by M.A. Stacie
After many of the guests verbalized their sadness, they began to lower the casket into the ground. Her mother descended away from her while a single stem rose was tossed onto the wooden box.
“It’s all wrong,” Shae shouted, pulling away from Trace. “You have it all wrong.”
“Shae?” Trace reached out for her but she shook him off.
“Roses? You all put roses. My mother hated them!” She raised her sunflower. “This is what she loved. They made her smile. Why are you giving her something she didn’t like? Don’t you know anything about her?”
The guests stared at one another, and then gawked at her. No one said a word. The priest coughed and everyone’s gaze switched to him. “Perhaps you’d like to share Lisbeth’s love of sunflowers?”
Her cheeks burned with anger. She could feel the stem of the sunflower starting to buckle under the tightness of her grip. Trace placed his hand at the base of her spine, giving her that bit of support she needed. Knowing she shouldn’t have lost her temper didn’t calm her. The whole day felt so unfair—so wrong—she couldn’t stop the annoyance that tightened every inch of her muscles. She exhaled and looked around at the stunned expressions focused on her. “The first time my mom danced as prima ballerina her mom gave her a bouquet of sunflowers. She told my mom that it was a flower that brought sunshine into the darkest corner. That first night launched a very good career for her. From that moment, she would only allow sunflowers in her dressing room. If anyone else brought her different ones, she would let the other dancers have them. Our home always had one or two in the vase by the door. She believed those first ones brought her good luck. I won’t ruin that now by putting roses or carnations on her casket. She won’t be buried with something she doesn’t like.”
Three of her mother’s friends dropped their flowers to the floor, and a man who she recognized as a former ballet dancer began to collect stems from other people. The casket was still high enough for Trace to pick up the rose that had been placed on it, leaving it clear for Shae to put her sunflower on the dark wood.
She stroked the lid, tears almost choking her as she whispered her very last goodbye to her mom. “I love you. You were the best. My magical mom.”
Taking one step back, she couldn’t look away from the casket. She counted every second it took to lower it to the ground below. The priest started to speak again, but Shae wasn’t processing the words. Her blood rushed in her ears, the heavy pounding of her heartbeat drowning everything out. People started to hug her, kiss her cheek, and offer their sympathies. Shae nodded to each of them, the entire interaction nothing more than a blur. Trace stayed by her side, every once in a while asking her if she was okay. Again, she offered a nod, even though she knew he could tell that she was lying.
The last person to speak to her was the priest. While he spoke, she bit her lip to stop a cry from leaving her mouth. He offered to come and speak to her in a few days, just to see how she was coping. She agreed, leaning into Trace as he, once again, placed her arm over her shoulder. She stared at the oblong hole in the ground.
“Do you want a minute? Alone with her, I mean.”
“I can’t be alone with her. She’s gone, Trace.” Her throat felt raw, her voice sounding coarse. “My mom is gone.”
“Then when you’re ready I’ll take you home.”
She turned and began to walk. She’d said her final goodbye. Sitting by the grave all day wouldn’t bring Lisbeth back. No matter how much she wanted it.
Shae had forgotten all about her father until she took a step off the grass to see him looming ahead.
Trace grunted. “I’ll tell him to go. You can do without his shit tod—”
She placed her palm flat against his chest, stopping his rant. “I can deal with him.”
Lucian reached out for her, pulling his hand away when she shook her head.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
He toyed with his wedding ring. “I came to pay my respects.”
“Why? You never had one civil word to say about my mom while she was alive. Don’t you dare come here now with your fake tokens of sincerity. Both you and I know you’re here to look good. Well, don’t bother.” She swallowed. “You left me when I needed you most. You tossed me to Trace, leaving him to pick up the pieces. All I wanted was my dad. For once, I wanted you to be there for me. You failed. Failed.”
“Shae, I—”
“I don’t want to hear it. Today is about mourning my mom. Not about you and your need to salve your conscience. Go away, Lucian. Go back to your family. You’ve made it clear I’m not a part of that.”
Shae didn’t wait for his response. She grabbed Trace’s hand and dragged him away from Lucian Folds. He said nothing until they got into her car, and even then he barely got one word out before her bottom lip quivered and she lost it. After the last week, Shae thought she’d cried every tear she could. She’d been wrong. She cried herself hoarse. Trace wiped her tears, handed her tissues, and hugged her close. It was he who drove them home. He carried her to bed, spooning her while both fully clothed and rocking her into a fitful sleep.
When he woke a few hours later, he blinked, trying to see into the darkness. It took him a few minutes to get his bearings and for him to remember where he was. This time the space where Shae rested was empty. When he reached out, the mattress was cold. She’d been gone a while.
He rolled over, and then sat up, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. A low, melodic sound floated into the room. It had Trace cocking his ear toward the door, trying to calculate what it was. He listened. It was obviously Shae, but why was she up in the middle of the night listening to music?
Intrigued, Trace shifted out of the bed and went in search of her. He was still wearing his clothes from the day before, though they were crumpled now. Not that it mattered.
“Shae?” he called out, but his words got lost in the music as he descended the stairs. He didn’t say her name again, because the moment he saw her he was transfixed.
Shae was dancing.
She’d pushed the couch against the far wall, leaving space in the center of the room to move. Instead of yesterday’s clothes, she now wore a pair of tight black shorts and a loose gray tank. Her feet were bare. They hit the floor with a small slap.
Being careful not to disturb her, Trace lowered himself and sat on a stair, still watching her every movement. He doubted she’d hear him even if he did make a noise. Shae was locked in her moment, oblivious to the world around her.
The music was haunting, conveying her sadness, and as she pirouetted, he saw it on her face, too. Shae was crying. He expected it, though the fact that she was doing it while dancing made it harder for him to see. Dancing had bonded Lisbeth and Shae, and now it was all she had left of that. Trace couldn’t bring himself to disturb her.
Her arms swirled, her body swayed, each movement graceful and smooth. She covered the floor in three quick steps, followed by a delicate jump. It amazed him that she kept her poise during the leap, enough to point her toes. When she repeated the move, he watched her fingers this time, and smiled when she pointed those.
Shae was an incredible dancer.
As he watched her, his mind started to wander. The melancholy tone of the music reached the deepest part of his soul. Grief assaulted him. Not for Lisbeth—he hadn’t known her well enough. His grief was for Shae, and if he was being honest, for himself. He couldn’t fight his own loss. Each day he’d questioned his decisions and whether it was best for Tatum if he stayed away. It was a question he could never answer.
A small whimper snapped him out of his thoughts. Shae had fallen to the floor, her back to him, her knees drawn up to her chest. He watched her place her hand over her mouth, stifling her cries. She didn’t want him to see her distressed.
Trace’s throat closed, his own sadness building and pricking at his eyes. He was no good for her right now, and she wanted to be alone with the little piece of her mom that she had left. He refused to encroa
ch on that—she was allowed to grieve alone.
Needing to be alone with his own thoughts, Trace stood, careful to be as quiet as possible. He looked back at her forlorn figure once, wishing life could be different for them both.
Chapter 23
“Coming with me will help, Shae. Damn, just getting away from the same four walls would improve anyone’s day.”
She looked up from her book, shooting Trace a glare. “You’re babysitting Ella, not me. I’m capable of looking after myself.”
“You don’t need to look after yourself when you don’t leave the house.”
Shae winced. His assessment was bang on target. It stung. “Yeah, because socializing is my thing after the death of my mom,” she retorted sarcastically, regretting it as soon as she’d said it. Trace had been nothing but attentive and caring since her world had been blown apart. He was trying to help her. Placing the book on the arm of the chair, she looked up at him, and for the first time in days, noticed how tired he appeared. His eyes were sullen and underneath them, the skin was purple. He’d been looking after her instead of himself. “Go and play with your niece. I’m thankful for your help getting me through this, but I can look after myself. You should go back to your apartment. Go back to your life.”
Pursing his lips, Trace raised his hands and scrubbed at his face. She noticed he hadn’t shaved when she heard the rasp of his stubble against the palms of his hands. He began to pace the floor in front of her, looking at her twice and opening his mouth before closing it and walking again. Shae grew anxious, hoping the next time he opened his mouth that he actually spoke.
“I have things to say to you—things I’ve been holding in because it isn’t the right time. Sometimes it’s exhausting.” He pointed at her. “Your little comment just then pisses me off.”
“What comment?”
“Go back to my life? You said that? And meant it?”
Shae took in his stance and the hard set of his shoulders. He was annoyed. “Y-you shouldn’t be stopping everything you do to make sure I eat.”
“And you think that’s what I’m doing here?”
Shae sat forward, anger beginning to fizz underneath her skin. “Isn’t it? Trace, we’d called time-out on this thing between us before all the shit went down with my mom. We were friends. My mom . . . my mom . . .” She couldn’t even say the words. “Well, after that you basically move in, fed me three meals a day, and made sure I showered. We’ve gone from quits to this.”
“This is me helping you. Shae, you needed someone.”
She sneered. “So you appointed yourself as my chief babysitter?”
“Jesus, what’s with the anger? I’m helping you! Why are you so pissed at me?”
Lowering her head, she pushed her fingers into her hair and grumbled. Her hand trembled as she tried to get a grasp on her racing thoughts. Her head hurt, but it paled into insignificance in comparison to the constant pain in her chest. There was no shifting it. No ignoring it, and focusing on it made it feel much worse.
Trace had been her one constant since her mom had passed, and she hated taking her anger out on him. She felt cruel for allowing him to alter his life so much just because she couldn’t function. She hadn’t expected to get over her loss right away, maybe she never would. Right now, all she wanted was the ability to get herself through the day.
And to allow Trace to get back to his life.
He squatted down at her feet, took hold of her hands, and waited until she met his gaze before he spoke. “Shit, babe, I know you’re pissed at everyone for what you’ve lost. Don’t take it out on me. I’m here for you. Whenever you need me.”
She scrunched up her nose. “But don’t you see? You shouldn’t be here, looking after me like I’m five years old.”
“So get up,” he replied bluntly and tore his hands from hers. “Get up. Get showered. Get dressed and get outside. Show me that you don’t need me, and I’ll leave. Until then, I stay.”
“Why? No one’s paying you to do it. Why have you appointed yourself as my caretaker?”
“I like that better than babysitter.” He grinned. She ignored it. “I’m not making you do anything. I’m here to support you.” He sighed. “Do you want me to leave? If that’s what you want, I’ll go. All you have to do is say the words.”
Closing her eyes, she tried to block him out. Block out the guilt that poisoned her bloodstream and made her feel like crap for being so ungrateful.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t know what I want, Trace.”
Holding out a hand, he offered her a weak smile. “So put those thoughts to one side while you make my niece’s day. Coming to see her will have her bouncing happy. A few hours’ reprieve. You won’t be letting anyone down by doing it.”
She gulped as he hit the nail on the head. Having fun with Ella would mean that she wasn’t missing her mom—that she wasn’t grieving.
As if hearing her thoughts, Trace shook his head. “It doesn’t mean that you didn’t love her. It will mean that you’re trying to move forward. One foot at a time. Tomorrow could feel worse than today. The day after might seem better, but none of that is going to happen if you don’t try. I can’t pretend to know what you’re going through. I keep trying to help you. I do what you allow me to. Sometimes I wish you’d let me in.”
“I let you in,” she said defending herself.
He shifted his hand to call attention to it. “So come on. Let me make you feel better for a little while.”
Something fluttered within her. “You’ve said that before.”
“And it turned out fucking fantastic for us both.”
Shae took a deep breath and put her hand in his, trusting him when there was no one else.
Her movements were slow, her muscles protesting. She kept telling herself she could do it. She could get through a few hours with a little girl. She avoided looking at her reflection in the mirror, using her hands to tidy her hair, hoping it was enough. Looking at herself would no doubt make her cry again.
“Do you want to pack some clothes for overnight? Kyran wouldn’t have a problem with you staying, too.” He shrugged on his leather jacket and picked up his bike helmet.
“I don’t think I’m ready . . .”
“Well, he and D said I didn’t have to look after Ella at their place. Hmm, how about we pick her up, take her for pizza or a burger, and then decide? If you’re not sure maybe we could stay here? Would that be a better option?”
Shae shrugged. “Can we wait?” Trace agreed, passing a helmet to her after she pulled on her jacket. “What about your bike? We can’t put Ella on it.”
Snorting as if she’d told a joke, Trace shook his head. “I can use D’s car if I need to, or get a cab. Kyran would kill me if I put his baby on my bike. I’ve told him his princess will rebel like crazy when she’s older because of his hold on her. Boys had best beware.”
Shae stared around the room. She hadn’t left the house since they returned from Lisbeth’s funeral, and she hadn’t planned on going out this soon. Understanding Trace’s concern didn’t ease her worries. Nor did his support in the form of his hand clutching hers. She took a breath and followed him out the door, her eyes fixed on the back of his head so that she didn’t meet any of her neighbors’ gazes.
“Dontcha like pepseroni?” Ella asked Shae, pointing to the little pile she’d created on the side of her paper plate.
Shae gave her a small smile. “I’m not very hungry, sweetie.”
Ella reached out and snatched up the circles of spicy meat. She crammed them into her mouth, a small drip of orange liquid seeping from the corner. She swiped it with the back of her hand, spreading it across her cheek. Shae couldn’t tear her gaze from her. She was so happy, so adorable, and so full of life. Watching her giggle and talk with Trace made her want to smile. It made her want to be happy again.
Trace wiped the sauce from Ella’s cheek with a napkin, tweaking her nose when he’d finished.
She squeale
d. “Stop,” she protested, pushing his hand away.
Trace chuckled. “Your mom hated when I did that, too.” He turned to Shae, nodding toward her plate of food. “Do you want something else?”
“No. I’m fine. Besides, I think Ella has had enough. She’s growing bored.”
Lowering his voice, he said, “I was thinking we could take her to the park. Wear her out before bedtime?”
In all honesty, Shae would have preferred to go home and hide. Being outside made her paranoid that everyone was looking at her. She wondered if they could tell how much she’d been crying, if they knew why she was so sad. However, instead of asking him to take her home, she looked at Ella and found herself nodding in agreement.
She followed as Trace herded them out of the pizzeria, feeling very much like an outsider. It wasn’t anything that Trace had done. She felt different, as though her world had tilted on its axis the moment Lisbeth had died, never to balance itself back out. Trace stopped the total destruction of her life, offering her a piece of normalcy. She longed to go back to the days before Lisbeth’s death. The days where they ended up kissing, cuddling, or having sex when it hadn’t been their intention. They’d been carefree and carried away on a wave of lust then, which left her questioning what made him stay now.
“Trace?”
He stopped walking, taking hold of Ella’s hand before turning to face Shae. “Yeah?”
She stared at him, the pain in her chest lessening. The butterflies she always felt around him began to flutter low in her belly, and the longer she looked at him, the clearer he became. She might not understand why Trace was helping her, but she did know why she was letting him. While her life was running at a million miles an hour, she was falling for him. She let him help her because that meant he stayed around. It meant she saw him each day.
“Babe? You okay?”
Biting her lip to stop from verbalizing the words, Shae nodded and took hold of Ella’s other hand. She chastised herself for thinking about a future with Trace when her mother no longer had the luxury. She shouldn’t be thinking of a new start. She should be mourning.
