the drink and
quickly left. If he wanted to stew in a bad mood, he could do it without her
help.
She
had enough problems in her own life without worrying if he was ever going to stop
being mad at her.
***
Trace
guzzled all the water, lay down, and closed his eyes. Earlier, he'd tried to
find that empty space where nothing bothered him. The pressure of business, the
stress of helping his people, and the turmoil of having Joan around
twenty-four/seven boiled inside of him, and he wanted to escape. If he could
tap down his emotions, the dreams that ruined the night for him would go away.
Somehow,
Joan made him feel again and doing so left him vulnerable. He had to make her
stay away.
"Trace?"
Brody said. "Are you sleeping?"
"No."
He opened his eyes.
Brody
stood beside the couch. "What's wrong with Joan?"
Trace
sat back up. "What do you mean?"
"I
passed her in the hall. She looked steamed, so I asked her if everything was
all right and she said to ask the dumbass in the living room." Brody
cocked his brow. "I figured you were the dumbass she was talking
about."
"Damn,"
he muttered.
He'd
known he hurt her feelings. She was too good of a person not to feel the sting
of his words. She nurtured people. That was her job.
He
picked up his crutches. "I'll go talk to her."
"Listen,
Trace." Brody held up his hand. "She's trying to help. She doesn't
know what you've gone through. Cut her some slack."
He
nodded his head once. "I know. There was no excuse for how I treated
her."
Brody
reached out to clap him on the shoulder, and pulled his hand back before making
contact. "It's time for dinner. She's pacing in the foyer. Try to get her
to eat with us. We'll all bring a smile to her face again, and you two can
start off on the right foot…again."
He
walked out of the room, wishing he could be the type of man to put a smile on
Joan's face himself…but he wasn't. The less she hung around him, the better for
everyone involved.
Chapter Seven
A
loud rhythmic banging echoed throughout Trace's wing. Joan sat up in bed,
rubbed her eyes, and threw off the covers. It sounded as if Trace was listening
to his stereo on full blast.
The
vase on the dresser rocked in place to the deep booming. She scrambled out of
bed, opened the door, and peeked out into the hallway. The sound only grew
louder, and she shut the door.
She
hurried and brushed her teeth, ran a comb through her hair, slapped on some
mascara and went back into the bedroom to get dressed. Wide awake and curious,
she walked out into the hall and followed the music. The tempo changed, and she
hurried. She didn't recognize the song, but the beat was cheery and welcoming.
Making
her way through the sitting room, she found an opened door. More curious than
ever, Joan dashed forward. She'd never been this deep into Trace's living
quarters before.
At
the entrance, she spotted Devon behind three drums. Not regular drums, but
large tubs with what appeared to be suede stretched over the tops and tied with
leather straps. She stood in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt. The music
settled over her, and she found herself tapping her foot.
Trace
sat in an oversized chair playing a flute, while Brody leaned against the far
wall with his eyes closed, nodding with the music. Devon hummed a low guttural
sound. Together, the music spoke volumes.
Not
wanting them to stop playing, she stayed where she was and listened. The soft
trill of the flute fluttered around the beat of the drums, and reminded her of
being a child and skipping through the field next to the school she attended.
The song took her back to a day when picking daisies for her mom was the most
important part of her plans, and her parents would always be there to protect
and come to her rescue.
Slowly,
the others noticed her and the music died away. She stepped into the room,
shaking her head in amazement.
"That
was the most beautiful sound I've ever heard." She blinked, realizing her
eyes were wet. "Very soulful and
quickly left. If he wanted to stew in a bad mood, he could do it without her
help.
She
had enough problems in her own life without worrying if he was ever going to stop
being mad at her.
***
Trace
guzzled all the water, lay down, and closed his eyes. Earlier, he'd tried to
find that empty space where nothing bothered him. The pressure of business, the
stress of helping his people, and the turmoil of having Joan around
twenty-four/seven boiled inside of him, and he wanted to escape. If he could
tap down his emotions, the dreams that ruined the night for him would go away.
Somehow,
Joan made him feel again and doing so left him vulnerable. He had to make her
stay away.
"Trace?"
Brody said. "Are you sleeping?"
"No."
He opened his eyes.
Brody
stood beside the couch. "What's wrong with Joan?"
Trace
sat back up. "What do you mean?"
"I
passed her in the hall. She looked steamed, so I asked her if everything was
all right and she said to ask the dumbass in the living room." Brody
cocked his brow. "I figured you were the dumbass she was talking
about."
"Damn,"
he muttered.
He'd
known he hurt her feelings. She was too good of a person not to feel the sting
of his words. She nurtured people. That was her job.
He
picked up his crutches. "I'll go talk to her."
"Listen,
Trace." Brody held up his hand. "She's trying to help. She doesn't
know what you've gone through. Cut her some slack."
He
nodded his head once. "I know. There was no excuse for how I treated
her."
Brody
reached out to clap him on the shoulder, and pulled his hand back before making
contact. "It's time for dinner. She's pacing in the foyer. Try to get her
to eat with us. We'll all bring a smile to her face again, and you two can
start off on the right foot…again."
He
walked out of the room, wishing he could be the type of man to put a smile on
Joan's face himself…but he wasn't. The less she hung around him, the better for
everyone involved.
Chapter Seven
A
loud rhythmic banging echoed throughout Trace's wing. Joan sat up in bed,
rubbed her eyes, and threw off the covers. It sounded as if Trace was listening
to his stereo on full blast.
The
vase on the dresser rocked in place to the deep booming. She scrambled out of
bed, opened the door, and peeked out into the hallway. The sound only grew
louder, and she shut the door.
She
hurried and brushed her teeth, ran a comb through her hair, slapped on some
mascara and went back into the bedroom to get dressed. Wide awake and curious,
she walked out into the hall and followed the music. The tempo changed, and she
hurried. She didn't recognize the song, but the beat was cheery and welcoming.
Making
her way through the sitting room, she found an opened door. More curious than
ever, Joan dashed forward. She'd never been this deep into Trace's living
quarters before.
At
the entrance, she spotted Devon behind three drums. Not regular drums, but
large tubs with what appeared to be suede stretched over the tops and tied with
leather straps. She stood in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt. The music
settled over her, and she found herself tapping her foot.
Trace
sat in an oversized chair playing a flute, while Brody leaned against the far
wall with his eyes closed, nodding with the music. Devon hummed a low guttural
sound. Together, the music spoke volumes.
Not
wanting them to stop playing, she stayed where she was and listened. The soft
trill of the flute fluttered around the beat of the drums, and reminded her of
being a child and skipping through the field next to the school she attended.
The song took her back to a day when picking daisies for her mom was the most
important part of her plans, and her parents would always be there to protect
and come to her rescue.
Slowly,
the others noticed her and the music died away. She stepped into the room,
shaking her head in amazement.
"That
was the most beautiful sound I've ever heard." She blinked, realizing her
eyes were wet. "Very soulful and
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