by K. Bromberg
“I understand why you do it, Ry—why you love it—but don’t let it kill you, sweetie.”
“I know. I know. You sound like my mother!” I take a bite of my pizza and chew it slowly. “The good news though, is that I think we secured the rest of the funding for the facility.”
“What?” she sputters, sitting up quickly. “Why didn’t you tell me? This calls for a celebration,” she says, clinking her glass with mine. “What happened? How? Details!”
“We’re still ironing out the final details before making anything public,” I say, trying to hide my contempt for how we secured the funding from my voice, “and then we’ll make an announcement.” I hope that my answer will be enough to keep her questions at bay.
“Okay,” she says slowly, eyeing me—wondering why I’m not being more forthcoming. “So then what’s up with your auction date thing that Dane was telling me about?”
I look down, twisting the ring that sits on my right hand ring finger. I worry it around and around out of habit. “Not sure yet,” I say, looking up, noticing her watching my twisting of my ring.
She looks up, tears in her eyes. “It’s because the anniversary is coming up soon isn’t it? That’s why you seem so overwhelmed?” She scoots out of her chair and sits next to me, wrapping her arms around me.
For a brief moment, I allow myself to give in to the memories and to the thoughts that surround the approaching date. I haven’t really put the two together, my sudden sentimentality and my scattered emotional state over the possibility of acting on the nonexistent connection with Colton. It’s ironic to me that someone else has noticed it. I guess I’m subconsciously ignoring the traumatic date, wanting to close my eyes to the grief that will forever smolder in the depths of my soul.
I wipe a tear from my cheek and withdraw from the warmth of Haddie’s embrace. “Yeah,” I shrug, “just too much all at once.” This is the truth, but I feel guilty in not telling Haddie the whole of it.
“Well, sister,” she says reaching out and handing me back my glass of wine. “Let’s drink a bunch more wine, wallow in pity, and laugh at our stupid selves.” Her sincere smile permeates my mood.
I clink my glass to hers, thankful for her friendship. “Cheers, my dear!”
CHAPTER 7
I glance at the clock as I finish helping Ricky with his spelling words and shoo him off to play with the others. I have thirty more minutes on shift and then I’m off for a whole glorious two days. I actually have the elusive, rare weekend off, and despite letting Haddie talk me into being her date for a launch party for the newest rum product her company is promoting, I’m excited to have time to myself.
It’s been quite a day to say the least.
Earlier in the day, the school called for me to pick up Aiden because he’d been in yet another fight. I received a lecture from the principal that if this keeps up, other measures might need to be taken for his education. I questioned him about whether the other boys, the ones who keep bullying Aiden, were getting the same reprimand. If they were getting the same threat of being kicked out of school. He gave me a non-committal answer in the form of a grunt.
I was happy that I was able to work one on one with Zander while the rest of the boys were in school. Our counseling staff thought it was best to home school him until he started communicating verbally. Trying to teach someone who for the most part is unresponsive is a frustrating endeavor to say the least. All I want is for some kind of break through with him. Something tells me he knows how much I care for him. That I wish he still had his mother to soothe him. To hug him. To tell him she loves him.
The boys are in their various afterschool modes and I’m at the table finishing my review of Shane’s paper for school. Jackson’s shift ended and hour ago and his replacement, Mike, is at a routine counseling appointment with Connor.
I resume looking over Shane’s paper, thoroughly impressed with how well he is improving in school, a result of our numerous one-on-one sessions with him. I glance over to the family room area where Kyle and Ricky have entered with their box of baseball cards. They sit down on the floor next to the coffee table and turn their attention to the basketball game that is playing on the television. Zander is in his usual place, stuffed animal held to his chest, and eyes staring unfocused into space. Scooter is laying on the carpet, coloring in one of his Spiderman coloring books. I listen for the telltale sign of music in the back bedrooms to tell me that Shane is in his room. I finish making comments on Shane’s paper and shift my attention over to start reviewing the meal and afterschool activity schedules for the next week.
I hear a knock at the front door and before I can even put my pen down, I hear Shane yell, “I got it!” from his bedroom. I smirk because I know he’s hoping it’s his “girl that is a friend,” as he puts it. She came over last week, and I think that Shane is still on cloud nine.
“Look before you open,” I tell him as I rise from the table and walk toward the hall. As I reach the corner of the hall that leads to the foyer, Shane breezes past me, disappointment on his face. “It’s for you,” he says plopping on the couch.
I turn the corner, figuring that there’s a delivery of some sort as The House is always receiving legal documents via courier in regards to our kids’ situations. I look up and see the foot of someone standing outside the doorway. I reach the doorway and when I step out I come face to face with Colton. Despite his sunglasses, I know he’s looking me up and down. A lazy, lopsided grin on his face that causes his dimple to deepen is the only show of emotion on his face.
Damn my breath for catching at the sight of him. As much as I don’t want him here, don’t want the complication of what he has to offer in my life—a quick fuck that’s easily discarded—I am giddy at the sight of him. And this turn of events is not looking good for me.
I stop in the doorway, a smile spreading on my face despite my resolve that he’s bad news for me. We stand, looking at each other, taking each other in for several moments. He’s in a well-worn pair of jeans and a black t-shirt clings over his muscular torso. The simplicity of his clothing only adds to his devastating looks. His dark hair is windblown, wild and sexy as hell.
Everything about him screams here comes trouble. And I’m standing right in his path like a deer in the headlights. Unable to move and drawn to his light. Willpower is only going to last me so long. I’m seriously screwed.
“Hello, Rylee.” The simple rasp of his voice saying my name has me flashing back to his mouth on mine. His hands on me. Has vibrations propelling shockwaves through my body.
I cock my head to the side regarding him. “Hi, Ace,” I say guardedly. “Since when did you add stalker to your repertoire of talents?”
I slip my hands into the rear pockets of my jeans as I lean against the doorjamb. He removes his sunglasses, his emerald eyes blazing into mine, and then folds them to hang in the neck of his shirt. Their weight pulls the neckline down so several dark hairs curl out over the edge. I drag my eyes from the sight back up to his.
He flashes me a lightening fast grin. “I’d be more than happy to show you my talents, sweetheart.”
I roll my eyes at him. “Womanizing is not a talent.”
“True,” he draws the word out and nods his head in a slow acknowledgement, “but you’ve yet to see the true depths of my many others.” He arches an eyebrow, a roguish smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “And since you keep running, I can’t show you and we can’t solve our little problem about that date you owe me.” He takes a step closer to me, a playful look dancing in his eyes. I retreat a step into the foyer, leery of this dance we are engaging in. “Aren’t you going to invite me in, Ryles?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Donavan. I’ve been warned about guys like you.”
He smirks at me, finding my comment amusing. “You have no idea,” he murmurs, eyes locked on mine and the patronizing manner of his smile irks me. He takes another step closer, causing my pulse to quicken.
“W
hat do you want? Why are you here?” I huff.
“Because I want my date with you,” he says annunciating every word, “and I always get what I want.” He places both hands on the doorjamb, leaning into it, his silhouette blocking the afternoon sun. His dark features haloed by the bright light.
I shake my head at his nerve and boundless conceit. “Not this time,” I disagree. I push the front door to shut and turn on my heel back down the hallway.
In less than a heartbeat, Colton grabs my upper arm, whirls me around, and has me pressed up against the doorjamb. “Keep fightin’ me, sweetheart. The feistier you are, the harder you make me.” There is a dangerous amusement to his tone that scrapes over me and prickles my senses.
Shit! How can he make those words sound like a seductive promise?
He presses his hips against mine, holding me against the hard, unforgiving wood. We’re both breathing harshly, and I’m unsure if it is from the physical exertion or from our proximity to each other.
Colton releases my upper arm and brings both of his hands to cradle my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing at my jaw line. The implied intimacy of this touch has me momentarily closing my eyes, absorbing the sensation. His translucent eyes burn into mine, and I can sense an internal struggle in him, his jaw tensing in deliberation.
“As much as I’d like to warn you away from me, Rylee—for your own sake,” he murmurs inches from my mouth, “all I crave is the taste of you.” His finger trails a line down the side of my neck, lighting my skin on fire. “It’s been too long since I’ve savored you. You. Are. Intoxicating.” His words a staccato that match the quickening of my heart.
Oh fucking my! If that comment didn’t make desire flood every inch of my skin, nothing will. The man can seduce me with words alone. He’s pulling at me, testing my willpower, and making me want way more than I should. We breathe each other in for a moment as I try to form words in my head. Gain some semblance of coherence. His mere presence makes my synapses misfire.
“Why are you warning me,” I breathe, completely immobilized by the intensity of his stare, “when you’re going to take what you want anyway?”
I see his grin flash momentarily before his lips are on mine, his hands on me, proving my point and then some. This kiss is not gentle by any means. I can sense his hunger, his fiery need as our teeth clash momentarily. His lips and tongue move at a frenzied pace against mine while his hand grabs hold of my ponytail and tugs down, holding me in place.
I relish this kiss as much as he does, for all of my pent-up frustration over him from the past few days explodes within me. I am caught up in the hurricane that is Colton. I take as he is taking. I curl my arms around his torso, running my hands up his back, enjoying the firm delineation of his muscles as he moves with me. I nip at his bottom lip, aroused by the low moan that comes from the back of his throat. We press into each other, unable to get enough of each other’s touch—the only thought running through my head is that I want more.
I’m suddenly shocked back to reality like an angel losing her wings when I hear the boys cheering loudly in the family room at something to do with the basketball game. I push Colton back with two hands against his chest.
I try to catch my breath and my bearings by placing my hand against the wall and trying to steady myself. What the hell am I thinking? I’m making out in the doorway at work. For the second time. What the hell is this guy doing to me? When I’m around him it’s as if I’ve lost all sense of reality. I can’t do this. I just can’t. I’m shaken. Really shaken. No one has ever elicited such a blatant carnal reaction from me, and it scares me.
Colton stands across from me calm as can be, keenly watching me. Why do I feel as if I have just run a marathon and he looks like his is an uninterested bystander? He exhibits no indication beyond his mussed hair of what has just occurred.
I finally find my voice. “You’re right,” I say ruefully, “I most definitely should stay away from you.” I look back toward the hallway as I catch a slight grimace glance across his face. “I need to check on the boys. You can see yourself out,” I tell him as I turn abruptly and walk back toward my responsibilities. My reality.
I enter the great room trying to plaster a natural smile on my face, failing miserably. All the boys are where I left them and for that I am thankful—glad that no one ventured in the hallway to see their guardian acting like a teenager filled with raging hormones.
Something in my periphery catches my eye. I turn to see Colton standing at the edge of the hallway, thumbs hanging in the pockets of his jeans, shoulder casually leaning against the wall. His face is expressionless, but those iridescent eyes say so much more.
What now? Can’t he just leave me alone?
I glare at him, hoping my angst is reflected in my eyes. I see that Shane has taken notice of the stranger standing in his home. He turns his attention to Colton, sizing him up. His face scrunches up as he contemplates the stranger, trying to place his familiarity.
“What do you want?” I scowl despite trying to keep the contempt out of my voice. The last thing the boys need to witness right now is a confrontation. I notice Kyle and Ricky’s heads pop up to look over the table like a pair of meerkats.
Colton glances at the boys, smiles politely at them although I can see the tension in his eyes. “I told you, Rylee, I’m here to collect my winnings,” he drawls. “To collect what’s mine.” He smiles insolently at me, waiting for my reaction, trying to push my buttons.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You owe me a date, Ryles.”
I can see the boys have all turned their attention to the two of us now. The basketball game has been forgotten. Shane is smirking for he is old enough to sense sexual tension when he sees it even if he doesn’t quite understand it.
Colton walks toward me purposely placing his back to our audience, blocking me from their vision so they can’t watch our interaction. I am grateful when he stops and stands at a respectful distance from me.
“Sorry, Ace,” I say sweetly so only he can hear me. “Hell hasn’t frozen over yet. I’ll let you know when it does.”
He takes a step closer to me, his voice just above a whisper, “It seems you know all about being cold, Rylee. Why stay frigid when you know I can heat you up?”
His targeted words take their direct hit right at my self-esteem. I seethe anger at his arrogance but know I must calm myself down before I cause a scene here at work, in front of my kids.
I break my glare from Colton when something over his shoulder catches my attention. I step to the side so that I can get a better look at what it is. I stifle a gasp as I watch Zander, holding his stuffed animal tightly, move slowly around the couch toward us. He has a curious look on his usually stoic face as he approaches.
Colton turns around to see what I’m reacting to. He starts to ask me a question, and I raise my hand up forcefully telling him to be quiet. Fortunately, he complies. The other boys in the room have all turned to watch, expectant expressions on their faces for this is the first time that Zander has ever purposely taken the initiative to interact with someone.
Zander walks up to us, staring at Colton, his mouth opening slightly and closing several times. His eyes are saucers in his pale face. I kneel down to be at eye level with him. I sense Colton next to me trying to grasp the seriousness of my reaction.
“Hi there,” I hear Colton say gently.
Zander stops and just stares. I fear that something about Colton’s looks or that he is wearing has triggered a reaction in Zander. Some negative memory that is forcing him to come see for himself if it’s real. I’m waiting for the fallout to start—the screaming, the fighting, and the terror to fill his eyes.
“Zander. It’s okay, baby,” I croon to him, wanting to break through his trance, letting him know that a familiar, comforting voice is nearby. I turn my head slightly toward Colton, locking my eyes with his, “You need to leave now!” I order him, afraid of what Zander sees in him.
Agai
nst my wish, Colton steps forward and slowly crouches down beside me. I hear his boots squeak on the tile for the house is quiet. One of the boys must have muted the television.
“Hey, buddy,” he soothes, “How ya doin’? You okay?”
Zander takes a step closer to Colton and a smile ghosts his mouth. My eyes widen. He is not scared but rather likes Colton. I quickly glance to Colton, afraid to miss anything Zander does, and he holds my gaze, nodding his head in acknowledgement. He understands that something is happening. Something important. Something that he needs to be careful and take caution with.
“Zander is it?” Haunted eyes meet Colton’s, and then he moves his head in a small, discernible nod. I suck in my breath, tears threatening as I watch a small breakthrough happening. “So Zander, do you like racing?”
I can hear the boys in the family begin murmuring excitedly as realization of who stands in their house dawns on them. The boys get louder until they see me staring intensely at them, and they become silent.
Colton holds his hand out to Zander, “Nice to meet you, Zander. My name is Colton.”
For the second time in three days, I am rendered speechless. My head is reeling at the sight of little Zander slowly reaching out and placing his hand to shake the hand of the man next to me.
I watch the first steps of a little boy breaking free from the devastating grasp of a violent trauma. His first time initiating physical contact with someone in over three months.
Colton holds Zander’s small hand in his, shaking it gently. When they finish their greeting, Zander keeps his hand there with no indication that he wants to move it. Colton obliges and just holds the tiny hand, a soft smile on his face.
Tears burn as I hold them back. I want to jump up and shout in excitement at this breakthrough. I want to grab Zander and hug him and tell him how proud I am of him. I do none of these for the power of this moment is so much greater than any of these things put together.
