Aced (The Driven #5)

by K. Bromberg

  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.

  Af
ter 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 of 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.”

  “Eating her up or you up?” he asks, eyes daring me to lie to him.

  Shit. He’s calling me on the carpet and there’s no way I can deny it since he knows my history. Because fuck yes, a part of me wants to give Zander the opportunity I had. Save him like I was saved.

  And yet at the same time, I understand Ry’s stance because I couldn’t pick him and not the other boys.

  “You told me once, fight or flight. I chose to fight,” I say, thinking of that night a long time ago after Ry lost the baby. Becks had snapped me to attention, and forced me to be the man I feared being and of truths about myself I had to face. The ones that made me realize Ry was worth the goddamn effort and then some. “Well, I’m fighting.”

  “For what though, Wood? What exactly is it you’re fighting for now?” He leans forward, puts his hands on his knees, and looks me in the eye.

  I shove up out of my chair and walk over to the wall of windows that looks down to the shop below. It’s easier to watch the guys than deal with this shit.

  Memories I thought I’d forgotten hit me out of nowhere: The fear with each knock on the front door that my mom was coming to take me away from Dorothea and Andy. Hands that high-fived and didn’t hit. Lights left on in the hallway because horrible things happened in the dark. Superhero posters on the walls I’d stare at when the nightmares hit. Fear turned to hope. Hope gave me life.

  That life gave me love: Rylee.

  “I’m fighting because like you said, she’s the goddamn alphabet, Becks.” I turn around to face him, hands out to my sides and a shrug of my shoulders. “Those boys are her life, and she’s mine.”

  This conversation, this confession, and these feelings, all make me anxious. Uncomfortable. Vulnerable.

  Add feelings on top of feelings when I don’t want them to.

  My cell phone rings and thank fuck for that because shit’s getting heavy. And the only kind of heavy I like is Ry’s weight on top of me.

  “Kelly.”

  “I’ve found your father.” I freeze. Mind misfires thoughts. Hand stops midway in the air and then drops.

  What the fuck did I do this for? Doubt rears its ugly stepsister of a head to let me know she’s still there. Still waiting for me to fuck all of this up.

  I can’t speak. All I can do is clear my throat.

  “Confirmation should come within the hour. When it does I’ll shoot you over his address in an email.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.” I let the phone slip from my hand and land with a thud on my desk. I stare at it for a minute. Deciding. Wondering. Avoiding.

  You got what you wanted, Donavan.

  What are you going to do about it?

  Heading to The House. Zander is meeting with his uncle. Just found out and am speeding to get there in time.

  SHANE’S TEXT REPLAYS IN MY head over and over as I search my purse for my car keys before moving to the laundry room that connects to the garage to see if they are hanging on the rack of keys. They’re not. My body vibrates with anguish and my heart lodges into my throat over the need to get to Zander so I can walk him through this.

  And to pick apart every one of his uncle’s nuances so I can make the claims I want to make about why he can’t be approved to foster.

  I know I’m breaking my promise to Shane about not reacting off the information he feeds me when it comes to Zander, but . . . it’s one of my boys. I need to be there. If it were Shane in distress I’d do the same thing.

  “Sammy!�
�� I yell, not sure if he’s in his office off the main floor or outside doing any of the various things he does that continually remain a mystery to me. I’m smart enough to know Colton has conveniently had him staying around the house lately to keep an eye on me. That doesn’t sit well with me. “Sammy. Do you know where my keys are?” I try to keep the panic out of my voice but it’s no use because I need to get to The House ASAP.

  “Everything okay?” he asks as he jogs down the hallway toward me, the concern in his tone matching the look on his face. And I realize he thinks I’m in labor, hence the slightly panicked widening of his eyes.

  “Yes. I’m looking for my keys.”

  “Do you need me to run to the store for you?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.

  “No, thank you. I need to get to The House,” I tell him as I cross my arms over my chest and just stare.

  “Sorry. You’re not supposed to be going anywhere. Colton sa—”

  “Did he hide my car keys?” I ask, voice becoming shriller with each word. Reality sets in that I’m not being forgetful with pregnancy brain like I thought when I couldn’t find my keys, but Colton actually hid them. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I yell, throwing my hands up, my misdirected anger aimed at Sammy.

  “He wanted to make sure you stayed safe,” he states quietly, knowing not to cross my temper.

  I start to walk away from him, mentally trying to figure out how to get there, when I turn back around. “Drive me then.”

  Sammy startles at my directive, considering I have never asked him for anything let alone demanded him to do something since Colton and I have been married. “Let me call Colton,” he says as he goes to step away.

  “No.” He stops and turns to look at me like I’ve lost it. The funny part is I have and can’t bother to care that I have. “I’m as much your boss as he is. I’ll take the blame, Sammy, but one of my boys needs me.” I know I’m putting him in a horrible position—piss off the husband or face the wrath of the pregnant wife—but at this point, I don’t care. All I can think about is Zander.