Crashed (The Driven Trilogy)

by K. Bromberg

  His words kind of surprise me but after a minute I understand his line of thinking and need to correct it. “Becks, your family, they do it all the time. You just don’t allow yourself to see or accept it.”

  “Yeah, but they’re family, they have to.” He pauses and even though I can’t see the look in his eyes, I can sense his mind working as I wonder what exactly he classifies me as. “And you? You’re my fucking checkered flag.” I angle my head to the side just enough so I can see a diminutive smile spread on his lips as a full-fledged one lights up mine. “It’s a little hard to get used to the idea when I’ve never done this before. I have to get used to you being there for me and needing you, and fuck if that doesn’t knock me back a few pit stop steps sometimes because it scares the ever-loving shit out of me.”

  Holy shit! I’m stunned to silence once again by his attempt to explain the trepidation I’m sure is tickling the outer edges of his psyche. I put my hands over his arms that are locked around me and squeeze them in a silent acknowledgment of the growth he is trying to show.

  “I’m not going to run, Colton,” I say, my voice resolute. “I haven’t yet, but you really hurt me. I know you’re going through a lot of shit, but hell if you aren’t a lot to take in. I’m going to need a pit stop sometimes too. I mean, between you, the limelight, the women still wanting you and hating me, the possibility of …” I can’t finish the thought, can’t force the word baby from my lips or rid the sudden acrid taste from my mouth.

  “Hello elephant in the fucking room.” He lets out an audible sigh, and his jaw tenses on my shoulder.

  I don’t want to ruin the moment—the heart-to-heart we need to have more of—but since I unexpectedly brought it up, I’d rather address it and get it over with. “What’s going on with … that?” I close my eyes and grit my teeth as I await the answer.

  “I don’t care what she says about what I supposedly did or didn’t do that I can’t fucking remember. I know it’s not mine, Rylee.”

  The simplicity of his statement and the vigor with which he delivers it causes my hope to soar. And then to fall. If he got the results back, then why didn’t he call me? “You got the test results back already?” I say cautiously, trying to hide my wariness.

  “No.” He shakes his head as the hope I have falls completely. “I took the test two days ago. Results will come any day now. But I know … I know it’s not mine.” And from the sound of his voice, I can’t tell who he’s trying to convince more: himself or me.

  “How do you know, Colton, if you can’t remember?” I say loudly, frustrated and needing this to just be over, needing more emotion from him than what I’m getting. I take a deep breath and try to calm myself. “I mean even if you and Tawny did...” I stop, unable to finish the thought “...she said you didn’t use a condom.” My voice is so quiet when I speak, hating that we even have to have this discussion. Hating that once again our moment of contentment is ruined by the outside world and the consequences of our pasts.

  “You’re the only person, Ry … the only woman I’ve ever not used a condom with. I don’t care if you think I slept with her, but I know, Rylee … I know I would have used a condom.” I can hear the pleading in his voice for me to believe him. For me to understand an iota of the fear he’s feeling at the prospect of a child. When I don’t respond he pushes back away from me and starts to pace back and forth on the deck. The calm of five minutes ago is now replaced with pure agitation, a caged animal needing to escape its confines.

  “It’s not mine!” he says, raising his voice. “There’s no fucking way it can be mine!”

  “But what if it is?” I reiterate with full knowledge of the fire I’m lighting.

  “It’s not,” he shouts. “Fuck! All I know is that I don’t know fucking anything! I hate the goddamn media following you and fucking harassing you. I hate the look on your face right now that says you’re going to fucking lose it if it is my baby even though you tell me you won’t. I hate fucking Tawny and everything she represents. The bullshit lies she’s fucking spewing about you that Chase says I can’t respond to because they’ll only hound you more. I hate that once again I’m fucking hurting you … that I’m going to fuck this up because my past is what it is … ” He closes his eyes and rolls his shoulders as he tries to rein in his anger.

  This is the kind of fighting I can handle. Him venting, me listening, and then hopefully a little bit of the pain in his eyes and the weight on his shoulders will be eased, even if just for a bit.

  “You’ve got enough on your plate. You don’t need to worry about me.” I tell him this and yet I love the fact that he’s upset by the fallout affecting me.

  “I don’t?” he says with incredulity. “It’s my fucking job to look out for you, and I can’t even do that right now because everything’s so fucked up!”

  “Colton—”

  “I swear to God, your life gets turned upside down by me and you’re more worried about me and the boys than yourself.” He walks toward me with a shake of his head. He points to me and I look at him with confusion. “You are most definitely the fucking saint I don’t deserve.”

  “Every sinner needs a saint to balance them out,” I say with a smirk.

  He laughs softly and reaches out to cup my cheeks in his hands. And even though we’ve already had each other, my body vibrates instantly at his nearness, at wanting him, at needing him. His eyes lock on mine, hints of what he wants to do to me dancing behind the fringe of lashes.

  “God, I fucking race you.” The emphatic words on his lips are followed by a lopsided smirk and a shake of his head, as if he’s still comprehending the depths of his emotions.

  How many more times can my heart fall harder for this man? Because there it is again, the unpredictability of Colton that makes what he says just that much more poignant. Every part of my body shivers at his words.

  It’s useless to try and fight the moisture pooling in my eyes because those words mean so much more than just “racing” to me. They mean he’s trying, he’s apologizing for the times when he’s going to fuck up. And for a man previously closed off from everyone, he’s handing me the key to the lock, and giving me an all-access pass.

  I reach my free hand out and cup the back of his neck, pulling him into me because a man this magnificent, inside and out, is just too irresistible. I kiss him tenderly, licking my tongue between his lips so it dances intimately with his. No urgency, just soft, gentle acceptance. It’s only been minutes since our last kiss but it already feels like a lifetime. As the kiss ends, he rests his forehead against mine and I say, “I race you too.”

  I can feel his smile spread against my lips, and in this moment, I know he actually gets it. He actually accepts the fact that I love him and it’s such a figurative ray of light from this dark angel of mine that I grasp onto it, silently vowing to always remember how I feel right here, right now.

  We may not have everything figured out, may not know what the future’s going to hold, but at least I know we’re in this race together.

  “C’mon,” he says, pulling on my hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

  We head toward the garage area where the guys are working on the car. As we enter, Beckett shakes his head and smirks at us. I avert my gaze quickly, so very aware that every guy in the garage knows exactly what we were just doing. The walk of shame is one thing, but when you have an audience that knows you’re doing it, well … that’s a lot more embarrassing.

  Colton laughs beside me and squeezes my fingers laced with his. “What’s so funny?” I mumble, still keeping my eyes trained on the ground.

  “You’re cute when you blush,” he teases. “I prefer the pink parts elsewhere on you more though.”

  My mouth shocks open and before I can even recover, his mouth is on mine. The clang of tools surround us and yet all I hear is the beat of my heart. The kiss is merely a tease of what we did earlier, but when he pulls back after kissing the tip of my nose, a smirk curls up one corner of his mouth.
<
br />   “What was that for?” Like I even care what the answer is. He can do that to me anytime, anywhere.

  “You know me, sweetheart. If they’re gonna stare, you might as well give them something good to stare at, right? Besides, if it wasn’t clear enough earlier, I want everyone in here knowing you’re mine.”

  My heart swells at his words before the sarcasm is off my tongue. “Staking a claim are we?”

  “Baby, claim’s already been made,” he says, stopping to look at me with a smirk. “No doubt about that.”

  I roll my eyes and laugh at him as I keep walking. “C’mon, Ace,” I say over my shoulder, “can’t you keep up?”

  I feel his hand smack my butt. “You sure as hell know I can keep anything up,” he says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and leaning down so his mouth is near my ear. “My dick, you pressed against the door, my stamina, and any other thing that can be considered up … but those are the most important ones, don’t you think?” He chuckles as I shake my head and make a sound of amusement.

  We sort out the fact that Sammy is going to take my car home for me and then Colton leads me to a covered parking area where Sex sits. I can’t deny that the sight of the sexy-as-sin car brings back a rush of more than memorable memories that put a smirk on my face. From my locked gaze on the hood, I stare over to Colton where a lascivious grin meets mine. He raises his eyebrows, mischief dancing in his eyes, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip as he opens the door for me.

  “Nice choice of car today,” I tell him as I slide into the opulent interior.

  “This reminds me of you, and I needed you here today,” he says before shutting my door so I can’t respond. And maybe it’s best that I can’t, because his simple statement means so very much to me.

  Baby steps.

  Within seconds we’re on the freeway with the sounds of the Dave Matthews Band floating around us, the purr of the motor cocooning us, and the frenzied media following us. Colton looks in the rear view mirror before looking over at me from behind his sunglasses. “You buckled in?” he asks and all of a sudden my stomach twists in knots, fearing what’s going to happen next.

  I don’t even have a chance to respond before the car surges forward, the motor revving, Colton laughing as the car flies faster than the press chasing us can go. I feel a surge of adrenaline and for a split second I can understand the pull of his addiction, but then I look up as he weaves in and out of traffic, and my heart lodges in my throat as the world beyond blurs.

  I square up the documents on the kitchen counter. I’m satisfied with the transcription of Zander’s deposition to bring formal charges against his father. I tuck them in the manila folder and realize I’ve lost track of time; the clock reads seven-forty and the boys have to be at the field by eight. Oh crap! I need to finish getting the stuff together for their games. I rise from the table and start filling sport bottles and putting them on the counter next to bags of sunflower seeds. I strain to hear the commotion in the bedrooms and can tell that Jackson has the boys on task and almost ready to leave.

  “Hey, Ry?”

  “Yeah?” I look up to see Jackson leaning his shoulder against the wall with concern in his eyes.

  “Zander and Scoot are still asleep.” He pauses for a minute and then continues. “Were you awake when Shane came in last night?”

  I look at him, trying to figure out why he’s asking. “Yes. I was reading in my room. Why?”

  “Did you physically see him? Talk to him?”

  Now alarm bells sound in my head, and I stop what I’m doing and turn to face him. “Uh-uh. I called out his name and he said goodnight and went to his room. You’re scaring me, Jax, what’s going on?”

  “Well, it looks like Shane tied one on last night. He’s passed out in his bed, his room reeks of beer, and by the looks of the bathroom he was reliving the night backwards into the toilet.” He has a half-smirk on his face, and I know it’s not appropriate but I have to stifle a laugh that Shane did something so normal for his age.

  And then the responsible part of me takes over. I bite my lip and look at Jax. “We knew this would happen someday … shit, do you want me to deal with him or do you want to?”

  “We’ll be out in the van, Jax!” Ricky yells.

  “Kay!” he responds before looking back to me. “I can stay here with Zand, Scoot, and Shane if you want to take baseball today?”

  “No, that’s cool,” I tell him as he grabs the bottles. “We’ll meet you at the field later to watch the games. I can handle Shane.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive.”

  Jax says goodbye and as he closes the door I don’t feel so sure anymore. I sit down on one of the barstools and contemplate how exactly to handle a hungover sixteen year old. He’s the oldest and the first of the lot to go through this, so I’m kind of lost. Of course I was too scared to drink in high school—always the consummate good girl—so I’m on foreign ground here.

  My phone rings and I look down, a smile immediately lights up my face when I see it’s Colton. “Good morning,” I say as warmth fills my heart. The past few days have been good between us despite the underlying tension we’ve blatantly been ignoring over the impending paternity test results. Colton’s been excited that he’ll be returning to the office next week, wanting to be there to oversee the new adjustments to the safety device they’re working on. I laughed and told him I thought it was funny that he’d returned to the track before the office, but he just said with a smirk that the track was a necessity and the office not so much.

  “Hey … this bed is awfully lonely without you in it.” His sleepy morning rasp pulls at me and his words seduce me when I have no business being seduced.

  “Believe me, I’d much rather be there with you—”

  “Then get here as quick as you can, baby, because time’s wasting. I have a long list of things to do today,” he says, humor edging the suggestive tone of his voice. And I love this about him—about us—that just his voice can help ease the stress of my morning.

  “What is it you have to do today?”

  “You on the couch, you on the counter, you against the wall, you just about any place imaginable …” His voice drifts off as the parts of my body still asleep suddenly snap awake.

  I groan into the phone. “You have no idea how tempting that sounds because today’s already turned to shit.”

  “Why? What happened?” he asks concerned.

  “Shane had his first experience with alcohol and from what Jax says, it doesn’t sound like it was a good one.”

  Colton belts out a laugh. “He got shit-faced? Attaboy, Shane!”

  “Colton! I’m trying to raise respectable boys here!” And the minute the words are out of my mouth I realize what an old-fashioned prude I sound like, but it’s true.

  “Are you telling me I’m not respectable, Ryles?”

  I smirk because I can picture the impish grin on his face right now. “Well, you do in fact do dirty things to me …” I tease, my body tensing and the ache in my lower belly pulsing at the thought of our last little sexcapade on the stairs of the Malibu house the day before last.

  His chuckle is seductive yet naughty. “Oh, baby, dirtying you up is what I do best, but I’m talking about everyone else. I got drunk with the best of them in high school, and I turned out all right.”

  “That’s debatable,” I tease. “So you’re saying it’s no big deal? To let him off the hook without any repercussions?”

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I just think it’s a good sign that he’s out being a typical sixteen-year-old kid. Not that it’s good or bad, just typical. And as long as it’s a one time deal—that he’s not drinking to escape his past—then good for him.”

  In a sense I agree with Colton, but at the same time I know I need to address it with Shane, need to tell him it’s not okay and it can’t happen again, even though I know it will. “So how, man-that-used-to-be-a-reckless-teenager, should I handle this best?
”

  “I’m still reckless, Ry,” he says with amusement in his voice. “That, my dear, will never change. Jax needs to deal with him because he’s not going to listen to you.”

  “I beg to differ.” I don’t want the boys to not want to talk to me or listen to me because I’m one of the few female counselors in the house.

  “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Thomas,” he says with a laugh. “I’m not saying you can’t handle it. I’m just saying that he’s going to listen better if it comes from a man.”

  “Well, Jax, is at baseball so it has to be me.”

  “You’re at the house alone?” I can hear the concern fill his voice immediately, and smile at his sudden need to watch out for me, protect me. It’s quite cute.

  “Colton.” I sigh. “There are fifty photographers out front. I’m perfectly fine.”

  “Exactly. Fifty photographers that have no fucking business being there except to harass you and the boys. Fucking Christ!” He barks out to himself. “I’m so sick of my goddamn bullshit being on your doorstep.”

  “Really, it’s not a—”

  “I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” he says and the line clicks dead.

  Okay. So he’s coming to deal with the press, which will do no good, and I still have to figure out how to deal with Shane.

  Fuck!

  “You can play for another hour or so, Scooter, and then we have to head to the field, okay?”

  “Yep!” he yells to me as he hustles down the hallway toward the family room where I’m sure Saturday morning cartoons will be in full swing momentarily.

  I continue down the hall and stop when I pass Zander and Aiden’s room. Zander’s on the bed, blanket wrapped around his shoulders, precious stuffed dog grasped to his chest, and he is rocking back and forth with his eyes closed. I angle my head, take a step into the room, and watch him for a moment so I can figure out if he’s dreaming or awake. When I step closer, I hear the quiet keening within his chest and then I move on instinct.