Fueled

by K. Bromberg

  My mind immediately flashes to the jagged scar on his arm—the one that I’d noticed last week. Now I know why he had changed the subject when I’d asked about it. I think of a little boy cowering in fear, green eyes welled with tears as his mother unleashes on him. The ache in my heart that moments before was because of my feelings for Colton has now shifted and intensified over something I can’t even begin to understand or fathom.

  The look on Beckett’s face tells me that this is news to him. That even though he’s known Colton for all these years, he hasn’t had an inkling as to the horror his friend had endured as a young child.

  “Like I said,” Beckett whispers, “Lifeline.” My eyes snap up to his and he just nods with a quiet intensity. “I think you’re his lifeline.” We exchange a silent acknowledgment and acceptance before looking back down at the man we love snoring softly in my lap.

  The house is quiet and still despite the bright sun shining through the kitchen windows. It’s close to noon but everyone is still asleep except for me. I’d awoken, hot and claustrophobic, with a dead to the world Colton haphazardly draped across my body. As delicious as his body felt against mine, and as much as I willed myself to go back to sleep, I couldn’t. So despite Colton lying on the pillow beside me, I slowly extricated myself from him and the bed without waking him in search of Advil for my aching head.

  I sit at the table, the soft snoring of Beckett asleep on the couch drifting into the kitchen. I swallow a big gulp of water hoping it will chase away the alcohol-induced fuzziness that clouds my head. I yawn again and rest my forehead on my arms that are folded on the table. God, I’m tired.

  The distant and distinct ringing of my cell phone seeps into my dreams. I’m trying to help him. The little boy with dark hair and haunted eyes being pulled away from me by some unseen force. My hand is gripping his but my fingers are slipping ever so slowly as my muscles tire. He’s pleading with me for help. The ringing of the telephone starts, startling me so I jerk and he slips away from me, crying out in fear. I scream at the loss and jolt myself awake, disoriented from my position at the kitchen table.

  My heart is pounding and my breathing labored as I try to steady myself. Just a dream, I tell myself. Just a meaningless dream. I drop my head into my hands and push their heels into my eyes, trying to rub away the image of the little boy I couldn’t save.

  I hear the rumbling timbre of Colton’s morning voice from my bedroom. I stand and start to walk to him when the inflection of his voice rises. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, lady!” resonates down the hallway.

  It takes a moment for my mind to register what’s going on...what day it is...the sound of my cell phone interrupting my dream. I shove the chair back and run down the hall to my bedroom. “Give me the phone, Colton!” I shout, my heart racing and my throat clogging with panic as I enter my doorway.

  My eyes zero in on my cell phone at his ear. On the bewildered look on his face. My heart lodges in my throat, knowing the words filled with hatred that are assaulting his ears. I pray that she doesn’t tell him. “Please, Colton,” I plead, my hand outstretched for him to give me my phone. His eyes look up to meet mine, searching for an explanation as to what he’s hearing. He shakes his head abruptly at me when I keep my hand held out.

  He sighs loudly, closing his eyes before speaking. “Ma’am? Ma’am,” he says more forcefully, “you’ve had your say, now it’s time I get mine.” Her voice through the speaker quiets down at his stern tone. Colton runs a hand through his hair, his V of muscle that sinks below the sheets flexes as he tenses up. “While I am truly sorry for the loss of your son, I think your accusations are sickening. Rylee did nothing wrong besides survive a horrible accident. Because she lived and Max died doesn’t mean that she murdered him. No, you let me finish,” he says sternly. “I understand that you’re grieving and always will be, but that doesn’t make Rylee guilty of killing him. It was a horrific, accident with circumstances beyond anyone’s control.”

  I hear a litany of words in response that I can’t decipher through the earpiece, my body still tense as I guess what she’s revealing to him.

  “And you don’t think she feels guilty enough that she lived? You’re not the only one who lost him that day. Do you really think a day goes by that she doesn’t think about Max or the accident? That she doesn’t wish it were her instead of him that died that day?”

  Tears well in my eyes, Colton’s words hitting too close to the truth, and I can’t fight them. They slip down my cheeks and images flash through my head that will forever be burned there. Max struggling to live. Max struggling to die. My thousands of promises to God those days if we could just make it out alive.

  All of us.

  Something flickers through Colton’s eyes at her words, and the tears come harder. There is silence between the two of them for several moments as Colton digests what she has divulged. They flash over to mine, and I’m unable to comprehend the enigmatic look they hold before darting back to look out the window outside.

  “I truly am sorry for your loss, but this will be the last time you call Rylee and accuse her of anything. Do you understand?” he says with authority. “She picks up the phone because she feels guilty. She lets you bash her and accuse her and demean her because she loved your son and doesn’t want you to hurt any more than you already do. But no more. You’re hurting her, and I won’t allow it. Understood?”

  Colton blows out a large breath and tosses the phone onto the end of the bed where he stares at it for several moments without speaking. My heart pounds, the sound reverberating through my ears as I stare at him, emotions racing through me, tearing me apart as I wait.

  Finally after what feels like hours, he shakes his head and looks down at his hands in his lap. “You are the most selfless woman I know, Rylee. Carrying around your own guilt. Allowing her to take her grief out on you. Giving everything of yourself to the boys…” My body trembles in anticipation of what he’ll say next, of why he’s looking at his hands and can’t meet my eyes. So many emotions overwhelm me, thunder through me as I wait for him to collect his thoughts.

  He looks over at me slowly, his eyes filled with a mixture of confusion and compassion. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks gently, his eyes searching mine for an explanation.

  I shrug, averting my eyes from his, trying to hold back the damn that threatens to break. I fail miserably, the damn splintering and the tears turn to sobs as he reaches out a hand and pulls me toward him. I sink onto my bed as he wraps his arms around me and gathers me to him. He smoothes a hand over my hair repeatedly, trying to soothe away my pain with reassuring words while I cry. He releases me momentarily, propping pillows behind him before lying back and pulling me with him so my head rests on his bare chest, my hand covering his heart.

  The constant rhythm of Colton’s heartbeat calms me. I realize that being here with Colton takes some of the sting out of today’s date. It doesn’t hurt any less, but it’s getting easier. I realize that for the first time, I can think of Max and see him in good times, not just the final images I have of him broken, bloody, and dying. I can smile about the teenager I fell in puppy love with and the man I promised to spend my life with. I can remember the anxiety in his face the day he proposed and the surprise, love, and excitement in his eyes when I told him I was pregnant. God, I was so scared to tell him—hell I was scared myself—but when he hugged me and told me he was ecstatic and that everything would be alright, I allowed myself to feel the hope and wonderment I’d been holding back.

  Colton places a soft kiss on the top of my head. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I almost laugh at his words. They sound so hypocritical coming from someone who never talks about his past. A few tears escape, falling onto his chest, and I quickly wipe them away. “I’m sorry,” I apologize. I can’t look at him. “I’m sure after last night, the last thing you want to deal with is a blubbering idiot.”

  He lifts his arm and runs his hand through his hair, sighing out l
oud. “I’m not good at this kind of thing, Rylee. Shit, I don’t know what to do or say here…”

  I can sense his discomfort at a woman falling apart in his arms. He hates drama. I know. I stroke my hand down his chest. “You don’t have to do anything. You being here, sticking up for me with Claire...” I breathe out “...that’s enough.”

  “How come you didn’t tell me?” I can hear a trace of hurt in his voice, and it surprises me.

  And I know he is referring to the baby. My baby. The part of me that forever died that day. The place that will forever be empty inside of me.

  “It’s not like you’re exactly forthcoming about your baggage,” I offer, the words hanging between us in silence. “You’re so adamant about no children, I didn’t think it was important for you to know. I didn’t think you’d care.”

  I can feel him draw in a breath. “Christ, Rylee.” His voice strains, his hand fisting against my back. “Do you think that little of me? Just because kids are a deal breaker for me doesn’t mean that I’m not sympathetic to your situation. To your loss.”

  I turn my head to prop my chin on my hand. I keep my eyes averted from his though by following my finger as it traces the lines of his tattoo that spans a portion of his rib cage. “I was…” I stop, trying to map out my memories. “I was shocked the day I found out I was pregnant. I mean I’d just graduated college. I was very black and white back then. I had a plan. First college, then marriage, and then a family,” I smile softly.

  “But you know what they say about best laid plans.” I sigh shakily. “I was so scared of what Max’s reaction was going to be. And when I told him, he looked at me in awe. I can still see him in my mind. He admitted he was scared but told me that it didn’t matter because it was going to be okay. And I wondered how he could be so sure when everything was going to change so drastically.”

  I’m silent for a moment, my memories flashing through my mind like a slide show. I turn and shift my head to look at Colton as a tear slips silently from the corner of my eye. “She,” I say on a shaky breath, “the baby was a girl.” He nods his head at me and reaches out to wipe away the tear. “I was still scared and panicked at the thought of having a baby, but then I felt her kick.” I stop, my chest tightening as I remember the feeling that I’ll never experience again. “And I immediately fell in love with her. All of my reluctance faded.” I clear my throat as Colton sits patiently, eyes locked on mine. “I was seven and half months along when we had the accident. I knew that first night she didn’t make it, but I refused to acknowledge it. I was bleeding profusely and the cramping was…it was out of this world painful. I willed her to move. To kick me just once.”

  A shudder runs through me, those silent bargains I had made to God that night flickering through my head. “On some level, I knew the hope that she might still be alive is what kept me fighting to live.”

  “I’m so sorry, Rylee,” he whispers.

  “It took so long to be rescued that I got an infection from the bacteria. From what doctors saw, the damage was extensive enough that it essentially ruined my ability to get pregnant.” I clear my throat before continuing. “Max’s mom, Claire, blames me for everything.”

  “That’s asinine,” he interjects.

  I shrug at his comment, agreeing but still letting guilt make me think differently. “She thought that if we hadn’t been having premarital sex, this would have never happened.”

  Colton snorts at the comment. “You were together, what six years?”

  I smile softly at him. “Almost seven.”

  “And she expected you to be abstinent that long?”

  “To each their own beliefs.” I shrug. “We went on the little trip because it was our last chance to get away. I was stressed about everything and the doctor was getting worried about my blood pressure. Max wanted to try and calm me down. To spend some time together before chaos ensued. So she blames me for killing him and her granddaughter.”

  “You know that’s not true, Rylee.”

  “I know, but it doesn’t take the guilt away. On the anniversary of the death and his birthday she calls me to vent her anger and sadness.” I close my eyes momentarily, fighting away the horrible images that creep into my dreams. “It’s her therapy I guess…and even though it tears me apart, listening to her is the least I can do.” He pulls me farther up his chest and comforts me by wrapping his powerful arms around me and resting his chin on my head. “Oddly enough, meeting you, spending time with you, has allowed me to realize that I’m slowly coming to terms with what happened. Time has allowed me to remember Max and how he was before the crash, not just after. I think the hardest part is the baby.” I exhale brokenly. “I will always cherish the feeling of a life growing inside of me, especially since I’ll most likely never get that chance again.” I nuzzle into the warmth of his neck and sigh. “She would have been two years old.”

  I catch the sob before it slips out, but Colton feels it. He squeezes me tighter, his even breathing and ability to listen is just what I need. I feel like a burden has been lifted off of me. All of my skeletons have been exposed. Now he knows. Everything. I cling to him because for some reason, his presence here completes the transformation for me.

  I don’t want to be alone anymore and am so sick of being numb. I want to feel again—in the extremes that Colton makes me feel.

  I’m ready to live again. Really live. And in this moment I know that it is only Colton that I can imagine sharing these new memories with. I close my eyes and snuggle into him, the sleep I couldn’t find earlier slowly claiming me now. I am just starting to drift off when his voice stirs my eyes open. “When I was six years old,” he says so softly that if it weren’t for the vibration in his chest, I wouldn’t know to listen for his words. He stops for a moment and clears his throat. “When I was six, my—the woman who gave birth to me—beat me so badly that I ended up unconscious and in the hospital.” He exhales loudly while I withhold my breath.

  Holy shit! He’s talking and hearing the pain in his voice I know that his wounds are still raw and wide open. Infected. How can you heal from your mother beating the crap out of you? How can you accept love from anyone when the one person that is supposed to protect you from everything is the one who harmed you the most? I’m at a loss for words, so I wrap my arms around him and squeeze before placing a soft kiss on his sternum. “Did the hospital call the police? Social services?” I ask timidly, unsure of how much he is willing to share with me.

  I can feel him nod his head in assent. “My mom was the one who called 9-1-1. She told them my dad had done it. That she was the one who walked in and stopped it.” He pauses, and I let him take a minute to compose himself and clear the emotion swimming in his voice. “I’ve never met my dad so...I was too scared of what she’d do to me to say otherwise…too young to know that life could be any better than what I had. She pulled me from school after that. Moved around a lot so social services couldn’t check up on us…” His words drift off and there are so many thoughts running through my head, so many things I want to tell him to console him. That it wasn’t his fault. That love doesn’t have to be that way. That he is a true survivor for coming out of it and thriving. But I know my words will do nothing to take away the years of abuse that he must have endured or lessen its psychological after effects. Besides, I’m sure he’s heard it all from psychiatrists time and time again.

  I look up at him and the haunted look in his eyes tells me what he’s just admitted is the least of his childhood nightmares. Do I tell him what he confessed last night in the limo? I struggle with the decision and choose not to. Sharing his past has to be on his terms. I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off before I can begin. “Rylee, please don’t feel sorry for me.”

  “I’m...I’m not,” I stutter, knowing that’s the last thing he wants, but he can see right through my lie. How can I not feel sorry for the little boy he once was?

  “That life was a long time ago for me. That little boy—he is a different
person than I am now.”

  Bullshit. He is who he is because of what happened to him. Does he not see that?

  I press a soft kiss on the center of his chest. “Do you know what happened to your mom?” I say in a hesitant voice, almost afraid to ask but also wanting to know as much I can since he is talking.

  He’s quiet for a moment. He lifts his hand from my back and runs it over his stubbled jaw before exhaling loudly. “After my dad found me on the steps of his trailer…he brought me to the hospital. Stayed with me,” he retells, utter reverence in his voice. “Little did I know he was this big time director. Not that I would have even known what that meant though. Later…much later, I learned that he’d wasted a whole day of studio time sitting with me in the hospital. At the time, all I remember thinking was he had the gentlest voice and his eyes. They didn’t look mean even though I flinched when he touched me...” He trails off, lost in memories, and I let him for a moment.

  “…and he ordered me every kind of food imaginable and had it delivered to the hospital room. I’ll never forget the look on his face as he watched me eat things I’d never had. Things every boy at that age should have had many times over by then. I remember pretending to be asleep when the police told him they found my mom and were bringing her in for questioning…that the x-rays and exams had shown years of…” He pauses, trying to find the right word as I hold my breath wondering which one of the horrific options he’ll use. “Neglect. And it is the only time in my life I’ve ever heard my dad use his stature to get what he wanted. I heard him ask the police officers if they knew who he was. To clear it with whomever they needed to, but that I was going to be under his custody from then on. That he’d get a team of lawyers if need be, but that’s how it was going to be.” He shakes his head with a soft laugh.