Beautifully Damaged(25)

"What?"

He chuckled over the line before he added, "He wants to see you, too."

I couldn't lie, those words made me feel really good but then I sobered when I asked, "Why hasn't he come around then?"

"You know why."

"Why does he think so poorly of himself?"

"I don't know, Ember. I know there's some really bad shit in his past but he's never shared that with me."

"Do you know if he's home..." I could almost not get the rest of the sentence out since I was afraid of the answer "...and if he's alone?"

"Yeah, he's home alone. Let me give you his address and thanks, Ember."

"...for what?"

"...caring about him."

When the cab pulled up in front of Trace's building, I was surprised to see that we were in a really nice section of the city. I climbed from the cab, paid the man, and headed up the steps to the door. I made my way to the fourth floor and down the hall to his apartment. I stopped at his door and took a few deep breaths. I couldn't believe I was here -- that I was actually at a man's apartment. I had never in my life gone to a man's apartment but this wasn't just any man, this was Trace, and so I knocked.

The door opened and Trace filled the space. The look of surprise on his face had me feeling both happy and sad.

"Ember, what are you doing here?"

I held his incredulous stare and answered with all honesty, "I wanted to see you."

His reply, and the manner in which he said it, broke my heart because it was clear that he was unaccustomed to people visiting him for the sole purpose of just wanting to see him.

"Why?"

"I missed you."

He just stood there and I think he may have been in shock.

"Is this a bad time?"

"No, sorry, please come in." He stepped back so I could enter and when I got a good look at his apartment I smiled since it wasn't at all what I was expecting. Though it was sparsely decorated, it was done so with quiet taste. Charcoal-gray walls and walnut floors covered with a Persian rug in deep earth-tones were the backdrop for the masculine living room comprised of a cognac-colored leather sofa, dark-oak coffee table and TV armoire. The kitchen was against the left wall before the long hallway that led, I'm guessing, to the bedrooms and bath.

As I moved into the living room I noticed the walls were bare. There were no pictures of his family or friends and I realized that his walls symbolized his life. He had people around him all the time but no one that mattered, no one that he cared about, no one he loved and he didn't because he hadn't let anyone get close enough.

I felt the tears but I didn't let them fall and instead turned to him and smiled and said, "I like your place."

He was leaning against the door with the strangest expression on his face.

"What's wrong, Trace?"

"I can't believe you're here."

"Do you want me to go?"

He moved from the door and walked over to me to take my hand into his. The look in his eyes had my toes curling before he replied, "No."

He led me to the kitchen before he released my hand.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

"Do you have hot tea?"

He looked at me from over his shoulder as a grin tugged at his mouth. "No, how about coffee?"

"Perfect."

I sat and watched as he started the coffee and then he turned to me, leaned against the counter and shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans as a grin tugged at his mouth.

"I guess I don't need to call you later."

I gave him a saucy smile before I replied, "I've always preferred face-to-face myself."

We settled in his living room with each of us at opposite ends of the sofa but turned so we could face each other. He still had a funny expression on his face which prompted me to ask, "Are you upset that I'm here?"

It was surprise that flashed over his face in response before he said, "No, I just can't figure out why you'd want to come here."

I tilted my head and studied him. "Are you kidding?"

"I'm completely serious."

"I like you, Trace. I came because I missed looking at you -- being with you."

A smile touched his lips but the look of disbelief in his eyes hadn't passed my notice. I wanted to ask why he found it so hard to believe that I wanted to be here but I was too busy soaking up the sight of him. He looked so comfortable, almost relaxed, and the sight of that gave my heart a happy sigh. He was beautiful and what made him so beautiful to me was the vulnerable man underneath that handsome face.

"What are you thinking about?" Trace asked which pulled me from my silent study of him.

"You."

There it was, again, surprise flashing across his face. I couldn't imagine what happened to make him hate himself so much. I'd ask but it wasn't the time so I sought to change the subject.