Her cheeks flamed pink and I bent my mouth to her ear to whisper, “It’s okay, Ivy. You didn’t say anything wrong. It was cute.”
She nodded, but didn’t speak again through the rest of the meal.
I kept waiting for Trenton to appear, but he never did. I wasn’t sure whether I should be relieved or disappointed.
I guessed it didn’t matter.
chapter twenty-one
Hours later I had Tristan and Ivy put to bed and was crawling into bed myself.
I was exhausted after today.
Attending the funeral and seeing Trent had really taken a toll on me. I’d tried not to show it, but now that I was alone, I let my face crumple. I didn’t cry, but I did allow myself to hurt and that counted for something.
For so long I had kept my feelings on a tight leash, not allowing myself to feel any emotion. I had been dead inside. Like he had when we were teenagers, Trent had woken me up and broken down all my carefully constructed walls. He hadn’t meant to, but he taught me it was okay to feel. We’re human. It’s okay to be happy, sad, or angry. It’s a part of life. I had allowed my mom to make me into a drone—always going through the motions where nothing could hurt me. I had been wrong to let her do that, but it had been my coping mechanism. It would be easy, almost too easy, to allow myself to fall back into that destructive pattern of not feeling. I was fighting it though. I was trying really hard to let myself feel—to hurt.
I was realizing that emotions aren’t a bad thing.
Passion isn’t wrong.
What is wrong is when you let those feelings build up and you lash out. I always thought that if I let myself feel too much I’d end up like mother. I never wanted to hurt anyone the way she hurt me—her words more cutting than her fists.
I wanted to be a better person and this was me trying.
???
A vicious pounding woke me up.
I came awake quickly, sleep slipping away like a loose blanket around my shoulders.
A quick glance at the clock told me it was after one in the morning. I had no clue what kind of crazy person could be at out door at this time of night. I grabbed my phone so I could dial 911 if I needed to.
Ivy and Tristan had been awakened by the noise and both looked at me blearily as they rubbed their eyes.
“What’s that noise?” Tristan asked.
“Why’s somebody at the door?” Ivy questioned, stifling a yawn.
“I don’t know,” I frowned. “Just stay there,” I warned, holding my hand out in a gesture for her not to leave the bed, “and keep quiet.”
I typed 911 into my phone and held my finger over the dial button. There was no peephole, so I would be forced to open the door to see who was there. I suddenly wished I had some pepper spray or a gun. I was utterly defenseless and at the mercy of the person on the other side of the door.
“Rowan! Open the door!”
I knew that voice.
I threw the door open. “Trace,” I gasped as relief flooded my lungs at hearing his voice and then seeing him, “what are you doing here?”
“We have to go,” he spoke quickly, his eyes darting around. “Get the kids, we have to go now.” His body hummed with a nervous energy.
“What’s going on?” I drilled him as he pushed past me into the apartment.
He ignored me. “Come on, kids,” he reached for Tristan on the top bunk, “we have to go. Grab some toys. Rowan,” he called to me, “you might want to get dressed.”
“Where are you taking us?” I asked, panic lacing my tone. He was so frantic—not like Trace at all—and I couldn’t begin to fathom why. He acted like the place was about to blow up or something.
He finally stopped, and that’s when I saw the tears in his eyes.