by Bromberg, K.
She laughs coyly, my words not affecting her. “Well big shock, sweetie, you’ve already fucked that up since Colton’s mine for the rest of the night.” She smirks, winking at me before turning and walking off. I stand there watching her back as she retreats, and I can’t even begin to process my whirlwind of thoughts.
He’s been with other women? This whole time he’s been trying to win me back, he’s been screwing his exes? Teagan’s words from the gala come back to me. What an ass I am. I actually believed him that he wanted me back. That he was willing to change for me.
The Big Bad Wolf definitely has tricked Little Red Riding Hood.
The all too familiar feelings of hurt turned into rage course through me. Before, where I would have run and hidden, right now—right now—I want to unleash my fury on Colton. Unload on him and tell him exactly what I think. And although it’s not the right time or place, my feet obviously don’t give a flying fuck because before I know it I’m pushing through the entrance into the ballroom.
A woman on a mission.
When I enter, the venue is already full of patrons, seeing as this is one of the hot tickets for this evening. I scan the crowded room to try and catch a glimpse of Colton. It’s not hard—my body always seems to know just where he is regardless of location—but the congregation of people at the far corner, bordering on a small mob, confirms the hum that buzzes through my body.
A buzz at this point and time I wish would electrocute itself and die out because I’m done. I’m so fucking done.
I stalk across the room, my heart thumping in my chest, noting that cleavage, legs, and form fitting seem to be the dress code of the evening. I hear Colton’s laughter erupt from the mob causing me to roll my shoulders and my stomach to churn.
As I approach the gathering of people, I swear the group parts with my approach and opens up to highlight the spectacle before me. Colton stands amidst a crowd of women who willingly seem to adhere to the dress code of easy. He is completely relaxed and obviously the unyielding center of attention in this circle. Both of his arms are casually draped over the two women at his sides with one hand holding an empty snifter.
Something about his smile seems off. His eyes aloof. Something missing from his expression. Maybe this is just Colton in full, public persona mode. Or maybe, by the looks of the empty snifters on the table behind him, he’s drunk.
I stand from a distance watching the display of estrogen edged with desperation, my rage building, and just when I’m about to walk up and interrupt the little gathering, Colton looks up and his eyes lock onto mine. Some unnamed emotion flickers through them, but it’s gone before I can really comprehend it. I take a step forward as a diminutive smile ever so slightly turns up one of the corners of his mouth. And very slowly, very deliberately, Colton leans down to the blonde on his right—his eyes still on mine—and proceeds to kiss her. And I’m not talking a peck on the lips. I’m talking a full-blown kiss.
Green eyes all the while held steadfast on mine.
I think my mouth drops open. I think a feeble squeak even escapes from between my lips. I know that all of the blood rushes from my head and into my veins. “Fucking bastard!” The words fly from my mouth, but they are so low, so grated, that I’m unsure if anyone even hears them.
I turn my back on him and rush from the room. The image burned in my mind of what I just saw. The bimbo’s face flickers and changes to Tawny. To Raquel. To the faceless, nameless others that Tawny threw in my face. I blow past a server, not caring that I almost topple his tray in my wake, and push through the closest exit I can find.
The tears that scorch the back of my throat threaten, but the anger firing through me burns them out. I have so much pent up rage—so much hurt—that I don’t know what to do. I walk toward one end of the empty room I’ve found myself in to find no exit.
A bubble of hysteria slips out as the song on the fucking speakers assaults my ears as I try to calm myself and look for a way out other than back through the ballroom. Slow Dancing in a Burning Room. Like that song couldn’t be any more perfect at this fucking moment.
I press my hands against a table in the hall and try to catch my breath. The replay of his mouth on that skank, so blatantly in my face, makes my stomach turn. What the hell am I doing here? Trying to reconcile? Who is this woman that I’ve become? And I was willing to compromise my own morals for him? I hear the door open behind me. I try to straighten up and dash away the tears from my eyes.
“Rylee…”
I glance back at Colton, so completely done with him. How many times am I going to walk headfirst into heartbreak without learning from my own stupidity? “Go away, Colton! Leave me alone!”
“Rylee, I didn’t mean it.”
This time I turn around. Colton stands a few feet from me, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched, eyes utterly apologetic. But I’m not falling for it this time. I cross my arms across my chest, a useless protection over my heart. “Fuck you! For someone so hung up on me, you sure do move fast, Ace! You definitely earned the nickname now!”
His eyes search mine, questioning my comment, but he doesn’t ask it once he notices my fists clenching and unclenching in anger.
“It’s not what you think, Rylee.”
“I’m so sick of hearing you say that! Not what I think?” I say, raising my voice. “I just watched you shove your tongue down some bimbo’s throat and it’s not what I think?” How stupid does he think I am? I start to laugh. Really laugh. Almost in hysterics, the push and pull of emotions from the day almost too much to bear. “Oh wait. You didn’t mean to with that skank, but you did with all of the others of your BBB that you fucked while trying to win me back? Pretending it was me you wanted? Just tell me one thing, Ace…did you get a good laugh at my expense?”
Colton grabs my upper arm, his fingers digging in to my skin. His grip is so tight that when I try to recoil from his touch, I can’t. “What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Talking. About?” he says quietly. “Who—”
“Raquel. Tawny. Who else, Ace? Cassie? Did they give you what you needed? Sit on their knees patiently and kiss your feet like a good girl should? Take what you give and shut the fuck up otherwise? Did you order the flowers for me in between screwing them?”
Colton’s fingers grip harder to the point that I think I’ll have bruises tomorrow. His eyes pierce into mine. “Do you mind explaining to me—”
“I don’t have to explain anything to you!” I yank my arm from his grasp. “To think I was coming down here to try and fix things between us. To apologize for being stubborn. To tell you I believed you.” I shake my head in defeat, and I start to walk away but turn back. Hurt consuming every fiber of my being. “Tell me something…you said they weren’t whores, but you pay Tawny a salary right?” I arch my brow and I know by the look on his face that my implication is understood.
“She works for me,” he says, releasing one of my arms and shoving his hand through his hair. “I pay her because she does her job. I can’t fire her because you don’t li—”
“Yes. You can.” I scream at him. “And it’s not that I don’t like her. I fucking hate her! You fucked her, Colton. Fucked! Her! I think your choice is pretty fucking obvious. Don’t you?”
“Rylee…”
“You know what, Colton? You make me sick. I should’ve trusted my gut instinct when it came to you the first time around. You really are nothing but a whore.”
When I stop and wipe the tears from my eyes that I didn’t even realize were flowing, Colton still remains standing there, his face stoic and his eyes hard as steel. When he speaks, his voice is low and unforgiving. “Well if I’m going to be accused of it—lose the one girl I choose because of her misperception and absolute obstinance—then I might as well do it.”
I stop mid-motion at his words. So sarcastic. So accusatory. I meet his eyes and my breath catches in my throat before closing them and taking a deep breath as his comment sinks in. My world spirals in black, looping with confu
sion that just became quite clear. It’s the first time that he hasn’t denied sleeping with her. He didn’t confess—I didn’t hear the words come from his mouth—but he didn’t deny it either. Pain staggers through my chest as I focus on trying to breathe—on trying to think—but he just keeps talking. My fractured heart shatters and splinters into a million pieces.
“This is how I’m used to dealing with pain, Rylee. I’m not proud of it, but I use women to cover up the hurt. I lose myself in them to block everything out.” He hangs his head for a second as my mind tries to grasp the shock waves his words create.
He’s just told me two things, and I’m not sure which one my scattered mind can focus on. His admission causes his comment from several weeks ago to float into my head. The comment he made in my house the morning after our first time sleeping together. How his 747 of baggage makes him crave the sensory overload of physicality—the stimulating indulgence of skin on skin. But why?
And at what point is a convenient explanation just a bullshit excuse for a playboy caught in his own lies? An opportune way for the man who always gets what he wants, to well, get what he wants. I can love the broken in him, but I can’t accept the lies any more.
“You told me the other day that we’re over. I’ll be the first to admit it’s fucked up, but I’m coping the only way I know how,” he says.
I search his face, looking so far within him that it scares me. I can see the pain in his eyes. Can hear the hesitation and utter shame in his confession. Is this what I want? A man who every time we have an argument or every time he gets spooked about our relationship turns to someone else? Runs off to another woman to help lessen the pain? I told him I loved him. I didn’t tell him I want to marry him and be the mother of his unwanted children for God’s sake.
“So you’re telling me that I’m so important to you that if you bag some unmemorable chick, you’ll forget me?” I shake my head at him. “That if we’re together, every time the going gets tough you’ll run off with Tawny or another willing candidate? Gee, you’re really building the foundation of a great relationship here.” He tries to interrupt me, but I just hold up my hand to stop him. “Colton…” I sigh. “Coming to talk to you tonight was obviously a mistake. The more you talk, the more I’m really starting to realize I don’t know you at all.”
“You know me better than anyone!” he shouts, taking a step closer as I take one back. “I’ve never had to explain anything to anyone…I’m not doing a good job at it.”
“You can say that again,” I snip back at him.
“Let’s get out of here and talk.”
“Colton?” a seductive female voice calls to him from over my shoulder. Everything in my body tenses at the sound. Colton’s face blanches.
“Out!” He grates between gritted teeth at her.
I unclench my jaw and take in a deep breath. “Talking’s overrated. Besides, it’s obvious you found someone to help you bury the hurt.” I nod my head toward the door behind me. “And you know what? I think it’s time I try it too.” I shrug. “See if finding a guy for the night fixes everything like you seem to think it does.”
“No!” The pained look of desperation on his face upsets me, but I’m so far past caring right now. So far past feeling. So numb.
“Why not? What’s good for the goose and all that,” I say, adding another animal to the imaginary menagerie I’m building as he just stares at me. One last look. “Enjoy your cocktail party, Ace.”
I WANDER AIMLESSLY AROUND THE resort for what feels like an eternity. I watch the sun sink into the horizon, snuffing out the light of the day like the emotions darkened in my heart. Sadness overwhelms me but it’s nothing new since I’ve been there the past few weeks anyway. I think it’s worse because I allowed myself to believe that when I went to Colton, he’d accept why I was upset and that would be it. I never thought he’d play the idiotic game he did to purposely try and hurt me further.
I replay his admission to me over and over in my mind. His acknowledgement that he uses women to bury his hurt. On one hand I understand him a bit better now, but on the other it tells me that I really know nothing of his past—of the things that make him who he is.
But he’s so in denial—or maybe so used to getting away with things—that he doesn’t even realize the excuses he’s giving for his actions are inexcusable.
As I take a seat on a bench in one of the many gardens of the hotel, my phone rings. I look down, debating on answering it, but know that this might be the one person that might help me get my head on straight.
“Hey, Had,” I say, trying to muster up as much normalcy as possible.
“What happened?” Her insistent tone rings through the phone line loud and clear. I guess I failed at fooling her.
The tears come. They don’t stop. When they eventually subside, I relay the events of the evening. Haddie speaks. “That’s the biggest bunch of bullshit I’ve ever heard.”
What? “Come again?”
“Well first of all, Tawny. She’s just a jealous bitch trying to get to you and she succeeded!”
“Whatever…” I blow my nose, completely dismissing Haddie’s remark.
“Seriously, Ry…that’s like Bitch 101. If you can’t have the guy, make the girl the guy wants doubt him so that you can have him.” She sighs loudly. “I’m not proud to say it, but I’ve done the exact same thing before.”
“Seriously?” My mind starts to comprehend what she’s saying.
“Rylee…for a smart girl sometimes you’re really dumb.”
“Way to add insult to injury, Had.”
“Sorry, but it’s true. You’re so wrapped up in your own head right now that you’re not seeing it from the outside. If Colton wanted to fuck around, then why would he pursue you relentlessly? The guy’s got it bad for you, Ry. Tawny’s just one of those devious bitches that’s going to get her due sometime. I hope Karma kicks that bitch’s ass sooner than later.”
I start to hear what Haddie is saying. When the hell did dating become so complicated? When the someone you’re dating is so incredibly worth the fight.
“I hear what you’re saying, Haddie, but what about tonight then? The kiss. The…he cheated on me.” I breathe the last part out.
“Did he though?” she says, and it lingers on the line between us.
“Fucking Christ, Haddie! You’re not helping me here.” I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch the bridge of my nose.
“I’m not in your shoes, Ry. I can’t tell you what to do—what to feel—all I can tell you is to use your gut instinct.” She sighs. “Women are vicious bitches and men are confusing bastards—you just have to figure out which of the two you trust the most.”
“Fuck!” I groan, feeling less resolved than when our conversation began.
“Love ya, Ry.”
“Love ya, Had.”
I hang the phone up and walk some more along the edge of the golf course thinking about Haddie’s comments and lack of advice. I wander around the grounds of the resort, attempting to stop my mind from thinking, but I’m unsuccessful. I walk past one of the hotel cocktail lounges and uncharacteristically find myself turning into it and taking a seat at the bar. The lounge is not overtly busy, but it’s not quiet by any means either. Both the bar and the various tables are peppered with patrons, some alone and others coupled here and there.
It’s not until I take a seat that I realize how much the arches of my feet ache from my heels and my aimless wandering. I look up at the clock on the wall and am astounded to see that over two hours have passed.
I lean into the back of the chair and shake my head at the day’s chain of events that have hit me like a head-on collision. I order a drink and take a long sip on the straw as my attention turns to the television in the corner to the right of me. Of course the channel is on something or other pertaining to the race tomorrow—the whole city has been transformed for the road track—so I can understand why the television is tuned to it. Unfortunately for me, the panel of men
on the program discuss one Colton Donavan and review his highlights from last year. Images of the number thirteen car at various venues flash on the screen. I swear I can’t escape the man no matter where I go.
Without thinking, I lean forward as I hear the announcers mention Colton’s name. “Well, Leigh, Donavan seems to be lighting up the track this week,” one announcer says. “He’s been like a man on a mission the way he’s barely letting up in the turns in his practice runs.”
“He’s obviously worked on his skills in the off season because it’s definitely showing. I’m just wondering if he’s running a little too hard. Going in with a game plan that’s a little too aggressive for the race tomorrow,” the other announcer observes. “Maybe taking too many risks. He’s definitely driving like a man scorned for sure though.” The other announcer laughs, and I just roll my eyes at the comment.
“If he runs laps tomorrow like he did today, he’s set to break a course record.”
The screen flashes to the media headshot of Colton and then flashes back to the highlights. Ludacris’ The Rest of My Life plays as the background music during the spotlight of Colton’s testing runs, and I shake my head for I couldn’t think of a more fitting song.
I sigh heavily and take another draw on my straw, averting my eyes that are drawn to the sight of his face on television.
“Rough day?”
I turn to face the masculine voice that has spoken to my left. I’m in no mood for company really, but when I see the set of chocolate brown eyes filled with compassion framed by a rather handsome face, I know that I can’t be rude. “Something like that,” I murmur with a slight smile before turning back to my drink, just wanting to be left alone. My nervous hands start to shred tiny pieces of my napkin apart. “Another please?” I motion to the bartender as she walks past.
“Let me get it,” the man beside me says.
I look over at him again. “That’s really not necessary.”
“Please, I insist,” he tells the bartender, sliding his card across the counter to start a tab, which makes me a bit uncomfortable seeing as I don’t plan on being here long enough to have a tab.
