Page 6 of About Yesterday (Foothills #5)

Trace stood and reached across the table, slipping the plate from his hand.

“Stop. I promise you can even do my laundry and wash my car once you can lift more than one thing at a time,” she said, tilting a teasing, wide-eyed snarky grin at him.

“You’re dead on your feet. Go to bed,” she ordered like the toughest of sergeants.

Another day, and he’d consider arguing, but he needed to get off his ankle, the swelling progressing to unbearable. “Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, releasing the plate to her.

Using furniture as he went, hopping where there was none, he made it to the stairs and slowly climbed. Every step throbbed even in the boot, but he didn’t fucking care anymore. Bed, a decent night’s sleep, and who the hell knew what tomorrow would bring.

In the bathroom, he made good use of the toothbrush and pile of goodies Ellen had picked up for him, and he cleaned up for the night. His bedroom was like no place else on the planet.

The sun had set, the sky a darkening blue. His view hadn’t changed, still nothing but trees and filtered sky framed by the dormer window.

He slipped out of the shirt, easing it off the bad shoulder, and knew he’d have to find an orthopedist and a physical therapist within a few days.

He stripped to the skin and slid between the smooth cotton sheets, slightly rough so he knew they had been picked up and washed this morning, never been used before him tonight.

Just as he was about to let go and relinquish control to dreams, there was a tap at his bedroom door.

Too wiped out to get up, he answered, “Yeah?”

The door creaked open, casting a triangular glow of light on the carpet that slowly grew to illuminate the room to excess.

Trace peeked in, her hand resting on the doorknob, she seemed to catch the pain of the light striking his concussion after a long day, and eased the door to only half open as she slipped in.

Lowering to sit on the foot of the bed, she bit her lip and glared out the window. “I am so glad you’ree home,” she said, but he knew that wasn’t what she came to say. “I can’t help but wonder why you came back. I mean, I know you got hurt.”

He sunk his head into the pillow and stared up at the ceiling, the plastered pattern murky in the shadows. “I never could get away with anything when you were around,” he said, laughing under his breath.

“Nor could I when you were around,” she said, lifting a brow almost playfully as she fired him a look. “I swear, every time Finn and I would try to fool around up here, you’d magically appear from wherever you’d snuck off to.”

“Trust me, it wasn’t on purpose.” He laughed subtly and nodded against the pillow. “You’d jump off of him like you were doing something you weren’t supposed to.”

“I was a high schooler making out with her boyfriend in the dark. Of course I wasn’t supposed to.”

Unable to resist, he turned to his side and lifted up on his good elbow.

“Of course you were supposed to. The two of you…” He grimaced as he realized he’d stepped in it.

“I don’t know if I ever told you how sorry I was that you broke up.

I figured you’d be walking down the aisle a year or two after graduation. ”

“Nope.”

“What happened? Even your parents seemed surprised.” He could be accused of using the never-fail strategy of changing the subject to keep the interrogator on their toes.

In this case? It wasn’t to distract from his own truths.

He had a few hundred questions for her right back. Like why she had moved back home.

She shrugged and mindlessly patted his leg through the blankets.

“We tried the long distance thing, but it was tough. Football season was a lot for him, keeping up his grades, making new friends. I…” She slid her hand back to her lap, her posture loosening as she talked.

“He was sort of drowning with all that going on at once. So, I ended it.”

“You cut him loose, huh?” Cole said it playfully, but he watched her expression in the low light.

She snorted a light laugh and shook her head.

“Is he still playing for San Francisco?”

“Blew out his knee at the Super Bowl.”

“Fuck. I saw that game, the highlights, anyway. Hell of a play. They had to drive him off the field.”

She never had enjoyed the game. Hilarious for someone who had been so hung up on a star player. “After a few surgeries, he couldn’t play pro again. His mom passed away, and it hit all the Halseth’s pretty hard. Anyway, he’s back in town and took over the bar at the pub.”

Cole sat all the way up and rested his elbow on his knees, wincing as he put too much pressure on one arm, on one ankle, and adjusted.

“That’s why I’m home, Trace,” he said, needing to say her name again, a hundred times, having only said it in his head for so long.

“I mean, maybe I’ll heal completely, maybe not, but it’s going to take months to be functional enough to work in the field again, and no fucking way am I doing the desk jockey thing.

I’m done. I can’t go back, even if I wanted to. Time to start over.”

“I can’t picture you at a desk,” she said, folding her legs in and wrapping her arms around her knees at the foot of his bed, turning and resting her head on her hands. “How did you get hurt?”

No fucking way. With slow, controlled breathing, he looked out the window. “Can’t talk about it,” he finally answered, loving how she scowled at his vague answer.

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“Both.” He could tell her he’d gone deeper than he should have, because the paycheck had been golden, and he’d craved the challenge of it. He could tell her he’d botched it, then flipped the failure to his advantage. Had run his interrogation while they were beating the shit out of him.

But he wasn’t going to tell her how they’d broken him. Methodically. Purposefully. His fault. A few key words, and he’d have been freed or killed a hell of a lot faster.

At least he could be honest about why he was here. Mostly. “I came back because I had no place else to go. Because this is the only place I ever felt safe, and I can’t tell you how badly I need to feel safe right now.” Because he’d flown too low and wrecked his wings.

“Cole?” she asked, her tone distant, her deep blue eyes narrowed in on him, not missing anything.

“Yeah?” he answered, holding her gaze and knowing it would take more to break her than some of the toughest people he’d trained with.

“My parents love you.”

Fuck. He didn’t have the guts for this. Stomach rolling, water welling deep and coating his eyelashes, he nodded. “I don’t know why.”

“I do,” she answered softly as she rose to her feet and trailed her fingertips along his bed as she backed toward the door. “We’re all glad you’re home. Please, don’t break their hearts and take off again.”