Aced (The Driven #5)

by K. Bromberg

  The other shoe most definitely has dropped.

  Humpty fuckin’ dumpty. The thought’s there instantly of another time, another place when I felt this goddamn helpless. This time though . . . man, I’m not sure what it’s going to take to put things back together again.

  I walk over to the bed, to my whole fucking world, and hate that it doesn’t feel so whole. I press a kiss to the side of her shoulder and just leave my lips pressed there for a second as I breathe her in. Fight, Ry. We need you. I need you. I’m not sure if she’s asleep or not because she doesn’t react, and man, how I want her to react. I know she’s doing everything she can to keep herself together right now—for all of us—when it seems all she wants to do is fade away.

  My scrappy fighter, who is so goddamn beautiful even now with circles beneath her eyes, will find her way. I just can’t pressure her regardless of how much I want to.

  Or at least that’s what Google says. Her mind is betraying her.

  Reaching down, I scoop up Ace, who thank fuck is completely content with his full belly, and carry him out of the room.

  What the hell do I do with him now?

  My hands feel like clubs when I change diapers.

  My lullaby game is non-existent.

  The blanket thing? How in the hell do you get it to look like a burrito? It’s not that fucking easy. So what if I used a four-inch piece of duct tape to keep it closed? Call me resourceful.

  Or an idiot.

  It’s taking everything I have not to cry uncle and call in the cavalry: our moms, Quinlan, Haddie. But then that’s admitting defeat and fuck if I want to admit that. Plus I can’t do that to Ry. She’s already so fragile. Asking others for help without her consent would be a slap to her face. Push her farther under water when she’s already drowning. Prove to her that I don’t think she’s capable of handling this.

  And that’s not what my intention would be. But with Ry right now? Shit, I know that’s just how she’d take it.

  Yet my cell sits on the counter and looks so damn tempting.

  I’m a fish out of water. It’s not pretty. I’ve paced, I’ve rocked, I’ve swayed, and no goddamn dice. Ace won’t have any of it.

  Just go to sleep!

  “Look, little man,” I say, holding him up so I can look in his eyes as he continues to fuss. “I’m new at this. Have no clue what the fu—er, heck I’m doing here. Can you give a guy a break and go easy on me? Please?”

  I can’t believe I’m pleading with a newborn—that I’ve been reduced to this—but desperate times call for desperate measures.

  “It’s just you and me, dude. Boys club. Your momma’s having a tough time so you’re stuck with me. I know I suck . . . don’t have boobs like she does. Believe me, I miss them too. One day you’ll understand. But for now . . . you have to man up. I’ll show you how. First step, go to sleep for me.”

  Please. I close my eyes for a moment, unsure what to do now. My mom’s not too far away and could get here quickly at this ungodly hour of night. When I open them back up, his eyes are closed.

  Thank fuck for that.

  THE DARKNESS CALLS TO ME. Pulls me. Drowns me in its welcome warmth. It’s like a lover’s kiss, addictive, all-consuming, and irresistible.

  I don’t want to leave it.

  But I have to.

  I’m going to be better today. I’m going to look at Ace and want to wrap my arms around him and pull him in close to me, breathe him in, love him till it hurts.

  Connect with him.

  Be a mother to him.

  My sweet Ace. My miracle baby. My everything.

  The constant merry-go-round continues. Colton brings Ace in. He nurses. My head hurts, my heart aches, and my soul tries tirelessly to be what I need to be for him. For them.

  It kills me when I can’t.

  Colton watches, gauges if I’m better today. Or worse. If he should leave Ace with me a little longer. If it’s helping or hurting. There are lines etched on his face. Concern. Worry. Disbelief.

  My mom. Short texts. Avoided phone calls. Unanswered messages. I know she’s worried. I know I can talk to her. But I can’t bring myself to pick up the phone.

  Colton talks to me. Spends endless hours trying to pull me toward his light.

  “I think I’m going to skip the next race or two. Denny deserves a shot at driving the car. Besides, I’ll miss Ace too much if I’m gone.”

  You’re lying. You’re afraid to leave me here alone with him.

  And yet I don’t respond. Can’t. Because I’m afraid of being alone with Ace too.

  The silences screams around us.

  “I talked to Zander today.” He tries again.

  My Zander.

  “He sounds better.”

  If I could feel relief, I would. But I won’t believe it until I see it for myself.

  “I told him when you’re feeling better you’re going to have him come back over. He misses you. The boys miss you.” I can see the look in his eyes that says, I miss you.

  I miss you, too.

  But Colton doesn’t stop, doesn’t dwell on the fact I don’t respond to his unspoken words. He just walks slowly back and forth with Ace on his shoulder and rambles on about nothing and everything until his cell phone rings or our son falls asleep.

  Or Ace needs to nurse again.

  The endless cycle. One I abhor and crave desperately. Because it means he hasn’t given up on me.

  Guilt eats at me. Niggles in the back of my mind. Confuses me. I try. I really do. I fight the pull of the water over my head, drowning in the numbness that ebbs and flows before I can resurface from its hold. I fight to come up for air for my burning lungs, before plunging back down into its depths.

  A text from Colton even though he’s just downstairs:

  Remember this one? It still holds true. I’m here. Keep fighting. I’ll wait. All of Me by John Legend.

  A flashback of our earlier times. An attempt to lift me up. A challenge for me to remember the feeling. The love. Myself. But I’m so buried I can’t even lift my head. Or take a breath.

  I’m so sorry, Colton. I’m so sorry, Ace.

  I’m trying.

  I’m fighting.

  Don’t give up on me.

  I really do love you. I just can’t feel it. Or show it.

  But I will.

  It’s just the baby blues. I’m stronger than this. Than it. I just need a bit more time.

  Tomorrow will be better.

  “I CAN’T WAIT TO GET my hands on this little guy.” Haddie rubs her hands together as she leans forward and hugs me distractedly, already reaching out to grab Ace from me.

  “Thanks for getting here so quickly. I didn’t know who else to call.” Who Rylee wouldn’t freak out over, I add silently, because she sure as fuck is going to go ballistic when she wakes up to find Haddie here.

  “Anytime. Besides I should be thanking you,” she says, lacing kisses on Ace’s head. “Ry’s been so set on getting his routine down before having visitors that I thought I’d never get to see him.”

  “About that . . .” I say, taking a deep breath, knowing I’m crossing some kind of marital boundary I shouldn’t be, but am past caring. “She’s struggling a bit. Baby blues.” I nod my head to reinforce my words, to try and relay the rest of what Rylee has forbid me to say. Haddie narrows her eyes at me.

  “Oh, that’s normal. Everyone I know goes through it a bit. No worries, Donavan, I’ll cheer her up,” she says with a wink.

  I know I need to move. Get to Kelly ASAP but fuck is it hard to leave Ry when she’s like this. This could go so wrong on so many fronts. Ry is going to kill me. She’s not going to be able to hide from Haddie what’s going on. And a tiny little piece of me feels relieved because I don’t know what to do anymore.

  I’m lost. Like on-a-deserted-island lost and don’t have a clue how to help her.

  This could push her over the edge or help reel her back. I hope to hell it’s the latter.

  “Now go.
Get. I know you’re in a rush. I’ve got it covered here,” Haddie says, interrupting my thoughts.

  “She’s napping upstairs. I didn’t tell her I was going.”

  “GO! I’ve got it under control. You’re starting to eat into my auntie and Ace time.” She starts to shut the front door, and I walk toward the car where Sammy is waiting in the passenger seat when she calls to me. “Hey, Colton?”

  I turn, my hand resting with the car door handle, anticipation humming in my blood. “Yeah?”

  “Kick Eddie extra hard in the nuts for me, will ya? He deserves it for fucking with my bestie.”

  “Only if he’s still standing when I’m done with him.” I slide into the driver’s seat. Sammy’s chuckle fills the car, and my mind races.

  “We’re good to go?” I ask, my eyes flickering back and forth from Kelly to Sammy to make sure we’re all on the same page.

  “Yep. Dean’s got him inside. Everything else is in place.” Our eyes meet, his unspoken warning I don’t want to see is loud and fucking clear within them: cool my jets, my temper, and let the plan work.

  And as much as I know he’s right, I turn my back to him and start up the walk without acknowledging I saw it.

  No one’s going to tell me how to run my own show. I know the fallout for my actions. They’re clear as fucking day. But I also know Eddie’s fucked with my wife and my son, and if a man doesn’t stand up for his family, he shouldn’t be standing at all.

  Going to jail isn’t an option. And not because I care about having a record or the media frenzy it would cause. I just can’t do that to Ry with how she is or to Ace with how little and helpless he is. But it sure as fuck doesn’t mean I’ll toe the line.

  Bring it, fucker. I’m ready for you. Pumped and primed. Push my buttons. Pretty please.

  Without knocking, I open the door to the rundown apartment. Kelly’s cohort, Dean, is standing just inside. Our eyes meet. A mutual understanding is passed between us—my thanks, his take your time—before he steps out without another sound.

  I take three steps in. I don’t hear the door shut. I don’t notice that Sammy’s back is pressed against it, because my eyes are focused on the man sitting on the ripped couch in front of me: elbows on knees, head hanging down, leg anxiously jogging up and down.

  Rage like I’ve felt very few times in my life roars through me. A fucking freight train of fury I need to keep on track before I let it derail.

  I clear my throat. When Eddie realizes someone else is in the apartment, he whips his head up with eyes wide as saucers and mouth open. He looks like shit. Good.

  “What the . . .?” he asks at first, looking startled, eyes blinking as he shoves up from the couch to stare at me again. And then he belts out a long, low condescending laugh that does nothing but confuse me and piss me off further.

  “Something funny?” I ask, fists clenched, curiosity piqued why this is so amusing to him.

  “I should have known,” he says with a shake of his head, his body visibly relaxing.

  Give me a reason, you fucker. Just one.

  “Were you expecting somebody else?” I know my threat is nothing compared to the others he will face. That unexpectedly works in my favor.

  “Yes. No.” That taunting smirk is back front and center. “Your pretty little wife, perhaps.”

  Bingo.

  I’m across the room in two seconds. Arm cocked. Fist flying. The give of flesh against my knuckles. The thud of bone connecting against bone. The crunch that is nowhere near satisfying enough after what he’s done to my family.

  The sound of glass shattering as his arm hits the lamp and knocks it over breaks through my silent rage, brings me back to the here and now. Reminds me that I want some answers before I finish what he started.

  I don’t worry about the neighbors hearing us and calling the cops. In places like this no one pays attention. They all keep their head down and stay in their own trouble. I should know. I grew up in a place just like this. No one came to the rescue of the little boy screaming in pain on the other side of the wall.

  The thought fuels my anger. Adds strength to my resolve to not be that person. To not stoop to the level of the man in front of me.

  But God, how I want to stoop.

  “Look at me,” I yell. My voice fills the room. He lifts his head up from where he’s landed askew on the couch, a red welt swelling on his cheek. “Don’t talk about my wife, again. This is between you and me, you fucking bastard.”

  That chuckle of his is louder, and it takes every ounce of restraint I have to not unleash the fury I feel.

  Because I want what I came here for. Answers first. Vindication second. And, oh how sweet that last one will be. He doesn’t have a clue what’s about to hit him.

  “You want to settle a score? Go right ahead. You think you scare me, Donavan? Think again. You. Can’t. Touch. Me. You’re such a pussy you have to bring your goddamn henchman over there,” he says, pointing to Sammy standing silently at the door, “to do your dirty work for you.”

  “I think your black eye will prove I can do my own dirty work just fine.” I look over my shoulder and lift my chin to Sammy to tell him to leave. It’s better this way. No witnesses. No he said, she said. Just my word against Eddie’s. Kelly’s so damn convinced that Eddie’ll sue if I touch him anyway.

  Oops. Guess I already broke that rule. My bad.

  “Is everyone in your life that tight on your string? One pull on it and they dance?” He raises his eyebrows as his eyes follow Sammy out the door. I glare at him. Bide my time. He’s so fucking arrogant I can see him itching to gloat about how he pulled this all off.

  “You don’t know shit about my life, Eddie.”

  “I know I won’t dance. So how does it feel to pull a string and get back a big giant fuck you, huh?”

  “Is that what this was all about? Proving you’re better than me?” I ask, feigning indifference when I’m anything but.

  Take the bait, Eddie. Feed your ego. Prove. Me. Wrong.

  He rises from the couch and steps toward me with eerie calm. “I am better than you,” he says as he steps right into my wheelhouse. Tempting me like never before. “And I’m not stupid either. Lift your shirt up. I bet your pansy ass is wearing a wire. Trying to hook me on something I didn’t do.”

  Is he fucking crazy? Like I’d let the police on this little get together we’re having. Shit, he’s going to wish I went with a wiretap.

  “Prison was that good to you, huh?” I taunt as I lift my shirt up and turn around for him to see I’m not wired. “You into guys now?

  “Fuck you,” he spits.

  “No thanks,” I say, taking a step closer. “I want nothing more from you than answers. Everything else you’ve got coming to you is of your own making.”

  He quirks his head, arrogant smirk spreading wide. “Thanks to your son, nothing else is coming to me. Sold that picture of him to the tabloids.” He sneers. “Made a mint and paid off old debts. Thanks to Ace, I’m free and clear.”

  Fucking pompous bastard. Joke’s on him though. That’s the only reason I’m not throwing another fist into his face.

  “Bravo,” I say as I clap my hands slow and deliberately. His eyes narrow, his jaw clenches. Good. I’m pissing him off. “You could have made more money with the video though.” The lie flows off my tongue, but I have to force the words out. “Bet you didn’t think of that now, did you?”

  There’s the hook, fucker. Take a big bite so I can set it.

  “Prison has a way of putting things on hold.” He glares at me. “But it also allowed me a lot of time to plan, to figure out how to get the fucker back who put me there.”

  “Get me back? For what? Because I didn’t let you waltz out of my office with the blueprints, sell them to someone else as your own, collect the royalties, and get away with it? Are you out of your fucking mind? Did you think I was going to let you take what was mine and use it?”

  “Seems like I took what was yours and did it anyw
ay.”

  The quiet comment’s double meaning—the stolen blueprints and exposure of Rylee on the video—calls to me like a goddamn moth to a flame. This time I can’t resist.

  He sees my punch coming and gets a quick one into my rib cage before my knuckles meet his jaw. His head snaps back. His body slams into the wall behind him. The sound of him grunting overrides my quick sting of pain from where he landed his.

  My body vibrates with anger. Pure unfettered rage as I stare at the waste of space and talk myself out of finishing this right now. And of course because he’s a cocky fucker, when he lifts his head back up, that curl to his lips tests my restraint.

  Jesus Christ. This is so much fucking harder than I thought it would be. To keep my shit together when all I want to do is show him the rage I feel. Throw punch after punch. Relieve the stress and pain he has caused us.

  But that won’t solve anything.

  “You’re a useless piece of shit. Deserve everything you get.”

  “What I get? Like I said, Donavan. You can’t touch me. I did nothing illegal. The video wasn’t yours. I didn’t steal it. It was in a safety deposit box while I served my time. Shit, it gained in value.”

  “Did that eat at you, Eddie?” I ask, stepping back into his personal space. “Taunt you every fucking day while you sat in a six-by-ten cell? You felt entitled to fuck with my family because you’re a useless piece of shit who can’t control his own gambling habits, so to save his own ass, has to rob Peter to pay Paul? It’s so much easier to place the blame somewhere else than realize you did this to yourself.” I poke my finger in his chest as I laugh under my breath. Taunt him. “Talk about being a pussy.”

  Dangle the carrot.

  “A pussy?” he asks, voice louder as he stands taller. Little-man complex front and center as he puffs his chest out. “You cost me everything!” His voice thunders into the empty apartment, spittle flying from his mouth, as he slowly becomes unhinged. “My wife. My kids. Everything!”

  “Cheaters never prosper,” I say in a singsong voice. He starts to come after me, nostrils flared, fists clenched, but stops when I just raise my eyebrows at him. My empathy is nil. “You. Can’t. Touch. Me,” I whisper back to him in the same voice he used with me.