Page 94 of Tracking Wolfe

It wasn’t sexual. We were both too tired and sore for that. But it was intimate in a way I cherished. If Wolfe needed comfort and reassurance, I wanted to be the one to do it. I loved every minute of holding him while crooning words of affection and praise against his damp skin.

But I’d be lying if I said that, even as I held the man I loved close, I wasn’t also thinking of the asshole who’d tried to take him from me.

Jake Mason had hurt Wolfe. Abused his trust. Probably amplified all his well-founded fears of fame. Had made him question himself.

I wanted him to pay dearly for that.

23

WOLFE

Trace had reminded me that Jake’s actions reflected on Jake, not on me, and I knew he was right. I also knew Trace believed his own words completely. That he didn’t blame me for what happened this afternoon.

But now that the initial terror had faded and I was safe in Trace’s arms, I couldn’t stop thinking about the other danger Jake presented… and it was hard not to want to kick myself.

Jake knew I was Fletcher Coe.

From what Clay had said, Jake would be spending the night in a cell, so it was unlikely he’d have a chance to post the news on social media right away. But I had no way of knowing who else he might have told. What fail-safes he might have in place. How long it would be until the tidy dam separating the two parts of my life imploded.

All because I’d gotten careless.

God, I was so fucking tired. And my ankle throbbed. My quads shook from the effort of getting down the mountain on one leg while holding the other up away from the slippery ground. Standing under the hot spray felt amazing, but I wasn’t sure how much longer I could stand here.

“Hey,” Trace said softly, his arms tightening around me to take more of my weight. “Hey, you’re okay. You’re safe, I promise.”

I shook my head. Trace had no idea.

“I need to get out of this shower,” I said. “I’m sick to death of being wet. I want to pull on every article of clothing I own, then crawl under my duvet in the van.”

“I endorse this,” Trace said with a nod. “As long as I’m allowed to come.”

I huffed out a laugh and squeezed him once. For a man who’d made my life so fucking hard, he sure made it easy, too.

But there were some things he couldn’t fix, even if I’d let him. Like putting a genie back in its bottle.

I just kept thinking there had to be a way around this. A way to neutralize the information Jake had or to convince him not to reveal it in the first place.

Trace shut off the water and grabbed towels to dry us off. Then he helped me into a soft pair of his sweatpants and one of his big T-shirts and got me seated on the built-in wooden bench next to the shower stall so he could dress himself.

“Jake had my journal,” I said. “That’s what we argued about. He asked me to introduce him to Papa, I said no, and he… he threatened to reveal what he’d seen in the journal.”

Trace froze with one foot in the pant leg of his joggers, and his eyes widened. “He admitted he took it?”

“First, he blamed Shay, but then he said he was the one who took it,” I said. “I don’t think Shay knows.”

“Where’s the journal now?”

I tilted my head toward the bathroom door. “Your car. It’s in my pack⁠—”

Trace froze again, this time with one arm in his sleeve. “The pack you let me carry down the mountain?”

“I only have the one pack, so… yeah. Obviously.” I frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He waved a hand and finished pulling on his Made Marian tee. “I’m great. Just means a lot that you trusted me with that. Keep going.”

I shrugged. “Anyway. I have it back now, but he could have taken pictures of the pages.”

“Fuck. I’m sorry, baby.”