The Driven Series

by Bromberg, K.

  “I’m going to love it,” I say with complete conviction, because if this present is making him this unsure then I know he’s the one coloring outside of his already messy lines.

  With the weight of his stare, I slowly unwrap the gift to find a picture frame made of thick rustic wood void of a photo in it. I stare at it for a moment because while it is actually quite beautiful, I sense there is a deeper meaning here than just a gift so try to figure out what it is that Colton’s telling me.

  “It’s empty,” he states, drawing my eyes up to his while my hands run over the texture of the wood. It’s weathered but refined, rough but smooth, kind of like the two of us. The idea brings a smile to my lips.

  “I see that.”

  “It’s been a rough couple of weeks for us,” he says as he climbs on the bed beside me. He lies on his side, head propped on his hand as I nod and try to figure how this all fits together. “Kelly is trying to find my dad.” My mind slams on the brakes at that because I’m so confused and lost how we got from a frame to a person Colton has never spoken about before.

  “What?” I look at him while he concentrates on his hand on my stomach. My mouth is opening and closing like a guppy because I don’t know what to say or how we got from point A to point B in this conversation. I can tell he’s just as confused as I am so I rein in my need to know and let him find the words to explain everything.

  “I’m scared about being a dad,” he says and continues the confession. And it’s not like I don’t get the fear, because I have it too, but I’m starting to connect the dots in the sense that he fears he is going to be like the father he never knew somehow. “And I thought maybe if I knew about my sperm donor then it would ease the fear that I’ll be like him.”

  As much as I want to shift to take his face in my hands so he’s forced to look in my eyes, I allow him the space he needs. “You will be nothing like him, Colton. There’s not a doubt in my mind.”

  I’ve seen him with the boys at The House. I’ve watched him help them overcome adversity only he could understand. Does he not have any clue how important that is? How that interaction more than just hints at the incredible father I know he will be? I wish he could see the same man I see every single day when he looks in the mirror.

  He just nods his head yet doesn’t say anything for a moment. I wish there was something I could say or do to reassure him further when only time will prove the truth in my statement.

  “I don’t know,” I say with a shake of my head. “I think it’s a bad idea . . . I don’t see how finding him is going to help you at all.” And I probably should keep my opinions to myself, let him deal with his past how he needs to, but at the same time we’ve had so many things crash into our reality recently, I don’t know how much more we can take. “What are you hoping to achieve if you find him?”

  “A clean slate.” He then clears the emotion from his throat. “This frame is empty because I want to start this next chapter of our life with a completely clean slate. Our family deserves this. It’s . . .” His voice fades off. I reach out and link my fingers through his. His words—his thoughtfulness—are so damn overwhelming that I can’t find the words to speak just yet. “Never mind,” he says again.

  “No. Please, finish. I’m quiet because I’m touched and stunned you thought of this and did this for us . . . especially after everything that has happened this month.”

  “I sound like a fucking chick here but this empty frame is also my promise to you that from today forward I don’t want to just take pictures with you, I want to make memories. Good ones more than bad ones. Funny ones. Memorable ones. Precious ones. They will shift and change over time, each stage of our life together dictating what goes here, but more than anything, this empty frame with be filled with our new normal . . .” His voice trails off. Tears flood my eyes. The depth of emotion in this incredible gift from a man who thinks of himself as unromantic—despite the grand sweeping gestures he shows me time and again—is so very poignant and fitting.

  “I love it,” I whisper, my eyes meeting his as I look at him through a kaleidoscope of tears. “It’s absolutely perfect.” I hug the frame, my empty treasure box in a sense, and revel in how much Colton has grown since we’ve met.

  I shift so I’m on my left side, facing him, our bodies mirroring one another’s. We stare at each for a few moments, our visual connection so very intense as feelings are exchanged without any words being spoken.

  “I don’t have anything to give you,” I finally say.

  A shy smile turns up the corners of his mouth. “You’ve given me more than I’ve ever wanted.”

  It’s silly that even after all this time I still react viscerally to praise from him, but it’s undeniable. As I draw in a shaky breath, his eyes narrow and my fingers trace over the grooves in the frame lying between us.

  “Sometimes I play the ‘I’m game’ with the boys . . . want to play with me?” His grin grows, and I realize the innuendo.

  “You know I’d never turn down the chance to play with you,” he says, nodding his head for me to continue. “How do you play?”

  “I tell you something that starts with ‘I’m’ and then you go. You don’t get to ask questions though . . . That way you’re forced to listen to what you think the person is saying. It’s an I go, you go, type thing.” I’m shocked that in all our time together, I’ve never explained this to him, but I feel this is an absolutely perfect moment. “I’ll go first. I’m scared too,” I say in a whisper, as if the lower voice will help my confession somehow seem less.

  He starts to say something that doesn’t begin with “I’m” and I shush him and bring a finger to his lips. “No reassurances. Sometimes that makes you feel like your fears are invalid. Your turn.”

  I watch him struggle finding the words to express whatever it is weighing heavily on his mind. He takes a deep breath, looks over my shoulder for a few moments, and his fingers pluck at the sheet. In the last five years, he’s grown leaps and bounds in not only identifying but in the ability to articulate his emotions. And yet right now I can tell he’s at a loss on how to phrase them.

  The silence stretches. My concern over what has him so tongue-tied grows.

  “I’m afraid you’ll never forgive me for the video and that I couldn’t fix it.” He won’t look at me.

  I close my eyes momentarily, letting the apology in his voice be the balm to the open wounds that video has caused and nod my head to let him know I heard him. Given the number of times he has apologized, I shouldn’t be surprised this was his first confession. At the same time, I appreciate his need to tell me it again.

  “I’m worried that when people see us now, all they’ll be able to think of is the video. I can only hope it will die down and go away at some point.” Colton closes his eyes momentarily and gives a subtle nod. His reaction is all I need to know he feels the same way.

  “I’m hopeful Eddie will get what he deserves,” Colton says, disgust and spite lacing his tone.

  “I’m in agreement,” I say with a laugh, because I didn’t give a confession but I didn’t exactly break the rules either.

  “Rule breaker,” he murmurs with a shy smile on his lips.

  “Not hardly,” I say. “Your turn.”

  “I’m worried you’re going to be so focused on Zander that it’s going to put you back in the hospital again,” he says with a lift of his eyebrows and a glance down to my belly.

  “I’m concerned I’m going to let him down and not be able to help him when he needs me the most.” I fight the unease my confession brings, and try to staunch its very real side effects. I worry it will end up doing just what Colton fears, too.

  “I’m certain that somehow we’ll make everything right for him,” he says, shaking his head to stop me before I even open my mouth. He knows me so well.

  “I’m positive my husband likes this game because it prevents me from saying too much and arguing with him,” I confess matter-of-factly, causing him to bark out a laugh
in agreement. The sound of it puts a smile on my lips before the quiet falls back around us as Colton figures out what to say next.

  “I’m afraid I’m not going to be man enough to give you what you need when you need it most.” He licks his lips and forces a swallow down his throat. His eyes never waver from mine despite the absolute swell of emotion riding its way through them.

  Wow. Well I guess he’s bringing out the deep confessions now. I so did not expect that comment from him. It knocks me back a second while I wrap my head around it. Does he mean in all aspects of life or just with the baby coming? I wonder what it is he thinks I need that he’s not giving me.

  Doubt is the chisel that causes the fissures to drive a solid relationship apart, and I hate he feels like I have any when it comes to him.

  “Colton,” I begin to say, breaking my own rules, because I have to tell him he’s more than man enough in all aspects for me, but he reaches out and puts a finger to my lips.

  “Uh-uh.” He shakes his head. “Your turn.”

  And I just stare, desperately wanting to tell him he’s so very off base to worry about that and yet I don’t. Can’t. I need to allow him to say what he needs to say. I blow out a breath in frustration and discomfort because we may know each other inside and out, yet this is more soul-bearing than anything we have done in such a long time, and as cathartic as it may be, it’s also scary as hell.

  “I’m afraid you won’t find me sexy anymore after I have the baby.”

  He may not speak, but his head shakes back and forth to tell me I’m crazy. “I’m afraid that every time you look at me, you think you’ve made a mistake in marrying me.”

  Is he crazy? His words stab my heart. It’s so unbelievable the world sees Colton as an arrogant, self-assured man. Yet with me—especially right here, right now—he reveals the insecurity all people have but keep close to the vest.

  “I’m afraid you are going to pull away when the baby is born,” I say without thinking and realize that my deepest fear has been spoken out loud. The quick hitch in Colton’s breath tells me without him saying a word that he fears the same thing. I panic momentarily, fear lodging in my throat. I know I need to fix this somehow so I keep talking like I was going to finish the sentence, “. . . but need you to know that I can’t do this without you.”

  Silence settles between us. Our eyes lock. My heart hopes he really hears what I’m saying. “I’m afraid that I’m going to panic in the delivery room, see things I can’t unsee, or not be able to handle watching you in pain.”

  And hearing him say something so many men fear makes me feel better. Like we’re normal in a sense when our relationship and everything surrounding us is far from it.

  “I’m afraid of labor.” Who wouldn’t be? The unknown pain and the absolute unexpected followed by the beautiful ending. Colton just raises his eyebrows and nods his head.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to be like them,” he says, the term them unmistakable in its meaning: his mother and father. His eyes burn into mine, and it kills me that he has even put himself in the same category as them. Yes, their genes run through him but that doesn’t mean his heart isn’t different.

  Blood makes the body, not the man.

  “I’m scared I’m going to make too many mistakes as a mother.”

  Colton rolls his eyes, prompting me to reach out and wipe his hair off his forehead. He grabs my wrist and brings the palm of my hand to his lips and presses a sweet kiss to the center of it before bringing it down to rest over his heart. “I’m sure I’m going to make way more mistakes as a father but I know that with you by my side, our baby will grow into an incredible human being . . . just like his mother.” He whispers the last words, causing tears to sting my eyes, which is in complete contradiction to the soft smile on my lips from the way he changed his confession to make it a positive.

  I should have known he’d find a way to make me feel better about my fears by skating under the radar and breaking the rules without actually breaking them.

  “I’m sure BIRT will have your green eyes, your stubborn streak, and your incredible capacity to love,” I say as Colton clears his throat. His fingers tighten over mine on his chest. I know he wants to refute my comment, the one I put out there to try to lessen his fear about him being like his biological parents, but he doesn’t.

  And that’s a good sign because hopefully if I say it enough, he’ll eventually start to believe it.

  “I’m afraid that everything was going so well for us. But first it was the video . . . and now . . .” he blows out a breath and I try to figure out what’s eating at him, “now . . . the other shoe is going to drop.”

  I stare at him, so perfectly imperfect and full of fear just like I am, and yet he walked in here tonight and gave me a gift most husbands would never even think of. Yet he still doubts us, still worries the other shit will affect us when all we need is each other.

  All we’ve ever needed is each other.

  “I’m certain that even if the other shoe drops, it’ll be off an octopus with a lot of shoes so we’ll be able to handle it, because I married the only man ever meant for me. We can handle anything that comes our way, shoe by dropping shoe.”

  Colton just falls onto his back and starts laughing, deep and long. I can tell he needed something humorous to release the stress clawing him apart from the inside out. I find comfort I can use a game I invented for little boys and still affect the grown man in my life.

  Then again, boys, men, they’re really no different from the other.

  After a moment he rolls back onto his side and scoots up against me so my belly hits his. He cradles my face in his hands. “Octopus shoes?” He laughs again with a lift of his eyebrows and a flash of that irresistible dimple.

  “Yep. They’ve got eight feet. Lots of shoes to drop,” I tease, wanting to keep the moment now that our hearts are a bit lighter.

  Colton just shakes his head with a soft smile on his lips, love in his eyes, and tenderness in his touch. How in the hell did I get to be so lucky to be the one sharing my life with this contradiction of a man?

  “God, I fucking race you, Ryles,” he says, sealing the sentiment with a kiss and stealing my heart once again.

  With my eyes closed, our lips touching, and hearts beating as one, I think back to our wedding day, to the vows we made, and the promises we made and have kept. The “You know that’s permanent, right?” and I know there’s nothing I would ever change because he’s here, he’s mine, and no matter what life throws at us, he’ll be here for me. He’s protected me. Put me first. Made me consequential. Made me whole.

  With every beautifully scarred, bent piece of him.

  “DID YOU BEAT THE SHIT out of him?”

  I look up from the stacks on my desk just as Becks takes a seat in front of me, propping his feet up on its edge. “Please. Make yourself at home.”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” he says in that slow even drawl of his that’s equal parts irritating and comforting to me. “So?”

  “He didn’t show,” I explain with a shake of my head. “I sat outside the damn office for an hour before and an hour after his appointed meeting with his parole officer and the fucker never showed.”

  Such a waste of time. Staking out the probation office during the two hours around Eddie’s appointment time. Watching drug deals go down and a hooker giving a guy head in his car, while I waited to have my moment with Eddie. Draw him out to give him a little payback of my own.

  “Can’t you get in trouble seeking him out with the restraining order?” he asks.

  “Restraining order was filed on Ry’s behalf. Not mine,” I say with a smirk. I want him nowhere fucking near her. Now me on the other hand? I have no problem coming face to face with him. In fact, there’s nothing I’d like more.

  “So you can approach him, kick his ass, and . . .”

  “And no one’s worse for wear,” I say with a shrug. “Well, besides him that is.”

  “Can take the man out o
f the trouble but can’t stop the boy in him from looking for it,” he says with a shake of his head.

  “Damn straight.”

  “But wait. He didn’t show, so now what? Will he be hauled back to jail for violation or some shit?” He laces his fingers and brings his hands behind his head.

  “No clue. Possibly . . . but I have a feeling he’s a helluva lot more scared of the loan sharks and their thugs than missing a parole appointment. Getting put back in jail might be the safest place for him, considering the amount of phone calls I’ve received asking me if I know his whereabouts.”

  “Well played, brother,” he says with a shake of his head. “Giving his name up like that to the press.”

  “It hit me that night at the bar. The loan sharks came knocking when we fired him. Then he fucked us by stealing the blueprints to sell so he could pay them back. So why not fuck him over by using them to pay me back?”

  Full circles. They’re everywhere I look.

  “Scary fucking shit, dude,” he muses. I glance to the garage down below. “So . . . how are things? Ry good?”

  “Yeah. Good.”

  “That doesn’t sound convincing.”

  I lean back in my chair and prop my feet on my desk like he did, lace my fingers behind my head, and look at the ceiling. “What if I told you I was looking into adopting Zander?”

  Becks doesn’t say a goddamn word, yet I can tell by the jerk of his body to attention in my peripheral vision that he heard me. “Subtlety isn’t something you know how to do, is it?” he coughs out.

  “Nope. So?”

  “I’d ask you if you’re fucking crazy on many fronts. Especially since you’re using the term I and not we.”

  Fucking pronouns.

  I roll my eyes. “Semantics.”

  “You don’t sound so sure about that,” Becks says as he pokes holes through my story.

  “Rylee said she wouldn’t think of it. That she can’t choose one boy over the others. I get it, but I told her I was looking into it anyway. The whole Zander thing is really eating her up.”