Driven

by K. Bromberg

  CHAPTER 13

  I can smell fuel and dirt and something pungently metallic. It fills my nostrils, seeping into my head before I feel the pain. In that quiet moment before my other senses are assaulted with the destruction around me, I feel at peace. I feel still and whole. For some reason my consciousness knows I’ll look back on this and wish I had this moment back. Wish I could remember what it was like before.

  The pain comes first. Even before my head can clear the fog away enough so that I can open my eyes, the pain comes. There are no words to describe the agony of feeling like you have a million knives entering you and ripping you apart, just to withdraw and start all over again. And again. Endlessly.

  In that second between unconscious and consciousness, I feel this jagged pain. My eyes fly open, frantic breaths gulp for air. Each breath hurting, burning, laboring. My eyes see the devastation around me, but my brain doesn’t register the shattered glass, smoking engine, and crushed metal. My mind doesn’t understand why my arm, bent at so many odd angles, won’t move to undo my seatbelt. Why it can’t release me.

  I feel as if everything is in slow motion. I can see dust particles drift silently through the air. I can feel the trickle of blood run ever so slowly down my neck. I can feel the incremental inching of numbness taking over my legs. I can feel the hopelessness seep into my psyche, take hold of my soul, and dig its malicious fingers into my every fiber.

  I can hear him. Can hear Max’s gurgled breathing, and even in my shock-induced haze I’m mad at myself for not looking for him more quickly. I turn my head to my left and there he sits. His beautiful wavy blonde hair is tinged red, the gaping gash in his head looks odd to me. I want to ask him what happened to him but my mouth isn’t working. It can’t form the words. Panic and fear fills his eyes, and pain creases his tanned, flawless face. A small trickle of blood is coming from his ear and I think this is a bad thing but I’m not sure why. He coughs. It sounds funny, and little specks of red appear on the shattered window in front of us. I see his hand travel across the car, fumbling over every item between him and me as if he needs touch to guide him. He fumbles aimlessly until he finds my hand. I can’t feel his fingers grip mine, but my eyes see the connection.

  “Ry,” he gasps. “Ry, look at me.” I have to concentrate really hard to raise my head and eyes to meet Max’s. I feel the warmth of a tear fall on my cheek, the salt of it on my lips, but I don’t remember crying. “Ry, I’m not doing too good here.” I watch as he unsuccessfully attempts to take a deep breath but my attention is drawn elsewhere when I think I hear a baby crying. I swivel my head to look, but there is nothing but pine trees and the sudden movement makes me dizzy.

  “Rylee! I need you to concentrate. To look at me,” he pants in short bursts of breaths. I swing my head back at him. It’s Colton. What’s he doing here? Why is he covered in blood? Why is he in Max’s seat? In Max’s clothes? In Max’s place?

  “Rylee,” he begs, “Please help me. Please save me.” He sucks in a labored, ragged breath, his fingers relaxing in mine. His voice is barely a whisper. “Rylee, only you can save me. I’m dying. I need you to save me.” His head lolls to the side slowly, his mouth parting as the blood at the corner of it thickens, his beautiful emerald eyes expressionless.

  I can hear the screaming. It is loud and piercing and heart wrenching. It continues over and over.

  “Rylee! Rylee!” I fight off the hands grabbing me. Shaking me. Pulling me away from Colton when he needs me so desperately. “Damn it, Rylee, wake up!”

  I hear Haddie’s voice. How did she get down this ravine? Has she come to save us?

  “Rylee!” I’m jolted back and forth again violently. “Rylee, wake up!”

  I bolt up in bed, Haddie’s arms wrapping around my shoulders. My throat is dry, pained from screaming, and my hair is plastered to my sweat drenched neck. I heave for breath, strangled gasps that mingle with Haddie’s quickened pants of exertion, the only sounds I hear. My hands are wrapped protectively around my torso, arms tired from straining so hard.

  Haddie runs her hands down the sides of my cheeks, her face inches from mine. “You okay, Ry? Breathe deep, sweetie. Just breathe,” she soothes, her hands running continuously over me, reassuring me, letting me know I’m in the here and now.

  I sigh shakily and put my head in my hands for a moment before scrubbing them over my face. Haddie sits down next to me and wraps her arm around me. “Was it the same one?” she asks, referring to my recurring nightmare that was a staple in my nightly slumber for well over a year after the accident.

  “Yes and no,” I shake my head. She doesn’t ask, but rather gives me more time to shake the nightmare away. “It was all the same except for when I look back after I hear the baby crying, it’s Colton, not Max, who dies.”

  She startles at my comment, her brow furrowing. “You haven’t had a nightmare in forever. Are you okay, Ry? You want to talk about it?” she says straining her neck to hear the muted music on the speakers I’d forgotten to turn off before falling asleep. Her eyes narrow as she recognizes the repeating song and it’s inference about my state of mind. “What did he do to you?” She demands, pulling back from me so that she can sit cross-legged in front of me. Anger burns in her eyes.

  “I’m just a mess,” I confess, shaking my head. “It’s just that it’s been so long. I feel like I’ve forgotten what Max’s face looks like, and then I see him so clearly in my dream … and then the suffocating panic hits being trapped in the car. Maybe I’m just overwhelmed by the emotion of everything.” I pick at my comforter, avoiding her questioning gaze. “Maybe it’s been so long since I have really felt anything that tonight just pushed me over the edge … just overwhelmed me with …”

  “With what Rylee?” she prompts when I remain silent.

  “Guilt.” I say the word quietly and let it hang between us. Haddie reaches out and grabs my hand, squeezing it softly to reassure me. “I feel so guilty and hurt and used and so everything,” I gush.

  “Used? What the hell happened, Rylee? Do I need to go kick the arrogant bastard’s ass right now?” she threatens, “because I’ll switch my tune. I mean, I was impressed when he called earlier to make sure that you’d gotten home all right and that—”

  “He what?”

  “He called at like 3:30 … somewhere around there. I answered the phone. Didn’t even know you were home. Anyway I came in here to check and told him you were home and asleep. He asked me to have you call him. That he needed to explain—that you took something the wrong way.”

  “Hmmph,” is all I can say, mulling over her words. He actually called?

  “What happened, Rylee?” she asks yet again, but this time I know she won’t be ignored easily.

  I relay the entire evening to her from the point I left her until she woke me up screaming. I include my feelings about comparing “the after” to Max and how hurt and rejected I felt. “I guess I feel guilty because of the whole Max thing. I loved Max. I loved him with every fiber of my being. But sex with him—making love with him—came nowhere near what it felt like with Colton. I mean, I hardly even know Colton and he just turned on every switch and pushed every button from physical to emotional that …” I search for words, overwhelmed by everything. “I don’t know. I guess I feel like sex should have been like that with the guy I loved so much I was going to marry rather than someone that could care less about me.” I shrug, “Someone who just thinks of me as another notch on his bedpost.”

  “Well, I can’t tell you that you’re wrong to feel, Rylee. If Colton made you feel alive after years of being dead, then I don’t see what’s wrong with it.” She squeezes my hand again, sincerity deepening the blue in her eyes. “Max is never coming back, Rylee. Do you think he’d want you be numb forever?”

  “No.” I shake my head, wiping away a silent tear. “I know that. Really I do. But it doesn’t make the guilt go away that I’m here and he’s not.”

  “I know, Ry. I know.” We sit in silence for a few
moments, before she continues, “I know I wasn’t there, but maybe you misread Colton. I mean some of the things he said to you …”

  “How is that possible, Had? He was swearing under his breath like he’d just made the biggest mistake. He was like a switch. One minute he was kissing me so tenderly and looking into my eyes and the next minute he was swearing and walking away from me.”

  “Maybe he got scared.”

  “What?” I look at her like she’s crazy. “Mr. I-Don’t-Do-Girlfriends gets scared of what? That he thinks I’ll become attached to him after one night of sex?”

  “One night of mind-blowing sex!” Haddie corrects, making me giggle and blush at the memory. “Well, you do wear your emotions on your sleeve. It seems you don’t do casual sex well.”

  “Oh, like it’s a class I can take over at the ‘Y’? I mean, I may be easy to read emotionally, but I’m not in love with him or anything,” I defend whole-heartedly despite knowing full well that what I felt between us tonight was more than just full-blown lust. Maybe I did scare him. That final moment between us in the bed, when he held me and stared into my eyes, really got to me. Made me see possibilities and hope. Maybe he saw that and had to squelch it before it went any further.

  “Of course you’re not,” Haddie says with a knowing smile, “but that’s not what I was talking about. Maybe, just maybe, Mr. I-Don’t-Do-Girlfriends … maybe you got to him. Maybe he got scared of what he felt when he was with you?”

  “Yeah, right! This isn’t a Hollywood romance movie, Haddie. The good girl doesn’t get the bad boy to change his ways and fall madly in love with her,” I say, sarcasm rich in my voice, as I fall back on my pillow sighing loudly. A small part of me relives Colton’s words from the night before. I am his. I could never be inconsequential. He can’t control himself around me. That small part knows that maybe Haddie is right. Maybe I scare him on some level. Maybe its because I am the marrying kind, as I’ve been told, and he’s just not looking for that.

  “You’re right,” Haddie admits, “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have one hell of a time losing yourself in hours of mindless sex with him.” She plops back on the pillow next to me, both of us laughing at the idea. “It could have its merits,” she continues, “there’s nothing like a good bad boy to make you let go. Remember Dylan?”

  “How can I forget?” I reply, remembering the quick fling she had last summer with the gruff and gorgeous Dylan after ending her year-and-a-half-long relationship. “Yum.”

  “Yum is right!” We both lapse in silence, recalling our own respective memories. “Maybe Colton is your Dylan. The one to get you over everything that happened with Max.”

  “Maybe …” I think. “Oh God,” I groan, “What am I supposed to do now?”

  “Well, seeing as it’s,” she lift her head to look at my clock, “Five in the morning, you should go back to sleep. Maybe give it a day, then call him back. See what he has to say and go from there. Remember our motto. Embrace your inner slut—be reckless with him and try not to think about tomorrow. Just think about the here and now with him. ”

  “Yeah, maybe.” We sit in silence for a few moments. Am I just being an overdramatic female reading into things? Into his actions? I don’t think so, but deep down I try to justify his actions to myself. I know that I’ll do it again if given the chance and for my sanity, I need to rationalize everything to right the world back on its axis. The feelings and sensations he evoked in me were way too intense. Way too everything. Maybe it was just the fall from my alcohol buzz that made everything seem so off. Made him seem so detached. I scold myself. I know this isn’t the case, but I’m trying desperately to address my inner slut.

  I’m way out of my league here. I just hope I can figure out how to play the game without getting burned in the end.

  “Do you want me to stay in here tonight?” Haddie asks, breaking the silence. She used to sleep in my bed on the really rough nights to help me get through them nightmare-free.

  “Nah. I think I’m okay. Thanks, though. For everything.”

  She leans over and kisses the top of my head, “What are friends for?” she says as she heads for the door. “Good night, Ry.”

  “’Night, Had.”

  She closes the door and I sigh deeply, staring at the ceiling, thoughts running wild until sleep pulls me under.

  CHAPTER 14

  I sleep in late. So exhausted from everything that I’m able to sleep past my normal six-thirty, ingrained wake up. It’s nine by the time I’m in my exercise gear and downstairs.

  Haddie is sitting at the little table in the kitchen, bare feet with bright pink painted toes propped on the empty chair across from her. She eyes me cautiously from behind her cup of coffee. “Good morning.”

  “Morning,” I mutter, my normal sunny morning self absent. “I’m gonna go for a run,” I tell her as I fasten my audio player to my arm.

  “I figured,” she says referring to my attire. “Are you grumpy just because you want to be … or because you are forcing yourself to run after too much alcohol and off-the-charts sex with an Adonis?” Sarcasm is rich in her voice. “I’m surprised you can even walk today.”

  I sneer at her. “Sounds like someone is a little jealous,” I counter.

  “Damn right I am,” she laughs at me. “I have more cobwebs now than you do.” I laugh out loud at her, my grumpiness abating. “Seriously, though … you okay?”

  “Yeah,” I sigh. “I’m going to take your advice. Try and live in the moment … all that stuff.” I shrug.

  She nods slowly at me, “Don’t try to sound so convincing!” she says drolly as she stands from her chair, knowing I need to work through things myself. “I’m here if you need me. Have a good run.”

  “Thanks.”

  ***

  The fresh air, pavement beneath my feat, blaring music in my ears, and moving muscles feels masochistically cathartic as I enter my fifth and final mile. I needed this. Needed to get out, clear my mind, and give myself time to think all at the same time. My muscles, sore from last night from the mixture of dancing and great sex, are now limber and moving on autopilot. As much as I think I should go for an extra mile, my stupidity in overlooking breakfast before my run has my body telling me that I won’t last that far. Pitbull blasts in my ears, the song’s constant beat driving my feet and spinning my head back to thoughts of last night.

  Oh, Colton. My head is still trying to wrap itself around what happened. He’s the chance I have been looking for. To be carefree. To live in the moment. To be alive, not just living. I resolve that I can have sex with Colton with emotion. The emotions just have to be fueled by excitement and anticipation and lust rather than love and devotion and the hope of “more.” I just need to keep being the sassy, smart-mouthed woman I’ve been all along because the minute he thinks there’s an inkling of more, he’ll be out the door. And it—him, me, us—will be over.

  I ponder this my last quarter of a mile, recalling how he made me feel physically last night. I guess there’s something to be said for lots of experience as I can attest that the man is skilled in the many facets of sexual dexterity. I blush at my thoughts, steeling my resolve that I can be with Colton without falling in love with him. I hope. That I’m going to enjoy every second of it because I know he’s not the staying kind.

  Teagan and Sara’s “Closer” fills my head as I turn the corner onto my street, my footsteps faltering as I see a white Range Rover parked in my driveway. The rhythm has been knocked clear out of my stride at the shock of seeing him here. I can’t help the hum that comes from deep in my throat in pure appreciation at the sight of Colton leaning up against the front fender of the car, his dark figure haloed by its white. A navy blue shirt fits snugly over his torso, hinting at the corded muscles underneath. Muscles I can still feel on my fingertips. A pair of printed board shorts sits low on his hips and his long, lean legs cross casually at the ankles completed with a pair of flip-flops. Casual suits Colton very well. It lightens the inte
nsity he instinctively exudes. His head is bent down concentrating on the phone in his hands, and his unruly hair is spiked with gel to perfection in a stylish, messy disarray. The pang of desire that hits my body is so strong, so overwhelming that I almost have to bring a hand to my torso to stifle it. I force myself to remember to breathe as I push my body to start moving again.

  To go home. To go to Colton.

  Shit. I’m in serious trouble. I admire him from afar, looking so unbelievable and attractive, and I realize that everything I thought about on my run—every stipulation, every rationalization, every justification of why it’s okay to sleep with him—doesn’t matter. Seeing him right here, right now, I know that I’ll do anything it takes, whatever the consequences, to be with him again. To repeat how he made me feel last night.

  Almost as if on cue, Colton glances up from his phone and locks eyes with me. A slow, smug grin lights up his face as I run my last few steps, turning up my driveway. I methodically pull my ear buds out, laughing to myself that Christina Aguilera’s “Your Body” is blasting, an anthem to the pure and reckless enjoyment of the male form. I can feel his eyes run up and down the length of my body, taking in my skin-hugging Capri exercise pants and matching razor-back tank top, a V of sweat down the front of my bust.

  “Hi,” I say breathlessly, my body still huffing from my exertion.

  “Hello, Rylee.” The rasp of his voice saying my name is a hidden aphrodisiac, sending chills down my spine and eliciting a tingling in my belly.

  “What are you doing here?” I look at him with confusion etched on my face hiding that my insides are privately jumping for joy, shocked that he is here in front of me.

  “Well,” he says pushing himself off of the car as I walk to a stop in front of him. He exudes a confidence that most people would kill to have. “According to you, I took the checkered flag last night, Rylee,” a provocative smile grows on his lips, “but I seem to have neglected to collect my trophy.”