Elect - Dyken Rachel Van - Страница 22

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She closed her eyes as a single tear ran down her cheek. “Chase.”

“Who protected you from Phoenix?”

Trace said nothing.

“Who never left your damn side when I listened to your grandfather’s orders and pushed you away?”

And again with silence.

I had to get it out. I had to do it. There was no other way. “So as far as I’m concerned, it’s always been Chase. It’s never been me, Trace. All along it’s been him, and only him. From here on out, I’m the other guy, I’m the asshole who embarrassed you in front of your peers, the guy that threatened to destroy you. I am nothing, and Chase? He’s your savior.”

I walked out of the room and didn’t look back. I couldn’t. I knew if I did I would either fall to my knees and apologize for being so harsh, or cry for the first time since I was twelve.

I’d just singlehandedly given the love of my life to my best friend—on a silver platter, with a shiny bow attached.

And I didn’t care if I died, but if Trace died? Because of me? Because of my pride and inability to get over myself? I would pray for death. So if it meant I had to give up the only thing that I was living for? It would be worth it. If she was safe. It would be worth it. I repeated that to myself for the rest of the night, and when Trace came home and said nothing over dinner. I said it again, and again, and when I opened that bottle of whiskey and sat in my room, I said it again.

Until I passed out.

I woke up with a killer hangover. My fault. Grumbling, I took a shower and went downstairs to get some breakfast before I went over to the Space to see if Phoenix would change his tune.

“Hey.” Trace was sitting at the table eating some toast.

“Hey.” I waved. Idiot. She was sitting right in front of me.

Her eyes didn’t leave mine. I was frozen in place and could literally hear every beat of my heart in the silence.

“You’re wrong, you know.” She stood and walked toward me. “About a lot of things—everything, actually. And you’re an ass.”

“I—”

“I’m talking, you’re listening.” She smirked and grabbed the front of my shirt and pushed me toward the pantry. She slammed me against the door, pretty forcefully, I might add, and then opened it and shoved me in. I mean, I could fight her but I was too damn turned on and curious to do anything except stare at her.

“I. Want. You.” She took off her shirt. What the hell? “Only you.” Her jeans were next.

The pantry immediately became my number one favorite spot in the house.

Facing me in nothing but her scandalous white lacy underwear, she whispered in my ear. “This. What you see? What’s in front of you, it’s not just about me wanting you. I want all of you. I want to be vulnerable with you, exposed. But you have to let me… maybe the reason I don’t want to open up that part of myself to Chase is because he isn’t you, Nixon. He doesn’t have this.” She placed my hand on her bare skin right above her breast. Shit, I was slowly dying inside. Did she even realize what the hell she was doing to me?

“He doesn’t have our history, our past, our drama. I love him, you’re right. I love him so damn much that I can’t imagine life without him. But he and I—we aren’t this. So tell me, Nixon. Tell me if you want me to forget. I’ll forget what we have, if that’s really what you want. If you want me to jump into his arms without looking back, I will. But know I’ll hate you forever for giving me up.”

“I’m not,” I interrupted her. “You can’t give up something you never had.”

She slapped me hard across the face. “You promised, Nixon. You promised me.”

I kissed her hard on the mouth, clenching her wrists in my hands as I pinned her against the door. “You’re right,” I growled and pulled away. “And I’m sorry for hurting us, for hurting you, but Trace… next time you trap me in a closet, in nothing but your underwear. I will take advantage of you. I’ll screw you until you forget your own name. Don’t play with fire, and don’t mess with me. I’m still terrible for you; he’s better, and I stand by what I did. Now move out of the way before I truly lose control and steal your virginity next to the damn Cheerios.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared as I sidestepped her and walked out of the pantry and directly into Tex.

“Whoa!” Tex looked at my face and then lower. His smile widened. “Taking care of business in the pantry or Mrs. Butterworth just make you horny?”

“Shut up.”

“It’s cool! She’s naked, I get it!” Tex called after me, while I raced back up the stairs, grabbed my phone and keys, and then ran out of the house. Away from Trace, away from everything.

“So you wanna talk about it?” I slid the cup of coffee across the table in the commons and waited for Trace to say something.

Wednesdays were always early days for Trace and her classes, but by the looks of it she got less sleep than me. She’d screamed his name last night. I pretended not to care, even when my heart threatened to break into a million pieces.

“No.” She took my peace offering and grimaced. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. Her Eagle Elite white collared shirt was untucked from her skirt and she looked like she’d been crying.

“That’s fine.” I leaned back in my chair and watched people as they walked by, each of them staring at us as if me and Trace had some sort of disease. It had been like that ever since she’d enrolled this fall. People stared. I flipped them off, and oftentimes threatened their lives.

I glanced back at Trace and couldn’t take it anymore.

“Fine,” I grumbled. “I’m going to give you the damn speech.”

“Huh?” Her head snapped up. “What speech?”

“The speech.” I cleared my throat and reached across the table, engulfing her hand in mine. “Tracey, you’re perfect.”

“Chase?” She tried to pull her hand away but I gripped it harder.

“Choose me. Pick me,” I whispered. “I’m better for you… plus Nixon’s… too tall.”

“He’s too tall?”

“And buff. Do you really want a guy that looks that scary?” I shook my head. “Not gonna happen. So choose me. Be with me. Let me love you, let me protect you, let me honor you. Let me screw your brains out.”

“Ass.” She cracked a smile.

At least she smiled. I cleared my throat and released her hand. Walking over to her side of the table, I pulled her to her feet and tilted her chin toward me.

“I’ll keep you safe.”

“I’m not worried about my safety.”

“I’ll kiss you better.”

“Again, not worried about kisses.”

I sighed and with a shrug leaned in until our lips were inches from touching. Such sweet, painful agony. “Here’s the thing…”—my bottom lip grazed hers—“Kisses are exactly what you should be worried about.”

“Why?” She exhaled. Her top lip trembled as air escaped through her mouth.

“All it takes is one kiss. One kiss can save you. One kiss can ruin you for life. And my kisses? They better ruin you, Trace. Because if they don’t, then I’m clearly not doing a good enough job, and let’s be honest—I can’t really act to save my life, so my kisses are exactly what you should be worried about.” I trailed my finger over her lips. “Because my kisses are real—they mean a hell of a lot more than yours, and from here on out—I’m not holding back.”

I kissed her.

Not hard.

It probably didn’t even look like a kiss. Our lips touched for the briefest of moments, but in that short connection of our mouths meeting, of exchanging the same air, I made a choice.

To share my soul with her. To be her everything—even if it meant I was going to get nothing in return—because I’d been given permission to do so—I decided I was going to steal her. No longer was it betrayal—it was survival.

Trace covered her mouth with a shaking hand and closed her eyes. “We should probably go to class.”

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