Incipient: A Dark Paranormal Romance (The Marked Book 6) Page 8

  Trace was already dressed and sitting at the kitchen island by the time I made it downstairs the next morning. I wasn’t even sure if he’d bothered to come back to bed last night or if he’d decided to sleep elsewhere. I imagined he probably didn’t want to be anywhere near me and ended up sleeping on the couch or in the guestroom.

  Leave it to me to make him uncomfortable in his own house. I really needed to come up with alternative living arrangements for myself, and quickly.

  I was just about to back out of the kitchen and leave him in peace when his voice drifted across the kitchen.

  “You should eat something before school,” he said quietly as he motioned to a plate sitting at the end of the island.

  My gaze darted to the breakfast sandwich and sliced fruit and then back to him as he took a sip of his coffee while flipping through something on his phone.

  “I thought everything went bad?” I asked pointlessly, still hovering by the entryway in full awkward mode.

  “It did,” he said, still not looking at me. When I didn’t move, he glanced up from his phone and met my eyes, his gaze a barren desert. “I picked up breakfast,” he said slowly, as though I were a moron for not figuring that out on my own.

  Oouf. This was going to be a long morning.

  “Right. Obviously,” I said and gingerly made my way over to the plate. My stomach grumbled as I picked up my fork and stabbed at a piece of strawberry. “Thank you for this. I’m starving.” Chewing quietly, my gaze skirted across the island to him as I watched him entertain himself with whatever he was looking at on his phone.

  The horrible awkwardness of last night had definitely followed us into the morning. At least it did for me. Deciding we needed to clear the air before it ruined our entire day, I set my fork down and cleared my throat.

  His gaze flicked up to mine.

  “I’m sorry about last night.” The words fell out of me like a block of concrete. “I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

  He stared at me for a long beat and then tossed his phone on the island. Folding his arms across his chest, he sat back against the barstool and studied me. “What are you apologizing for?”

  “What do you mean?” His question threw me off.

  “You meant what you said, right?” He didn’t give me a chance to answer. “So, why are you apologizing if that’s the way you feel?”

  Obviously, I was apologizing because I didn’t mean what I’d said last night and felt insanely guilty about it now, but I couldn’t exactly tell him that.

  “I just…” I lifted my left shoulder. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

  His jaw muscle ticked. “You didn’t.”

  “Right, but I…” Trailing off, I tried to read his expression to see whether he meant what he said or if he was just putting up a front. Unfortunately, I couldn’t make out a damn thing. “Well, I’m sorry anyway,” I said and then dropped my gaze back to my plate, my face flushing with a blend of regret and embarrassment.

  He cursed under his breath, calling my attention back to him. “I’m the one that should be apologizing. I was drinking. I shouldn’t have pushed,” he said tersely and then shook his head. “It won’t happen again.”

  The guilt I’d been feeling only intensified at his words. The last thing I’d wanted was him apologizing to me. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Trace. You were great the whole night. And you took my mind off of…well, you know.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” he said, but something about the look on his face told me he wasn’t taking it as a compliment.

  Confusion knitted my brows as I examined his expression. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “Nah. It’s all good.” He tapped the table with his palms and then hopped off the chair. “I’m going to get my stuff ready. There’s some juice in the fridge if you want it,” he said as he left the kitchen in a hurry.

  “Thank you. I really appreciate it,” I called out after him, but he had already disappeared down the hallway by the time I finished the sentence.

  Well, that went well.

  It seemed that despite my efforts something had definitely changed between us since last night, and while the logical, conservative side of my brain was telling me to just be thankful that things had finally cooled down between us, the other side was way too busy feeling the loss to really appreciate the irony.

  Trace and I drove our own cars into school later that morning. He was already leaning against his parked car by the time I rolled into the spot beside him. Locking my doors, I walked around the back of my car and fell into step with him as he started toward the school building. Despite the chilly vibe between us, he’d at least waited for me before going in.

  That was something. Though what that something was, I still had no idea.

  “Are you sure everything is okay between us?” I asked as I all but jogged to keep up with his long strides.

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” he said without bothering to look back at me.

  “Because—” I snagged his arm and stopped him going any further. “You’re being cold and distant.”

  Squaring his shoulders, he peered down at me under his dark lashes. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  My lips parted to say something back, but nothing came out.

  “We’re just friends, right? Nothing more? Well, this is how I treat my friends, Jemma,” he said softly, not even trying to be offensive about it. “What more do you want from me?”

  Considering he had picked me up breakfast this morning, apologized to me for something that wasn’t his fault, and waited for me to get to school, he really hadn’t done a damn thing wrong. So, he wasn’t looking at me the same way, or speaking to me the way he usually did. Big deal. I couldn’t have it both ways.

  My mind knew that, it did. But my heart was an entirely different story.

  “I just…I want things to go back to the way they were before.”

  “Before what?”

  “Before last night,” I whispered as a group of freshmen walked past us, their voices hushed and their gazes curious. “Before I said those things to you.”

  “Why?” he asked, his eyes fixed on me with purpose, as though trying to siphon the truth out of me. “It was just a game, right? It didn’t matter.”

  I winced as my ugly words came back to haunt me.

  He dipped down to catch my gaze. “That is what you said, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. That’s what I said.”

  “So, what’s the problem?” he asked as he took a small step forward, crowding my personal space with his vibrating frequency.

  “The problem is…” I rubbed my arms and tried to focus my mind, but I couldn’t think straight when he was standing that close to me. “I don’t know what the problem is.”

  “Well, how about you let me know when you figure it out,” he suggested, his face brimming with frustration as he turned away from me and started to walk away.

  “Wait!” I grabbed his arm and halted him again, though I had no idea what to say after that.

  God, I was such a mess.

  “What is it, Jemma?” he asked softly and when I didn’t respond, blew out a breath of frustration and shook his head. “I really don’t get you, you know that? You pull me with one hand and then push me away with the other. You say one thing with your words, but then you think something completely different when I’m touching you. Nothing you say or do makes sense.”

  “I know.” I couldn’t even deny it.

  “So, what is it? Are you confused? Are you not sure what you want, or are you just too wrapped up in that bloodsucker—”

  “That’s not fair,” I interjected, feeling the scorn from his words. “I didn’t tell you about him so you can throw it in my face.”

  “I know,” he said, and it sounded sincere enough. “That’s not what I’m trying to do.” He paused for a moment, his eyes darting over my shoulder to catch the sunlight, making them look bluer than the Caribbean ocean. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn�
��t have brought him up.”

  Crossing my arms, I nodded, accepting the apology.

  “All I know is that I want to be with you, Jemma. But if you’re confused or you’re not sure about me, then I have to let you be. I can’t keep playing these games with you.”

  My heart gave a half-thump in my chest like it had forgotten how to beat as an overbearing sadness pressed down over me. I had no idea why I was reacting this way when this was exactly what I’d wanted from him. Well, not wanted per se, but needed. For his own well-being and protection.

  This had been the plan all along.

  I’d asked for this and prayed for it and yet now that he was pulling away from me, I could barely remember how to cope with the loss of him even though I had done it for months. Losing him—surviving him should have been something I was an expert in by now. Besides, this wasn’t about me. This was about him. About protecting him, and I needed to remember that before I lost him for real again.

  Realizing how off course I’d gotten, I pushed my shoulders back and picked up my chin, forcing myself to remember the game plan. This was what was best for him. No matter how much it hurt to watch him pull away. “You’re right.”

  His jaw hardened.

  “I think it’s probably best to put some space between us.”

  Trace looked back at me for a moment, his lips slightly downturned in a frown as he gave his head a slow disappointed shake. “Sure, Jemma. Whatever you say.”

  And with that, he turned away from me and walked off toward the school entrance, leaving me alone with his disappointment and parting words. And I couldn’t even blame him. Looking back on how I’d been treating him these last few weeks, I probably deserved much worse than that.

  12. ROLLING IN THE DEEP

  As if going to school while The Four—scratch that—The Two Horsemen of The Apocalypse were in town wasn’t weird enough, I now had to do it with me and Trace not speaking to each other. And on top of that, we shared homeroom. The only thing that could have made my morning any worse was seeing Nikki and her unborn spawn of Lucifer galloping gayly through the hallways.

  Lucky for me, she didn’t appear to be in school today, which meant I’d have one less lump of ass-pain to deal with.

  “We need to talk,” chirped a familiar voice from somewhere over my shoulder.

  I turned and found Morgan staring at me, arms crossed over her chest with her curly red hair pulled back into a ponytail. She wasn’t wearing her usual pound of makeup, but her signature irritated frown was still firmly in place.

  “We don’t need to do anything,” I corrected as I turned back to my locker and continued fishing my books out. It had been so long since I used one of my textbooks, I was half expecting to find cobwebs on them.

  “This is serious business, Jemma. It’s about Nikki.”

  My back stiffened at the mention of her name. I hated that she had that effect on me.

  “Thought so. Meet me outside the Quad at lunch, and don’t be late,” she ordered and then stalked off down the hall toward Carly who was deep in conversation with a small group of cheerleaders—or Ice Girls as they preferred to be called.

  With my heart wedged somewhere between my throat and chest, I took my time getting the rest of my stuff out of my locker in the hope that Trace would make an appearance and we could hopefully squash some of the uncomfortableness before class, but he never ended up showing up at his locker.

  Either he was avoiding me completely, or he’d already made his way to class without me.

  I’d barely managed to simmer my heart down by the time I made it to homeroom only to have it sink to the floor when I realized Trace wasn’t in class either. Was he so upset with me that he decided to skip homeroom altogether? Damn. If I felt bad before, I was feeling like an utter piece of dog shit now. And could I really blame the guy?

  All I’d done for the last few weeks was push and pull him like he was the rope in some demented tug of war game. What did I expect him to feel? It was a miracle that he’d put up with it for as long as he had.

  But still, I hadn’t meant to hurt him.

  I hadn’t meant to play hot and cold with him.

  I was trying to do what was right for him—to stay close and keep an eye on him—all while fighting my very present and complicated feelings for him. Feelings I couldn’t admit to no matter how bad I wanted to scream out that I still loved him. I knew I couldn’t make the slightest move on that front until I was absolutely sure he would be safe.

  But what if that never happened? What if I never got that guarantee?

  What then?

  My unfinished business with Trace lingered over me for most of the day. It was only when I’d spotted him after recess chatting privately with Caleb that the sinking feeling in my stomach finally let up. At least he hadn’t blown off the whole day—just his class with me. Again, that was something.

  Unfortunately, my relief was short-lived when I noticed how tense the conversation between Caleb and Trace appeared to be. I couldn’t glean anything from where I was standing, but their hushed voices and creased foreheads spoke volumes. Whatever they were talking about, it was serious, and I had every intention of getting the full scoop.

  As soon as they were done, I watched them fist bump and then waited patiently for Trace to turn the corner before closing in on Caleb at the water fountain.

  “What’s up, Blackburn?” he greeted me and then leaned down to take a drink as I stood in front of him with my arms folded rigidly across my chest.

  “What was that about?” I asked, skipping the niceties.

  He finished slurping up his drink of water and then straightened. “What was what about?”

  “That,” I said, pointing to where he’d been standing with Trace just a moment ago. “What were you guys talking about? It looked serious.”

  “Oh, that,” he said as he ran his hand through his copper hair and then tugged at the ends, tussling it. “It was nothing.”

  “Nothing?” I glared at him as my inner panic mounted. “You’re lying to me. Why are you lying to me?”

  Caleb’s face sobered. “Can we talk about this later, Blackburn. This isn’t the place or the time.”

  Like hell it wasn’t. Grabbing him by his letterman jacket, I hauled him to the supply closet and then shoved him inside, closing the door behind myself.

  “This better?” I asked, making a dramatic gesture around the very cramped (but private) quarters. I didn’t bother waiting for a response when I said, “Start talking.”

  He shot me an irritated look and then slumped back against a spare desk. “He asked me to work a spell for him.”

  “A spell?” I croaked out as every drop of moisture left my mouth. “What kind of spell?”

  “The kind that might help you remember something.”

  My eyes widened. “Remember what?”

  “Everything,” he said with a shrug. “He wants me to do a Memory Revival spell to help bring his memories back.”

  “Oh, my god!” I said, dropping my head into my hands as I folded over. This was so much freaking worse than I thought. Also, there wasn’t enough proper air in this puny closet.

  “Calm down, Blackburn. You’re going to make yourself hyperventilate.”

  I shot up straight and glared at him. “You’re not going to do it, right? I mean, you do realize what could happen if he remembered, right? I know you’re not that stupid, Caleb. Right?”

  “First of all, ouch, and second of all, of course I’m not going to do it.”

  I puffed out a breath of relief. “So, what did you tell him?”

  “I told him I’d look into it.”

  My face twisted with confusion. “But you just said—”

  “If I told him I couldn’t do it, he’d either not believe me and get suspicious, or he’d just ask someone else.”

  “Right!” I said, pointing at him and nodding. “Good thinking. So, what do we do in the meantime?”

  He shrugged again. “Nothing
really. I’m going to waste a bunch of time ‘looking into it’,” he said, using air quotes, “and basically try to string him along as long as possible.”

  My nose wrinkled at that. I hated the idea of lying to him and stringing him along, but what else could we do? Trace remembering the past was dangerous because we had no idea how that might affect him or the wall around his memories that was currently keeping him safe and sane.

  “What should I do?” I asked, feeling as though this entire thing was getting ready to spin right out of my control. I needed to be doing something proactive.

  “Just keep an eye on him. Maybe try to distract him so he forgets about the past altogether.” He paused and then narrowed his desert-colored eyes on me. “Actually, never mind that last part,” he said with a sly grin.

  “Very cute,” I said as I spun toward the supply closet door and then turned around to face him once last time. “If he mentions anything else or asks you for another favor, I want to be the first to know. Got it?”

  “Aye, Aye, Blackburn. You have my word.”

  As soon as the lunch bell rang later that day, I headed straight for the Quad to meet with Morgan, not even bothering to pick up a lunch at the cafeteria first. After the day I’d had, I hardly had an appetite anyway, and I was sure that whatever Morgan was going to tell me was only going to make the matter worse.

  I pushed open the exit doors and spotted her fiery red ponytail of hair against the gray backdrop almost immediately. She was sitting on a bench under an oak tree with her phone in hand as plumes of fog kicked up from the grounds like steam. Pulling in a deep breath, I centered myself and then made my way over to her.

  “Alright, I’m here. What did you want to talk about?” I asked, standing beside her with my arms crossed against my chest. I wasn’t in the mood for phony greetings or small talk, so I didn’t bother with either.

  “Sit down,” she said without looking up from her phone.

  I scoffed at her command. I most certainly did not take orders from Morgan Sinclair.

  Her eyes slid up to mine with irritation. “Please?” she added, exaggerating the word in order to appease me. “This is a sensitive topic.”