The Driven Series

by Bromberg, K.

  “Dude, you better watch your mouth or else Ace’s first word is going to be fuck. And while it would be funny as fuck,” he says, raising his eyebrows at the intended pun, “I think that might earn you a spot in the doghouse.”

  “True . . . but fuck—”

  “There you go again.” He laughs, causing me to just shake my head and sigh.

  “This is going to be harder than I thought.”

  “Most good things in life are,” he says with a lift of his eyebrows. And I stare at him for a beat, hearing what he’s saying. That shit’s tough right now but it’s all worth it.

  Damn straight it is.

  “Like I said, just say when and I’ll get the track time reserved for you,” he says as he stands. His unspoken, I’ve got your back, comes through loud and clear.

  “Thanks . . . for everything.”

  “No problem, brother. That’s what I’m here for.”

  They’re gone.

  I’m thankful the vultures have packed up shop and gotten the hell out of Dodge, but I still can’t believe it’s true. I check the live feed on my phone from the security camera mounted on the front gate one more time. The street’s still free and clear of paparazzi scum who had been camping out there for what felt like for-fucking-ever.

  Thank God they listened for once. Chased the story I hand-fed them about Eddie. Uncovered truths behind his actions: his desperate and fucked-up act to exact revenge on my wife because he was found guilty. Paparazzi’s apologies mean shit to me. They’re just covering their asses from getting sued for slander. Besides, I know it won’t stop them from doing the same thing with their next story, their next lead, their next chance to fuck up someone else’s life.

  Of course, I’m not blind to the fact they’re all playing nice in the hopes of getting first crack at pictures of Ace if we ever decide to go that route and sell the rights. So I’ll take their printed retractions. Use their hope to clear our street and rid our lives of their constant presence. But more than anything I’ll hold tight to the fact that their apologies have helped restore Rylee’s reputation.

  Too bad she’s so lost in her depression she doesn’t know it.

  Because while their apologies may have restored calm outside the gates, they’ve done nothing to quiet the storm still brewing inside them.

  From my chair on the patio, I set my cell down and watch the set of waves roll in, immediately itching to grab my board and get lost in the ocean. My mind wanders. Thoughts run. Will Ace want me to teach him to surf some day? Will he be interested in racing?

  Or will I just be the authority he resists until he gets old enough to understand the why behind my rules? Like father, like son.

  The baby monitor crackles on the table beside me. I give him a sec, wait to see if he’s awake, but nothing. I lean back in my chair and get lost in thoughts about the next race. My everyday world that feels so fucking far away from the one I’m currently living in.

  “Shh. Shh.” Ry’s voice comes through the monitor and startles me. My heart races. My eyes burn with emotion I don’t want to feel but can’t stop as I bring it to my ear to hear more.

  Silence. Nothing else. Should I go upstairs or stay here and see what happens? If I’m there, does it add more pressure on her as she takes a step forward when so many we’ve taken have been backward?

  And then those dark thoughts in the back of my mind take hold. The ones I haven’t wanted to acknowledge but linger nonetheless. The ones that make the evening news headlines about what mothers with postpartum depression have done to their children.

  I’m up and on my feet in a second. A war of emotions battle over what to think and what to do. I stand in the hallway, frozen in indecision with what feels like the weight of the world on my shoulders.

  Hope surges through me. I hate it and love it at the same time.

  I choose to love it. Need to.

  C’mon, Ry. Give me something to tell me I’m right.

  “My sweet boy. You hungry?” I exhale the breath I didn’t realize I was holding, pissed at myself for doubting her but knowing I have every right to.

  Joy, relief, fear, concern, caution. Too many fucking feelings hit me at once. The biggest of all of them is relief that I can see the light at the end of this long-ass tunnel. Our life has been put on hold for what feels like forever, and it’s time to get it back.

  She’s not better yet. We still have a long way to go. Hell yes, this moment is a baby step, but fuck if I won’t take it because we weren’t even crawling a few days ago. This step may be on wobbly legs, but it’s a step all the same.

  When I enter the bedroom, Rylee is lying on the middle of the bed, and Ace is nursing beside her. It’s the first time I haven’t had to bring him to her. The thought sinks in and takes hold as I watch the two of them together. A visual sucker punch of love.

  Leave her be, Colton.

  Good in theory, but not in my reality. I don’t know why I resist the pull when I know in the end it’s futile. It always is when it comes to Rylee.

  I cross the room, pull my shirt over my head, and slide into bed behind her without saying a word. Careful of disturbing Ace, I put my arm around her hip, and line our bodies up. And just breathe her in.

  God, I’ve missed her.

  “Sorry. I didn’t hear him wake up. I didn’t mean for you to have to get him.” I give her the lip service, soft words that won’t upset her, when I’m not sorry at all.

  Silence greets me. I hold back the sigh I want to breathe out. Push down the disappointment she’s lost again. Accept that the power of her own mind is ten times more powerful than any love I can give her. Fight the fear I won’t be able to pull her back again.

  So I begin the routine. My nightly process. My way of telling her I’m not giving up on her. I tell her about a memory I can’t wait to make with her.

  “I thought of another one today. Memory two hundred thirteen that I can’t wait to put in our picture frame. We should rent a private island. Or a secluded beach somewhere. Sand, sun, and our family left all alone to do as we please. Silly, right?” My own voice rings in my ears but her body relaxes against mine and I know she’s listening. “It’s not though. Because the island rules are that you’re required to wear very skimpy bikinis. Or go topless. Topless is preferable. And yes, to make it fair, I’d have to wear that loincloth thingy so we have clothing equality on the island. Oh shit,” I murmur as I press a kiss into the back of her hair. “I’m still getting used to this baby thing. I forgot topless doesn’t bode well with a kid. So I guess topless would only be allowed when Ace is napping. I’m sure we could find a few ways to occupy our time during those hours anyway.”

  I lose my train of thought. Get lost in the feel of her body against mine, and how much I miss physical intimacy between us. Because physical is my barometer. Makes me feel closer to her and at the same time tells me we’re okay. And without it, I hate not knowing if we’re okay.

  “Sorry,” I say, pulling myself from my thoughts. “I was daydreaming about being on the beach with you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Her voice is so faint but I hear it immediately. I squeeze my eyes shut, overwhelmed from those two simple words.

  Gathering her a little tighter, I rest my chin on the curve of her shoulder. I look down in front of her where Ace has fallen asleep, and I know I need to put him in his bassinet but I don’t. Not yet. This feels a little too normal when we’ve had anything but, so I want to make it last a little bit longer. Just the three of us.

  There are so many things I want to say to her, so many reasons why she doesn’t need to thank me, but I don’t. I was given two glimpses of my wife tonight. That’s enough to tell me more is coming soon.

  So I do what I think is best. I continue on. “Don’t thank me yet, Ryles. This island doesn’t have any indoor plumbing. Or Diet Coke. And I know how you love your Diet Coke. But they do have . . .” I continue on. My rambling evening entertainment.

  Anything for my Ry. />
  Hi sweetheart. Just checking in to see how you’re doing. I love you. I’m here for you. I’ll be up later this week.

  THE TEXT FROM MY MOM sits on my phone. The screen is lit up. My insides are still so very dark.

  I miss the outside world.

  Lazy walks on the beach. Trips to the farmers market in town where I get to laugh at Colton with his hat pulled low to avoid attention. The roar of the racetrack and vibration of the engine in my chest as I sit in the infield and answer emails while Colton tests the car. The incessant chatter, sound of kitchen chairs scooting over worn linoleum, complaints about homework, and sly smiles given behind one another’s back that are a constant at The House from my boys.

  I miss everything that makes me feel alive.

  But I’m not ready yet. I miss the idea of everything but not the reality. Because with the reality comes the chaos. The intrusive cameras and judging eyes. The scrutiny and the exposure. The lack of any control or privacy. The never-ending sense of vulnerability.

  Besides, how can I begin to want any of those things when I can’t even look at my beautiful baby boy and feel that soul-shifting love I should for him? Sure it’s there, hidden deep down and buried beneath the haze. I know it is. I’ve felt it before. And that almost makes it worse. To want something and never have it is one thing but to have something, lose it, and know what you’re missing is brutal.

  And I’m missing Ace. Not him, per se, because he’s here and I feed him, but rather the emotion. Brief moments of intense joy and overwhelming love peek through every now and again. The want to have them return consumes me to the point they drive me back into the warped and silent comfort of the darkness.

  And then when I resurface, there is Colton. The songs he texts to help me remember. And to help me forget.

  It’s when the sky is the darkest that you can tell which stars are the brightest. There’s only one star I see: Colton’s light shines the brightest to me. Maybe because he’s the one saving me.

  I wish I could feel the amusement I know is beneath the surface when I watch him deal with Ace in his adorably awkward way. The made-up lullabies about car parts and superheroes he sings to stop Ace from crying are so sweet. I try to dredge it up, hold on to my smile, but it’s a constant battle between the darkness and light.

  Then there’s the night. When he pulls me into him and tells me about the silly places he is going to take me, the memories we are going to make, and lifts that lead curtain for a bit so I can lose myself in his voice and humor. I can look down to Ace at my breast and have Colton’s body against my back and know I can beat this.

  And so I fight, winning little pieces of myself back day by day. Moment by moment. Because it’s the things we love most that destroy us. Break us down. Tear us apart. But they are also the things that build us back up. Heal us. Make us complete again.

  “Hey, man!” Colton’s voice rings down the hallway, interrupting my thoughts. I immediately start to rise from the couch, bothered I was actually enjoying sitting beside Ace in the bouncer, and start to head upstairs because the unexpected usually triggers uncontrollable anxiety. And that anxiety inevitably leads to another trip down the rabbit hole.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call first, but I was driving back to school and needed to stop by. Can I speak to you and Ry for a moment?”

  Shane’s voice echoes down the foyer and makes me falter. And it’s not what he says that stops me from standing but rather the tone in his voice—formal, businesslike, and anxious—that makes me sit at attention.

  “Not a problem. Let me go tell Ry that you’re here first,” Colton says, followed by the lowering of their voices. They say something I can’t hear but can assume it is the typical question of how I am doing that gets asked when they arrive. “Be right back.” Footsteps. “Hey, Ry?”

  “Yeah?” My voice is shaky as I answer, and I hate that the anxiety surges within me when it’s just Shane. He’s the boy who has been with me the longest. The one I have watched grow into a man.

  “Shane stopped by. Okay?” Colton’s eyes hold mine. They’re telling me that Shane’s coming in and to prepare for it. My two-minute warning. I force a swallow down my throat as I try to reason with myself that this is Shane; he poses no threat to Ace or me, or my little world.

  I nod my head.

  “Come on in,” Colton yells as he stands there with eyes locked on mine and waits for Shane to close the distance.

  C’mon, Ry. You scared him last time. Show him that you’re not his mother. That this beast can be conquered. Be the you he knows. Try, baby. Please.

  And as much as I prepare myself, when Shane walks into the living room, my heart races out of control and body breaks out in a cold sweat. And I detest that I can’t muster up more than a forced smile when our eyes meet. I open my mouth to say hi, but the word doesn’t come out.

  I see concern in his expression, and he glances over to Colton, blatantly telling him he lied, that I’m not better like he’d said moments before at the door. Colton nods to trust him.

  “So you’re heading back to campus?” Colton says, saving me from having to speak as he leads the way into the living room and motions for him to sit down.

  “Yes. Yeah. I spent the night at The House with the gang.” His eyes flicker back and forth between the two of us as he sits down on the edge of the chair before landing on Ace sleeping contently in the bouncer. “He’s getting so big.”

  “Yeah. It’s crazy,” Colton says. He stares at Shane as he watches Ace, and I can see him narrow his eyes to try and figure out the same thing I am: why does Shane seem so nervous?

  I want to ask so many things: how is school, how is Zander, is Auggie hanging in there? Do you miss me? But my restlessness only adds to the awkward silence filling the room. Colton finally speaks. “That was cool of you to hang out with the boys. I was thinking maybe in a week or two when Ry is feeling a little better, we’ll have all you guys over for a barbecue.”

  And as much as I know Colton is trying to make Shane feel more comfortable, it feels like hands are squeezing my lungs at the mere thought of so many people being in my space at once. He said a few weeks, though. Maybe by then . . .

  “Yeah, uh . . .” Shane shifts and rubs his palms down the thighs of his pants. “Well, I stayed with the boys because we had a little house meeting and um, I came here because I wanted to let you know about it.”

  I vaguely hear him over the roar of my heartbeat. My curiosity is piqued and internal instinct overrides the depression’s pull trying to yank me back from the edge and protect me from whatever it is that is making him so nervous. Colton’s eyes meet mine and something flashes in them—a moment of unexpected clarity—that worries me.

  “Go on,” Colton says cautiously.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you said, Colton, and after looking at Zander’s situation from all sides, I think you’re right.” Shane wrings his hands and keeps his eyes focused on them as Colton sighs loudly.

  “What thing did I say, Shane?” he asks, voice searching, body language pensive as if he fears he already knows.

  “About Zander.”

  Colton scrunches up his nose in a show of regret and I’m completely lost. My body wants to shut down but my mind fights the allure to find out what’s going on. I look back to Shane, trying to find the words to ask an explanation when I catch Colton mouth out of the words, “Not now,” with a shake of his head.

  Panic, my one constant, returns, jolting through my system as I look back and forth from Colton to Shane, both of them realizing I saw the exchanged warning. Something’s going on, and it’s about Zander. I need to know now or else I’m going to go crazier than I already feel. I open my mouth, shut it, then open it again, willing my frenzied thoughts to find the voice that’s been silent for so very long.

  “No,” Shane says, standing up to Colton, causing us both to snap our heads to him. “She deserves to know that we’ve voted, and we’re okay with it.”

  I b
link my eyes rapidly as I try to understand his cryptic comment. I feel like I’ve just walked into a movie halfway through and I’m lost in the plot. As much as I want to be angry at Colton, he obviously fears that whatever Shane has to say is going to knock me back a few of the steps I’ve gained these past few days.

  “What?” My voice breaks. It sounds foreign to my ears. My eyes widen as I search their faces for answers. Now it’s their turn to both look at me.

  “I’m just trying to fix everything I started,” he says, and I don’t understand what he means. He looks at me with little boy’s eyes in a grown man’s body, begging me to let him help me. “It’s my fault.”

  “What are you talking about?” Colton asks, voice demanding yet sounding just as confused as I am.

  “I told you about Zander’s meeting with his uncle at The House that day when I shouldn’t have. I should have known better. But how was I to know Zander was going to say things that would cause you to get so upset you’d go into labor? And then we came here to meet Ace. You were fine one minute and then you talked to Z and . . .” His voice drifts off, and I strain to remember bits and pieces from when the boys came. But I can’t—just flashes of wide eyes and scared faces—and I know I obviously frightened them somehow. “I just want you to get better, Rylee. And I want Zander to stay in our family where he’s safe. We all want these things. And I kept thinking if you knew Zander was safe then maybe you’d get better.”

  A part of me awakens when I hear his words. I want to tell him it’s so much more than that but the love and concern lacing his tone somehow weave into and wrap around me, warming up the places this postpartum depression has left so very cold. It’s scary and foreign and exciting to feel these things even if it’s just a fraction of what is normal.

  “Then I remembered the comment you made, Colton. The one about how you’d adopt Zander if it would fix the situation and—”

  “No!” I shout, standing up in protest. Both of them stare at me as I struggle to make my point and understand why that sudden flicker of warmth I felt moments ago is now gone. In seconds, my mind spins in a tornado of thoughts with clarity sharper than I’ve felt in weeks.