Driven Collection

by K. Bromberg

  “Yes. You can.” I scream at him. “And it’s not that I don’t like her. I fucking hate her! You fucked her, Colton. Fucked! Her! I think your choice is pretty fucking obvious. Don’t you?”

  “Rylee…”

  “You know what, Colton? You make me sick. I should’ve trusted my gut instinct when it came to you the first time around. You really are nothing but a whore.”

  When I stop and wipe the tears from my eyes that I didn’t even realize were flowing, Colton still remains standing there, his face stoic and his eyes hard as steel. When he speaks, his voice is low and unforgiving. “Well if I’m going to be accused of it—lose the one girl I choose because of her misperception and absolute obstinance—then I might as well do it.”

  I stop mid-motion at his words. So sarcastic. So accusatory. I meet his eyes and my breath catches in my throat before closing them and taking a deep breath as his comment sinks in. My world spirals in black, looping with confusion that just became quite clear. It’s the first time that he hasn’t denied sleeping with her. He didn’t confess—I didn’t hear the words come from his mouth—but he didn’t deny it either. Pain staggers through my chest as I focus on trying to breathe—on trying to think—but he just keeps talking. My fractured heart shatters and splinters into a million pieces.

  “This is how I’m used to dealing with pain, Rylee. I’m not proud of it, but I use women to cover up the hurt. I lose myself in them to block everything out.” He hangs his head for a second as my mind tries to grasp the shock waves his words create.

  He’s just told me two things, and I’m not sure which one my scattered mind can focus on. His admission causes his comment from several weeks ago to float into my head. The comment he made in my house the morning after our first time sleeping together. How his 747 of baggage makes him crave the sensory overload of physicality—the stimulating indulgence of skin on skin. But why?

  And at what point is a convenient explanation just a bullshit excuse for a playboy caught in his own lies? An opportune way for the man who always gets what he wants, to well, get what he wants. I can love the broken in him, but I can’t accept the lies any more.

  “You told me the other day that we’re over. I’ll be the first to admit it’s fucked up, but I’m coping the only way I know how,” he says.

  I search his face, looking so far within him that it scares me. I can see the pain in his eyes. Can hear the hesitation and utter shame in his confession. Is this what I want? A man who every time we have an argument or every time he gets spooked about our relationship turns to someone else? Runs off to another woman to help lessen the pain? I told him I loved him. I didn’t tell him I want to marry him and be the mother of his unwanted children for God’s sake.

  “So you’re telling me that I’m so important to you that if you bag some unmemorable chick, you’ll forget me?” I shake my head at him. “That if we’re together, every time the going gets tough you’ll run off with Tawny or another willing candidate? Gee, you're really building the foundation of a great relationship here.” He tries to interrupt me, but I just hold up my hand to stop him. “Colton…” I sigh. “Coming to talk to you tonight was obviously a mistake. The more you talk, the more I’m really starting to realize I don’t know you at all.”

  “You know me better than anyone!” he shouts, taking a step closer as I take one back. “I’ve never had to explain anything to anyone…I’m not doing a good job at it.”

  “You can say that again,” I snip back at him.

  “Let’s get out of here and talk.”

  “Colton?” a seductive female voice calls to him from over my shoulder. Everything in my body tenses at the sound. Colton’s face blanches.

  “Out!” He grates between gritted teeth at her.

  I unclench my jaw and take in a deep breath. “Talking’s overrated. Besides, it’s obvious you found someone to help you bury the hurt.” I nod my head toward the door behind me. “And you know what? I think it’s time I try it too.” I shrug. “See if finding a guy for the night fixes everything like you seem to think it does.”

  “No!” The pained look of desperation on his face upsets me, but I’m so far past caring right now. So far past feeling. So numb.

  “Why not? What’s good for the goose and all that,” I say, adding another animal to the imaginary menagerie I'm building as he just stares at me. One last look. “Enjoy your cocktail party, Ace.”

  I WANDER AIMLESSLY AROUND THE resort for what feels like an eternity. I watch the sun sink into the horizon, snuffing out the light of the day like the emotions darkened in my heart. Sadness overwhelms me but it’s nothing new since I’ve been there the past few weeks anyway. I think it’s worse because I allowed myself to believe that when I went to Colton, he’d accept why I was upset and that would be it. I never thought he’d play the idiotic game he did to purposely try and hurt me further.

  I replay his admission to me over and over in my mind. His acknowledgement that he uses women to bury his hurt. On one hand I understand him a bit better now, but on the other it tells me that I really know nothing of his past—of the things that make him who he is.

  But he’s so in denial—or maybe so used to getting away with things—that he doesn’t even realize the excuses he’s giving for his actions are inexcusable.

  As I take a seat on a bench in one of the many gardens of the hotel, my phone rings. I look down, debating on answering it, but know that this might be the one person that might help me get my head on straight.

  “Hey, Had,” I say, trying to muster up as much normalcy as possible.

  “What happened?” Her insistent tone rings through the phone line loud and clear. I guess I failed at fooling her.

  The tears come. They don’t stop. When they eventually subside, I relay the events of the evening. Haddie speaks. “That’s the biggest bunch of bullshit I’ve ever heard.”

  What? “Come again?”

  “Well first of all, Tawny. She’s just a jealous bitch trying to get to you and she succeeded!”

  “Whatever…” I blow my nose, completely dismissing Haddie’s remark.

  “Seriously, Ry…that’s like Bitch 101. If you can’t have the guy, make the girl the guy wants doubt him so that you can have him.” She sighs loudly. “I’m not proud to say it, but I’ve done the exact same thing before.”

  “Seriously?” My mind starts to comprehend what she’s saying.

  “Rylee…for a smart girl sometimes you’re really dumb.”

  “Way to add insult to injury, Had.”

  “Sorry, but it’s true. You’re so wrapped up in your own head right now that you’re not seeing it from the outside. If Colton wanted to fuck around, then why would he pursue you relentlessly? The guy’s got it bad for you, Ry. Tawny’s just one of those devious bitches that’s going to get her due sometime. I hope Karma kicks that bitch’s ass sooner than later.”

  I start to hear what Haddie is saying. When the hell did dating become so complicated? When the someone you’re dating is so incredibly worth the fight.

  “I hear what you’re saying, Haddie, but what about tonight then? The kiss. The…he cheated on me.” I breathe the last part out.

  “Did he though?” she says, and it lingers on the line between us.

  “Fucking Christ, Haddie! You’re not helping me here.” I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch the bridge of my nose.

  “I’m not in your shoes, Ry. I can’t tell you what to do—what to feel—all I can tell you is to use your gut instinct.” She sighs. “Women are vicious bitches and men are confusing bastards—you just have to figure out which of the two you trust the most.”

  “Fuck!” I groan, feeling less resolved than when our conversation began.

  “Love ya, Ry.”

  “Love ya, Had.”

  I hang the phone up and walk some more along the edge of the golf course thinking about Haddie’s comments and lack of advice. I wander around the grounds of the resort, attempting to stop my mind from think
ing, but I’m unsuccessful. I walk past one of the hotel cocktail lounges and uncharacteristically find myself turning into it and taking a seat at the bar. The lounge is not overtly busy, but it’s not quiet by any means either. Both the bar and the various tables are peppered with patrons, some alone and others coupled here and there.

  It’s not until I take a seat that I realize how much the arches of my feet ache from my heels and my aimless wandering. I look up at the clock on the wall and am astounded to see that over two hours have passed.

  I lean into the back of the chair and shake my head at the day’s chain of events that have hit me like a head-on collision. I order a drink and take a long sip on the straw as my attention turns to the television in the corner to the right of me. Of course the channel is on something or other pertaining to the race tomorrow—the whole city has been transformed for the road track—so I can understand why the television is tuned to it. Unfortunately for me, the panel of men on the program discuss one Colton Donavan and review his highlights from last year. Images of the number thirteen car at various venues flash on the screen. I swear I can’t escape the man no matter where I go.

  Without thinking, I lean forward as I hear the announcers mention Colton’s name. “Well, Leigh, Donavan seems to be lighting up the track this week,” one announcer says. “He’s been like a man on a mission the way he’s barely letting up in the turns in his practice runs.”

  “He’s obviously worked on his skills in the off season because it’s definitely showing. I’m just wondering if he’s running a little too hard. Going in with a game plan that’s a little too aggressive for the race tomorrow,” the other announcer observes. “Maybe taking too many risks. He’s definitely driving like a man scorned for sure though.” The other announcer laughs, and I just roll my eyes at the comment.

  “If he runs laps tomorrow like he did today, he’s set to break a course record.”

  The screen flashes to the media headshot of Colton and then flashes back to the highlights. Ludacris’ The Rest of My Life plays as the background music during the spotlight of Colton’s testing runs, and I shake my head for I couldn’t think of a more fitting song.

  I sigh heavily and take another draw on my straw, averting my eyes that are drawn to the sight of his face on television.

  “Rough day?”

  I turn to face the masculine voice that has spoken to my left. I’m in no mood for company really, but when I see the set of chocolate brown eyes filled with compassion framed by a rather handsome face, I know that I can’t be rude. “Something like that,” I murmur with a slight smile before turning back to my drink, just wanting to be left alone. My nervous hands start to shred tiny pieces of my napkin apart. “Another please?” I motion to the bartender as she walks past.

  “Let me get it,” the man beside me says.

  I look over at him again. “That’s really not necessary.”

  “Please, I insist,” he tells the bartender, sliding his card across the counter to start a tab, which makes me a bit uncomfortable seeing as I don’t plan on being here long enough to have a tab.

  I stare at him again. My eyes take in his clean-cut appearance and attire but are drawn back to his eyes. All I see is kindness. “Thanks.” I shrug.

  “Parker,” he says, holding his hand out.

  “Rylee,” I reply, shaking his hand.

  “You here for work or pleasure?”

  I laugh softly. “Work. You?”

  “A little of both actually. Looking forward to the race tomorrow.”

  “Hmpf,” is all I manage as I focus back on shredding my napkin. I realize I’m being rude, but I’m really not in the mood to make polite conversation with someone that possibly wants more than just a drink and quick chat at the bar. “I’m sorry,” I apologize, “I’m not much company right now.”

  “It’s okay,” he says wistfully. “Whoever he is…he’s a lucky man.”

  I look over at him. “That obvious, huh?”

  “Been there, done that before.” He chuckles as he takes a long sip of his beer. “All I’ll say is the man must be an idiot if he’s willing to let you walk away without a fight.”

  “Thanks,” I resign, a flash of a smile lighting up my face for the first time since I’ve met him.

  “Wow! There’s a smile,” he teases, “and a beautiful one at that!”

  My cheeks flush as I avert my eyes and take a drink of liquid courage. We talk idly about nothing in particular for a while as the lounge slowly fills up and the night progresses. At one point Parker scoots his stool closer to mine as we’re having trouble hearing each other over the increased noise. He’s easy to talk to, and I know that if we were in another place and another time, I’d enjoy his casual attempts at flirting with me, but my heart’s just not in it so his harmless attempts remain unreciprocated.

  I’ve had a couple of drinks, and a slow hum is buzzing through my system—not enough to stifle the hurt from the day but just enough to allow me to forget for sporadic moments of time. My attention is drawn to loud laughter outside the open entrance to the lounge, and when I look up, I stifle a gasp as my eyes meet Colton’s. We stare for a beat, and then I see his eyes narrow in on Parker and the angle of his body leaning in to hear me over the noise.

  I hear Beckett and Sammy shouting in the background over the noise, and I pull myself away from Parker when I hear Colton growl. I search through the shifting crowd and see Beckett in front of Colton, hands pressed against his chest as Sammy stands behind him, restraining him by the shoulders. Colton is not looking at them at all. His eyes are boring holes into mine as he works his jaw back and forth on gritted teeth, muscles straining in his neck.

  I look back at Parker, who has heard the distraction in the hallway but can’t see anything with his line of sight. He looks to me and shakes his head. “Let me guess,” he says with a resigned laugh. “He’s come back to fight for you?”

  “Something like that,” I murmur.

  I hear more shouting as I look back toward the door and the rest of the patrons have taken note of the chaos ensuing. The noise level has hushed some as all of the onlookers stare and I hear Beckett shout, “No! You’ve got other priorities, Wood!” before I see Colton break free from his grip and stalk through the crowd that parts for him without hesitation.

  Parker has since taken note of the scuffle in the hallway, and when he sees who is bearing down on us, I hear him suck in a breath. “That’s the guy?” he says incredulously, with a mixture of fear and astonishment filtering through his voice simultaneously. “Colton fuckin’ Donavan? Christ, I’m dead!” He groans.

  I stand up from the stool and step in front of him. “Don’t worry. I can handle him,” I tell him confidently, but when I catch a glimpse of the unadulterated rage reflected in Colton’s eyes, I question if I can.

  And I’m sure it’s the numerous cocktails under my belt and buzzing through my system, but the thought sends an unexpected thrill through me regardless of the events of the past couple of days. Something on his face besides his anger pulls at parts deep within me. It’s that look in his eye. The one that says he’s had enough. That says he’s going to waltz into this room, pick me up, throw me over his shoulder, and take me somewhere to have his way with me. In those few seconds before he reaches me—as I watch the muscles bunch beneath the fitted fabric of his shirt—every part of me below the waist coils with desire. I am so not into the cave man thing, but damn if the man doesn’t make a woman want like no other.

  And then when he stops in front of me, those cold, calculating, emerald green eyes visually pin me motionless, and my mind regains control of my traitorous body, pushing my libido to the wayside. “What the fuck are you trying to pull, Rylee?” he growls, low but it resonates above the chatter of the bar.

  I hear Parker shift restlessly behind me. Without looking, I reach my hand back and pat his knee to tell him I’ve got this. “What business is it of yours?” I respond flippantly, the alcohol allowing me to reflect the
courage that I really don’t feel.

  I’m ready for his hand as it reaches to grab my arm, so I yank it out of his reach before he can grasp it. We stare at each other, both seething for the same reasons. I see Beckett approach us with trepidation in his eyes and Sammy not far behind him.

  “I don’t like games, Rylee. I won’t tell you that again.”

  “You don’t like games?” I laugh with disgust. “But it’s okay for you to play them?”

  He leans in, his face inches from me, his alcohol laced breath feathering over my face and mingling with mine. “Why don’t you tell your little boy toy he can run along now before things get even more interesting?”

  Knowing that we have both been drinking and should stop this little charade before we can’t turn back should make me walk away—but rational exited the building a long time ago, leaving crazy and scorned to reign. I shove against his chest as hard as I can to get him out of my face, but he just grips my hands and pulls me with the momentum that I’ve caused. “You. Arrogant. Conceited. Egomaniac!” I shout brokenly at him, unconsciously giving him the meaning behind his nickname, but I know he doesn’t catch it. I fall against him and the action draws even more stares from the crowd around us. Our chests rise and fall with our angry, harsh breaths as we both clench our jaws in frustration.

  “What the fuck are you trying to prove?” he grits out.

  “I’m just testing your theory,” I lie.

  “My theory?”

  “Yeah.” I scoff. “If losing yourself in someone helps get rid of the pain.”

  “How’s that working for you?” He smirks.

  “Not sure.” I shrug nonchalantly at him before I reach back and tug on Parker’s hand. I know I shouldn’t involve him any further. It’s extremely selfish of me to use him in this, but Colton makes me bat-shit crazy sometimes. “I’ll let you know in the morning.” I raise my eyebrows at him as I take a step past him.

  “Don’t you walk away from me, Rylee!”

  “You lost the right to tell me what to do the minute you slept with her.” I sneer at him. “Besides, you said you like my ass…enjoy the view as I walk away because that’s the last you’ll be seeing of it.”