Beautifully Damaged(38)

I had the sense he was speaking from personal experience but I didn't get to think too long on that when he added, "... if he blows his chance, Ember, he's an idiot. I won't make the same mistake."

I returned after a lovely dinner with Lucien to a still empty apartment. I thought about Lucien's advice and realized that he was absolutely right. I wanted Trace and realized that I was good for him. I had seen a change in him while we were together. He was almost at peace and was definitely less haunted. He made me happier than I'd ever been. He was it for me and I was willing to fight for him and had a suspicion that outside of Rafe no one ever had.

I grabbed my phone and called Rafe who answered on the first ring.

"Rafe, where's Trace?"

It sounded like relief in his voice when he offered, "He's here, Dominic's in the Bronx."

I hung up and called a cab. I got to the place and I could hear the cheering from the street outside. Inside looked a lot like the gym Rocky trained in and in the middle of it was the ring. I moved through crowds but stopped when I felt a hand on my arm. I looked up to see Rafe but his expression was grim.

"I'm really glad you came."

I felt dread at that. "Why?"

He gestured to the ring, "He's letting them pound on him."

I turned to see Trace in the middle of the ring with his back and chest covered in large, purple welts. An ugly, blackish-purple mark over his ribs on the right side was clearly the pooling of blood from cracked or broken ribs but it was the sight of his face that had tears streaming down my face. He was so bloody that I couldn't see the extent of the damage. I watched as he made no attempt to dodge the blows, taking the pounding over and over again. It was a testament to his strength that he could take that kind of beating and still be standing.

I stood there for ten minutes watching as Trace allowed himself to be hammered and then, as if he'd grown tired of it all, he moved with lightning speed and leveled his opponent with one solid punch to the jaw. The crowd went berserk but Trace just stood there looking down at his opponent, emotionless.

Seeing him standing in the midst of a crowd yet being so utterly alone provoked me to go to him. I reached the ring and climbed under the ropes. I didn't know what he was thinking about, if anything, since he didn't realize my presence until I reached for his hand. His eyes moved to our hands before he lifted his gaze to my face and it was then that I saw how desolate he looked. I threw my arms around his neck and pressed myself against him. I felt the shudder that went through his body and then those arms reached up and wrapped around me, pulling me so close, before he buried his face in my hair and just held on.

Rafe helped me get Trace home and made me promise that I'd call him if I needed anything. Trace was standing in the bathroom looking in the mirror when I returned from seeing Rafe out.

"We should get you cleaned up." I said which had his eyes finding mine in the mirror.

"What are you doing here, Ember?"

"I'm not willing to let you go without a fight."

"What about your date?"

A small smile touched my lips as I held his gaze. "He was the one to tell me to fight for you."

"I'm not good for you."

My voice was harsh as I took a step closer to him. "I don't know who it was in your life that made you believe you were worthless, Trace, but if I ever find out, I intend to beat the shit out of them. You are good for me. You are special. You have more to give than you give yourself credit for."

He went completely still and his face absolutely blank. He moved so fast to pull me into his arms and his voice was a harsh whisper, "I should push you away, far away from me, but I can't."

"I don't want you to push me away."





Chapter Eight


That night I lay next to Trace and watched as his chest rose and fell in a deep even rhythm. I couldn't ignore the one question that kept rolling around in my head: Who fucked him up so badly? The fact that he didn't speak of his family had me guessing it was either dad, mom or both and the idea of it made me so angry I wanted to hurt something, them to be more specific. To have the innocence of a child in your care and to abuse that child to the point that you irrevocably mark them was a crime that should be punishable by death in my opinion. What I feared was how badly they had abused him since the influence of it still haunted him. Yet, even being abused by those who should have loved him the most, he was still a kind and compassionate man underneath the hard shell. He may not have known love or feeling cherished, but I vowed that he would. I reached for his hand, held it in mine and closed my eyes as I allowed myself to follow him into sleep.

In the morning, I awoke and turned my head to find Trace already up and resting on his side with his head on his upturned hand as he watched me. When our eyes met, he smiled and said, "Good morning."