by Bromberg, K.
“Will I ever get enough of you?” he asks against my lips. And I wonder the same thing. Will I ever tire of him? Of this? Of his taste or his touch or the rumble in his throat expressing how I make him feel when I touch him? Will he always bring me to such an aroused fever pitch? Surely my desire has to be sated at some point. From his touch alone, my thoughts are lost with only one remaining. Flickering through my mind.
Never.
AVERY SMILES AT ME AS I go over some of the schedules and our standard rules and procedures. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but once you get familiar with it, you won’t have to think twice about it.”
She nods her head at me and looks over at Zander. He’s sitting on the couch, tattered stuffed doggy clutched to his chest, watching television. “What’s his story?” she asks quietly.
I look over my shoulder at Zander and smile. While still not talking much besides sporadic words here and there since the racetrack, he seems to be doing better. He is interacting a bit more with the boys, and I can see traces of emotion on his face whereas before it was blank. The therapist says he’s starting to participate, starting to interact with her.
It’s a start. Progress takes time.
Protective of my kids like a mother hen, I rarely share their backgrounds until a new employee has been with me for a while. “That’s Zander. He doesn’t talk much, but we’re working on it. He was in a rough situation that he’s dealing with internally. He’ll get there though.”
She gives me a quizzical look, but I ignore her interest and begin reviewing the next set of procedures. The doorbell rings and the unexpected interruption startles me. Jax is at baseball practice with Shane and Connor, so I rise to get the door.
When I look through the peephole, I’m caught off guard at the sight of Colton’s sister. I open the door cautiously, curiosity getting the better of me. “What a surprise! Hello, Quinlan.” I try to smile brightly at her all the while my heart beats rapidly at her presence. I marvel at how such a sweet looking, beautiful woman can instill such anxiety in me.
“Rylee.” She nods, her perfect lips not quite forming a smile. “I came to get a tour of the place before I make a donation to the new project. I want to know exactly what my money is going to be used for.”
Well, hello to you too! I smile tightly, inviting her in. She could at least grace me with a little warmth—anything to melt her icy façade. What the hell have I done to her to deserve this deliberate chill?
“I’d be glad to give you a tour,” I force, wishing I could pawn her off on another counselor to show her around, but my manners and professionalism win out. Besides, something tells me this little visit is about more than checking out the facility for a donation. I plaster a fake smile on my face. “Please follow me.”
I inform Avery that she’s in charge of watching the boys and then proceed to show Quinlan the entire facility and explain its benefits. I’m probably rambling but she hasn’t asked any questions. Rather she has just stared at me the whole time with a quiet yet critical appraisal. And after about twenty minutes, I realize the inspection isn’t being done on The House or what we have to offer my boys. It’s solely on me.
I’ve had enough.
I glance to make sure that all of the boys are still outside playing with Avery before turning to face her. “Why is it you’re really here, Quinlan?” My tone matches the fuck you, no nonsense that I feel.
“To see if the facility is worthy of my donation,” she responds too sweetly to be true. She holds my gaze but I see something flicker in the ice queen’s eyes.
“I appreciate it as the facility and the kids are worthy of it,” I tell her, “but let’s be honest, why are you here? To see if the facility is worthy of your donation or if I’m worthy of your brother?” Quinlan’s eyes flash as I hit a direct bull’s-eye. Being protective of your brother is one thing. I understand that. Being a complete bitch is a whole different story. “Which one is it?”
She cocks her head and looks at me. “I’m just trying to figure out your angle.”
“My angle?”
“Yes, your angle.” Her voice is implacable and her eyes are right up there with Colton’s on the intensity scale. “You’re not the typical bimbo that Colton goes for…so I’m trying to figure out what exactly it is you want out of this. From him.” She twists her lips as she stares at me. I’m sure the shocked look on my face is something to stare at.
“I beg your pardon,” I sputter, more than offended.
“Are you a race groupie? Are you looking to land a part in my dad’s newest film? An aspiring model looking to sleep your way up the ranks? I can’t wait to hear what yours will be.”
“What?” I just stare at her for a moment, shock ricocheting through me until it churns to anger. “How dare you—”
“Oh, I get it now.” She smirks, sarcasm dripping from her words, and all I want to do is throttle her. “You need his money to finish this little project of yours,” she says, motioning to the space around her. “You’re using him to get your notoriety that way.”
“That’s uncalled for.” I take a step forward, pushed to the point that I don’t care that she’s Colton’s sister. I’d like to say something a lot worse, but I’m at work and I never know when impressionable ears are listening. But I can only be pushed so far before I throw my manners out the window, and she just shoved. “You know what, Quin? I’ve tried to be nice, tried to overlook your shitty attitude and your condescending sneer, but I’m done. Colton pursued me—not the other way around.” She arches an eyebrow at me as if she doesn’t believe me. “Yeah...” I laugh “...I find it hard to believe too, but he did. I don’t want a damn thing from your brother except for him to open up to the possibility that he deserves more than what he’s allowed himself thus far in his life.” I step back, shaking my head at her. “I don’t need to explain myself to you or justify your asinine accusations. Thanks for your false pretense of a donation, but I don’t want your money. Not in return for your judgment on me. I think it’s time you leave.” I point toward the hallway, my body vibrating with anger.
She smiles broadly at me, her face dropping its guard and filling with warmth for the first time since I’ve met her. “Not yet. We’re not done here.”
What? Great, can’t wait for the rest of this stimulating conversation.
“I knew you were for real.” She smirks, pulling in a deep breath. “I just needed to make sure that I was right.”
Whiplash.
Did I miss something here? I’m so confused right now that my mouth opens as I look at her like she’s bat-shit-crazy. The schizophrenic changing of subjects like Colton does must run in the family.
When I just stand there staring at her with disdain she continues. “I’ve never seen Colton like that at the track before. He brings his bimbos, they flit around like arm candy, but he disregards them. He never lets someone distract him when he’s in the car. You distracted him. I’ve never seen him so...” she searches for a word “...smitten with someone before.” She crosses her arms across her chest and leans against the wall. “And my dad tells me you were at the Broadbeach house? Then to top it off Becks tells me you went to Vegas with them?”
What is it with the women in Colton’s life keeping tabs on me and passing judgment?
Smitten? Colton may have said that I scare him, but in no way did he infer love or even hint at that. Definitely not smitten. I’m something different than his typical in-your-face, I-want-something-from-you-in-return type of girl. I burn him. I scare him. But for some reason despite all of that, I don’t make him want to try for something more than what he’s used to. I’m not enough to make him change his ways. He’s not going to confront his demons when he’s not even willing to talk about them. And that’s the only way I think he’ll be able to give into the emotion I see brimming in his eyes and feel in the worshiping actions of his touch.
I shake myself from my thoughts and focus on Quinlan. She stares at me. Really stares at me causing me t
o squirm under her silent scrutiny. “And your point is what, Quinlan?”
“Listen, as much as Colt tries to play Mr. Aloof and think that I don’t—shit my whole family...” she exhales “...doesn’t know about his little arrangements...” she rolls her eyes in disgust as she says the word, “It’s no secret to us. His stupid rules and sexist ways run amok. And as much as I disagree with him and his antics, I know it’s the only way he thinks he can have a relationship…his necessary way of dealing with his past.” Her eyes hold mine and I realize she is apologizing for her brother. For what he thinks he can’t give me. Over the fact that he’s afraid to even try.
“Was it that horrible?” I whisper, already knowing the answer.
Finally a softness plies her steeped countenance as a true sadness fills her eyes. She nods her head subtly. “He rarely speaks of it, and I’m certain there are parts that he’s never spoken about, Rylee. Experiences that I can’t even begin to fathom.” She looks down at her pink painted nails and twists her fingers into each other. “Having parents who don’t want you is hard enough to come to grips with when you’re adopted. Colton…Colton had so much more than that to overcome.” She shakes her head and I can see that she is struggling with how much to tell me. She looks up at me, eyes clear yet conflicted. “An eight year old boy so hungry—locked in his room while his mom did God knows what for days—that he somehow escaped and went in search for food, luckily collapsing on my dad’s doorstep.”
I suck in a breath, my heart quickening, my soul wrenching, and my faith in humanity crumbling.
“That’s just a small snippet of his hell, but it’s his story to tell you, Rylee. Not mine. I’m only sharing so you have an iota of what he’s been through. Of the patience and persistence you’re going to need.”
I nod in understanding, unsure of what to say next to a woman who moments before was berating me and who is now giving me advice. “So…”
“So I had to make sure you were for real.” She offers me an apologetic smile of resignation. “And once I did, I wanted to get a good look at the first woman that might be the one to make him whole again.”
Her words stagger me. “You’ve taken me by surprise here,” I admit, unsure of what else to say.
“I know that I may be coming off a little strong, presumptuous even in being here…but I love Colton more than anything in the world.” She smiles softly at his name. “And I’m just looking out for him. I want nothing less than the best for him.”
This I can understand.
She pushes off the wall and straightens herself in front of me. “Look, if you look past the gorgeously rough exterior…there’s a scared little boy inside that’s afraid of love. That for some reason he associates love with horrific expectations one minute and then thinks he’s not worthy of it the next. I think he’s afraid to love someone because he knows that they’ll leave. He’ll most likely hurt you to prove that you will...” she shakes her head “...and for that hell alone, I apologize because from what I can tell, you deserve better than that.”
Her words hit me in their full force. I understand the little boy inside because I have a backyard full of them right now with issues of their own. I just wish they had the unconditional love that Colton seems to have in Beckett and Quinlan. Someone who stands up for them and looks out for them because they want nothing but the best for them. This love—this protective feeling—I understand.
Quinlan reaches out and places her hand on my arm and squeezes to make her point. “I love my brother dearly, Rylee. Some would say that I worshiped the ground he walked on growing up.” She reaches in her pocket and pulls something out, averting her eyes from mine. “I’m sorry for my intrusion. I really shouldn’t be here…interfering.” She seems embarrassed all of a sudden as she steps toward the door. She reaches out her hand and places a check in mine. Her eyes look up to meet mine, and for the first time I see acceptance in them. “Thank you for your time, Rylee.” She takes a step past me and then hesitates and looks back at me. “If you get the chance, take care of my brother.”
I nod in acknowledgement and all I can manage is a stilted, “Bye,” as my head is in a whirlwind of chaos over her unexpected revelations.
THE SCREAM WAKES ME IN the dead night. It’s a strangled, feral plea that goes on and on, over and over before I can even get out of the bedroom door. I race through the house toward the sound of unfettered terror, Dane and Avery right behind me, our footsteps pounding with urgency.
“Moooooommmmm!” Zander screams. I bolt through the door of his room as the soul shattering sound ricochets against the bedroom walls. He thrashes violently in his bed. “Nooooo! Noooo!”
I hear Shane’s panicked voice in the hallway, trying to help Dane settle down the little guys who have woken up and are now frightened. The thought flits through my mind on how sad it is that night terrors are such a regular visitor in this house that Shane’s no longer phased by them. But I focus solely on Zander now, knowing that Dane will take care of Shane and the rest of the boys. I hear Dane tell Avery to help me if I need it. Welcome to your first night at The House, Avery.
I cautiously sit on Zander’s bed. His body twists and writhes beneath the sheet, his face wet from tears, his bedding damp with sweat, and fearful whimpers escape from deep in his throat. The unmistakable smell of his terrifying fear suffocates the small room.
“Zander, baby,” I croon, careful to not raise my voice and add to the violence already haunting his nightmare. “I’m right here. I’m right here.” His crying doesn’t stop. I reach out to try and shake him awake and am taken aback when he thrashes ferociously, his fist connecting with my cheekbone. The pain registers just beneath my eye, but I shake it off, needing to rouse Zander to prevent him from hurting himself.
“Daddy, no!” he whimpers with such heartbreak that tears spring to my eyes. And despite it being a dream that cannot be used legally, Zander just confirmed the suspicion that his father killed his mother. Right before his eyes.
I struggle to wrap my arms around him. Despite his small size, the strength he has from the adrenaline induced terror is heightened. I manage to wrestle my arms around him and pull him into my chest, murmuring to him all the while. Letting him know I’m here and that I’m not going to hurt him. “Zander, it’s okay. C’mon, Zand, wake up,” I whisper over and over to him until he wakes with a start. He struggles to sit up and get out of my grip, searching the bedroom with hollow eyes to orient himself to his surroundings.
“Momma?” he croaks in such desperation that my heart shatters in a million pieces.
“It’s okay, I’m right here, buddy,” I soothe, rubbing my hand up and down his back softly.
He looks at me, eyes red and raw from crying and falls into my arms. He clings to me with such despair that I know I’d do anything to erase his memory of that night if given the chance. “I want my mommy,” he cries, repeating it over and over. It’s the first sentence I have ever heard him say and yet there is nothing to be excited about. There is nothing to encourage or celebrate.
We stay huddled together, arms wrapped tight for the longest time until his even breathing convinces me that he’s fallen back asleep. I slowly shift him to lie down on the bed, but when I attempt to withdraw my arms from around him, he clings even tighter.
It’s not until the sun’s rays peek through the closed mini-blinds that we both fall into a deep sleep.
THE SHUDDER OF THE MOTOR vibrates through my body as I flick the paddle coming into turn four. Fuck. Something doesn’t feel right. Something’s off. I ease up more than necessary as I cross over and into the apron coming out of the turn.
“What’s going on?” Becks’ disembodied voice fills my ears.
“Fuck, I don’t know,” I grate out as I bring the car back up to speed to try and decipher what she’s telling me. Every shudder. Every sound. Each jolt of my body. My attention straining to try and pinpoint what feels off—something to substantiate why she doesn’t seem to be handling how she should.
I can’t figure out what I’m missing, what I might be overlooking that could cost us a race.
Or put me headfirst into the wall.
My head pounds with stress and concentration. I pass the start/finish line, the grandstands to my right one big stretch of mixed colors. The blur I live my life in.
“Is—”
“How much preload in the differential?” I demand as I hit another paddle heading into turn one. The rear of the car starts to slide as I press the gas coming out of it, accelerating the car up to top speed. My body automatically shifts to compensate for the pressure imposed on it by the force and angle of the track’s bank. “Possibly the clutch plate? The ass end is sliding all over the place,” I tell him as I fight to get the car back under control on the chute before heading into turn two.
“That’s not poss—”
“You driving the fucking car now, Becks?” I bark into the mic, my hands gripping the wheel in frustration. Beckett obviously reads my mood, because he goes radio silent. My mind flickers to the nightmares that plagued my sleep last night. Of not being able to talk to Rylee this morning when I called. Of needing to hear her voice to help clear the remnants from my mind.
Goddamnit, Donavan, get your head on the track. Irritation—at myself, at Beckett, at the damn car—has me pushing the pedal down harder than I should down the back straightaway. My fucked up attempt at using adrenaline to drown out my head.
I know Becks is probably beside himself right now, thinking I’m gonna burn her up. Trash all the time and precision we’ve dialed into the engine. I’m nearing turn three and a part of me wishes there was no turn. Just a straight stretch of road where I could keep going, drop the hammer, race the wind, and outrun the shit in my head—the fear squeezing at my heart.
