Beautifully Damaged(34)

He reached over and tugged on a lock of my hair before he rolled onto his back and folded his arms under his head.

"I usually just watch TV but with you here we should do something."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Is there something you've wanted to do in the city that you haven't had an opportunity to do yet?"

"I'd like to see the Statue of Liberty."

He sat up at that and grinned. "Then that's what we'll do. Get dressed."

After Trace left my room I climbed from bed and quickly made it before tugging on a pair of jeans and a black sweater. I had to dig around in the closet for my black Converse sneakers before I ran a brush through my hair and pulled it up into a ponytail. After a quick trip to the bathroom, I was ready to go as I carried my leather jacket down the hall to the kitchen where Trace was already waiting.

His back was to me so I took a moment to soak up the sight of him. He was dressed in jeans but, instead of his standard t-shirt, he was wearing a sweater of a color in the exact shade of his eyes. Regardless of how the sweater looked, there was no denying the powerful body underneath it.

"I'm ready."

He turned and moved his eyes over me in a manner very much like the thorough perusal I had just given to him. When they finally settled on mine there was no denying the heat burning in them. He slid on his jacket and helped me with mine before he reached for my hand and led me from the apartment.

The drive through the city went pretty quickly since the traffic was so light and before long, we were parking near the docks. We climbed off his bike and Trace reached for my hand as we followed the signs for the Statue of Liberty ferries.

"Have you ever been to the Statue of Liberty?" I asked suspecting that he had been multiple times so I was more than a little surprised when he answered no.

"I thought you grew up in the city."

"No, I moved here when I was fifteen."

"Oh."

I could tell by the tightness of his voice, and the clenching of his jaw, that I was dangerously close to a topic he didn't want to discuss so I immediately attempted to switch gears.

"I can take apart an engine and put it back together again."

He stopped walking as he looked down at me with the oddest expression on his face.

"Yeah, my dad taught me. I was the only kid in shop class, who got an A on that assignment."

I watched as the tension drained from him and a smile tugged at his mouth.

"What else did your dad teach you?"

"I can run a pool table."

This had him laughing and the sound was so wonderful that I found I was looking for things to say to make him do it again.

"I can't bake though. My cakes could be used as building materials."

We started to walk again as his hand wrapped more tightly around mine before he asked, "And your mom, what did she teach you?"

Trace knew that I grew up with just my Dad but I never told him how or when she died. "She died when I was three, hit and run."

He stopped then and turned to me as his finger touched my chin to lift my face to his searching gaze. "I'm sorry."

"I was so young that I really don't remember her. Strange isn't it? I can't even picture her face or remember her voice. If not for my dad showing me pictures and telling me stories, I wouldn't know her at all. For him, she was the love of his life and even twenty years later, he still mourns her loss, misses her everyday, and loves her just as deeply as he had the day they married."

"She was my age when she died. They had been together for only six years, married for three, but their love was so strong that even the memory of it is enough for my dad. When I was younger, I couldn't imagine loving someone with that kind of intensity, and knowing that the one you're with is the only one you'll ever want."

I realized that I was rambling so I stopped talking as Trace just looked at me. His expression was completely unreadable. He wrapped his hands around my face as he looked deeply into my eyes before he whispered, "I can..."

My heart literally skipped a beat hearing those words from this man before I added, "...me, too."

I leaned into him because I wanted him to kiss me, I wanted to taste him again, to feel his arms coming around me. Instead, he pressed a kiss to my forehead where his lips lingered for a moment before he pulled back and took a step away from me.

I couldn't read his expression at all as he stood there silently watching me. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he offered me his elbow, "We don't want to miss the ferry."





Chapter Seven


My premonition turned out to be true and the other shoe did drop. Ever since our Statue of Liberty trip, Trace had been very careful to keep his distance from me. He would no longer wake me up by bouncing on the bed and, honestly, I missed it. The glimpse I caught of a more carefree Trace was just that, a glimpse, and if anything he was more reserved and brooding.