by Bromberg, K.
“Sir, you need to let me examine—”
“I’m not going fucking anywhere!”
It’s so warm and cozy here in the darkness—so safe—but why is Colton … Then it all hits me like a tidal wave of overwhelming emotions. I start to fight to sit up. “Zander!” His name is barely a croak as I struggle against arms, hands, not sure what else is holding me down.
“Shh, shh, shh! It’s okay, Ry. It’s okay.”
Colton.
My whole body sags momentarily. Colton is here. My eyes open, tears already welling in them, and the first sight I see is him. My ace. A shining light in all of this darkness. His eyes meet mine, the lines around his deep with concern and a forced smile on those devastating lips of his. “You’re okay, baby.”
I blink rapidly as everything else comes into focus, the flurry of activity around us in the backyard—policemen, medics. “Zander. Gun. Dad.” My mind is reeling and I can’t get the thoughts into words fast enough, my eyes flitting back and forth, focusing on a group of men hunched over something to the side of me.
I keep repeating the words until Colton leans down and presses a kiss to my mouth. I taste salt on his lips and my mind tries to grasp why he’s been crying. When he pulls back, his smile is a little less shaky. “There’s my girl,” he says softly, his hands smoothing over my hair, my cheeks, my face. “You’re okay, Ry. Zander’s okay, Ry.” He leans his forehead against mine.
“But there was blood—”
“Not yours,” he says, his lips curving into a relieved smile against mine. “Not yours,” he repeats. “You were ridiculously stupid and I’m so angry at you for it, but you went for the gun and the police took their shot. His blood, baby. It was his blood. He’s dead.”
I suck in a breath. Relief I didn’t realize I hadn’t released yet rushes out of my lungs. And the tears come now—hard, ragged, body shaking sobs that release everything. He helps me sit up and pulls my body into his so I’m sitting sideways across his lap, his arms hold me so tight, supporting me, ensuring my safety. He buries his nose in the side of my neck as we cling to one another.
“Zander’s safe. He’s inside. Jax is keeping the boys away so they don’t know—don’t see—what happened. He called Avery to come be with Zander. His therapist is on the way to come help him if he needs it,” he tells me, knowing all of the worries I’d have and assuaging them with every word he speaks. “Are you—where do you hurt?”
“Sir, can we please—”
“Not yet!” Colton snaps at the voice at my back. “Not just yet,” he says so softly I can barely hear him before he pulls me in tighter, breathing me in. I’m completely alert now, can see the activity around Zander’s father’s body. I think I understand the risk I took until I feel Colton’s body shake beneath mine, shudder as he holds in the quiet sobs racking his body.
I’m lost. I don’t know what to do for this strong man silently coming undone. I start to move so I can shift and turn into him, and he just squeezes me that much tighter. “Please,” he pleads in a gruff voice, “I don’t want to fucking let go yet. Just a minute longer.”
So I let him.
I let him hold me in this backyard, on a plot of grass where violence tried to rob Zander of hope for the last time.
Colton closes the car door for me and climbs into his side of the Range Rover before starting it. He pulls out of the police barricades and past the flashing lights of the awaiting media as we leave The House. Three very long hours have passed. Three hours of questions and retelling everything I could remember about the backyard exchange. About telling Zander to run on “Batman.” The constant looks from Colton sitting in the corner as I refused medical assistance or a check-up at the hospital. His growing anger as I replayed Zander’s father’s comments and physical attacks. Signing statements and having photographs taken of the bruises on my body as evidence. I field phone calls from Haddie and my parents to reassure them that I’m okay, that I’ll call them later to explain more.
Three hours of feeling helpless to comfort my boys, wanting to tell them I was okay. The therapist thought it was best they didn’t see me with my bruised eye and swollen cheek, because it might dredge up their own histories. As much as it hurt not to see them—show them I’m okay—I kissed Zander and held onto him as long as I could while I repeated my praise over and over to him that this time he didn’t hide behind a couch. This time he helped save someone. I know I’m not his mom, but to ease the guilt and assuage the feeling of helplessness in his traumatized psyche was huge.
We merge onto the freeway and besides Rob Thomas’ voice ironically singing Unwell through the speakers, the car is silent. Colton doesn’t say a word despite his hands gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles are white. I can sense his anger, can feel it vibrating in waves off of him, and the only reason I can think of that he’s mad is because I’ve put myself in danger.
I lean my head back on the seat and close my eyes but have to open them immediately because all I see are his eyes, all I feel is the cold steel pressed against my cheek, all I hear is Zander chanting over and over.
I want to ease the tension between Colton and me, because right now I just really need him. I don’t need him closed off in Colton-I’m-pissed-off-land. I need his arms wrapped around me, the warmth of his breath on my neck, the security I always feel when I’m with him.
“He did what you told him to do.” My voice is so soft I’m not sure he hears me tell him the one thing I didn’t tell the police officers. The one thing I felt would violate a part of the trust Colton had instilled in me. After a few minutes, I hear him blow out a sigh and see him glance over at me. So I continue. “When I went outside, Zander had curled up in a ball and all I could hear the whole time we were out there was him calling to your superheroes.”
I yelp as Colton swerves abruptly across two lanes, car horns blaring, and slams the car into park on the side of the freeway. I don’t even have a chance to catch my breath or for my seat belt to unlock before he is out of the car and stalking toward the shoulder of the road to my side of the car. I dart my eyes back and forth trying to figure out what in the hell is going on. Is something wrong with the car? I watch him as he passes my door and paces to the end of the Rover and back up past the front. He keeps walking for about ten feet, and with his back to me I hear him yell something at the top of his lungs in a feral rage I’ve never heard from him before.
If I’d thought about getting out of the car, I know for sure I’m not now. I can see the tension in his shoulders as they rise and fall with his labored breaths. His hands are fisted as if he’s ready to fight, him against the world.
I watch him, can’t take my eyes off of him, as I try to figure out what’s going on inside his head. After some time, he turns back and walks to my car door and yanks it open. I turn instinctively toward him as I take in his grinding teeth, the strain in his neck, and then my eyes lock onto his. We stare at each other and I’m trying to read what his eyes are saying, but it’s such a contradiction to his posture that I must be wrong. I see his jaw muscle pulse as his hand reaches out toward my cheek and then pulls back. I angle my head in question, my bottom lip trembling because I’m just on overload from everything today. I notice his eyes flicker down to my mouth, take in my vulnerability, and within an instant I’m crushed against his chest, one arm spanning my back, one hand holding the back of my head as he clutches me to him in a hug teeming with absolute desperation.
My tears fall onto his shirt as we cling to each other. “I’ve never felt so helpless in my entire life,” he tells me, voice weighed down with emotion as he squeezes me tighter. “I’m so angry right now and I don’t know how to handle it.” I can hear the growl of his rage simmering just beneath the surface.
“It’s over now, Colton. We’re okay—”
“He had his goddamn hands on you!” he yells as he pushes away from me and walks a few feet before spinning around and shoving his hands through his hair. He just stares at me, his eyes
pleading for forgiveness that isn’t for him to ask because he didn’t do anything wrong. “He put his hands on you and I wasn’t there! I didn’t protect you, and that’s my fucking job, Rylee! To protect you! To take care of you! And I couldn’t! Fucking couldn’t!” He looks down at the gravel on the side of the road and the anguish in his voice kills me, rips me to shreds, because there was nothing he could have done, but I know telling him that is useless.
When he looks back up, I see the tears glisten in his eyes as he stares at me. “I fought the officer at the barricade. They put me in the back of a car to calm me down because I was going in the house with or without them. I heard you on the phone, Rylee, heard your voice and it just kept replaying over and over in my head and I couldn’t get to you.” He shakes his head as a single heartbreaking tear slides down his face. “I couldn’t get to you.” His voice breaks and I shift to get out of the car, and he just holds up his hand for me to stop, to let him finish.
“The gun went off,” he says, and I can see him fight to hold back the emotions overtaking him, “and I thought … I thought it was you. And those few moments waiting and then seeing Zander run out of the front of the house screaming and waiting to see you and you didn’t come … fucking Christ, Ry, I lost it. Fucking lost it.” He takes a step closer to me, dashing away a tear with the back of his hand. I force a swallow over the emotion swelling in my throat.
“I made sure Zander was okay before I pushed into the house. I had to get to you, see you, touch you … and I came into the family room and you were both on your backs on the grass. You both had blood all over your chests. And neither of you were moving.” He steps between the V of my legs, making the physical connection I so desperately need, and cradles my cheek in his hand.
“I thought I’d lost you. I was so fucking petrified, Ry. And then I got to you and fell to my knees to hold you, to help you, to … I don’t know what the fuck I was going to do with you, but I had to touch you. And you were okay.” His voice breaks again as he leans in and rests his forehead against mine. “You were okay,” he repeats before pressing his lips to mine and holding them there as his shoulders shake and tears fall down his cheeks until I taste the salt of them mixed between our lips.
“I’m right here, Colton. I’m okay,” I reassure him as we press our foreheads together, our hands holding the back of each other’s necks as the outside world whizzes past us at eighty miles per hour, but it’s just him and me.
Feeling like we’re the only two people in the world.
Accepting that the emotions we’re feeling are only getting stronger with the passage of time.
Coping with the notion that we won’t always be able to save the other.
Loving one another like we never thought possible.
We turn down Broadbeach Road, our hands linked between us, and drive into a media frenzy bigger than I have ever seen. Colton blows out a loud breath. Our emotions have been put through the ringer, and I fear how much more Colton can take before he snaps.
And I pray this unruly crowd isn’t going to be the straw that breaks the camel’s back because, frankly, I just can’t take any more.
I bow my head and put my hand up to shield the swollen side of my face from the constant flashes and thumps on the car for us to look up. Within minutes Colton drives slowly forward and we edge into the opening gates as Sammy and the two other security guys on duty step forward to prevent the press from entering the property. We park and within moments Colton is opening my door, the sudden roar from the media over the gates hits me like a tidal wave.
He helps me out of the car, and I wince in pain as my body starts to stiffen from everything it has been put through. Colton notices my grimace and before I can object, he has me cradled in his arms and is walking us toward the front door. I lay my head under his neck, feel the vibration in his throat as he says, “Sammy,” and nods his head in acknowledgment at him.
And then he stops dead in his tracks. I’m not sure what’s he’s heard or what sets him off, but he unexpectedly turns and is walking toward the gates at the front of the driveway. “Open the fucking gates, Sammy!” he barks as we near them, and I immediately shrink into Colton as confusion and uncertainty fills me.
I hear the clank of metal as the motors start moving, hear the reporters become even more frenzied at the sight of the gates opening, and then I hear them go absolutely ballistic when they see the two of us standing there. My heart is pounding and I have no idea what in the hell he is doing. We stand there for a moment, him holding me, me burying my face into his neck, the incessant questions ringing out one after another, and the camera flashes so bright I can see them through my closed eyelids.
Colton angles his face down and places his mouth close to my ear, and even though there is all this outside noise, I can hear him clear as day. “This is something I should have done when this first started. I’m sorry.” He presses a chaste kiss to my cheek. “I’m gonna put you down now, okay?”
I try to figure out what he’s referring to, but I just nod my head. What is he doing?
He lowers me to the ground. “You okay?” he asks as he looks in my eyes like we are the only two people standing here. When I nod he gets that little smirk on his face, and before I can read it his lips are on mine in a soul-devouring, heart thumping, thigh-clenching-together kiss that leaves no questions about who Colton’s heart and emotions belong to. His lips claim me, tasting like a needy man starving. And I am so lost in him, to him—just as needy for him—that I don’t hear the people around us, the clicks of the cameras, because regardless of the outside world, it always comes back to us.
He breaks the kiss with a gasp from me and gives me that smirk again. “If they’re gonna stare, Ryles.” And shrugs his shoulders unapologetically as I mentally finish the phrase he said to me in Vegas … we might as well put on a good show.
“Did you all get a good picture?” he shouts to the crowd around us, and I look over at him confused. “Now this is what you can print with your goddamn picture. Rylee isn’t the home wrecker folks. Tawny is. Just like Tawny is a fucking liar.” He glances over at me as I stand there with my mouth agape over his comment. “Yep,” he shouts. “Paternity test is negative. So your story? Isn’t really a story anymore!”
It takes a minute for the meaning of his words to sink in and I just stare at him as he looks at me with the hugest grin on his face, and shakes his head as he pulls me under his arm and tucks me against him. “Wha—why—how?” I stutter as so many emotions flicker through me at a rapid pace, the most prominent one: relief.
“Chase is going to kill me for that one,” he mutters to himself with a smirk on his face that I don’t quite understand. Before I can ask, Colton turns us around and starts walking back through the gates as questions are yelled out about what happened today at The House. He ignores them and waits for the gates to shut before turning and looking at me. “That’s what I was calling to tell you … and then everything happened.”
I just stare at him. I can see the burden that’s been heavy in his eyes is gone—has probably been gone all day—but then again I’ve been a little preoccupied. I nod my head, unable to speak as he takes my hand and raises it to his lips.
And it hits me harder than ever before.
We can do this. All of the obstacles between us have been removed in one way or another. It’s just this selfless girl and this healing boy and we can really make this work.
He looks at me as tears well in my eyes, and I step into his arms and don’t let go, because I’m exactly where I want to be.
Exactly where I belong.
Home.
“ARE YOU SURE YOU’RE OKAY?”
It’s only the hundredth time he’s asked me, but a part of me smiles silently at how well he’s taking care of me. The day had just gotten longer and longer as I assured an adamant Haddie I was okay and that she didn’t need to fly home from her job in San Francisco to physically see I was all right, and that I’d call her again in the
morning. Next it was my parents and the same reassurances, and then the boys … checking in on Zander and wishing I was there to speak to him face to face as well as talk to the rest of the boys. Colton cut me off after that, telling the rest of the people who called—his parents, Quinlan, Beckett, Teddy—that I needed rest and I’d call them in the morning.
“I’m fine. I’m not feeling too well but I think it’s because I’m exhausted. My stomach is upset. I should’ve eaten more food before I took the pain meds. And now they’re making me super sleepy …”
He sits up in bed. “Do you want me to go get you something to eat?”
“No,” I tell him, pulling his arm so he lies back down. I look over at him. “Hold me?”
He instantly shifts and gingerly places his arms around me, pulling me into him so our bodies fit against each other. “Okay?” he murmurs into the crown of my head.
“Mmm-hmm,” I say, snuggling in as close as my sore body will allow because the pain is a little more bearable with his arms holding me tight.
We sit there for a bit, our breathing slowly evening out. I’m just on the cusp of sleep when he murmurs, “I race you, Ry. I really, really race you.”
Every part of me sighs at those words, at the admission I know is hard for him. I press a kiss to my favorite place beneath his jawline. “I race you too, Colton.”
More than you’ll ever realize.
The cramps in my stomach wake me up.
I lie in the pitch black, moonless night as the little, continuous stabs of pain combined with the sweat coating my skin, and the dizziness in my head, tell me I need to get to the bathroom quickly before I throw up. I slide out of Colton’s loosened grip on me, trying to be quick but also trying not to disturb him. He mumbles something softly, and I still momentarily before he rolls onto his back and quiets down.
