Aced (The Driven #5)

by K. Bromberg

  “I need to talk to the older boys about this somehow.” Although I’m at a loss for words of what exactly I’m going to say to them. Everyone but Auggie is a teenager. Teenagers and their long-reaching fingers into social media will find out about this. The thought makes my heart fall.

  “No, you don’t.” He scrubs the towel through his hair and shakes his head like I’m crazy.

  “Some of the pictures splashed all over the Internet are of them, Colton. Of course I have to.” A tinge of hysteria laces the edges of my anger. “Kids at school are going to talk. They need to hear it from me. Have to. I can’t let them think I’m some kind of . . .” My voice trails off as I try to figure out what exactly I think they are going to think of me now.

  “Ry, listen to me. They love you. You don’t have to say any—”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “I’ll speak to them,” he states matter-of-factly, causing my head to whip up at the response since I know how uncomfortable he is with that kind of thing.

  “You what?”

  “You’re not leaving the house right now with the press out there. I’m not letting them take pictures of you to have fodder for their lies. They can have me . . . let them vilify me. Not you. No way.” I’m shocked by his words and yet shouldn’t be. “Chase is issuing a statement to the press for us. Hopefully that will help all of this die down.”

  “Mm-hmm.” I must look at him like a doe in the headlights because as much as I know this will die down, people will forever know what I look like naked. That’s not an easy thing to swallow. Not now. Not ever.

  And even when Chase issues that statement, it will do very little to dim the sparkle of the sensationalism.

  “I’ve got to go take a shower. Then I’m going to work from home the rest of the week,” he says as he rises from his seat, his comment causing my stomach to churn in anxiety.

  “I have my shift tomorrow,” I say, suddenly realizing reality needs to continue amid this storm of chaos. “Can you and Sammy figure out how to get me out of here so I can get there?”

  The minute his body stills, I know a fight’s coming. He doesn’t disappoint but goes straight for the kill. “Dr. Steele called this morning.” I’m immediately irritated and defensive before he even says another word. I feel like he’s been waiting to make this point. Inwardly I groan because that means he knows about my blood pressure issues.

  “Yes?” I say nonchalantly even though inside I’m already preparing for World War Donavan.

  “The way I see it, you’re staying home tomorrow.”

  “That’s bullshit!” He just quirks an eyebrow to say try me.

  “Well, seems to me she called to check on you. Said she was worried about your blood pressure . . . with all of this.” I avert my eyes to my hands folded in my lap.

  “I’m fine.” I nod my head with a forced smile on my lips in hopeful reassurance.

  “That’s not what she said,” he says, making said blood pressure feel as though it is rising.

  “Colton, I’m going to work tomorrow, with or without your help. If you want my blood pressure to stay low, you’ll help,” I fire back, lips pursed, eyebrows raised. Two can play this game. We stare at each other, both daring the other to back down but neither budging.

  “Exactly. I’ll help. I’ll go instead and talk to the boys about it,” he lifts his eyebrows, “while you stay here.”

  “Don’t push me on this,” I warn.

  His chuckle fills the room. “That’s rich, Donavan,” he says with a shake of his head as he walks toward the door. “I need to take a shower but this discussion is over.”

  I snort in response. He stops abruptly, back still to me when he speaks. “I love the boys, Rylee. More than you know. I said I’d never come between you and them . . . but you, and that baby of ours you’re carrying, are my first priority. Numero Uno. You’d better start making both of them yours too, or we’re going to have a huge fucking problem. End of discussion.” And he doesn’t even give me a chance to pick my jaw up off the floor to respond before he waltzes out of the office, tossing, “Don’t look at the computer anymore either,” over his shoulder.

  Staring at the empty doorway, I’m not quite sure what to think so I lean back in the chair and blow out a slow and steady breath to calm myself. Colton’s never said anything like that to me before, and while everything he just said holds serious merit, I’m still astounded he said it. And while a small part of me warms, knowing he wants to take care of me, a larger part is irritated he’s laying down the law. The irony.

  It doesn’t mean I have to abide by it though.

  I look toward the ceiling and close my eyes momentarily. The many things I need to do run through my head, but I can’t do any of them because I can’t leave my house, can’t carry on my life like normal. I’m stuck here and that thought alone makes me feel claustrophobic.

  I’m exposed to the world but trapped in my house.

  Feeling defeated, my eyes flutter open to see the beach beyond the windows down below. And for the first time since we’ve met, I truly understand why Colton finds such refuge in his beloved beach—the crash of the waves, the feel of the sand beneath his feet, and the sense he’s this tiny blip on Mother Nature’s radar.

  A soft chuckle falls from my lips as it hits me. On the beach, he feels inconsequential. How very fitting for a man who once told me I would never be that to him to have the need to feel that way at times.

  My mind shifts back to that place and time. A ghost of a smile turns up my lips of the welcome memory of the Merit Rum party: dancing in the club followed by him chasing me into the hallway. Angry words. Contemptuous kisses. Hungry eyes. An elevator ride to the penthouse with a promised threat to decide. Yes. Or. No.

  I find comfort in the memory. Without that night, there most likely wouldn’t be this. No Colton. No baby on the way. No chaos to want to hide from.

  My eyes are drawn back to the beach. To the temptation of Colton’s place to escape. Sadly, right now, I couldn’t escape down there if I wanted to. At least he can get on his board and paddle out beyond the break to get some distance from the photographers. I’m not so lucky.

  What I’d give to be inconsequential right now.

  And yet deep down, no matter how hard I try, I know I will never be that to Colton. He’d never allow it. My handsome, complicated, and very stubborn husband takes too much pride in the two things he never thought he’d have—a wife and her love—to ever let me feel inconsequential again.

  “GRAB A BEER, BOYS.”

  The looks on their faces? Fucking priceless as I motion to the cooler sitting beside the table. Aiden’s mouth is hanging open, waiting to catch flies. Both Ricky and Kyle’s eyes look like they are bugging out of their heads. Zander and Scooter shift uncomfortably on the bench, glance over their shoulders like they don’t want Jax to walk in and get them in trouble.

  “Go on,” I encourage and lean over and open the lid myself.

  Aiden sees it first. His laugh rings across the room. “It’s root beer, guys.” His voice is part relief, part disbelief as he shakes his head and passes down the silver cans of soda.

  The others join in. Eyes flicker from the cans back to me, looks of curiosity over why I’m here and what’s going on. The crack of the tops of the cans fill the room. I wait for them the take that first sip before looking back to me.

  “I need to have a man-to-man talk with you guys so I figured you could handle having a beer or two while we chat.” I nod my head to reinforce my point and get five more nods in return.

  “Are we in trouble?” Ricky asks, hands fiddling with the tab on his can.

  “No, but I need to talk to you guys about something.” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why am I nervous? I look down at my hands. Buck the fuck up, Donavan. They’re all under fourteen. How am I going to do this? Crap.

  “What?” Zander asks, eyebrows raised, voice innocent.

  And shit. Innocent is the keyword here. Did I know what sex was at age thirt
een? Hell yes, I did. Thought I did, anyway. A messy French kiss with Laura Parker was the extent of it. The sheets I’d balled up in the morning, mortified for my mom to find, had been my reality.

  “So . . . you guys might start hearing some stuff at school or see stuff on TV or the Internet about Rylee and me.” Brows furrow. Lips quirk. And my palms sweat. I clear my throat. “Sometimes adults do things in the heat of the moment that leads to . . . er . . . uh . . . consequences.”

  “Heat of the moment?” Aiden says with a snicker. I swear to God I blush for the first time in what feels like forever.

  “You know sometimes you do something without thinking—”

  “Like that time you climbed on the counter to get the cookies on top of the refrigerator and—”

  “No. Not like that,” I cut Kyle off. Sweet Jesus this is going to be difficult. “More like when two married people love each other they—”

  “Do they have to be married?” Scooter asks.

  Seriously? Do I have to go here? I feel like I’m sitting on hot coals. My balls are burning and I can’t sit still.

  “For the most part, yes.” I’m going to be struck by lightning for saying that. For lying through my teeth.

  Aiden snickers again. I guess at age fourteen he knows where I’m going with this. And is enjoying watching me struggle.

  “Anyway, there is going to be some talk about us and I wanted to say that you know Rylee. You know the person she is. So please don’t believe any of the crap you hear being said.”

  There. Maybe that will be enough.

  “But why? What’s on the Internet?”

  I just fucked this up. If I were their age and someone said this to me, I’d immediately go and online and search for it. Curiosity and all that.

  The snicker again from Aiden. The one that says he either already knows because someone said something at school today or is assuming.

  Don’t lose your cool, Donavan.

  “Five Three X,” he murmurs under his breath, confusing the fuck out of me but making perfect sense to the four of them by the way they whip their heads his way and their mouths fall open like they know perfectly well what he’s saying.

  “What?” I ask.

  Five pairs of eyes look down at hands on soda cans and leave me lost in the goddamn dark.

  “Someone going to explain what the hell five three X means?”

  Snickers times five now.

  “Aiden?”

  He looks up, meets my eyes, and the look he gives me tells me he knows exactly what I’m here to tell them about. A single scathing look that tells me he’s pissed at me for whatever it is he’s read about Ry—like it’s all my fault—and all I can do is sigh and run a hand through my hair. And try to figure out what the fuck he’s talking about.

  A part of me loves this glare he’s giving me. He’s pissed with me because he’s protective of Ry, but at the same time . . . really? I’m being eye-scolded by a fourteen-year-old?

  And then it hits me. The visual of what Five Three X looks like. 53X

  SEX.

  Jesus fucking Christ. When did I get so old I don’t know that lingo and when did these kids get so old when they’re not?

  I jog my knee. Take a breath. What the hell am I supposed to say now? I wasn’t really going to go into the sex part of it. Was I? I don’t even know. I thought this was going to be a cinch. A little chat. Don’t believe everything you see or hear on the Internet type of thing.

  And now I’m stuck with birds and bees and son-of-a-bitch Aiden just threw a whole goddamn hornet’s nest on me when I wasn’t looking.

  Can anyone say fish out of water?

  “Dude. It’s totally cool,” Aiden says, taking point for the brood despite the two youngest, Zander and Scooter, blushing.

  “No, it’s not cool,” I say, finding my footing. “Rylee’s super concerned that you will be affected by this and she doesn’t want you to—”

  “Look, we’re not going to click on anything, okay?” My eyes bug out of my head. “No one wants to see you bumping uglies . . . especially us.”

  That’s one way to put it. My mouth goes dry as snickers fall, red creeps into cheeks, and eyes are averted from mine.

  “Well . . . then . . .” Shit. Great job, Donavan. You’ve got Aiden pissed at you but you still haven’t made them understand that this is about more than just sex. I scrub a hand over my face and try to figure out what the fuck I need to say to get the point across. “Listen, guys, you love Rylee like I do, right?” All heads nod and each pair of eyes narrow as they wait to see what else I’m going to say. “That’s what I thought. So I need you to understand that there have been some mean, ugly things said about her because of the images out there of us. She’s upset and really hurt by them. But more than anything, she’s worried it’s going to affect all of you. So when I ask you not to click on anything online, don’t click on anything. When I ask you not to believe anything crappy said about her or her reasons for supporting The House, don’t believe them. You guys are her world, and she’d hate herself if you were hurt in any way from this. So can you do that for me? Can you ignore all of this and pretend like it didn’t happen so Rylee doesn’t have to worry about you guys?”

  For fuck’s sake, please understand what I’m asking here.

  Aiden’s gaze meets mine. Gone is the immature smugness from moments before. It’s been replaced with an understanding that seems to go well beyond his years. He nods his head once to me, eyes relaying his unspoken words: we promise.

  I shift in my seat when all I really want to do is sag in relief. Thank Christ. I start to talk and then stop, unsure what to say next.

  “Dodgers,” Aiden says, recognizing my uncertainty and owning this conversation like nobody’s business. “Let’s talk about last night’s Dodgers game.”

  All I can do is shake my head.

  I’m not ready for this parenting shit.

  “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU mean early parole?” Colton’s voice ricochets off the stairwell and up into the room, shocking me from the case reports I’m trying to complete on my laptop and indicating he is home. Within an instant, I set my computer aside and move downstairs to find out what’s going on.

  “I know, CJ. I know,” Colton says, one hand fisted at his side, posture tense, as I walk into the great room, his back to me framed against the open doors to the patio. “But it’s too much of a goddamn coincidence, don’t you think? The timing, his vindication . . . all of it adds up.”

  Colton must sense me and turns to meet my eyes, holding one finger up requesting I wait while he finishes the conversation. I watch the emotions play over his face as he listens to our lawyer. He moves to abate the restlessness of whatever CJ is telling him, my eyes following him pace, my mind trying to figure out what’s going on. They say their goodbyes, and he turns again to face me.

  “Eddie.”

  It’s all he says as he smacks his hands together. That simple name—a blast from our past—and Colton’s reflex reaction cause details from three years ago to flood back to me. The CD Enterprises patent for an innovative neck protection device being denied because someone else was already in the process of getting a very similar one approved. Almost identical in fact. Investigations to find out that the other patent applicant had CDE’s same exact blueprints for the device, followed by digging into the layering of the corporation applying to find Eddie Kimball on the board of directors.

  The same Eddie Kimball who Colton had fired for stealing said blueprints.

  As I look at the fire lighting up Colton’s eyes, I think of the two-year legal battle that ensued over the right of ownership and future revenues from the device the blueprints made. I’m reminded of the stress, the lies, the accusations, the mediation meetings, and offers of settlement to buy time on Eddie’s part. After spending a fortune in legal counsel, the judge eventually ruled in our favor and convicted Eddie of numerous charges—fraud, perjury, false witness—and sentenced him to a four-year jail sentence. />
  “How?” I ask, making calculations about someone I mentally told myself was out of our lives. The trial ended three years ago. He had a four-year sentence.

  “Early release. Good Behavior. Jails too crowded from the three-strikes statute.” He answers my unspoken questions as he runs a hand through his hair, his head nodding, and I can see him trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together in his mind.

  “Tawny knew where we were.” It’s all I say, voice quiet, gaze fixed on him. He looks up, narrows his eyes, and grits his teeth, not wanting to hear me say it again.

  “I know,” he says with a sigh, “but I’m trying to figure out how it all fits together. What? Did Tawny go up and get the video of us that night? If she had it way back when, then why keep it and release it all this time later?” He slumps down on the couch and puts his head in his hand while he tries to make sense of it.

  I move and sit down next to him and rest my head on his shoulder.

  “I can’t give you the answers but it all seems too convenient for her not to have had a hand in this.” My voice is calm but anger fires in my veins at the thought that either of them have had a hand in this. And yet I shouldn’t expect any less from them.

  Bitches can’t change their stripes. Oh wait, that’s tigers. Hmpf. Doesn’t matter because I refuse to give her a second thought. If she did do this, then Lord have mercy on her when Colton gets done with her.

  The idea doesn’t take the sting out of our public humiliation any less, but at least with this newfound information about Eddie’s release, we might have some place to start looking.

  “Kelly is trying to track him down through his parole officer,” Colton says, pulling me from my thoughts. He reaches out and squeezes my knee to show me he’s present although I know mentally he’s a million miles away.

  “This is all just so fucked up,” I murmur, speaking my thoughts aloud and garnering a sound of agreement from him. We sit like this for a few moments. The silence is comforting because we know outside this bubble we’ve surrounded ourselves with, there are people waiting to tear us apart.