Two Punks In Love

No One True Love

Trace

Matt doesn't lecture. He doesn't probe. In fact, he doesn't say a word.

He just drives.

Really fucking fast.

Which might sound like not such a good idea, since I'm probably having one of those intermittent explosive episodes or whatever, but for whatever reason, he's got the right idea. I focus on the thrill of blowing past the other cars, and the precision of Matt's lane switches and the complete control he has over this exquisite machine.

Perfect, gorgeous, fucking control.

By the time we get downtown to where I'm supposed to be, I'm more than calm. I'm feeling like a fucking rock star.

"Thanks for that high-speed intervention," I mutter to him as he parks in a loading zone, begging for a ticket if not a tow. "I suppose it was meant to remind me that del Marco's run our shit like bad-asses with cool heads and even cooler cars?"

He gives me the grin that melts panties off of fangirls half his age. "Don't know what you're talking about, Son. I'm just trying to get you to the church on time."

I can't help but laugh at that. He's too right. If I somehow manage to derail this plea—bargain, my ass will likely be incarcerated instead of in holy matrimony in a few weeks time.

We converge with the lawyers and the rest of my entourage and begin the process of unfucking my fuck-up.

###

Kat

Colin has thoughtfully come to me. Well almost. He's sent me directions to a some kind of ranch in Malibu, which is just South of Calabasas instead of near where he lives in LA.

I follow the GPS directions and find myself pulling up in front a very private and very romantic cottage—one of many on this property, which is basically wedding venue, I think.

He's already here. I sit in the car, a long long time, wondering what I'm doing here. He comes to the door of the cottage, watches me, and goes back inside, leaving the door ajar.

I sit there for a while longer, then I make my way inside.

The inside space is tiny. There's a bed and not much more, but Colin isn't here—he's outside on the fully enclosed patio. The private outdoor living space is the real attraction of the cottage. It's filled with brightly colored furniture and decorations that don't match my mood.

He's ordered food and some sparkling water in a large bottle. Silently he pours me a glass with lime. It looks refreshing and I sip as I sink down onto the couch. He sits beside me.

Close. Too close. I can smell the Baxter soap. I can see the blue eyes that once looked at me with such desire.

They are focused on me with an intensity that makes me wish I'd put half the effort into cleaning up that Colin has. He looks better. I mean, not GameDay good, but...like a guy who hasn't given up on life.

I must surely look like a gal whose losing her shit, but it doesn't diminish the intensity of his focus.

"What's up?" he says.

I explain. About Trace's plea deal, and how the wedding is on for sure now, and how we are leaving for our pre-honeymoon tonight. I tell him how out of sync Trace and I have been since he got home yesterday. I tell him how frustrated I am that Trace took the plea, and made all these honeymoon adjustments without consulting me. I tell him how worried I am about Trace, how I think traveling is a bad idea. I tell him that I don't know when I'll see him again, because if Trace has his way, we are leaving LA tonight and we won't be back for more than half a year.