The Driven Series Boxed Set - Limited Edition (Driven #1-4)

by K. Bromberg

  “I’ll get it,” I tell him as I walk in the house, pulling my now wet shirt away from my body, glad I opted for the red tank top instead of the white one.

  My hand is turning the knob, pulling on the slab of wood, when I hear Colton’s voice from outside tell me to “Wait!” but it’s too late. The door’s swinging open and unbeknownst to me, one of my worst nightmares is standing opposite me.

  All I can do is sag my shoulders at the sight. Long legs, blonde hair, and a condescending smirk is all I catch before she starts to walk past me and then stops, angling her head over her shoulder to look back at me. “You can run along now, little girl. Playtime is over because Colton doesn’t need you anymore. He’s in good hands now. Momma’s here.”

  My jaw drops open, her audacity renders me speechless. Before I can find my words, she breezes into the house like she owns the place, leaving me in the wake of her overpowering perfume.

  “Colton?” I shout out at him the same time he walks into the foyer, the towel he’s using to dry his hair drops to the ground.

  Several emotions flicker through his eyes, the most prevalent one being annoyance, but his face shows absolutely nothing.

  And with Colton, when his face is that cold and devoid of emotion, it means a storm is brewing just beneath.

  “What the fuck are you doing here, Tawny?” The ice in his voice stops me in my tracks but doesn’t even faze her.

  “Colt, baby,” she says completely unaffected by the bite in his words. “We need to talk. I know it’s been a while and—”

  “I’m not in the mood for your melodramatic bullshit so cut the crap.” Colton takes a step farther into the room. “You know you’re not welcome here, Tawny. If I wanted you here before, I would’ve invited you myself.”

  I shrink back at the venom lacing his voice, but at the same time, I’m pissed. Pissed that she just waltzed in here—a home where I’m the only woman he’s ever brought—like she deserves to be here.

  “Testy, testy,” she scolds playfully, unfazed by his complete disinterest. “I was so concerned about you and how you’re doing and if you’ve gotten your memory back yet that—”

  “I don’t give a flying fuck about your concern! You have two seconds. Start talking or I’m throwing your ass out.” Colton takes another step toward her and I can see his grinding jaw and his complete callous disregard for her.

  “Just because you’re pissed your recovery is going so slow—that you can’t remember important things—doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me.” Tawny lets out a condescending laugh and turns slightly to look over at me with disbelief in her eyes as if she’s saying “Really? He’s picked you over me?” before she says, “I’m sure this is amusing to you being his nursemaid and all, doll, but you’re no longer needed.”

  I’m off the wall in an instant, a ball of anger flying at her, but Colton beats me to the punch. Rage emanates off of him in palpable waves as he grips her bicep. “Time to go!” he growls out as he starts to direct her toward the door. “You don’t come into my house and disrespect, Ry—”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  The words that float out of her mouth die in the sudden silence of the room, and yet I can see them vibrating within Colton. His body stops, fingers flex on her arm, and teeth grind. It takes a beat for him to catch his stride again, pulling her toward the front door.

  “Good for you. Congrats.” He bites out, sarcasm dripping from his words. “Nice knowing ya.” He starts to open the front door as she yanks her arm free.

  “It’s yours.”

  Colton’s hand stills on the doorknob as my heart twists at the words coming from her lips. I’m watching this unfold—all of it right before my eyes—but I feel like a complete outsider, a hundred miles away. I watch his head sag down between his shoulders for a beat, notice his hands clench in fists at his sides, see the fury rage in his eyes as he turns ever so slowly around. His eyes dart over and hold mine for a beat, and what I see knocks the wind out of me. It’s not the rage they glisten with—no—it’s the disbelief laced apology he’s offering up to me. The apology that tells me deep down he fears her words are true. Lead drops into my stomach as the mask he’s let slip is reapplied, and he turns to direct his anger toward Tawny.

  “You and I both know that’s not possible, Tawny.” He takes a step forward and I can see every ounce of restraint he has—how he’s trying so hard to not pick her up and physically throw her out. His eyes dart from her face to her stomach and then back up again.

  “What?” she gasps, shock laced with hurt in her voice. “You don’t remember?” She holds a hand to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. “Colton you and I … the night of Davis’ birthday party … you don’t remember that?”

  My stomach wrenches because if I thought she might be acting—playing the part to get him back—she just stole the show with the hurt look on her face and desperation in her voice.

  Oh my God. Oh my God. It’s my only coherent thought because my entire body trembles with every imaginable emotion possible.

  “No,” Colton says, shaking his head back and forth, and the look on his face—the one that says if he keeps repeating no over and over this will all just be a nightmare—kills me. Tears into parts deep inside of me opening me up, preparing me for the onslaught of hurt to come.

  “It’s the only possibility,” she says quietly, placing her hand over her midsection where I can see the slight bump now that her shirt is smoothed down. “I’m five months, baby.”

  I have to fight the bile that rises in my throat as my faith falters. I have to force myself to breathe. To focus. To realize that this isn’t about me. That this is about Colton’s worst nightmare coming true on the heels of a truly magical night between us. But it’s hard not to.

  All my mind can focus on is dates—days past—as her words sink their claws into me. Five months, five months, five months, I repeat over and over because time is so much easier to focus on than the world that’s just been shifted beneath my feet. When my mind can formulate coherent thoughts again, I realize it’s been a little shy of five months since we met. Fuck, it’s possible.

  I tell myself she’s lying. That she’s trying to dig her hooks into Colton—catch the prize she wants more than anything—by pulling the I’m pregnant card. The oldest one in the book. But the evidence is there in her swollen belly and the terrified look on Colton’s face says it’s a possibility—that he’s reaching deep within the locked vault of memories and trying to find the one she’s telling him about. Fear flickers across his face, embeds itself in those eyes of his that all of a sudden refuse to look at me.

  And no matter how much I want to, I can’t look away. It’s like if I keep staring at him, he’s going to look up at me and give me that smile he gave me moments ago in the pool and she’ll just disappear.

  But it never comes.

  He stands in the middle of us, motionless, lost in thoughts I can only imagine. The playful man I love from last night is nonexistent. I can see the cogs in his head turning, notice the wince of pain that I’m sure is from another headache hitting him … but if he’s completely frozen, then I’m fucking paralyzed.

  Tawny’s eyes flicker over and assess me with complete disregard, before looking back at Colton, a soft smile on her face. “You drove me home from Davis’ house, asked to come in … we had sex, Colton. The first time we were drunk … desperate to be with each other again and didn’t use a condom.”

  And if her dagger isn’t already breaking skin and pushing into my heart, she has to add the notion that they were together multiple times to twist it a little deeper.

  “Before … when we dated before...” he clears his throat “...you used to be religious about taking your pill.” I don’t recognize his voice, and I’ve been on the receiving end of Colton’s wrath, but right now the absolute contempt in his tone sends shivers up my spine.

  “I wasn’t on the pill,” she says softly with an unapologetic shrug as she takes a step towar
d him, the possible mother of his child. The gentle intimacy in her tone causes tears to spring in my eyes. She reaches out to touch Colton’s arm and he yanks it out of her reach.

  His reaction and the unfettered panic in his eyes causes the reality of this all to begin to seep through my denial, the possibility that this isn’t a ploy to merely get him back.

  I sag against the wall behind me, my ghosts and inadequacies as a woman threatening to rear their ugly head. I place a hand on my abdomen to stifle the pang I feel in my useless womb. The one that will forever remain empty. The one that can’t give him the only thing she can. I feel the beginnings of a panic attack—breath laboring, heart racing, eyes unable to focus—as I wonder if the man who professes to never want kids just might change his mind when faced with the possibility of one. It happens all the time. And if it does, then where does that leave us? Leave me? The woman who can’t give him that.

  “No!” It falls from my lips in response to my silent thoughts.

  Colton whips around to look at me quickly, distress etched in his features at my unexpected words. And then she snorts out in disregard and adds gasoline to Colton’s fire.

  “Get out!” He shouts so loudly I jump, and for a moment, because he’s facing me, I fear that he’s speaking to me. I force a swallow, his eyes flicking over me before he turns his back to me and points toward Tawny and then the door. “Get. The. Fuck. Out!”

  “Colty …”

  “Don’t you ever call me that!” he yells, grated steel in his voice as he raises his eyes to look toward where she’s not moved an inch. “No one gets to call me that! Do you think you’re special? Do you think you can just waltz in here and tell me you’re five fucking months pregnant? That I’d care? Why are you telling me now, huh? Because it’s too late for me to have a say in anything, so you think you’ve trapped me? Found your golden fucking ticket?” He begins to pace, lacing his fingers behind his head and blowing out a loud breath. “I’m not Willy fucking Wonka, sweetheart. Go find yourself another sugar daddy.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  Colton whirls around in a flash, his gaze meeting mine and the void in his expressionless eyes startles me. Dead eyes look at me momentarily before he breaks our connection and strides back across the room to where Tawny still stands. “You’re goddamn right I don’t believe you. Quit the crap and get the fuck out with your bullshit lies.” He’s inches from her face, eyes glaring, and posture threatening.

  “But I still love—”

  “You don’t get to love me!” he bellows, fist slamming down on the sideboard next to him, vases rattling and noise resonating in the otherwise quiet of the house. Tawny lets out a sob and Colton remains completely unaffected by her outburst of emotion. “You don’t get to love me,” he repeats again so quietly that I can hear his pain beneath it, feel the desperation roll off of him in waves.

  He reaches up and rubs his hands over his face. He looks out the window for a moment toward the tranquility of the ocean as I watch the storm rage inside of him. I’m rocked in the turbulence of his emotions without a lifeline to hold on to. When he looks back at Tawny, I can see so many emotions behind his slipping mask that I’m unsure which one he is going to grab and hold onto.

  “I want a paternity test.”

  Tawny gasps, her hand resting protectively over her belly, but when I look back up to her face, I watch the transformation happen. I see the damsel in distress morph into the vindictive vixen. “This baby is yours, Colton. I don’t sleep around.”

  Colton snorts a laugh with a shake of his head. “Yeah, you’re a regular patron fuckin’ saint.” He stalks to the front door and turns back to look at her. “Go tell it to some other gullible son of a bitch who cares. My lawyer will be in touch.”

  “You’re gonna have to come at me with something a hell of a lot bigger than threatening me with your attorney to get out of this one,” she says, straightening her spine. “Get your checkbook ready and your ego prepared for some serious damage, sweetheart!”

  “Did you actually think you could just waltz in here, drop your bullshit bomb, and I’d take your word for it? Write you off with a hefty check or marry you and ride off into the motherfucking sunset?” His voice thunders. “It’s. Not. Mine!”

  Tawny shrugs her shoulders and a smarmy expression transforms her features. “The press is going to have a field day with how I spin this one … a nice juicy scandal to sink their teeth into.”

  She starts to walk toward the front door and just when I think I might be able to take a breath, Colton’s palm slams against the door, the sound assaulting the dead silence of the room. He turns and gets back within inches of her face, his voice trembling with rage. “Newsflash, sweetheart, you better hit me with something stronger than that threat if you think the press scares me. Two can play that game,” he says opening the door. “Make sure you tell them all the juicy details because I sure as fuck won’t hold back. It’s amazing how quick a promising career can be dashed in this town when rumors hit the papers about what a demanding diva one can be. No one wants to work with a fucking bitch, and you definitely fit that bill. Now get the fuck out.”

  Tawny walks up to him, stares at him, although he refuses to meet her eyes, and then walks out the front door that shuts with a resounding slam behind her. Colton immediately grabs one of the vases on the sideboard he’d hit moments earlier and throws it against the wall. The shattering sound of glass followed by tinkling as it bounces off the tiled floor is such a contrast to the heaviness of the moment. Not getting the release he needed, he places his hand on the sideboard and braces his weight against it.

  I step forward from the shadows of the foyer, still not sure what to do when he looks up and locks his eyes with mine. I try to get a read his emotions but I can’t—his guard is back up and locked in place. The knowledge of how much work it’s going to take to break that wall back down causes a little piece of me to die, to die and fall to rest beside the piece that broke off the day the doctor told me it’d be nothing short of a miracle for me to get pregnant again.

  The emptiness of my womb hits me again as I walk toward him. He watches me, jaw ticking, body tense. “Colton … I—”

  “Rylee,” he warns, “back the fuck off!”

  “What if it’s true? What if you guys really did and you don’t remember?” It’s the only coherent thought I can verbalize, my mind spinning with what-ifs and never-going-to-bes.

  “Why?” He turns to face me, and I swallow nervously. “So you can play house?” He takes a step toward me and the look in his eyes has me cringing. “Because you want a baby so bad that you can taste it? Would do anything to have one? Take one that might or might not be mine so you can sink your hooks in me too? Get the best of both worlds, huh? A hefty sum and a baby—every woman’s fucking dream.” His words whip out and slap me, rip apart the part of me that knows I would do anything to have the chance to have a baby. “It’s not true!” His voice thunders at me. “It’s not true,” he says again in too calm of a voice.

  I’m stuck in place—wanting to run, wanting to stay, hurting for me, devastated for him—at a crossroads of uncertainty, and all I want to do is curl into a ball and shut the world out. Shut Colton out, and Tawny out, and the ache that will never go away, to feel a baby move within me. To create something out of love with someone I love. Bile threatens at the thought, and I cover my mouth as I gag audibly to prevent myself from puking.

  “Yeah, the thought of me being a dad makes me want to puke too.” He sneers at me, so much more than contempt lacing his voice. And that’s not why I’m going to be sick, but I can’t tell him that because I’m too busy trying not to be. “Between the sheets.” He belts out a patronizing laugh, looking up at the ceiling before looking back at me. “How fucking ironic is it when it’s between the sheets with someone else that’s causing this little dilemma, huh, Ryles? How’s that phrase working for ya now?”

  “Fuck you.” I say it more to myself than to him, a quiet
voice laced with hurt. I’ve had it. He can be upset. His horrible past can be dredging through his mind, but that doesn’t give him the right to be a fucking asshole and take his shit out on me.

  He turns to look at me, a picture of fury against the tranquility behind him. “Exactly.” He spits out. “Fuck me.”

  And with those parting words, Colton yanks open the door to the deck. I don’t call out to him—don’t care to—and watch him jog down the stairs to the beach with a whistle beckoning Baxter.

  THE LONGER I SIT AND wait for him to come back the more nervous I become.

  And more pissed.

  I’m nervous because besides his swim earlier, Colton hasn’t exercised since being cleared … and he was only cleared yesterday. I know his anger will push him to run harder, faster, longer, and that only unnerves me because how much can the healing vessels in his brain withstand? It’s been almost an hour since he left, how much is too much?

  And I’m pissed that after everything he said to me, I even care.

  I shake my head, the words he said to me rattling around as I look down the stretch of beach. I get his anger, the inherent need to lash out over his rather fragile hold on his preconceptions, but I thought we were past that. Thought that after everything we’ve been through in our short time together that I’d proven otherwise to him. Proven that I am not like other women. That I need him. That I will never manipulate him to get what I want like so many other women in his life have. That I will not abandon him. And I so desperately want to leave right now—escape the argument and further hurt I fear will happen upon his return—but I can’t. More than ever I need to prove to him right now that I’m not going to run when he needs me the most, even if the thought of him having a child with someone else is killing me now.

  I swallow the bile that wants to resurface again, and this time I can’t hold it down. I run to the bathroom and upset the contents of my stomach. I take a moment to compose myself, talk myself down from the ledge I want to leap from because this is too much for me. So many things are happening in such a short amount of time that my mind wants to shut off.