Falling Harder (24 page)

“I have nothing to be ashamed of,” I tell her.

“Of course not,” she says, coming toward me, “Whatever he
did to you—”

“Who, Paul?”

“No, Trace. Who’s Paul?”

“Trace didn’t do anything to me!” I cry, exasperated, “Why
can’t you people see that?”

“Because it’s like he’s got some kind of spell on you,” she
says, “He’s not your type, Nadia. He’s tough, and quiet, and not even
educated...”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“He’s not good enough for you, Nadia,” Carly says firmly,
“And you seem to be the only one who’s unaware of that.”

I take a step toward Carly, and she shrinks away at once.
“What?” I ask, “You afraid the little orphan girl is going to take a swing at
you?”

“Of course not.”

“You can’t even look at me full in the face, can you? Now
that you know what my life has really been? Where I’ve come from?”

“It’s not like that,” Carly says softly.

“No?” I ask. “You can honestly tell me that you’re not
intimidated by Trace’s being back in my life? Without him here, you can think
of me as your nice Ivy League friend that you used to bring home for
Thanksgiving. But next to him, I’m just another low life. I know you don’t want
to think about it that way, but it’s true. You’re used to thinking of me as a
certain character in your story, but now you’re finding out that I’m someone
you never knew. You’re worried about yourself here, not me. And that’s fine,
but don’t parade that insecurity around as being concerned about me. I know how
to take care of myself. Trust me, I have a lot of practice.”

“I don’t know how I feel about this new you,” she says, her
jaw set.

“But it’s not a new me,” I tell her, “This is the same me
I’ve always been. And if you don’t like that truth...well. It’s not my
responsibility to convince you otherwise. I stopped caring about what other
people think a long time ago.”

“Right,” Carly says, “That’s why you hid your past from me.”

“I didn’t tell you about my life because I knew you’d act
just like this. Just like the spoiled brat you’ve always been. Thanks for
proving me right, Car.”

I brush past her into the bathroom and close the door
tightly behind me. Tears prickle my eyes as the hot water begins to steam up
the room. I’d forgotten how it feels to be stigmatized like this. To be looked
down upon because of things I could never control. Once again, Trace is the
only person in the world who accepts and understands me. But at least he’s
back, now. At least, after all this time, he can finally be here to stay.

I don’t care what I have to do, I’m going to find a way to
make room for Trace in my life. We’ll find a way to make it work. Somehow.

***

It’s just before sundown, and I’m shifting nervously before
my floor-length mirror. Trace didn’t explicitly tell me to dress up tonight,
but hell it’s my birthday. I can dress up if I damn well please! I turn from
side to side, admiring the way I look in my favorite sapphire blue dress. The
bodice and cocktail length skirt are fitted and snug while the three-quarter
sleeves billow out just slightly. The neckline is, admittedly, plunging. I
grin, imagining Trace’s face when he sees me in this getup.

I’ve pulled my hair back into a wispy up-do and painted my
lips with a classic red. Even I have to admit, I’m looking pretty good these
days. I’ve heard that a woman reaches her sexual peak sometime around the age
of thirty. But the look of things lately, that might just be the case!

I feel an illicit thrill run through me as I catch myself
thinking about sex just before heading out with Trace. It feels daring to
imagine sleeping with him now, after all this time. I hope that his
expectations for me haven’t gotten out of hand.

A knock at the front door sends me stepping lightly across
the apartment. Thankfully, Carly disappeared sometime this afternoon. Probably,
she’s over at Gerard’s—screwing him and scheming ways to pry me away from
Trace. Well, that’s something that’s simply not going to happen. I’ve made up
my mind now to take a stab at this, and I’m not one to back down from the
things I set my mind to.

I pull open the front door with a grin on my face. Trace is
standing there in a charcoal sport coat and pressed wool slacks. His hair is
parted to the side, but his stubble remains just the same. That’s good. I like
a man with some stubble.

“You look wonderful,” I tell him, stepping aside to let him
in. Trace wanders into the apartment after me, his eyes fixed squarely on my
chest. I can feel myself blushing as his eyes bore holes just beneath my
collarbones. “Hello. O’Conner. My face is up here buddy. I know the girls look
good in this dress, but—”

“It’s not that,” he says quietly, “I mean, it is. I mean,
they do. But...” he points to my neckline, and I peer down to see what he’s
after. Comprehension washes over me as my eyes fall upon my charm necklace.
“You kept the map,” he says, his eyes wide.

“Of course,” I tell him, closing my hand around the charm
that was his one and only Christmas present to me, “It reminded me that there
would be some way for us to find each other. Someday.”

Without saying a word, Trace steps toward me and closes the
space between us. He wraps an arm around my waist and lifts my chin, bringing
my mouth to his. That simple kiss, so full of grateful understanding and
endless compassion, is truly the best birthday present I ever could have hoped
for.

“Come on,” he says, grabbing my hand, “I’ve got a surprise
for you.”

Trace leads me outside and hails a cab at once. We fly
through the city of Chicago together, hands clasped chastely. My thoughts,
however, are about as far from chaste as can be. Those kisses, first yesterday,
now today, have stirred something inside me that I haven’t felt in a long time.
I want his man. And I want him as soon as I can have him.

As we wind through less picturesque parts of town, I feel
unease roiling inside me. The only time I’m ever in these parts of Chicago
these days is for field research. I like to stay as far away from my childhood
haunts as possible, when I can. No use revisiting those old memories that give
me nothing but a bitter taste in my mouth.

But we clear the worst of the streets soon, and pull to a
stop in front of a modest but clean apartment building. Trace pays the cabbie
and escorts me to the front door. I can’t help but smile at his gentlemanly
gestures, the seriousness of his demeanor. He just wants me to have a nice time
for my birthday, and he’s doing well to ensure that I do. In previous years, I
would have headed out to some swanky bar or club to celebrate my special day.
But somehow, this feels more right than any of that ever did.

We pad down the hall toward Trace’s apartment, and he swings
the door open for me. A soft glow emanates from within, and I go at once to
investigate.

“Oh, Trace...” I murmur.

All around the small space, strings lights enliven the
darkness. Strands and strands hang along the ceiling, as if we were on some
Tuscan patio, rather than in a rented Chicago apartment. The air is spiced with
garlic and herbs, and my mouth waters imagining what Trace has made for us to
share.

“Since when do you cook?” I ask, stepping into the
apartment. “That was always my thing, when we were kids.”

“I guess you inspired me,” he smiles, closing the door
behind us. “And besides, there’s a lot you don’t know about me, Nadia Faber.
Now, would you like white or red?”

Pinot Noir in hand, I settle myself at the kitchen table.
Trace’s abode is modest, to be sure. But the dimmed lights almost hide the
unfurnished corners of the room. The table is set with a pair of white ceramic
plates and a bouquet of baby’s breath and wild carrot. Not too shabby, for
someone who’s spent the past couple of years in the desert.

Trace reappears from the kitchen, laded with serving dishes.
My jaw drops open as I see what he’s prepared for us. Tomato and basil glazed
salmon, a kale salad with hazelnuts and parmesan, and a huge loaf of warm
crusty bread comprise my birthday meal.

“Good lord, O’Conner,” I breathe.

“What did you expect, fruit by the foot?” he laughs.

“Kind of,” I admit, sipping my wine.

We lapse into a short silence and Trace doles out the
delicious fare. This is the most alone we’ve been since he showed up on my
doorstep a couple of days ago. Has it really only been a couple of days? I
suppose it was more than easy, picking up exactly where I left off with Trace.
If only I knew what his life has been like in the meantime.

“Seriously,” I say, scooping a bunch of greens and cheese
onto my fork, “Where the hell did you learn to cook like this?”

“I worked at a restaurant, for a minute,” he replies, “After
I got out of juvie.”

“How respectable,” I say, lifting my fork to my mouth. The
perfectly complementary tastes are impeccable and savory.

“Did you figure that I’d be doing something less respectable
instead?” Trace asks.

“Honestly? Yeah,” I tell him. “I didn’t imagine there were
many career opportunities for kids just out of juvie.”

“You’re right about that,” he admits, “I can’t say that my
path has been spotless. But I think I’ve managed to do alright.”

“What kind of spots have you earned yourself?” I ask.
There’s no use trying to be coy with Trace. We’re far past that, the two of us.

“You’d be disappointed if I told you,” he says, pushing his
food around his plate.

“Don’t be silly,” I tell him, “It’s me, Trace.”

“Well. Uh. I suppose, I fell into dealing here and there,
once I was out,” he says, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the table.

“Oh,” I say, my heart breaking for eighteen-year-old Trace.
“That’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I’m actually just now working on a
case involving this drug ring that specifically goes after young men and
women.”

“That so?”

“Yeah. These guys are ruthless. And once they get their
claws in those kids, they never let them go. I’m just happy that you shook them
at all.”

“Huh,” Trace says, pouring himself a deep glass of wine,
“You know who these fuckers are that you’re dealing with?”

“Not yet. But I’ll find them.”

“Well. Cheers then,” Trace says, raising his glass to mine,
“To your birthday, and your work, and...you.”

“Cheers,” I smile, clinking his glass. “And thank you.”

“For what?” he asks.

“For coming to find me, not knowing what it was you were
going to find,” I tell him, “I mean, you didn’t know what I was like now, or if
I was married, or seeing someone—”

“I knew you weren’t,” he says resolutely.

“How?” I ask.

“I could just tell,” Trace says, his eyes locked on mine, “I
could tell that...it was time for us to be together again. Even if only for a
couple of days.”

“I...feel the same way,” I tell him.

And those, it would seem, are the magic words. Trace sets
down his wine glass and lowers his hand to my knee. My back arches at this
slightest touch, and I feel my breath pick up as his fingers trail further up
my sensitive inner thigh. After all this time, he remembers exactly how to
touch me.

I lean into him, resting my cheek on his shoulder, as he
lets his hands explore my body. They run down my sides, along the dip of my
waist, wherever they please. Tenderly, I bring my lips to his throat and kiss
him. A deep moan rises from this throat as I plant kiss after kiss on his
suntanned skin. A profound, insatiable need begins to pulse inside of me.
However sudden or reckless this might seem, I know what I want. And what I want
is him.

A gasp escapes my throat as he pushes up the hem of my
skirt. Locking my gaze upon his, I lift myself up off my chair and swing my leg
over him. I lower myself down onto his lap, the thin cotton of my underwear all
that separates us there. Trace slides his hands down over my ass and pulls me
against him. My mouth meets his, moving hungrily. Our tongues meet and tangle
as I feel that certain pressure pulsing inside his perfectly-fitted slacks.
This is it. The moment I’ve been waiting for since I was seventeen years old.

I can’t keep my hips from gyrating and Trace lowers his
mouth to my chest. As he kisses me there, he slips my sleeves down off my arms.
I feel him harden beneath me as he sees that I’ve gone without a bra tonight.
His eyes rest reverently on my bare breasts, and he slowly lowers his lips to
them. My eyes flutter closed as he closes his lips around my erect nipple. I
don’t know how much longer I can last without charging ahead, letting him take
me however he pleases.

“Bring me to your bedroom,” I say, breathlessly.

Trace doesn’t need any more urging than that. With my legs
wrapped firmly around his hips, he carries me in a few long paces across the
apartment. Sinking onto his knees, he lays me out across his soft comforter. I
let my knees fall open before him in the low light.

But instead of crawling on top of me, Trace stays right
there between my legs. My eyes widen as he bring his lips to my right knee,
then further and further up my leg toward that pulsing place between my legs.

“Trace...” I say, my voice soft but urgent.

“Let me, Nadia,” he pleads, his mouth inches away from my
sex, “Let me make up for lost time. I’m begging you.”

Well, who am I to deny such an ardent man his wish? I lay
back on Trace’s bed and hold my breath as he slides my panties down over my
legs.

Happy birthday to me, indeed.

Chapter Eleven

Trace

Like a Dream

I’m convinced, for the first second after I open my eyes,
that I must still be dreaming. Nadia’s long blonde hair is splayed out across
the pillow beside me, her long lashes fanned out above her cheeks. In sleep,
she looks so much like the girl I once knew. In the dreamy peace of slumber,
she looks carefree, unburdened.

Of course, no one who’s lived a life like ours finds peace
that easily upon waking. My heart aches knowing that, in a few minutes, that
calmness will be dispelled by the pressures and challenges of living
day-to-day. But for now, I decide to let her rest a moment longer.

As carefully as I can, I extract myself from the covers.
It’s like a delicate surgical procedure, trying to stand without stirring my
own personal sleeping beauty. The hardwood floor is chilly as I set my feet on
it, and I hurry to throw on some clothes. Waking up naked next to the woman
I’ve been missing for nearly ten years...

The unwelcome thought rises into my mind that I might just
not. What if I’m really not good enough for Nadia, but she just hasn’t wised up
yet? Not that I think she’s some naive little thing that I need to protect from
the world. But what if...she needs to be protected from me?

“Ease up,” I mutter to myself, making my way to the kitchen.
In the morning light, my apartment is not nearly as picturesque as I managed to
make it last night. Most of our dinner sits uneaten on the kitchen table, and
the string lights are dull in the daylight.

I smile to myself as I gather the dishes in my hands,
remembering the way any thought of food was forgotten in the heat of our
long-awaited moment. The events of last night have blurred together into a
marathon of pleasure and passion. Snapshots keep cropping up in my brain as I
clean up the apartment, causing me to catch my breath again and again.

I’ve never been a selfish man in bed, but last night was
something entirely new for me. I was so unconcerned with getting pleasure from
Nadia, wholeheartedly content to shower her with kiss after stroke after
embrace. And she was just as adamant about giving back to me. I’ve never had
sex like that before, sex that felt like a collaboration. A conversation.

With all the other women I’ve slept with, it’s always felt
as though we were playing parts. Going through the motions. But not with Nadia.
Together, we were utterly ourselves. I’m not surprised that it happened that
way, but the difference from the rest of my experience definitely took me off
guard. I should have known that it would be this way. I suppose some part of me
always did.

As I unload an armful of dishes into the sink, I hear a soft
buzzing somewhere in the apartment. Not wanting Nadia to be roused from sleep
by the insistent sound, I hurry back along the trajectory of our trip to the
bedroom last night. Our clothes are scattered all along the way, but I finally
locate my jeans and snatch up my cell phone from the back pocket.

Garrick’s name blinks across the screen of my phone. He’s
probably checking up to see how the date went, the perv. I slip out the front
door and into the hallway.

“You’re not getting any details,” I begin with a smile, “So don’t—”

“Trace, I’m on my way to your place,” Garrick cuts me off.
He sounds panicked. The tone of his voice sets my own nerves on a razor’s edge.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, “Are you OK?”

“I’ll tell you everything when I get there,” he says
hurriedly, “I don’t want to do this over the phone.”

“Jesus, what—?”

But the line goes dead. I stare blankly at my cellphone,
mind racing. What the hell could possibly be going down that has Garrick in
such a frenzy? This is a man who’s galloped into the crossfire of a dozen
different firefights. He’s not exactly a guy who scares easy. Whatever’s going
down, it’s not going to be good for anyone.

I’ve got to get Nadia out of here before Garrick shows up.
Whatever he’s got to tell me, I’m not sure I want her to overhear. The guilt of
omission turns my stomach, but I’m just not ready to come clean about the
seedier aspects of my post-foster care life. She might already be on the way to
deciding that I’m not up to snuff, I don’t want to speed up that conclusion.

I slip back into the house and poke my head into the
bedroom. Nadia’s rolled over onto her back, the covers rising and falling along
with her steady breath. Suddenly, I see her in the context of this crummy
apartment and feel like a dirty crook. What right do I have to drag her to this
shitty place, into my directionless life? She’s done so brilliantly well for
herself in the years since I’ve known her. She put herself through undergrad
and grad school, started an amazing career, and found an amazing place to live.
What have I done?

Before I dare to own up to that question, I see Nadia
stretch luxuriously against her pillow. Her big brown eyes flutter open and
lock with mine across the room. A sleepy smile spreads across her face and
tears a good-sized gash into my heart. I perch myself on the edge of the bed
and lay a hand on her side.

“Hey you,” she murmurs, resting her hand on mine.

“Good morning,” I reply, sounding strangely formal.

“What time is it?” she asks, looking around for her clothes.

“About nine,” I tell her.

The words have barely cleared my lips when her eyes bulge
open. “Nine?!” she cries, leaping up from bed. “Fucking shit! No, no, no...”

“Nadia, what’s wrong?” I ask, alarmed at her sudden shift.

“I can’t believe I forgot to set an alarm,” she moans,
throwing her clothes on in a whirlwind of limbs. “I’m going to be so late.”

It occurs to me, finally, that it’s Monday morning.
Respectable people like Nadia have to be at work. The realization only makes me
feel shittier. Here Nadia’s heading off to her important, meaningful job, and
what am I going to get up to today? Nothing good, that’s for sure.

“I’m so sorry to rush out on you,” she says, grabbing a comb
from my dresser and running it through her locks, “Jesus. I must look like a
train wreck.”

“Of course you don’t,” I tell her honestly. Her makeup may
be a little smudged from last night’s carousal, but she’s still the most
beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.

“I really had an amazing time,” she tells me. “Oh god, that
sounds so cliché. But really, I don’t think I’ve ever had a better birthday.
Thank you so much, Trace.”

“Yeah...No worries,” I say, smiling despite my guilty
conscience. I’m actually kind of relieved that she’s running late to work. I
didn’t have a good idea about getting her out of the apartment before Garrick’s
arrival anyway. If she does make tracks, they won’t run into each other at all.

Nadia calls herself a cab as she finishes getting ready,
multitasking like a master. At least she won’t be walking through this
neighborhood alone. She gathers up her things and smiles at me, breathless and
anxious all at once.

“How’s my sex hair?” she laughs.

“Sexy,” I reply.

She rolls her eyes and punches me playfully on the shoulder.
“So, when am I going to see you again?”

“When you see me. Come on, you should get a move on.”

Her brow furrows ever-so-slightly at my ambiguity. “You
trying to get rid of me, O’Conner?” she asks.

“What? Of course not! Why would you—?”

“Someone doth protest too much,” she says, arching her
eyebrow at me. “Is something going on, Trace? I thought last night was—”

“It was. Amazing,” I say urgently, taking her hands up in
mine, “I’m sorry. It’s just...something’s sort of come up, and it might be sort
a big deal.”

“Is everything OK?” she asks, looking intently into my eyes,
“You’re not in trouble or anything, are you?”

“What? I’m...no. Why did your mind jump to that?”

“I know the look of a man in trouble. I pretty much deal
with them exclusively as a profession, Trace.”

“I’m really not sure yet what the situation is,” I tell her.

“Will you tell me when you do?” she asks.

“Of course,” I say, without pausing to think about it, “But
right now you should really get going, OK?”

“Yeah,” she says, shouldering her purse. “Sure.”

I walk her over to the door, hating myself for acting this
way. As my hand closes around the doorknob, a thundering knock pounds out
through the door.

“Christ!” Nadia gasps, “What—?”

“Trace!” I hear Garrick shout from the hallway, “Open the
fucking door!”

“Shit,” I mutter, looking helplessly at Nadia.

“Is that...Garrick?” she asks excitedly.

“Wait—” I begin.

But she swings the door open, and Garrick tumbles over the
threshold. He straightens up and catches sight of Nadia standing there before
him. His jaw all but unhinges in surprise.

“Nadia?” he breathes, “Is that you?”

“It’s me,” she grins, taking a step toward him.

“Well damn,” he says, “You’re a
babe
now.”

“I was always a babe,” she laughs, “You were just too stoned
to ever notice when we were kids.”

“Get the hell over here, girl!” he cackles.

Nadia runs into Garrick’s arms, and he lifts her right up
off the ground. Though part of me is thrilled to see my best friend and the
love of my life so happy in each other’s company, there are more pressing
matters at hand.

“Nadia was just heading off to work,” I cut in, making a
point.

“Oh yeah,” she says, smoothing down her hair. “I’m kind of
in the middle of something huge right now. Gotta go home and grab all my
reports before I—”

“Fancy as shit,” Garrick whistles, “You’re a lawyer now,
right?”

“Yep,” Nadia says proudly, “Just finished up the Bud McNally
case. Put that asshole away for a good long time.”

“It’s awesome, what you’re doing,” Garrick says sincerely,
“Seriously. I can’t think of anything that makes more sense than you being a
big shot lawyer.”

“Thanks Garrick,” Nadia says, giving him a peck on the
cheek. “Hey, maybe I’ll see you around soon? Now that...you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Garrick says, looking at me pointedly.

Nadia wraps her arms around me, hugging me tight. I close
her up in an embrace, wanting nothing more than to keep her there forever. But
of course, that could never be the way between us. With one last beautiful
smile, she disappears out the front door.

I close it behind her and hurry across to the front windows
of my building. Nadia steps into a cab that’s idling at the curb and takes off,
back to her infinitely more sophisticated neighborhood. Back to her infinitely
better life.

“I can’t believe that’s really her,” Garrick says in wonder.
“And shit, man, did she sleep here last night? That’s awesome.”

“Yeah, it is,” I say, “But I don’t think that’s what you
came here to talk about.”

Garrick’s face falls. “No...No, man, it’s not.”

“Will you tell me what the hell is going on with you then?”
I ask, “Do you need coffee or anything? Or—?”

“Nah, I’m fine. And it’s not anything that’s going on with
me...per se,” Garrick says.

“Per se?” I ask, “Aren’t you a fancy son of a bitch.”

“Shut up, asshole,” he grumbles, sinking down onto my shabby
couch. “I got some intel this morning that might be...kinda troubling.”

“Spill already, would you?” I press, pulling up a chair
opposite him.

“OK,” he says, taking a deep breath, “I heard through some
very reliable sources that Skidmore and a few of his other higher ups were
arrested last night.”

“What?” I say, feeling the air whoosh out of the room.

“Apparently, the operation has gotten a lot more sloppy
since the changing of the guard or whatever,” Garrick goes on, “Security’s been
compromised or whatever.”

“What did they get him for?” I ask.

“All kinds of shit,” Garrick says, “Possession, intention to
sell...The cops busted in on what might as well have been a board meeting for
the whole goddamn ring. Everyone from the top of the food chain got taken in.”

“Well...fucking good riddance,” I say, leaning back in my
chair, “Those assholes deserve everything that’s coming to them. After what
they put us through when we were kids?”

“I don’t doubt that, man,” Garrick says, “But Trace, I don’t
think you’re seeing the bigger picture here.”

“What’s that?”

“As of yet, our involvement with them has gone unnoticed by
anyone who might do something about it,” Garrick lays it out for me, “But now?
Those guys are going to be shelling out any names they can if it means a plea
bargain.”

“No,” I say quickly, “No, man. What the hell would be in it
for them, ratting us out? We haven’t worked for them in, like, eight years.”

“Maybe...you haven’t,” Garrick says quietly.

My stomach turns to stone as I stare at my best friend.
“Garrick...You didn’t.”

“I had to, man,” he says desperately, “We got back here, and
I had no idea what to do with myself. I didn’t have any money waiting, my
wife's taking it all, and I've got no place to stay. I just ran one deal for
them, that’s all. Just so I could find a place to put my feet up until I found
a new job.”

“Christ, Garrick...” I groan, “This could be really fucking
bad.”

“I know,” he says quietly. I can tell by the look on his
face that the direness of the situation is not lost on him. “I screwed up,
Trace. Who knows what those guys are going to do once they’re—”

“It’ll be OK,” I tell him, “Whatever Skidmore and his guys
say, you have no idea whether they can prove anything or not. This might just
blow over for us, you never know.”

“Since when has anything ever just blown over for us, man?”
Garrick scoffs sadly. “I think I’m done for this time.”

“Don’t say that,” I tell him, “Don’t you fucking say that.
Whatever happens, we’ll figure out a way to keep you out of trouble, OK?”