Shae couldn’t think straight. Lucian’s confession felt like half a story. Something was missing. “What was she doing near the stairs? You said she was in your office.” It came out as an angry accusation.
Lucian winced at her tone. The first sign of any real emotion from him. “I told you she was erratic. She screamed when I denied her request, for the sixth time, I might add. She left my office. I was not about to make her stay.”
Hanging her head, Shae groaned. “I still don’t get any of this. I don’t see why she’d fixate on you.”
Lucian shocked her by patting her knee. She twisted to face him, ready to ask him more questions when a female doctor slipped through the crowd, her stare fixed on Shae’s. Shae held her breath.
“Shae Bennett?”
Standing up, Shae nodded and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.
“I’m Dr. Penry. Would you please come with me?”
She followed in silence, the sound of her heartbeat echoing in her skull with every step. Each breath she took was shallow, the antiseptic scent too much to handle in a lungful. When Dr. Penry led her into a small, private room, Shae fought the urge to run. If she turned around and walked away, she wouldn’t need to deal with whatever was coming. It couldn’t be happening if she didn’t know about it, right?
“Please sit down,” the doctor said, pulling out a chair. She took the clipboard from Shae, even though she hadn’t managed to fill any of the forms out.
“Can I see her?”
The doctor’s mouth thinned into a grim line. “Shae, your mom came in with possible head injuries from her fall down the stairs. Initially, that’s what we focused on.”
“Initially?”
“That was the information we were given, but as we worked on her, we found there was more to it. Her medical issues were from a stroke.” Shae whimpered. “I’m very sorry to tell you, but Lisbeth died about twenty minutes ago.”
Shae stared at the doctor, whose words hung in the air between them. She couldn’t get them to register. “I don’t understand. My mom? Lisbeth Bennett?”
“We did everything we could.”
She still struggled, disbelief making her question everything. “A stroke?”
“Yes. Is there someone I can call to come here for you? I know this is very difficult for you to take in. I don’t want you leaving here alone.”
Shae blinked. “I came for my mom. I’m not alone.” A dark wave of dread drenched her body. “Oh God,” she gasped, slapping her hand over her mouth. “Oh God.”
Dr. Penry moved to sit next to her, her arm resting around Shae’s shoulders. The doctor didn’t say anything, just rubbed her arm a little. Shae attempted to process the news, but never seeing her mom again didn’t compute. Her mom wasn’t ill. She’d be just fine.
“Would you like a drink?”
Shaking her head, Shae closed her eyes, replaying Dr. Penry’s words. Her chest ached, her flesh cold but clammy. How was all of this right?
“The receptionist told me your father is here. Would you like me to bring him to see you?”
About to refuse, Shae realized Lucian needed to know, so she hummed a response instead.
“Will you be okay for a minute while I go out to the waiting room?”
Again she nodded. She didn’t want to face her father again. However, right now she had no choice.
She stared at her hands, feeling distant from the trembling that shook them. Her nails dug into her palms as she made two fists. She tasted the copper tang of blood, realizing she had bitten too hard into her lower lip. She rocked, the tears building as the news seeped into her very core, and when the door opened to reveal Lucian, she let out a strangled cry of grief. Shae sobbed so hard her cries wrenched at her guts. She gagged, pushing Lucian away when he wrapped his arms around her. She didn’t want comfort—not his, and certainly not now.
She wanted her mom.
“Shae?” he muttered, still reaching out for her.
She pushed back her chair, backing up into the corner of the room. Tears streamed down her face, wails of disbelief tumbling from her lips. She slapped his hands away, the loss gripping her so hard she couldn’t think straight, couldn’t accept his compassion.
The world around her shrank, leaving her alone with nothing but her grief. Shae battled through the haze, vaguely aware of the scurried movements around her. They said her name, repeated it as she struggled to breathe, and as her knees buckled, she felt her father’s strength surround her. No longer able to hold herself up, she slid to the floor. Or at least she thought she did, but a soft murmur in her ear, along with a gentle jostle left her questioning.
Shae couldn’t see through her tears, not that she was concerned with anything other than her breaking heart and bone-deep loss.
Lisbeth was dead, and whether she wanted it or not, Shae was alone.
Chapter 20
Holding two large cups of coffee, and sporting a pair of very dark sunglasses, Trace pressed the doorbell at Shae’s front door. Another apology was in order, along with a huge thank you. Her turning up at the apartment yesterday had saved him from doing something he would, no doubt, have regretted.
After she’d left him in his drunken stupor he’d made some decisions, and one of them was the resolution to work through whatever he and Shae had going on. The thought of starting something new scared him shitless, but not trying to sort his life out would be pathetic. He had to deal with his grief over Tatum. He had no fucking clue how he was going to do that, and he hoped Shae had a few ideas.
He pressed the doorbell again and checked his watch. It was after midday. Shae hadn’t been at the studio, so he’d assumed she was still home. He stepped back so that he could see into the window at the front of the house. Movement—he was sure he saw movement—and a second later, the front door opened.
The bald man in front of him was one he did not recognize. His suit was out of place in the comfort of Shae’s home, as it was dark and sharp in a place that was warm and round.
The man cleared his throat, eyeballing Trace and offering no greeting at all.
Trace shuffled. “Um, I came to see Shae.”
The man nodded.
“Is she in?”
He straightened his tie. “She’s not up to receiving visitors right now.”
Receiving visitors? Who the hell said that? “I’ll be, like, ten minutes. I know she’s pissed at me, and I’ll apologize for that, but I have other shit to say, too.”
The man at the door grimaced. “Colorful language. But Shae is still not ready to see anyone.”
“Why?” Trace shot back, the entire situation feeling off. Who was this man? And why was he guarding Shae? “Just go and let her know I’ll be waiting out here. With coffee.”
“Coffee is not what my daughter needs right now.” His top lip curled. “She needs time and compassion.”
His palms grew clammy. “Huh? Has something happened? Why does she need compassion?”
“Who are you?”
Trace’s spine snapped straight. “Who are you? Seriously, man, I just want to talk to Shae.”
Shooting a quick glance behind him, the man took a step forward, giving Trace no choice but to retreat. He moved back down the doorstep, but kept eye contact with the guy in the suit. “Shae is sleeping. The rest will do her good. If you give me your name, I’ll tell her you came to see her.”
Trace shook his head. “Nah, I’ll tell her myself.” He tried to step around him and walk into the house. Suit guy blocked the door.
“I’ll decide what is best for my daughter at this time. She doesn’t need you harassing her.”
Trace’s irritation thinned a little at the realization of who the guy was. He still couldn’t get his head around what was happening, though. His head still throbbed with the after effects of the liquor. He tried to alter the course of the conversation, tried to calm it down. He held out his hand, offering it for Lucian to shake. “I’m Trace. Shae and I have been hanging out.”
To his surprise, Lucian gave his hand a firm shake. “She spoke of you last night. It was the one time she smiled.” His hand trembled as he toyed with the button of his suit jacket.
“Look, I can tell something has—”
“Shae’s mother passed away last night. Lisbeth had a stroke.”
Trace hung his head, his eyes closing behind his sunglasses. Fuck.
“We didn’t get back from the hospital until a couple of hours ago. That is why her rest is important right now. The next few weeks—months—are going to be hard for her.”
“Shit,” he muttered, looking back to Lucian. “I knew she’d been a bit . . . different of late. Shae took her to the doctor’s. She was waiting for some tests.”
Lucian agreed. “After speaking to the doctors at the hospital they raised the possibility of dementia. Early stages. Though I suppose we’ll never truly know now.”
Feeling rather ridiculous as he stood there, still clutching the coffee, Trace didn’t know what to say next. Telling the man in front of him that he was sorry for the loss wasn’t right. From the things Shae had confessed to Trace it was clear the man had little to do with Lisbeth and his daughter. And yet he was here, comforting Shae when there was no one else.
“It’s kind of a stupid question, but how is she?”
His answer was a small shake of his head. “I shall let her know you came by. Thank you for stopping by.”
Trace turned, ready to go back to the dance studio. The sound of her voice stopped him.
“Trace? Oh, Trace.”
Shae pushed past her father and fell into Trace’s arms. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, the coffee falling to the floor as he hugged her. Her cheek was hot against his neck, no doubt due to the tears that had flowed making her skin raw.
He stroked her disheveled hair, whispering how sorry he was. Shae clung to him, little sobs of anguish floating between them. She whispered his name and stuttered her mom’s. Her knees buckled and Trace caught her, cradling her before she fell.
Lucian stared at his daughter, wringing his hands at his waist.
“I’ll take her inside,” Trace said, walking toward him and hoping the guy didn’t start another argument.
“Take her back to bed.” He sidestepped out of the way, although he didn’t follow Trace inside. “Are you intending to stay with her?”
Shae sobbed against his chest, making Trace hurried in his response. “Yeah. She needs people around her to help.”
Lucian’s lips pursed. “Then I shall go home. My wife is not happy at me being gone for so long.”
“You’re leaving her?” Trace responded, his eyes growing wide in amazement. “She’s your daughter. Fuck your wife! Shae needs you.”
At the sound of her name, Shae stiffened and then snuggled closer to him. He didn’t hear her father’s response. The man just walked down the path and climbed into his car.
Bastard.
“Come on, babe. Let’s get you inside.” She didn’t respond. “Have you eaten? Maybe some food and a warm drink will help. You’re freezing.”
Shae clutched at his T-shirt, and he could feel the wetness of the cotton seeping onto his skin because of her tears. He carried her through the door, slamming it closed by kicking it with the heel of his boot. He walked into the living room, sitting down on the couch as he framed her face with his hands. She kept her eyes closed, tiny unshed tears dangling on her dark lashes. The desolate look on her face caused his entire system to ache for her.
He swiped at her tears, placing a small kiss on the tip of her nose. “I’m so sorry, Shae. Your dad told me.”
A tear fell. “She was ill, Trace. Ill, and I didn’t care.”
“No. No way, babe. You can’t predict a stroke, and you were getting tests done for whatever else was going on with her. I won’t let you blame yourself for this.”
“Th-they think it was dementia, maybe Alzheimer’s. I told the doctor about her episodes. She couldn’t say it definitely was but . . . well, it sounds like it. Oh, Trace, what am I going to do without her?” Her bottom lip began to quiver.
“I’m here for you. Your dad was, too.”
Shae swiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “He had no choice. Mom was at his office when she fell. He called the ambulance.”
A little perplexed, Trace stopped himself from asking her a multitude of questions. She could do without the interrogation, so he took it slow, gauging her reaction with each reply.
“What do you mean fell?”
Shae shuddered, her exhale stuttering out. She began to explain what had happened, her voice breaking every few sentences. Each time she composed herself, gulping back the tears and pain to reveal everything to Trace.
“Why was she at your father’s office?”
Her mouth turned down, and she gave a small shrug. Her tears began to well in her eyes again. Trace felt useless to staunch them. She needed to grieve, even though it cut him to shreds watching her go through it. He’d leaned on her when she’d offered a shoulder, and now he was going to give her the same.
He stroked his hand down her spine. “I’m here for you. I’ll help however I can.”
“It doesn’t feel real. I can’t get it in here”—she tapped her temple—“that she’s not about to walk through the front door. My mom . . . she was . . .”
“Your best friend,” he said, answering for her. She turned him inside out with her sadness. He wished he could remove her pain and restore her happiness. However, that couldn’t happen, so he would be her rock. He would walk her through this, offering whatever the hell she needed. He refused to question why he felt the bone-deep need to do it, telling himself he’d be an asshole if he didn’t. A tiny voice in his head called him a liar, but he ignored it.
“Lucian has been different. He seems to care.” Her brows pinched. “Where is he?”
Trace debated his response, cautious not to rant about her father’s lack of compassion. He took a few deep breaths, deciding at this point a small lie wouldn’t hurt. “He went home to shower and change. I think he was glad I came to take over.”
“Take over? I’m not a baby, Trace. Lucian could have left me at any point. I never asked for his help.”
“He was worried—”
“Don’t bullshit me. Guilt does a lot at times like these. And that’s what was driving him. Guilt at the way he’d treated me, and guilt at the way my mother died.”
“It wasn’t his fault,” he said, unsure why he was defending him.
“Maybe not the stroke, but she fell down his fucking steps! I doubt I’ll ever forget that. She never saw me. She never . . .” Shae whined. “She never got to say goodbye to anyone. To me.”
The tears fell, an avalanche that would continue to come until she started to deal with her loss. He couldn’t pretend to know how she would cope with this given how close they were. Shae and Lisbeth were a team—from their home to the dance studio, they did it all together. And now Shae would have to move forward without Lisbeth.
She sobbed on his shoulder as he continued to offer comfort. He held her close, soothing her when she grew hysterical, and stroked her hair to lull her to sleep. Even in slumber, she murmured and fidgeted. Her heart was shattering in her dreams, too, and there was not a damn thing he could do to help. He just had to stay, to listen, to hug, and to hand her as many tissues as she wanted. Leaving Shae right now wasn’t an option, and Lucian Folds should be fucking ashamed of himself. His daughter deserved more than his moments of remorse. Even more right now, yet the man had left as soon as he could. Trace was the one mopping up her tears.
“Trace?” Shae rasped, lifting her head off his knee as she twisted to see him.
“Yeah, babe?”
“Has my dad come back yet?”
“No.” He refused to lie to her.
“Called?”
Trace shook his head, and Shae let out the breath she was holding. He could tell she’d been hoping Lucian had returned. Mayb
e even hoping she was wrong to doubt him. The second denial he gave her proved she’d been right all along. Her father was pathetic.
She reached up, touching his face. “You won’t leave me, will you? Stay with me, Trace. I need you.”
Reality hit him hard in the chest. He could fight the truth all he wanted, but he was falling for the woman in front of him.
Chapter 21
Shae grumbled and rolled over, her body sinking into the mattress of her bed. She rubbed her eyes, tilting her head to see the time on her alarm clock. It was still before dawn, but considering the amount of rest she’d had in the last few days, it was no wonder her body clock was messed up.
For the first few minutes whenever she woke, she forgot. Life was normal, and she was happy. She cherished those few seconds of calm before the truth slithered along her body, the oily snake of it coiling around her chest and gripping tight.
The loss never eased, not that she expected it to after such a short time, though she did wonder if she would always expect to see Lisbeth sitting at the table in the kitchen. Or to watch her in her chair in the corner of the dance studio while Shae taught the kids.
The three days since her passing had been difficult to say the least. Every move she made was like wading through quicksand. Walking from one room to the next sapped every ounce of energy from her. The crying wore her out.
Shae tried. Each morning she would wake up and keep the pretense that Lisbeth was still with her. She’d fool herself into thinking her mom was downstairs and that she could make it through the day. However, the lies soon revealed themselves. The empty house shone a light on Lisbeth’s absence. Her grief wouldn’t allow her to forget.
Nor would her guilt.
The remorse was like acid in her guts, causing them to burn and cramp. Leaving Lisbeth that night was the biggest mistake of her life. She should have been home instead of helping Trace. She didn’t blame him. He had been upset and in need of a friend. Shae had no one to blame but herself, and her remorse ran so deep she doubted she would ever forgive herself for the huge error in judgment. The mistake had cost her mother her life. It was a burden Shae would bear for the rest of her days.