by M.A. Stacie
Lisbeth rolled her eyes. “You should have been an actress, dear. You missed your calling.” She smiled across at the doctor. “I apologize for wasting your time.”
“You’re not.” He stood up behind his desk. “I’ll be in touch, Lisbeth.”
Shae thanked him and followed her mom out of the office. Lisbeth walked on ahead, muttering to herself and receiving furtive glances from a few people in the waiting area.
“Mom, wait!”
Lisbeth didn’t stop until they were out of the building, and even then, she didn’t make eye contact with her daughter. Shae understood that she was trying to deny that anything was wrong.
“If all this comes to nothing then I’ll apologize. I’ll take you out to dinner and buy your favorite meal. With champagne, okay?”
Lisbeth looked up, a tiny smile forming. “That would smooth the tension quite a bit.”
“I’m not trying to make this hard on you. I’m looking after you. That’s my job.”
Her mom shook her head, taking hold of Shae’s hands again. “No, darling. You’re wrong. It’s my job to care for you. Not the other way around. You take far too much on those tiny shoulders of yours.” She let go and pointed at her. “You should loosen up. Have some fun. What about that handsome man you brought to the house? He’s rather unkempt but he’d be good enough to get frisky with once or twice. A roll around with him would stop you being so concerned with me.”
Shae’s eyes widened. “Mom!”
“What?”
“You’ve never talked like this before. A few days ago, you’d have thought it inappropriate to talk to me about sex.”
Lisbeth wafted the comment away with a flick of her wrist. “I didn’t tell you to have sex. But now that you mention it, maybe you should.”
“Jesus,” Shae said under her breath as she escorted her mom to the car. “Get in before you embarrass me any further.”
“Sex is not embarrassing. Your father and I would go at it for hours.”
Her skin prickled with mortification, and to shut Lisbeth out she turned on the radio. It wasn’t normal for her mom to talk so candidly about sex. Lisbeth was a free spirit but had always been very closed when it came to discussing sex. More so when it came to talking about Lisbeth’s relationship with Shae’s father.
“I have a class to teach, so are you coming back to the studio with me? You could teach them with me. It’s the toddler ballet class.”
Lisbeth scowled. “You mean you want to babysit me.”
Shae gripped the steering wheel, telling herself not to push her mom. “That’s not it. You used to come to the studio all the time—wouldn’t let me do the tuition. I’ve been the one doing all the teaching. You’ve stayed at home.”
“I’ve been to my book club, or attending my other groups. Unlike you, Shae, I have a social life,” she replied in defense.
Sidestepping the brewing argument, Shae softened her tone. “I’d like you with me today. I bet the girls would, too.”
Shae pulled out of the parking lot, heading for the main road.
“I’d like to see the ladybugs, too. Do we have some new ones?”
“Just one. Sam. She’s four and very shy. Her parents are hoping the classes will help.”
“Then I shall focus on her,” Lisbeth informed Shae with a huge smile. “She can be my little friend today.”
Thankfully, the thought of the dance class took Lisbeth’s mind off the doctor’s appointment, and she spent much of the journey to the studio planning how to get the best out of Sam. It was good to see her so animated again.
Shae stopped at the coffeehouse before the studio, asking her mom what she’d like.
Lisbeth’s brows furrowed. “Um, I . . .” Her hand fluttered to her neck and she began to toy with her necklace.
“Mom? Coffee?”
“Oh, um . . . whatever, dear. Get me whatever I normally have.”
Taking hold of her purse, Shae scowled but said nothing and made her way inside the store. She thought about the doctor’s advice, feeling calmer now that she had some space to work it through in her head. While waiting on her drinks, she fired off a quick message to Trace, letting him know how the appointment had gone, and as her name was shouted, she received a reply from him.
The barista placed the cups on the counter, nodding toward Shae’s cell. “Boyfriend?”
Shae shook her head. “What makes you say that?”
The woman grinned. “The smile on your face is one I see often in here. If he’s not your boyfriend, then I suggest you make him one.”
“Thanks for the advice.” Shae picked up the drinks and walked back to the car. She settled herself into her seat and handed Lisbeth her coffee before reading Trace’s response. He was moving more of his possessions into the apartment, so no doubt she would see him soon. The inevitable thrill of excitement shot through her system, and anticipation had butterflies dancing inside her.
She pushed it aside, reminding herself how off limits Trace was. More chaos was something she did not want right now. Her feelings for him were so jumbled that turmoil would be all she got from him. So she gave herself a pep talk on staying away.
After parking, Lisbeth rushed on ahead into the studio, leaving Shae with the drinks.
The waiting area had already started to fill with excited little girls and their parents. Many of the girls were changing into their frilly pink tutus and matching dance shoes. The chatter grew louder and more animated when, one by one, they noticed Lisbeth. They rushed to her, clinging on to her long, flowing skirt as they surrounded her legs. Each of them chanted her name.
“It’s lovely to see you all. I’ve missed you so much.” She opened the door to the main room, ushering each of them inside. “Come on, ladybugs. Let’s dance.”
Shae made sure the girls were all inside before she placed the coffee cups down and took off her jacket. She started the music up and lifted a clipboard from the wall. Lisbeth had already begun the warm-up, taking charge of the class as she used to. It allowed Shae to sit and mark the girls off her list as she spotted them.
Her mom had them entranced. Even Sam was following the movements and giggling with the girl next to her. Already she’d made an impression.
It was as though the last few weeks had never happened, which left Shae feeling guilty that she’d exaggerated the events.
Shaking her head, she forced herself to enjoy the scene in front of her. Her mom glowed when she danced. When Shae was a child, she’d thought Lisbeth was a magical fairy. She would stare for ages, hoping to see fairy dust float from her elegant limbs. Even now, she appeared mystical, her face lighting up in a way Shae only ever saw when Lisbeth danced.
This was what her mother was missing. This was what made her happy. For that reason, and because watching Lisbeth dance made Shae just as happy, she let her mom take the class. Staying quiet, she altered the music when needed and smiled when giggles filled the room. It was like old times, and she found herself reluctant for it to end. Her world had righted itself again—apart from her precarious relationship with Trace. Although she doubted she would ever understand what was going on with that. For now, she was glad he was there for her. So few people were.
“Right, little bugs. I can see some of your mommies and daddies returning,” Lisbeth said, raising her voice to bring order back into the room. “All line up, and we’ll do our goodbye lullaby.”
Shae walked to the door, opening it so that the parents could come inside and collect their child. A black T-shirt and dark hair caught her attention, and her body responded right away.
Trace walked over to the stairs that lead to the apartment—there was no need for her to see his face to know it was him. The warmth flowing through her confirmed it. She knew his back, knew how the muscles bunched under her caress, and she knew how his hair felt when it flicked through her fingers. It wasn’t a surprise to see him there, neither was her body’s reaction. Her crush was getting out of hand.
“Shae?
”
Startled, Shae turned to see Trace’s sister. She offered her a small smile. “Hi, Dale.”
“Hey.” She looked to the stairs and continued when Trace had gone. “I wanted to catch you before class finished. Thanks for sorting the apartment out for Trace. He’ll be much more together now that he has his own space again. No difficult memories.” She winced.
“Oh, no thanks are needed. He’s helping me by taking the place.”
Dale nodded, distracted for a heartbeat as she waved to her daughter. “Have you spoken to him today?”
Perplexed by the conversation, she responded with caution. “A couple of messages. Why?”
Dale paused and worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “Um, well, I think he’s upset. Not that he’d tell me right now. He talks to you though. He’s different since he met you. He’s more like he was . . . before . . .”
Shae ignored the small leap her heart gave at Dale’s assessment. “Trace and I aren’t together. We’re friends. And he doesn’t tell me much.” She lowered her voice. “He didn’t tell me about his ex and what she did until recently.”
“But he told you, right? I’m just looking out for him, Shae. He spent much of his teenage years being my protector, and now I find it difficult to stand by and ignore how hurt he is.”
“I know.”
Dale held up a finger to pause Shae. “I also hate the thought that my brother is too blind, hurt, upset . . . whatever, to see the one good thing that’s come of this. You’re standing right there and he can’t see you. You make my brother happy.”
Shae stuttered. “I, well . . . we were a one-night stand. Nothing more. Trace isn’t ready for more.”
“Are you?”
Her cheeks flamed under Dale’s questioning. The woman hit right to the heart of the issue.
“I don’t want to force—”
“I could give you a hundred different scenarios where Kyran told me we were just sex. He lied every one of those times except the first. If you want it, you have to fight for it. My brother is worth it, Shae.”
Knowing Dale was looking out for Trace, Shae tried not to worry about talking behind his back. She wondered whether Dale had fought this hard when the truth was revealed about his ex, whether she thought that woman had been right for her brother. “I’m not a rebound. That’s what I’d be to Trace if we started anything now,” Shae replied as honestly as she could.
Dale touched Shae’s shoulder. “See, that’s where our opinions differ. I don’t think you’re the rebound. I think you two met at the wrong time.” Ella came running over to them, making Dale halt the conversation. She picked her daughter up, kissed her nose, and rested her on her hip. “I’m not pushing, even though it might sound that way. I’m worried neither one of you can see what’s going on. That’s all.”
Needing time to think, Shae thanked her and waved goodbye to Ella and the other girls.
Her mom flopped into a chair, exhausted from the lesson. “Oh, darling, I had the most wonderful time.”
“You look like yourself again.”
Lisbeth smiled. “I was a good dancer, wasn’t I?”
Shae lowered herself to kneeling and rested her hands in her mom’s lap. “You were the best.” Her chest tightened with emotion, her throat constricting. “I loved every time I got to watch you on stage.”
Sighing, Lisbeth patted her daughter’s hand. “Call me a cab, please.”
“I can drive you home. I don’t have any other lessons,” Shae protested, still not convinced she should be leaving her alone.
“Maybe not, but there’s a young man upstairs who you’d like to spend time with more than me.”
She started to deny it, however Lisbeth shook her head. “I’m getting a cab home, whether you like it or not. I’m not a child.”
At that point, it was futile arguing with her, so Shae did what her mom asked and called a cab. She tidied the studio up while they waited and made sure Lisbeth was inside the car before turning back toward the building.
The light was on in the apartment, and if she strained she could hear music coming through the open window.
A tingle began at the base of her spine, increasing in intensity as she climbed the stairs. The music grew louder, a melodic rock anthem guiding her toward Trace.
She smelled paint, the chemical tang tickling her nostrils, and as she hit the top step, she saw the front door propped open with a huge tub of cream-colored paint.
“Trace?”
The music continued to play. There was no response from within the apartment. Shae called out for him again, and then entered his place. Staying just inside the front door, she shouted out one more time. She rubbed her forearm, suddenly cold, and glanced around, hoping he’d appear. He had to be around somewhere.
“Trace, what’s going on?” A low growl had her moving into the living room, her eyes widening and her pulse stuttering at what greeted her.
Trace sat huddled in the corner of the room, his knees drawn up to his chest. His shattered cell phone lay at his feet, along with an empty whiskey bottle. She walked closer, noticing the moment he realized she was in the room with him because his shoulders stiffened. At first, he didn’t raise his head, not even when she sat down next to him. It wasn’t until she reached out a shaky hand to touch his bloody knuckles that he looked at her.
If it was possible, Shae’s heart cracked at the sight of the utter devastation on his face. He’d been crying—that much was clear—and every cell in her body urged her to comfort him.
Raising her hand, she stroked her fingers down the side of his face, removing a tear with her thumb. He turned into her touch.
“Trace, what the hell happened?”
Chapter 18
Trace released a ragged breath, his head fuzzy from the alcohol and his hand smarting. He’d wanted to be alone, to deal with his burden without others interfering, especially after his talk with Emmie. He’d bought the bourbon, intent on licking his wounds alone.
But now she was here. Shae.
She’d stopped asking him what had happened about five minutes ago and was now dabbing at his raw knuckles with a cloth and antiseptic. He gritted his teeth, his nostrils flaring with each sting of the liquid. Each time it hurt, he gained a bit more clarity until he was fighting through the lethargy of being wasted.
He’d been a moron for thinking he could ignore his anguish. He’d told everyone around him that he was peachy, lying his way through each day and burying the loss he felt under as much bravado as possible. Even his sister had bought it for a while.
Damn, he was a fucking mess.
He grunted, giving a weak attempt at pulling his hand from hers when Shae blew across his scraped and swollen knuckles. She held firm, finishing her cleanup of the skin before letting him go. He knew he should thank her, or even just say hello. Right now, his silence was no doubt scaring her. He was scaring himself. The phone call with Emmie had spiraled out of control, and after that so had he.
His cell had been the first casualty, his knuckles the second, followed by his liver thanks to the bourbon. He’d like to blame Emmie for the way his afternoon had turned out, but he walked right into her trap and answered her call.
Tatum had been wailing in the background, her screams making it difficult to think straight. Every part of his body demanded that he go to her; the paternal instinct still strong, still refusing to accept that Tatum wasn’t his child. His grip on his cell had been painful, the nails on his other hand making crescents into the flesh of his palm. The temptation to end the call was strong, but the masochist within him hung on. As long as he could hear Tatum, he could pretend he was with her. He could pretend she was still his daughter.
Letting out a ragged breath, he closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment of calm as Shae rested her head on his shoulder. The music still played, the smell of the paint now making him feel sick . . . or was that the liquor? He couldn’t tell the difference. He was fucked up.
The voice in
his head told him it wouldn’t be wrong to go to her, to comfort her and stop the tears. The voice just mixed him up further, because he’d resolved to stay away. He never wanted to take his hate for Emmie out on Tatum, and that was his fear. That was why he needed to stay away from them. Without question, he knew time would make him hate Emmie more, and that would leave Tate trapped in the middle of a feud. A feud she didn’t have to be involved in if he walked away.
And stayed away.
“Do you need a drink?” Shae asked on a whisper.
Trace shook his head, his world tilting on its axis. He hissed out a breath, closing his eyes until everything stopped moving. “I think I’ve had plenty.”
“I wasn’t talking about the liquor, Trace. You should have some water. Flush all that out of your system.”
“Gonna take more than a pint of water, babe.” His throat felt so raw it hurt to talk. He swallowed and lifted his head. “Do you like the color?”
She stroked a hand down his cheek again. “I’m not going to talk to you about the damn paint job after finding you this messed up. What happened?”
“I let some shit get to me. We all have our limits, and I snapped. No biggie. I’ll clean up, and it’ll be like it never happened.”
“Not true, and you know it. It must have been real bad for you to flip out like this. What . . . or whom, did you hit?”
Lifting a finger, he pointed over to the door that led to the bathroom. It now had one hell of a hole in the panel.
“Shit, Trace.” She touched his scuffed knuckles. “Tell me. Was it your ex?”
Blowing out a stinted breath, he made a weak attempt at standing up. His legs were like cooked noodles, so all it took was for Shae to tug once on his shirt for him to land back on his ass. He turned away from her, making it clear the conversation was going no further.
The stubborn woman pushed at his shoulder, straddling his lap and holding his face in her hands. “You will speak to me, Trace Jacks. I’m not leaving here, or getting off you for that matter, until you open your goddamned mouth.”
