Fueled (19 page)

“But you know what they say about best laid plans.” I sigh shakily. “I was so scared of what Max’s reaction was going to be. And when I told him, he looked at me in awe. I can still see him in my mind. He admitted he was scared but told me that it didn’t matter because it was going to be okay. And I wondered how he could be so sure when everything was going to change so drastically.”

I’m silent for a moment, my memories flashing through my mind like a slide show. I turn and shift my head to look at Colton as a tear slips silently from the corner of my eye. “She,” I say on a shaky breath, “the baby was a girl.” He nods his head at me and reaches out to wipe away the tear. “I was still scared and panicked at the thought of having a baby, but then I felt her kick.” I stop, my chest tightening as I remember the feeling that I’ll never experience again. “And I immediately fell in love with her. All of my reluctance faded.” I clear my throat as Colton sits patiently, eyes locked on mine. “I was seven and half months along when we had the accident. I knew that first night she didn’t make it, but I refused to acknowledge it. I was bleeding profusely and the cramping was…it was out of this world painful. I willed her to move. To kick me just once.”

A shudder runs through me, those silent bargains I had made to God that night flickering through my head. “On some level, I knew the hope that she might still be alive is what kept me fighting to live.”

“I’m so sorry, Rylee,” he whispers.

“It took so long to be rescued that I got an infection from the bacteria. From what doctors saw, the damage was extensive enough that it essentially ruined my ability to get pregnant.” I clear my throat before continuing. “Max’s mom, Claire, blames me for everything.”

“That’s asinine,” he interjects.

I shrug at his comment, agreeing but still letting guilt make me think differently. “She thought that if we hadn’t been having premarital sex, this would have never happened.”

Colton snorts at the comment. “You were together, what six years?”

I smile softly at him. “Almost seven.”

“And she expected you to be abstinent that long?”

“To each their own beliefs.” I shrug. “We went on the little trip because it was our last chance to get away. I was stressed about everything and the doctor was getting worried about my blood pressure. Max wanted to try and calm me down. To spend some time together before chaos ensued. So she blames me for killing him and her granddaughter.”

“You know that’s not true, Rylee.”

“I know, but it doesn’t take the guilt away. On the anniversary of the death and his birthday she calls me to vent her anger and sadness.” I close my eyes momentarily, fighting away the horrible images that creep into my dreams. “It’s her therapy I guess…and even though it tears me apart, listening to her is the least I can do.” He pulls me farther up his chest and comforts me by wrapping his powerful arms around me and resting his chin on my head. “Oddly enough, meeting you, spending time with you, has allowed me to realize that I’m slowly coming to terms with what happened. Time has allowed me to remember Max and how he was before the crash, not just after. I think the hardest part is the baby.” I exhale brokenly. “I will always cherish the feeling of a life growing inside of me, especially since I’ll most likely never get that chance again.” I nuzzle into the warmth of his neck and sigh. “She would have been two years old.”

I catch the sob before it slips out, but Colton feels it. He squeezes me tighter, his even breathing and ability to listen is just what I need. I feel like a burden has been lifted off of me. All of my skeletons have been exposed. Now he knows. Everything. I cling to him because for some reason, his presence here completes the transformation for me.

I don’t want to be alone anymore and am so sick of being numb. I want to feel again—in the extremes that Colton makes me feel.

I’m ready to live again
. Really live. And in this moment I know that it is only Colton that I can imagine sharing these new memories with. I close my eyes and snuggle into him, the sleep I couldn’t find earlier slowly claiming me now. I am just starting to drift off when his voice stirs my eyes open. “When I was six years old,” he says so softly that if it weren’t for the vibration in his chest, I wouldn’t know to listen for his words. He stops for a moment and clears his throat. “When I was six, my—the woman who gave birth to me—beat me so badly that I ended up unconscious and in the hospital.” He exhales loudly while I withhold my breath.

Holy shit!
He’s talking and hearing the pain in his voice I know that his wounds are still raw and wide open. Infected. How can you heal from your mother beating the crap out of you? How can you accept love from anyone when the one person that is supposed to protect you from everything is the one who harmed you the most? I’m at a loss for words, so I wrap my arms around him and squeeze before placing a soft kiss on his sternum. “Did the hospital call the police? Social services?” I ask timidly, unsure of how much he is willing to share with me.

I can feel him nod his head in assent. “My mom was the one who called 9-1-1. She told them my dad had done it. That she was the one who walked in and stopped it.” He pauses, and I let him take a minute to compose himself and clear the emotion swimming in his voice. “I’ve never met my dad so...I was too scared of what she’d do to me to say otherwise…too young to know that life could be any better than what I had. She pulled me from school after that. Moved around a lot so social services couldn’t check up on us…” His words drift off and there are so many thoughts running through my head, so many things I want to tell him to console him. That it wasn’t his fault. That love doesn’t have to be that way. That he is a true survivor for coming out of it and thriving. But I know my words will do nothing to take away the years of abuse that he must have endured or lessen its psychological after effects. Besides, I’m sure he’s heard it all from psychiatrists time and time again.

I look up at him and the haunted look in his eyes tells me what he’s just admitted is the least of his childhood nightmares. Do I tell him what he confessed last night in the limo? I struggle with the decision and choose not to. Sharing his past has to be on his terms. I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off before I can begin. “Rylee, please don’t feel sorry for me.”

“I’m...I’m not,” I stutter, knowing that’s the last thing he wants, but he can see right through my lie. How can I not feel sorry for the little boy he once was?

“That life was a long time ago for me. That little boy—he is a different person than I am now.”

Bullshit.
He is who he is because of what happened to him. Does he not see that?

I press a soft kiss on the center of his chest. “Do you know what happened to your mom?” I say in a hesitant voice, almost afraid to ask but also wanting to know as much I can since he is talking.

He’s quiet for a moment. He lifts his hand from my back and runs it over his stubbled jaw before exhaling loudly. “After my dad found me on the steps of his trailer…he brought me to the hospital. Stayed with me,” he retells, utter reverence in his voice. “Little did I know he was this big time director. Not that I would have even known what that meant though. Later…much later, I learned that he’d wasted a whole day of studio time sitting with me in the hospital. At the time, all I remember thinking was he had the gentlest voice and his eyes. They didn’t look mean even though I flinched when he touched me...” He trails off, lost in memories, and I let him for a moment.

“…and he ordered me every kind of food imaginable and had it delivered to the hospital room. I’ll never forget the look on his face as he watched me eat things I’d never had. Things every boy at that age should have had many times over by then. I remember pretending to be asleep when the police told him they found my mom and were bringing her in for questioning…that the x-rays and exams had shown years of…” He pauses, trying to find the right word as I hold my breath wondering which one of the horrific options he’ll use. “
Neglect
. And it is the only time in my life I’ve ever heard my dad use his stature to get what he wanted. I heard him ask the police officers if they knew who he was. To clear it with whomever they needed to, but that I was going to be under his custody from then on. That he’d get a team of lawyers if need be, but that’s how it was going to be.” He shakes his head with a soft laugh.

“That’s…” I’m at a loss for words. I don’t want to cheapen the memory by saying the wrong words, so I just leave it at that.

“Yeah.” He breathes. “I saw my mom once more, but it was across the courtroom. I know she went to jail, but I don’t know anything more than that. Never wanted to know. Why do you ask?”

“I just wondered how you left it. I thought maybe if you found out what happened to her…fill in any blanks you want to, that it might help. The nightmares might go away and—”

“I think that’s enough
sharing
for today,” he says, cutting me off and shifting our bodies abruptly so that I’m on my back and he’s lying half on me, his legs scissored with mine.

“Oh really?” I smile when I see the tension ease from his face and pain fade from his eyes. “Is the only way to get you to talk, a trade? Tit for tat so to speak?”

“Well...” he smirks pressing me into the mattress with his hips “...you have seen my tats.” He arches his eyebrows suggestively. “It’s only fair...”

Colton’s sudden change of subject is not lost on me. His inherent turn toward making things physical between us when I delve a little too deep. Normally I’d hesitate at using intimacy to ease the ache of sadness within, but this morning I just want him to help me forget for just a little bit the tears left in my soul from that day two years ago.

I wriggle beneath him, my body humming with need for his, loving the playful side that has reemerged to lighten the dark of our morning. “And I thought you said we were
done with sharing
for today.” The sound of his laugh is welcome as it rumbles through his chest into mine. I lift my head up and capture his bottom lip and pull on it. The low growl of desire in the back of his throat stokes my craving for him.

His hand brushes against my ribcage and palms my one breast not covered by his chest. He grazes a thumb over my already pert nipple, his touch a ripple of sensation slowly swelling through me. He leans down and presses a soft kiss to my lips. “Now about that tit,” he murmurs, a smile curling the corners of his mouth. He squeezes my nipple between his thumb and forefinger and my gasp is absorbed by his mouth on mine.

“Will I ever get enough of you?” he asks against my lips. And I wonder the same thing. Will I ever tire of him?
Of this?
Of his taste or his touch or the rumble in his throat expressing how I make him feel when I touch him? Will he always bring me to such an aroused fever pitch? Surely my desire has to be sated at some point. From his touch alone, my thoughts are lost with only one remaining. Flickering through my mind.

Never.

Avery smiles at me as I go over some of the schedules and our standard rules and procedures. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but once you get familiar with it, you won’t have to think twice about it.”

She nods her head at me and looks over at Zander. He’s sitting on the couch, tattered stuffed doggy clutched to his chest, watching television. “What’s his story?” she asks quietly.

I look over my shoulder at Zander and smile. While still not talking much besides sporadic words here and there since the racetrack, he seems to be doing better. He is interacting a bit more with the boys, and I can see traces of emotion on his face whereas before it was blank. The therapist says he’s starting to participate, starting to interact with her.

It’s a start. Progress takes time.

Protective of my kids like a mother hen, I rarely share their backgrounds until a new employee has been with me for a while. “That’s Zander. He doesn’t talk much, but we’re working on it. He was in a rough situation that he’s dealing with internally. He’ll get there though.”

She gives me a quizzical look, but I ignore her interest and begin reviewing the next set of procedures. The doorbell rings and the unexpected interruption startles me. Jax is at baseball practice with Shane and Connor, so I rise to get the door.

When I look through the peephole, I’m caught off guard at the sight of Colton’s sister. I open the door cautiously, curiosity getting the better of me. “What a surprise! Hello, Quinlan.” I try to smile brightly at her all the while my heart beats rapidly at her presence. I marvel at how such a sweet looking, beautiful woman can instill such anxiety in me.

“Rylee.” She nods, her perfect lips not quite forming a smile. “I came to get a tour of the place before I make a donation to the new project. I want to know exactly what my money is going to be used for.”

Well
, hello to you too! I smile tightly, inviting her in. She could at least grace me with a little warmth—anything to melt her icy façade.
What the hell have I done to her to deserve this deliberate chill?