Page 26 of About Yesterday (Foothills #5)

“Because I was safe? The nice girl back home, who was untouchable in her good girl relationship?

What are you going to do now, when I fall for another nice, normal guy?

Or,“ she sat up higher, her words coming faster. “Or god forbid, what if I really do fall for you , and then you’re stuck here. No place to run. Nobody to fight.”

He closed his eyes and repeated her words over and over, the fury in her voice that set his chest clenching so tight he couldn’t draw in a full breath.

Slowly, he said, “You’re right. I ran so far and so fast, so I could burn away the nightmares and burn off the anger I couldn’t shake.

” He turned and searched her expression, willing her to meet his look.

“So when I came back, I could be who I wanted to be. I came home so I could stop running.”

She faced him, her expression softening as she met his look. “Your past is a part of you. You can’t run from it.”

“It took me a while to figure that out,” he said, the smoke of the burned-out fire nothing more than an endless festering in his memory. “I’m not going anywhere. There’s no fight left.”

She reached across and rested her palm on his cheek, and god help him, he leaned in, holding completely still as she brushed her thumb over his bottom lip. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Me too,” he answered.

After too long, enough to stir his skin and let him really settle into her touch, she drew her hand away, her temper faded to playful. “Who’s this woman you fell in love with?”

His chest rumbled with a gravelly laugh. “We’re already late.”

“Come on. Give me a name,” she teased, biting her lip as she grinned at him.

“Maritza.” He shut off the engine and climbed out, dashing around to grab her door while she adjusted her skirt and boots, sneakily working up the nerve to break outside the uniform in Foothills’ favorite watering hole.

Trace checked her phone before stuffing it back into her back pocket. “Wow, we really are late.”

“Fashionably late.”

“What happened, with Maritza?”

He choked on a cough and risked looking over at Trace. “I, uh, got reassigned and had to leave.”

Instead of the fury he’d expected, having proved her point yet again, a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She picked up the pace with a little hop onto the walkway.

Finn and Haley were just getting out of Finn’s Mustang, Haley adjusting her knee-length skirt with a slit up her thigh and tall boots identical to Trace’s.

They didn’t look around, Finn moving in straight for Haley and drawing her close.

Cole hadn’t seen them together yet, and the image jarred through him like he’d stuck his fingers in a light socket.

He glanced over at Trace, and she was grinning wide. How was she used to this? Finn had, of course, talked a lot about Haley when he’d come to visit Cole, but it hadn’t really sunk in, that he had solidly moved on.

Trace veered toward them, and as she neared, she exuded goofy and said, “Nice boots.”

Haley turned in Finn’s arms toward Trace, leaning into Finn as she flashed her boots. “Ditto,” she said, nodding with the same goofy smile. As Trace got closer, Haley said, “You are looking very fine this evening, Trace. New skirt?”

“Why yes it is,” she said, doing a quick twirl.

Hands on Haley’s hips, standing behind her while she chatted with Trace, Finn nodded a greeting to Cole. “Hey, man. Ready for chaos?”

Cole shook his head, air whooshing from his lungs. “No. But it’s time.”

“I tried to convince the guys to do something quiet at Black Op instead, but Pippa insisted we try to get Asher and Sophie as trashed as she was at her bachelorette party.”

“I don’t think Asher gets trashed these days,” Cole said, shaking his head.

The crowd at the door thinned, and Trace and Haley headed in first.

Finn hung back, clearing his throat and walking slowly enough that Cole turned to see what the holdup was.

“What’s up?” Cole asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets, accepting any excuse to not hurry into the noisy, bubbling hotspot. The door closed and the quiet hum of the bar blended with the noise from the road.

“What was that all about?” Finn asked, his brow drawn together with concern.

“What?”

“In the car. I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Trace that mad.”

Cole stopped fast, narrowing a look at Finn. “Seriously?”

Finn shrugged.

What the fuck? Trace had said she never fought with Finn, and he’d never witnessed it, but he’d figured she meant it was a rarity.

Couples fought. People argued. Nobody was so in tune with each other that they didn’t need to hash it out sometimes.

Hell, they’d broken up twice. There had to have been some heated words, heightened emotions, something. “Just clearing the air.”

“Are you and she…?”

“No,” Cole answered quickly, then rocked back on his heels and looked across the sparkly damp parking lot. “I mean, honestly, I’m not going to pretend I don’t want to… to be with… but no, we’re not.”

“Fuck,” Finn said, the corners of his mouth lifting as he started to walk toward the entrance again. “Have you always?”

“Not looking to talk about it,” Cole muttered, hating putting up the wall with one of the few friends he had. “Not right now anyway.”

“Sorry,” Finn quickly corrected before opening the door for them both. “None of my business.”

Cole started to walk toward the door, but turned when he saw Finn hadn’t moved.

“Does she know?”

Fuck. “Yeah. She knows.”

“Has she always known?”

“No,” he said flatly, turning on his heel, the sharp movement stretching the ligament beyond comfort. He grimaced briefly and straightened his gait to hide the reactive limp. Oh-for-three on normal human conversations tonight. Hands in his pockets, he headed for the entrance.

The heat of the packed place, the noise, the movement, it all came rushing over him as he stepped inside. Overwhelming as shit.

Cole chewed the edge of his tongue and pushed his shoulders back. Head held high, careless, he strolled through the crush of the Friday night crowd.