Chapter 18: Rock Stars Take Body Shots

Kat

By the time I hastily shave my legs, change into my swimsuit, put up my thick brown hair in a messy bun on my head, Trace already has music playing by the pool. He's nowhere to be seen when I get poolside. I bring out some towels and sunscreen and retrieve my own sunglasses. I'm just beginning to wonder where the hell Trace went when he slides out of the house wearing a pair of my dad's swimtrunks hanging off his hips and unwrapping the foil on a bottle of champagne.

"Rummaging in my dad's clothes and stealing his Dom?" I laugh.

"Michael won't mind," Trace assures me.

"He'll mind very much, and you know it." Trace knows how my dad feels about him and it's not friendly.

"I'll send him a case of Dom."

"You should throw in some new swim tru—Hey!"

Trace pops the cork and pumps the bottle toward me, splattering me with overflowing champagne. He admires his handiwork, my swimsuit—a black bikini—and my body. Then he offers the  bottle. I may do a little hand-on-hip posing while I drink, as beads of champagne roll down my chest. Trace watches appreciatively, swallowing heavily.

"Want some?" I hold out the bottle. He grabs it a little carelessly, and moves close.

"Yeah," he says huskily and he dips his head, licking a trickle of champagne on my neck. I try to put my arms up around his neck, but he pushes them down with his free hand. "Hold still," he orders.

Ha. Between his tongue rolling up my neck and the bossy way he barked at me, I'm utterly paralyzed with anticipation. He grasps my jaw gently and moves my head to the side, pouring champagne in the hollow above my collarbone. I squeak at the coolness on my heated skin. Trace bends his head to me. He laps and slurps and licks until the pool of champagne is completely gone. When he finishes, he nips my collarbone lightly and murmurs, "Best fucking drink I've ever had."

If anyone else had done this to me, I might be grossed out, but the way Trace likes it so much makes it incredibly sexy. Honestly, I can't ever remember being this turned on. Except maybe last night's skin cuddles. I just stand there and burn.

He cocks his head.

"What's the matter, Kat? Heating up already? Let me help with that, too." he grins, and then he shoves me in the pool. I come up cursing him, but he's already diving in beside me.

"Ladies, first," he says as he edges from me.

I close my eyes, "Marco!" I call out, and he responds with "Polo!" The chase is on.

We play for a long time, taking turns, and sharing the bottle of Dom. Sometimes we aggressively try to catch and avoid each other, sometimes we let each other win just so we can put our hands on each other. And though we spend a lot of time sliding against each other, never does he try to kiss me.

He's serious about what he said. He's not going to kiss me, in the traditional sense, until the time is "right." Until I break up with Colin.

Once we exhaust ourselves with the game and with laughter, I climb out and drop stomach down onto on the doublechaise lounge. Trace wanders in the house and brings back two waters. "One for the road," he says, checking his phone for the time. "You need to dry out and get ready, ok? We have to be back for soundcheck."

I lift my head and watch him roll back on the lounge beside me. I'm not the only one that's been working out. He's not bulky, but he has abs he didn't have before—those kinds of sexy cuts guys work hard for.

"You have a trainer?" I ask, nonchalantly, touching his stomach.

"Yeah," he rolls his sunglasses down and appreciates my behind. "You?"

I shake my head, "Not really. Just...ahhh..."

"Colin," Trace sneers. The way he says Colin's name is thick with disdain, much more than the other times he has called him Dickwad.

"Yeah, he trains me sometimes."

"No, I mean—he's here." Trace points his water bottle behind me, and I turn toward the side gate where Colin is scowling and cursing and fumbling with the latch.

I leap up. My first instinct is to flee into the house for clothes. I bolt toward the patio door.

Right before I clear the door, Trace calls behind me, "I thought you were wearing your big-girl bikini, Katheryn."

I turn on my heel, glaring at him. Fuck. He's right. I'm basically cheating on Colin with Trace. And now I'm busted. I have to own this.

I go over to the gate, pop the safety latch that Colin can't manage in his drunk state, and swing the gate open. He stares at me, bleary-eyed. I don't know what I was expecting to see in them. Rage and aggression, is what Trace is expecting, but not what I see. There's anger there, but it's tinged with confusion and hurt as he slowly rolls his gaze over me, and then Trace, who simply crosses his arms and stays stoic behind his sunglasses.

Colin enters the backyard silently, and walks right past Trace, straight into the house. I follow. Trace moves to come with, but I shake my head. He doesn't like that at all.

"Kat." Trace's one mild syllable commands my attention as I start to slide the door closed. "Leave the door open," he says quietly. "He's drunk, and pissed. If I hear anything, I'm coming in."

I leave the door open, but Trace is wrong about Colin. He's not like that. Yes, he's a football player and is very strong, but in a lot of ways, he's less aggressive than Trace. I'm not afraid Colin will hurt me; I'm just afraid of hurting him.

Colin is sitting on the couch in the living room, elbows on knees, his sandy head bowed. Everything about him in this moment is different than Trace. Trace is standing outside, all lean cool assurance. Colin is a thick, messy bundle of buzzed emotion.

"Colin—"

"No," he says quietly. "You don't get to talk first."

The room is completely silent, except from me dripping water on the floor. I perch in front of him on the coffee table.

"Okay," I say. "You go."

"I need to know. Did you sleep with him last night?"

"No." That's a lie, but I know what he's really asking.

"What about before? You said you spent one night with him."

I let out a long sigh. "No, not like that. You know I haven't been with...anyone."

His head jerks up, and his cheeks are painted pink with anger. "I don't know anything about you anymore, Kat. The Kat I know doesn't go back to hotels with rock stars. Or ignore my texts and calls for hours. Or blow me off to party by the pool with another guy and leave me to go crazy."

"Yeah, well, the Colin I know doesn't punch people for no reason. Or do this—" I hold out my arm, showing him the marks he left on me.

The angry flush drains from his checks. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I am so, so sorry. I would never hurt you. I was just...scared. You never said a word about him, and there was obviously a huge...thing between you. I was scared of losing you. Is that why you stayed with him? Because I grabbed you?"

It would be easier to say yes, to put this on Colin. "No," I say. I don't explain about Ashlynn, either. The real truth is, I stayed because of Trace. "I have feelings for him, Col. I always have. I tried to forget him, but...I'm sorry."

He takes my right hand and traces my wrist. "Where's your rubber band?" he says softly. He's never seen me without it.

I don't say anything. We both know what it was for now. I know he's thinking of it now...how many times he saw me snap it. How many times I tried to stop my brain from thinking Trace, while I was with him.

"You don't need it anymore," he whispers hoarsely, and then shakes his head. "No—that's not right. You don't want it anymore. Because you want him."

"I'm sorry," is all I can say.

"FUCK!!" Colin roars, rising suddenly. I slide off the coffee table, edging away from him. "FUCK, Kat! I love you! Don't you know that?" He moans. "I thought...you were the perfect girl. The one. I know we are young, but I thought we'd go the distance, you know? It's why I didn't mind waiting. Christ. I really didn't. Because I love you. I thought you loved me, too!"

Just as suddenly as he yelled, Colin drops back down on the couch. He puts his head in his hands, and he starts to cry. I've never seen him cry—not after a big loss, not after we fought—which we sometimes did—not after an injury, not even when his fourteen year old dog died. He's really drunk and he's all over the place.

Suddenly, I'm overwhelmed with guilt and sadness, because I really do love him. Or at least, the girl I've become loves him. The girl with the blue room. Colin has been kind and steady and helpful and maybe most importantly, he's filled up my life for the last two years. We do everything together. Have I just been using him to to try to forget about Trace all this time? Is that what I am? A user? I should have never dated Colin. He deserves so much better than this pain I'm delivering to him now.

Not knowing what else to do, I move to him, and he clings to me, around my middle. There's no scariness, only sadness. I'm soothing his head when Trace moves into the room. He eyes Colin warily, but there's no hostility in him. He just shakes his head once at me, almost like I'm a child.

"You have to decide what you want, Katheryn."

Trace's words are calm, but they effect Colin. Colin rises and grasps me tightly, pushing me into the wall, crying against my shoulder. I think he knows it's going to be the last time he touches me like this. He's not hurting me, but I gasp and let out a little cry of pain, because I hate hurting him.

The sound of pain I make—that's all it takes, for Trace to launch himself like an arrow toward Colin, tearing him away from me. At Trace's touch, Colin swings around with a hard shove. They fall back against the couch.

It's chaos. Colin is throwing punches like a demon. They fall off the couch, grappling on the floor and now Trace has the advantage. Trace's nose is bloody—Colin landed another solid hit to the face—and now Trace is enraged. He punches Colin one time, in the mouth. The sound is sickening.

I'm terrified they are going to do real damage to each other. Mostly I'm terrified Trace is really going to get hurt. Colin is a football player; he's used to a certain amount of impact and bodily abuse. Suddenly, the thought that Trace might break his hand and be unable to play makes me automatically intervene.

I fling myself against Trace, knocking him a little and grabbing his punching hand. "Trace, stop!" I yell.

He flings his arm back, instinctively trying to loosen my grasp. I'm crouching. The sudden movement unsteadies me and I wobble slightly, dumping harmlessly on my butt. I'm already trying to launch myself at Trace again, but Trace is already up, backing away from Colin, backing away from me, a look of...a look of fear, in his eyes, as blood pours down his face.

"This is over, we're not doing this," he says to Colin. "Kat. KAT! You okay?"

I'm fine—we were roughhousing harder than that in the pool, but I don't have time to answer. I'm trying to get in between Trace and Colin, because Colin apparently doesn't think it's over. He's advancing on Trace. God, what is it with fucking football players and rock stars? Brawlers, all of them.

"Colin, hey, hey!" I'm grabbing his face, making him look at me. "Don't, don't, don't. Please," I whisper. "Please."

Colin is trying hard to calm down. He closes his eyes and hugs me tightly again. It's like he instinctively knows if he has his hands on me, he'll be able to control himself better and not beat on Trace. His grasp is too tight. He's hurting me, but I refuse to show it, for fear that Trace will do something stupid.

"Kat, get the fuck away from him. He's a goddamn abuser," Trace is growling.

"You're the fucker that knocked her down!" Colin shouts back. "I would never hurt her!" He looks down, and realizes he is hurting me a little. He lets me go, a confused look on his face. It's that face...he looks so lost, and in so much pain...I hate that I'm causing this.

Trace ignores him. "Kat. Just walk away. That's all you gotta do. You know I'm right."

Suddenly, I'm furious. At Trace. "You're not right Trace! You don't know him! You haven't been here for the last two and half years!"

"No, I haven't, but it's not hard to see you and him are fucked up, Kat! You're a fucking ghost! You don't even know yourself! That's what happens when you let someone control you!"

"You don't know what the hell you are talking about Trace!"

"Of course I do, Kat! I know you. That goddamn blue room? Quarterback boyfriend? Pre-med at Duke? That's Ashlynn, not you! And he..." Trace points to Colin, "Don't you see? As soon as you step out of your nutjob false personality for a second, this guy is hurting you, trying to squeeze you back into—"

"Nutjob?!?" I screech. Suddenly Colin is the one holding me back, because I'm trying to push Trace. "You think I'm a nutjob? Fuck you, Trace! You have no idea what my life has been like these last two and half years!" I pick up a pillow and throw it at him. He bats it away in irritation.

"Kat, calm down," Colin is saying in my ear, as I scrap to get away from him. "No, Colin!" I shirk him off and he lets me go, putting his hands up in surrender.

Trace wipes away the blood on his face in irritation. "No! That's not what I'm saying! I'm saying you're not yourself with this guy, and you can't go on this way, and he's going to fucking lose it on you when you wake up one day and show him the real you!" Trace glares at him.

I can't get the nutjob comment out of my brain. It's burning through me. "You're so wrong, Trace! About everything. Maybe you don't know me! Maybe I just grew up, did you think of that? Not everybody lives like a perpetual kid—having other people take care of business while they day drink and burn up the road in fancy cars!"

"First of all, you are eighteen years old, not thirty-five. You are supposed to be occasionally day drinking and having fun. Secondly, don't fucking change the subject. This is not about my lifestyle—which you love, by the way, I can see it your eyes. This is about you and him," he stabs a finger at Colin.

"No, this is about you—just deciding to waltz back into my life and blow it to shit!" I shout. "You have no idea how much I missed you—for two and half years, Trace! Not a goddamn word from you! And it was an awful time for me—for my family! It's like Ashlynn is worse than dead—she's out there suffering by herself somewhere. I think about her every day, and how what happened to her was my fault!"

"It wasn't your fault," Trace says automatically. "It was mine."

"It was both of us!" I shout, throwing my hands up. "But it doesn't matter, because she's not your sister, and this is not your family. You just went off to LA and became a rock star, and I had to live in...in..." I gesture futily above me, in the direction of my room... "in the blue."

"You don't have to live in the blue, baby," Trace says quietly. He holds out his hand. "Come on. Let's just go."

I'm so angry with him. Why does he think he can roll in like some kind of knight with a guitar and save me? This is my life, not a music video. Am I supposed to just run off with him? What happens when he leaves town tomorrow?

"No!" I say. I'm surprised at the word coming out of my mouth, surprised that my head is shaking in the negative. I want to be with Trace more than anything, but...god, I'm so confused. It's too much. Yesterday, my life was mapped out. Today, Trace and Colin are bloody in my living room and I'm screaming at the last person on earth I want to be angry with. But that doesn't change the fact that I am angry. Trace was always there for me. And then he wasn't, when I really needed a friend. He let me down.

"No?" he says, the fear back in his eyes.

I reach out to Colin. I don't look at him, but I put my hand on his arm, squeezing.

"Colin is the one that was here, every day for the last two years, Trace. You can't just...come in here like a damn freight train and wreck my life."

"Are you saying you are staying with this fucker?" Trace face pales in disbelief. "Kat, you can't. I swear to you, he's going to hurt you, and—"

"He's not your father, Trace!"

The moment I say that, I instantly regret it. I just took this to a whole new level.

Trace's face changes. The rock star I-don't-give-a-fuck look just...descends like a gate over his features. He makes a sound of disgust and slowly wipes the blood from his upper lip.

He looks from me to Colin. "Are you sure, Kat?" Then he shrugs. "Yeah. My dad used to smack me around. Hurt my mom, too. No big secret. So I know how that shit starts."

He keeps his eyes on Colin but he tips his head toward me. "She does everything you want, everything revolves around you, and everything is cool. She's got no friends but the ones you chose for her, right? She's got no hobbies, no separate interests anymore. You're in every goddamn picture on her phone. She looks great, but that's because you've even got her on your program, I'm sure. You train her, hell she probably even eats what you tell her to. She's easy to manipulate, because she's..." he looks at me, "sad. She doesn't really care about anything. And you don't even see it, because you don't even really know her. You think she's perfect like that. She does exactly what you want her to, all the time. Well, except for sex, but you don't mind that, right? You put in the time when you found out nobody had been there before, because you like the idea that she'll be only yours? All yours? And now you're feeling the pressure—you gotta lock that shit down soon because the one thing you couldn't swing yet was the same college. Mike and Ellen are set on a Duke daughter, and you have football plans elsewhere. But I bet you tried, hard, to get Kat to follow you to school."

Trace's insight stuns me. I haven't told him any of this, but everything he's said so far, is kind of...true. Even the college thing. The only fights Colin and I have ever had were about attending separate colleges, but that disappeared when he signed with UNC—not the best football program but he's going to be starting QB as a freshman. His university and mine are ten miles apart, and he's already talking about getting an apartment off-campus sophomore year.

Before Colin or I can say anything, Trace continues. "Then one day, she doesn't do exactly what you want. Like yesterday, at the concert. Starts with a squeeze, a rough grab—you're already good at that, aren't you? You apologize. You have no idea where that came from. Her fault for making you angry, scared she'll leave, whatever. Next time, maybe you are drunker. Maybe, its a shove. Maybe you throw your phone at her face. Then it's slaps and knocking her down and shit. Makeup sex turns to angry sex, just to stop the fights. Maybe it never gets non-consenual. Maybe you just hate-fuck her and train her to like it rough? Maybe she thinks it's a lifestyle. And maybe you never become the full on psycho that will put her in the hospital with internal injuries or one day shoot her through the bathroom door she's locked herself behind, but that's not the only kind of abuser. You know how I know all this about you? Because it's in me too, fucker, it's in my genes." He raises his bloody fists in illustration.

"I don't have one qualm about smashing your face, because I don't like you, but I decided a long time ago, I'll never be the guy that hurts somebody I'm supposed to take care of. Never. You don't even know you are that guy yet. So this is your wake up call. I hope you take it to heart. I hope you get control of your issues. I really, really do. Because, if you ever hurt her in any way, I will make it my personal mission to ruin your life."

Colin doesn't say anything. Maybe he's just shocked by Trace's admission about his dad, or maybe he's wondering if Trace is right about him, on some level. When he says it like that, maybe I wonder, too.

"Trace," I begin, taking a step toward him.

He backs up automatically, raising his hands

"I'm out," he says. He turns and walks out the front door.

No, no, no! Why did I say that about his father? That's the one place we never went, the one place so guarded in Trace that even I couldn't touch it. He shrugged it off to Colin like it was no big secret, but it was Trace's biggest secret, and I just outed it in front a stranger to him. Christ I'm an idiot!

I have no idea how deep the abuse really was—I was younger than Trace and I didn't understand, for a long time, how afraid of his father he was, or why. I never saw any bruises or obvious signs of abuse. And then when I did finally start to see the tensions and the unhealthy relationship, Trace was already nearly a man, and handled it like one—privately, behind closed doors. He would never acknowledge it. He coped with music.

I follow him out to the car. "Trace!"

He's got his sunglasses on, and the hat. He doesn't reply. His already revving the engine, making big noise.

"Trace!" I say again, trying to jerk his car door open. It's locked, but he rolls the window down. "Let go, Katheryn. I'm leaving."

He waits. When I finally remove my hand, he throws the car in reverse. "Please don't leave like this," I say.

"I have to," he says stoically, looking at the back-up camera. "Be safe, Kat." He revs down the driveway, and roars away.

Oh, damn. Did Kat just choose Colin over Trace and regret it immediately? What's going to happen now? I'd love to hear your predictions! Please vote and comment, it helps to keep the story visible on Wattpad. Also, following me and adding to your reading lists will keep you notified when I update. Thanks so much!!!!