by Bromberg, K.
I get that we’re both dealing with this in our own ways. His way is to wall himself off, figure it out alone, when mine is to hold on a little tighter, need him a little more. The momentary distance between us I can handle—I know it’s temporary—but at the same time, it’s killing me to know he’s hurting. To be hurting myself when I need him and can’t ask for any more from him. Needing the connection that’s always been a constant between us.
To give him the space he asked for, when all I want to do is fix.
Late at night when I wake from dreams filled with car crashes and floors filled with blood, I watch him sleep and my mind wanders to those deep, dark thoughts that I can hide from in broad daylight. I wonder if he’s not addressing or dealing with the miscarriage because he’s worried that maybe a baby is what I want now. That maybe we’re doomed because he never will.
But if I can’t talk to him, if he changes the subject any time I try to bring it up, I can’t tell him otherwise.
And yes, while thoughts of a baby have crossed my mind, I can’t hang my hat on the idea. I can’t let myself think that I’ll be granted that post-accident miraculous chance more than once in my lifetime. Hope like that can ruin you if it’s all you’re holding on to.
But what if I’m hanging on to the hope that he’ll talk to me—come back to me—rather than slowly slip away through my fingers? Won’t that hope ruin me too? Becks has told me to sit tight, that Colton’s figuring out his shit as much as he can tell from their years of friendship, but to not let him pull too far away. How in the hell am I supposed to know exactly how far is too far?
I need him to need me as much as I need him while I go through the emotions of losing a piece of something that was uniquely ours … and the fact that he doesn’t, kills me. Yes, his arms are wrapped around me at night while we sleep, but his mind is elsewhere. Lost perhaps in his endless texts and hushed conversations as of late. The ones that unnerve me, despite knowing deep down, he’s not cheating on me.
But he’s hiding something, dealing with something, and it’s without me when I need him to help me deal with this.
I try to tell myself it’s the lack of our physical connection that’s making me read into everything way too much. Over analyzing everything. While I lie in his arms every night, pulled tight against his chest exactly where I long to be, we’ve yet to make love since coming back from the hospital. We kiss and when I try to deepen it, move my hands down his body and entice him to want me like I crave him, he’ll cuff my wrists and tell me to wait until I feel better, despite me telling him I’m not hurt and that I’m perfectly fine. That I want to feel him in me, connecting with me, taking me again.
The rejection stings something fierce because I know Colton—know the virile, physicality he needs when he’s hurting—so why isn’t he taking it, taking me, if he’s in the pain I see rampant in his eyes?
I shake myself from my thoughts and focus on the emerald eyes locked onto mine. The man I love. The man I fear like hell is slipping away from me.
“A monster? No,” he says with a shake of his head and a smile tilting up the left corner of his mouth so his dimple deepens. “A teenager on the loose? Most definitely.”
I smile at him as he closes the distance between us, free to touch me since the rest of the boys are at baseball practice and will meet us at the ribbon cutting afterward. “You okay?” I ask him, probably for the umpteenth time in the past week.
“Yeah, I’m fine. You?”
“Mmm-hmm.” And so goes our usual thrice daily conversation—at least. Our affirmation that everything is all right even though everything feels so very different. “Colton …” My voice fades as I lose the courage to ask him more.
He senses my hesitation and reaches out to cup the side of my face, his thumb rubbing gently over my cheek. I close my eyes and absorb the resonance of his touch because it’s so much more than just skin to skin. It vibrates through me and delves into every fiber of my being, seeping into places unknown and forever stamping them with his presence, ruining me for anyone else ever again with invisible tattoos.
When I open my eyes, his are front and center in my line of sight. “Hey, quit worrying. Everything’s going to be okay. We’re okay.” He swallows and lowers his eyes before bringing them back up to mine. “I’m just trying to figure out my shit so it doesn’t affect us.”
“But—” My question is cut off when his lips meet mine. It’s a soft sigh of a kiss that he slowly deepens when he slips his tongue between my lips to dance in a slow entanglement with mine. I taste need laced with desire, but all my head can think about is why won’t he act on it?
I move my hands up so my fingers can twist in the hair curling over his collar and tell my mind to shut up, tell it to quiet down so I can enjoy this moment, enjoy him. I feel the tears well as the tenderness behind his touch overwhelms me. As if I’m fragile and will break.
I’m not sure if he can feel the shudder of my breath as I try to rein in my emotions, but he places one more soft kiss to my lips and then to my nose, that almost breaks my floodgates, before pulling back to look at me. Hands frame the side of my face and eyes search mine. “Don’t cry,” he whispers before leaning in and pressing another kiss to my forehead. “Please don’t cry,” he murmurs.
“I just … ” I sigh, words escaping me on how to express what I feel and need and want from him without pushing him too hard.
“I know, baby. I know. Me too.” He presses a kiss to my lips that causes another tear to slide down my cheek. “Me too.”
The crowd is clapping as I finish my speech and step down from the podium, my eyes sweeping over the audience. I see Shane sitting next to Jackson, clapping like the rest of the boys, but I don’t see Colton.
I scramble to come up with a valid excuse for why the biggest sponsor of the project is going to be AWOL at the ribbon-cutting ceremony and press photo session, taking place in less than ten minutes.
Where in the hell is he? He would never purposefully miss something for the boys or the project he was so instrumental in making a reality. I look down at my phone as I head toward Shane to ask him where Colton is and there is nothing. No missed call, no text, no anything.
The clapping subsides as Teddy takes the podium again to wind the press conference down. “Shane!” I whisper loudly as I motion him over to me. “Shane!”
Jax nudges him so that he stands and walks toward me. I turn my back and start walking away from the crowd, assuming he’s following me. We turn a corner so we’re away from the press and I force myself to take a breath.
“Where’s Colton?” I ask without trying to sound like I’m anxious.
“Well,” he says, shuffling his feet before looking back up to meet my eyes. “When we were on our way here, he got a phone call from someone named Kelly and he made me pull over to the side of the road so he could get out and talk to her privately.”
My heart skips and lodges in my throat despite telling myself that there has to be a perfectly logical explanation for this. Telling myself and convincing myself are two very different things though.
“Are you okay?” he asks me, blue eyes looking over my face and meeting my eyes.
I mentally chastise myself and have to remember that Shane is no longer a twelve year old but rather a teenager on the verge of manhood who notices things. “Yeah, I’m good, fine, just surprised he’s not here. That’s all.”
“Well he got back in the car and told the lady he’d call her back in a couple of minutes because he had to get us here on time. We parked right before the speeches started and he told me to head on in and he’d be right there. He got out and watched me sit next to Jax and I saw him talking on the phone as he waved goodbye to me. Why? Is something wrong, Ry?”
“No. Not at all. I just missed his call,” I lie to Shane, and most likely myself, to soften the blow. “I wanted to see if he told you when he’d be back because I’d hate for him to miss the ribbon cutting ceremony.”
“Yeah, well
I’m sure something pretty important came up for him to not be here. He knows how much it means to you and stuff,” he says, twisting his lips, trying to comfort me in that awkward prepubescent way that makes my heart swell with pride.
“It must have been very important.” I smile at him. “You guys mean the world to him.” I put my arm around his shoulder and start walking back toward the crowd, hoping he misses what I’m not saying, that maybe I don’t mean the world to him anymore.
We make it back in time for the ribbon cutting ceremony, and I can’t stop my eyes from frantically searching the crowd for him. My mind repeats Shane’s words over and over. It must be something very important. Something huge, but the question is what?
And then of course doubt creeps in and nibbles at my resolve. Did something come up with Tawny? With his family? But if it had, he would have called me, texted me, something, right?
By the time the ceremony is over and I’ve said goodbye to the boys, my nerves are frayed. I’ve gone from concerned, to pissed, to uneasy, to angry, and as I speed up Pacific Coast Highway toward Broadbeach Road—his voicemail answering every time I hit dial—I’m sick to my stomach with worry.
By the time I reach the gates and pull into an empty driveway, I’m a freaking mess. I unlock and fling open the front door, his name a shout of my lips. But before I even make it past the kitchen, I know he’s not home. It’s not just the frantically excited Baxter that tells me but also the eerie silence in the house.
I open the sliding glass door to let Baxter out as a new thought hits me. What if something happened to his head? What if he’s injured somewhere and needs help and no one knows?
I run back to the kitchen counter and dial Haddie.
“Hey!”
“Has Colton called the house?”
“No, what’s wrong?” Concern floods Haddie’s voice but I don’t have time to go into details.
“I’ll explain later. Thanks.” I hang up on her while she’s still talking, telling myself I’ll apologize later while the phone’s already ringing for the next person.
“Rylee!”
“Becks, where’s Colton?”
“No clue, why?”
I hear a female giggle in the background and I don’t even give a second thought about interrupting whatever it is I’m interrupting. “He didn’t show up at the ceremony. Shane said he got a call and that’s the last anyone’s seen of him.”
I hear Becks tell the woman to be quiet. “He didn’t show?” Apprehension laces his voice as I hear shuffling on the other end of the line.
“No. Who’s Kelly?”
“Who?” he asks before the line goes silent for a moment. “I have no clue, Ry.”
His silence makes me question his honesty and the scattered thoughts in my mind reach my mouth. “I don’t give a fuck about man code and all that, Beckett, so if you know—I don’t care if it’s going to hurt me—you have to tell me because I’m worried fucking sick and … and …” I’m rambling frantically and I force myself to stop because I’m starting to get hysterical and I really have no reason to be, except for the intuition that tells me something isn’t right.
“Calm down. Take a breath. Okay?” I squeeze my eyes shut and get a grip. “Last I talked to him he was taking Shane out driving and then heading to the ceremony. You know—”
“Why is he not answering his phone then?”
“Ry, he’s got a lot of shit he’s sorting through, maybe he just …” He fades out, not sure what to say to me. I hear him blow out a loud breath as I walk over to shut the door Baxter’s just come in through. The house phone on the counter starts ringing and the caller ID says Quinlan. Something’s going on and the sight of her name tells me that I’m right to be worried.
“Q’s calling. Gotta go,” I tell him, switching the phone as I hear him tell me to call him back.
“Is he okay?” My words come out in a rush of air as I answer her call, anxiety causing acid to churn in my stomach.
“That’s what I was calling to ask you.” The concern in her voice rivals mine.
“What? How did you know something’s wrong?” I’m confused. I thought she knew what was going on.
“I was in class all day and had my phone off. I just turned it back on and he left a message.” I’m afraid to ask her what that message said. “He sounded upset. He rambled saying that he needed to talk to someone because his head was all fucked up. That he knows. But he didn’t say what that meant.”
Lead drops through my soul as I try to connect puzzle pieces that don’t belong together.
“Did something happen, Ry? Is it because of the miscarriage? I’ve just … I’ve never heard him sound like that before.”
Thoughts flicker and fade in my mind as I try to figure out what could have happened to Colton. And I’m already on the move and racing upstairs as my brain starts grasping at the possibilities of where he could be. “Q, I think I know where he is. I’ll call you when I know for sure.”
I toss the phone on the bed as I rush into the bathroom stripping my business suit off, leaving a trail of clothes as I go. Within minutes I’ve changed into my exercise clothes and am lacing up my shoes as fast as I can. I grab my phone and am down the stairs, out the doors leading to the deck, and racing down to the beach below.
I break out in a full sprint toward the place Colton took me on that first fateful night here, his happy place, where he goes to think. The more I think of it, the more confident I am that this is where he is. He’s probably sitting on his rock watching the sun sinking into the sea and coming to terms with everything that’s happened.
But why did he not take Baxter? Where is his car? I push the doubts away, convincing myself that he’s just there contemplating things, but uncertainty starts to grow with every pounding step.
But I know when I round the bend I’m not going to find him here. And as I come to the clearing, I already have my phone dialed and ringing.
“Did you find him?” I can tell Becks is freaked, and I feel bad for making him feel that way, but I’m worried.
“No. I thought I did but …” I have to stop to catch my breath because my lungs are burning from my sprint down the beach.
“Ry, what’s going on?”
“He called Quin and said he knows and his head is fucked up.” I pant out. “So I ran to his place on the beach but he’s not here. You know him better than anyone … where does he go when he needs to clear his head besides here?”
“You.”
“What?”
“He goes to you.” The honesty in his voice resonates through the phone line.
My legs stop moving at his words. They strike deep and make my heart twist with love and worry. Tears spring in my eyes as I realize how desperately I miss him in this moment—the him I’d only gotten back weeks ago to be taken away again by God’s cruel twist of fate with the miscarriage. I swallow the lump in my throat and it takes me a minute to find my voice. “Before me, Becks …”
“The track.”
“That’s where he’s gotta be.” I start running back toward the house. “I’m headed there now.”
“Do you want me to—”
“I have to do this, Becks. It’s gotta be me.” I’ve never spoken truer words because deep down I know he needs me. I don’t know why, I just know he does.
“I’ll text you how to get in the facility, okay?”
“Thanks.”
IT FEELS LIKE IT’S TAKEN me forever to reach the speedway because of the traffic on the freeway. I pull off the exit in Fontana, my heart lodged in my throat and my hope up in the air as I wonder what I’ll be walking into when I find him.
Panic strikes when I pull through the gates of the complex because it’s pitch black except for a few random parking lot lights. I drive around the side of the facility toward the infield tunnel, and I breathe out a huge sigh of relief when I see Colton’s Range Rover.
So he’s here, but now what am I going to do?
I pull up beside i
t, the darkness of the empty speedway seeming ominous. I put my car in park and shriek when I hear a knock on the passenger side window. My heart is hammering, but when I see Sammy’s face in the window I tell myself to breathe and get out of the car.
The concern in his eyes has me even more worried. “Please just tell me he’s okay, Sammy.” I can see him struggling about speaking to me, and betraying his boss and his friend.
“He needs you.” That’s all he says—the only thing he needs to.
“Where is he?” I ask, although I’m already following him through a darkened entrance underneath the massive grandstands. We reach a gap between the bleachers and I realize I’m in the middle of the grandstands, looking out on an eerily empty race track. I meet Sammy’s eyes through the darkness, and he signals over my left shoulder. I turn around instantly.
And I see him.
There is a single light on in a section of the grandstands and just in its fringes I see a lone shadow sitting in the darkness. My feet move without thinking and start climbing the stairs, one by one, to him. I can’t see his face in the darkness, but I know his eyes are on me, can feel the weight of his stare. I reach the row of bleachers he’s sitting on and I start walking toward him, anxious and calm all at the same time.
I try to think of what to say, but my thoughts are so jumbled with worry I can’t focus. But once I’m able to see his shadowed face, everything vanishes but heart wrenching, unconditional love.
His posture says it all. He sits leaned over, elbows on his knees, shoulders sagging, and face stained with tears. And his eyes—the ones always so intense but dancing with mischief or mirth—are filled with absolute despair. They lock onto mine, begging, pleading, asking so much of me, but I’m not sure how to respond.
When I finally reach him, his grief crashes into me like a tidal wave. Before I can say a single thing, he strangles out a sob the same time he reaches out and pulls me into him. He buries his face into the curve of my neck and just hangs on like I’m his lifeline, the only thing keeping him from slipping under and drowning. I wrap my arms around him and cling to him trying to give him what he needs.
