I’m sorry that bitch fucked you over.” Trace cringed at the description but allowed his friend to carry on. “I kinda hoped the rumors were wrong.”
“Kind of?”
Nix shrugged again. “Well, we were screwed no matter what, right? If the whispers were wrong, you’d have stayed with her and the band would have needed a new guitarist. Or they were true and she’d wrecked you.”
Taking a swig of his beer, Trace nodded. “Yeah, she sure as shit did that.”
“Wish the outcome could have been different for you. The whole thing is real harsh, man.”
“Yeah, doesn’t help when she calls and I can hear Tatum in the background.”
Nix jumped up, slapping his hand on the table. “What the fuck? Why is she calling you?”
The bar went quiet for a moment, everyone turning to look over at their table. Trace pointed at the seat Nix had just vacated. “Sit down. I know you’re pissed for me but I’ve got this, okay?”
Nix’s top lip curled, though he did sit back down. He rubbed the back of his head and kicked the leg of the table. “Fucking women,” he grumbled.
“That’s what I intend to stick to from now on.”
Nix gawked but started laughing an instant later, having finally understood the joke. “I didn’t mean that. I meant—”
“I know what you meant. I was trying to stop you busting a blood vessel. I’ve found the best way of dealing with it is to ignore it happened. I know that’s shit, but what other choice do I have? I can stay at home and get wasted, or come here and get wasted. At least when I’m here, I’m not wallowing. There’s enough ass to keep it locked away.”
“So why that particular piece of ass? Shae?”
“Can’t put my finger on it. When she’s with me, I forget. She knows different people than me, lives a different life. I’m not used goods to her. We’re just us.”
“This sounds like more than once, man.”
“Maybe. No. I’ve been thinking about calling her. Or going to the dance studio to see her. How lame is that?”
Nix clicked his tongue. “Be careful. Right now, you can do without starting something else. You just got out of the shit.”
Trace bristled. “Some would say I’m still in it. But that’s the thing. I don’t have to deal with any of it when I’m with Shae. It’s like none of it is going on. She has a way of making it fade away.”
“Very girlie, man. Do you need some tampons with that dose of estrogen?”
“Fuck off.” He took another drink of his beer. “Anyway, I wanted to talk to you. I’ve decided to give you my virginity.”
Nix cackled. “You’ve not had that in a long time, you douche. What are you talking about?”
Liking how fast his friend had calmed, Trace lifted his T-shirt, exposing his ribs. “Skin. I want you to tattoo me. Here.”
Nix pierced the air with his whistle. “Ribs are hardcore for your first time.”
“I know, but you’re not going to refuse me. Are you?”
“No. I want to watch you cry like a girl. Just tell me when, and I’ll book you in at the shop.”
“Cool.” Trace drained his beer, pulling his cell from his back pocket when it chirped. His nostrils flared as his hands clenched.
“That’s some snarl you’ve got going on there, T. Who was calling you?”
“Fucking Emmie,” he snapped. “Texting to tell me Tatum is crying. She thinks the baby misses me.” He shoved his fingers through his hair. “I mean, what the fuck am I meant to do with that?”
“Nothing,” Nix responded. “The kid isn’t yours.”
Snapping his head to make eye contact with his friend, he rubbed his chest. The words were like a knife to his heart. It hurt. “You haven’t told anyone else in the band, have you?”
He shook his blue hair. “Wouldn’t do that. You told me not to.”
“And I wish it was as easy as just ignoring her. She was mine.”
“Was. But not really, dude.”
“You’re not helping. Put yourself in my shoes. I watched her come into this world. I thought she was mine! There is no switch that can change that.” He was getting angry now.
“ ’Course there is. The facts are the switch. Anything else is you playing head games with yourself.”
“You’re wrong.” Trace stared at the text message before forcing himself to delete it without responding. He regretted it right afterward. As he started to send a response, it chirped again. The number wasn’t one he recognized. Usually he’d ignore it but something had him lifting his cell to his ear. “Hey.”
“Trace? Is that you?”
A smile broke out across his face, and he received an interested look from Nix. He no doubt looked like a fool with his shit-eating grin. Not that he cared. At the sound of her voice the vise clamped around his chest eased, allowing him to breathe. “Shae?”
“It is you! Hey, gorgeous blue eyes,” she shouted, sounding rather childish.
He quirked a brow. That was some greeting she’d given him. “Are you wasted?”
Her light giggle tickled his ears. “Just an itty bitty.”
“How did you get my number?” he asked, not caring that she did have it. Once again, Shae had been there when he needed the distraction.
“Kate’s brother had it. He knows every single person in the whole wide world. Are you mad because I have it?”
“Not one bit, babe. Truth is, if I had your number, I’d have called you myself tonight anyway.”
He was aware that Nix still watched him, still assessed what was going on during the phone call. Trace twisted, turning his back on his friend so that he could speak to Shae without intrusion.
“You would?” She sounded so happy.
“Without question. Where are you? And how much have you had to drink?”
“Not that much.” She slurred a little. “I needed to forget. Needed to let loose. You know?”
More than he’d admit to her right now. “Sure do.” He heard her say something he couldn’t decipher. “What?”
“Oh, I was telling the cab driver where I wanted to go.”
His groin tightened at her sing-song voice. “Are you heading home?”
“Yeah.” She yawned. “Tired now. Relaxed enough to sleep.”
“Then I’ll talk to you until you get home.”
The noise in the bar thinned as Trace concentrated on the sound of Shae’s breathing. He snorted when she hiccupped. She’d had too much to drink.
“You’re nice.” She sighed, the sound sending blood rushing right to his dick. “You seem angry so much of the time, but you’re not, are you?”
He gulped at her assessment. “I try not to be. Shit gets me down sometimes. Lately I’ve been getting more than my fair share.”
“What?”
Trace wasn’t ready to share. It hurt too much to verbalize it, and he didn’t want to bleed all over her vibrant light. He turned the conversation back on her. “What did you need to forget, Shae?”
“That my dad’s an asshole,” she said, without any sign that she worried about his reaction to that. “The man is a waste of my time. A waste of oxygen.”
“Wow, that’s right to the point.” His cock swelled whe
n she groaned, reminding him of the sound she’d made when he’d sunk himself into her.
“Sorry.”
“Nah, don’t worry about it. I asked you.” He settled more comfortably into his seat, still feeling the burn of Nix’s stare. “Did Ella have her lesson today?”
“She did.” He could hear her smile in her tone. It was contagious. “I had your sweats ready to give to your sister but it wasn’t her who brought Ella to class. It was some guy in a suit.”
“That would be Ella’s dad, Kyran. Did you give them to him?”
Her shy giggle had his balls constricting. He adjusted the crotch of his jeans. He wanted her again.
“No! I couldn’t just pass them to him. He has no clue who I am.”
Laughing out loud, Trace batted Nix’s hand away as he tried to take the phone from him. “You crack me up. Seriously, you’re embarrassed giving my clothes to my brother-in-law but not to my sister? Do you know how messed up that is?”
“I guess it is.”
Silence flowed across the line, not awkward or uncomfortable. He listened to her gentle breaths, glaring and gesticulating at Nix before telling him to fuck off.
“Pardon?”
Trace sat upright. “Sorry, babe. Nix was eavesdropping.”
“The blue-haired guy? That’s the guy Kate’s brother knows.”
He was about to ask the name of her friend’s brother when he heard her speak to the cab driver again. The slam of a door, along with the jangle of keys punctuated her conversation.
“I’m home now.” She yawned again. “I’m safe.”
“Ah, okay. Sounds like you could sleep standing up. I should let you go.” He didn’t want to.
“Should?”
“Yeah, should.” Shit. Why had he said that, instead of just ending the call?
“Don’t you want me to go?”
Trace thought this time before he replied. He didn’t like the idea of giving her false hope. If it was in fact hope he was hearing in her tone. Speaking as honestly as he was able, he said, “My world isn’t a great place at the moment, Shae. I don’t want to invite people in because it will fuck with their heads. We enjoyed the other night, and I’m so glad you called me tonight. I’m lost for any other explanation.”
“That’s perfect as it is, Trace,” she replied without a hint of annoyance. “I liked talking to you. And now that you have my number, maybe next time you’ll call me when you’re feeling shitty?”
Warmth flooded his chest. Damn this woman!
“I might just do that, babe. Sleep well.”
“You, too. Good night, Trace.”
She cut the call as he whispered, “Good night.”
Chapter 11
“Emmie, hounding me will change nothing. You cheated, you lied, and now you expect me to take you back and pretend nothing happened.”
The sound of her voice had him exhaling. “You can’t end this, Trace. It’s not fair.”
He couldn’t help himself. He laughed. “Are you serious? You honestly believe I’m the one in the wrong here?”
“You need to be Tate’s daddy.”
Trace gripped the bar so hard his knuckles turned white. His head began to spin as his blood pressure maxed out. “We’ve been over this. We were finished. You knew we were, and that’s why you pinned that little girl on me. I was a dick—I fell for your bullshit. You had me, but there’s no way I’m falling for it again. Now stop fucking calling me.”
“Tate misses you.” Emmie whimpered, and his heart clenched. He hated being the asshole. He softened. “I miss her, too. Not that it changes anything. You cheated then lied to me about the biggest thing in my life. I turned my world upside down for you and the baby. I altered my apartment, my bike, and would have changed more. You have no regrets when it comes to any of that. Do you?”
“I do! Trace, please! Let’s meet. We should talk.”
“We’ve done that. Over and over. I’m hanging up now. Bye, Emmie.”
He could hear her cries as he ended the call. His entire body shook in the aftermath, his knees barely holding him upright. He should have avoided the call, knowing that he was going to be in a state when he’d finished speaking to her.
“I’m taking off, Trace,” Sam said as he walked across the club toward the door. “Kyran’s still in the showers but everyone else has gone. You’re done for the night.”
Trace waved at Sam, taking a few cleansing breaths before he said goodbye. He liked Sam and had known him since he’d started working at Metro. Sam managed fight night. He’d shown Trace what to do when it mattered. He knew little about what had happened to Trace, and he wanted to keep it that way.
“Enjoy the rest of your night.”
“You, too, boy.”
The door slammed behind him, the bang reverberating off the walls. He shoved his cell back into his jeans and tried to bury his interaction with Emmie. Instead, he thought about the phone call he’d had with Shae a couple of days ago.
He’d longed to hear her voice more than he was willing to admit. His head told him he was playing with fire, his dick not caring. It had a will of its own.
More than once, he’d typed out a text to her, but he’d deleted it before he pressed send. Starting anything with her now would be a huge mistake. So why was he having an issue with staying away from her?
He cursed his own stupidity as he cleaned the bar for the night. Metro had been busier than usual. The crowds had gone wild for the second time that month because Kyran Reese had turned up to fight. Once word got around, the place filled up and he struggled to serve the drinks fast enough.
His brother-in-law arrived without warning this time, concerning Trace enough to go out back on his break and call his sister. He was far from comfortable getting involved in their issues, but he and Dale were tight and he wanted to know if she was upset about something. Turned out she wasn’t. Kyran had been battling with a few large takeovers at work. The stress was getting too much for him, and that was why his visits to Metro had increased. Trace wished the guy would take up running.
As if manifesting the man by thought alone, Kyran stalked out from the locker room. A black hoodie covered his intricately inked arms, the hood up over his head, covering his brand new bruised eye.
“I see the dude got one good punch in.”
Kyran smirked. “Just the one. Dale will get to fuss over me for a while.”
“That’s a win, then.”
“Yeah.” His expression grew serious. “How you been?”
“Okay. Still looking for somewhere smaller to live. Every place I view is either tiny or a fucking wreck. I have to get out of that studio. It’s huge but suffocating at the same time, if that makes any sense?”
“Plenty. Dale feels helpless. She wants to help you.”
Trace scrubbed his hand over his face, regret not sitting well in his gut. “I know she does, though there’s not a thing she can do. Other than steamrollering me into sorting myself out or finding me a new place to live—with all new things—courtesy of the Reese bank account.”
Kyran chuckled, adjusting his gym bag on his shoulder. “Yeah, that about describes my fucking adorable wife. I believe those options were mentioned in our conversation.”
“You mean her rant?” Trace turned to restock the liquor bottles on the shelf as Kyran agreed with him. They’d come a long way since the day Dale had confessed she’d been seeing Kyran. Trace had hated the idea, even more so when Kyran refused to see that he’d fallen for Dale. At the time, it had frustrated the hell out of Trace, because by that point even a blind man could see they were made for one another.
“She also said maybe a trip to Barren to see your dad might help.”
“D is full of shit. Going to Barren Island won’t solve anything. I’d be running away for a few weeks, only to come back to the same shit at some point.”
“Told her the same thing. However, your sister is a law unto herself.” He spoke with affection.
“I notice she
’s my sister when she’s a pain, but your wife when she’s being awesome.”
Kyran grinned. It still shocked Trace how much he’d grown to like the man, but then seeing how much he loved Dale made it difficult to hate him.
When Trace turned around, he was struck by the grave look on Kyran’s face. “She’s worried about you. We both are.”
Trace sagged, leaning over onto the bar and supporting himself on his forearms. “I know, and I’m not being evasive to piss you both off. This bullshit will stop once Emmie gets it into her head that there’s no going back for us. With every text and call, she cuts me up all over again. I’m not healing because she isn’t allowing it.”
“Time to change your number?”
Reluctant to explain about Shae and why he wouldn’t be doing that, Trace shook his head and rounded the bar. “I can’t think straight. None of this makes any sense to me. I’m still wrapping my head around why she thought it was okay to lie to me. And then she thinks I’m going to forgive her for this. Crazy. Batshit crazy. How can anyone forgive that? Then there’s Tatum. Every time I think of her, I want to smash something. I love that kid.”
“Then go to her. I know Dale spoke to you about still being her father.”
Trace flopped his head onto the bar, pretending to hit his forehead against it. “Not that simple, man. And you know it. From the moment I found out, I can’t see myself in her face anymore. I see Emmie’s lies. What kind of father would that make me now?”
The door to Metro opened, and Trace shouted, “We’re closed,” before looking to see who had walked in. A curse caught on the tip of his tongue, his breath halting in his lungs.
“Hi,” Shae said, wringing her hands in front of her.
“Shae,” he whispered, receiving a pat on the back from Kyran.
“I’ll leave you two alone and go back home to, hopefully, be molested by my wife.”
Wrinkling his nose as images he didn’t need to see assaulted his head, Trace pulled away from him. “Ew, man, that’s my sister.”
Kyran winked at Shae. “He’s so easy to annoy. I never grow bored of it.” He turned back to Trace. “Call me if you need anything. And call Dale. She feels like she’s not helping.”
