Fueled (43 page)

Quinlan’s advice still rings in my ears as I lie in bed the next morning. The pain in my chest and ache in my soul is still there, but my resolve has returned. I once told Colton to fight for us. For me. Now it’s my turn. I told him he is worth the risk. That I’d take the chance. Now I need to prove it.

If Quinlan seems to think I matter to him, then I can’t give up now. I have to try.

I drive up the coastline, Lisa Loeb playing on the speakers, and my mind a whirl of thoughts―what I’m going to say and how I’m going to say it―as the clouds above slowly burn off and give way to the morning sun. I take it as a positive sign that somehow when I see Colton face-to-face, he’ll see it’s just him and me, how it was before, and that the words mean nothing. That they change nothing. That he feels the same way and that I act the same way. And that we are us. That the darkness I feel will dissipate because I’ll be back in his light once again.

I steer down Broadbeach Road and pull up to his gate, my heart pounding a frantic tattoo and my hands shaking. I ring the buzzer, but no one answers. I try again, and then again, thinking maybe he is asleep. That he can’t hear the buzzer because he is upstairs.

“Hello?” a feminine voice asks through the speaker. My heart drops into my stomach.

“It’s Rylee. I...I need to see Colton.” My voice is a tangle of nerves and unshed tears.

“Hi, dear. It’s Grace. Colton’s not here, sweetie. He hasn’t been here since yesterday afternoon. Is everything okay? Would you like to come in?”

The rush of blood into my head is all I hear. My breath hitches as I rest my head against the steering wheel. “Thanks, Grace, but no thank you. Just tell…just tell him I stopped by.”

“Rylee?” The uncertainty in her voice has me leaning out the window of the car.

“Yes?”

“It’s not my place to say it...” she clears her throat “...but be patient. Colton’s a good man.”

“I know.” My voice is barely audible, my stomach lodged in my throat. If only he would realize it.

My drive back down the coastline is not as filled with hope as my drive up it was. I tell myself that he probably went out with Beckett and was too drunk to drive home. That he went out with the crew and grabbed a hotel in downtown L.A. after partying a little too hard. That he decided it was time for another trip to Las Vegas and is on the plane home right now.

The endless scenarios run through my head but do nothing to alleviate the ripples of fear that ricochet within me. I don’t want to think of the one other place that he could be. The townhome in the Palisades. The place he goes to be with his arrangements. My heart races and thoughts fly recklessly at the notion. I try to justify that he crashed there. That he’s alone. But both Teagan’s and Tawny’s comments flicker through my mind, feeding the endless stream of doubt and unease churning within me.

My mind fills with the many warnings he’s given me.
“I sabotage anything that resembles a relationship. I’m hardwired this way, Rylee. I’ll purposely do something to hurt you to prove that I can. To prove that you won’t stick around regardless of the consequences. To prove that I can control the situation.”

I don’t remember steering the car in that direction, but before I know it, I’m turning down his street from memory. Tears spill over and down my cheeks as I grip the steering wheel tightly. The need to know outweighing the agony of acknowledging what my mind fears. What my heart worries. What my conscience already knows.

I pull up to the curb, a small sigh escaping my lips in momentary relief when I see that none of Colton’s cars are there. But then I see his garage door and wonder if it’s inside. I have to know. I have to.

I push my hair out of my face and suck in a deep breath before I slide out of my car. I walk on weak knees up the pathway and into the cobblestone courtyard. My heart pounds so loudly that its thundering is all hear, all I can focus on besides telling my feet to place one foot in front of the other.

My fucking head. I groan as I roll over in the bed. Stop pounding on the fucking drums. Please. Somebody. Anybody.
Fuck me
.

I shove the pillow over my head, but the goddamn throbbing continues in my temples. My stomach rolls and twists, and I have to concentrate on not getting sick because my head really doesn’t want me to get up just yet.

Fucking Christ! What the fuck happened last night? Bits and pieces come back to me. Becks coming to get me to shake me out of the voodoo pussy funk. A funk I’m not really sure I want to be shaken from. Drinking. Rylee—wanting Rylee. Needing Rylee. Missing Rylee. Tawny meeting us at the bar for some signatures. A lot of fucking alcohol. Way too much fucking alcohol according to my head right now.

Pleasure to bury the pain.

I struggle to fight through the fuzz in my head to remember the rest. Snapshots of clarity amidst the haze. Coming back here. Palisades house closer than Malibu. Drinking more. Tawny not comfortable in her business suit. Getting her a shirt of mine. Standing in the kitchen looking at the fucking Tupperware container of cotton candy on the counter. Memories of the carnival making the ache burn.

“
Oh fuck.
” I groan as the next recollection flickers through loud and clear.

Sitting on the couch. Becks, the fucker looking no worse for the wear even though he’s gone drink for drink with me, sitting in the chair across from me. His feet propped up and his head angled back. Tawny next to me on the couch. Reaching over her to the end table to grab my beer. Her reaching up. Hands around my neck. Mouth on my lips. Too much alcohol and a chest still burning with need. Hurting so bad because I need Rylee. Only Rylee.

Pleasure to bury the pain
.

Kissing her back. Getting lost in her momentarily. Trying to get rid of the constant fucking ache. To forget how to feel. All wrong. So wrong. Pushing her off. She’s not Rylee.

Looking up and meeting the disapproving eyes of Becks.

Fuuccckkk!
I shove myself up from the bed and immediately cringe at the freight train that hits my head. I make it to the bathroom and brace myself on the sink for a moment, struggling to function. Images of last night keep flashing. Fuckin’ Tawny. I look up to the mirror and cringe. “You look like shit, Donavan,” I mutter to myself. Bloodshot eyes. Stubble verging on beard. Tired. And empty.

Rylee. Violet eyes begging me. Soft smile. Big heart. Fucking perfect.

I love you, Colton.

God, I miss her. Need her. Want her.

I brush my teeth. Trying to rid the taste of alcohol and misery from my mouth. I start shoving off my shirt and underwear—needing to get the feel of Tawny’s hands off of me. Her perfume off of me. Needing a shower desperately. I’m just about to flick the water on when I hear a knock at the front door. “
Who the fuck
?” I grumble before looking over at the clock. Still fucking early.

I look disjointedly for something to wear, trying to shake the fuzz from my head. I can’t find my fucking pants from last night. Where the fuck did I put them? Frustrated, I yank open my dresser, grab the first pair of jeans I find, and hastily shove my legs in them. I hurry down the stairs starting to button them up as I try to figure who the fuck is at my door. I glance over to see Becks passed out on the couch. Serves the fucker right. I look up to see Tawny and her mile long legs opening the door. The sight of her—T-shirt, legs, and nothing else—does nothing to me, for me—when it used to do everything.

“Who is it, Tawn?” My voice sounds foreign as I speak. Gravelly. Unemotional because the only thing I want is Tawny gone. I want her out of my house so I don’t need a reminder of what I could have done. What I almost fucked up. Because it matters now.
She
matters now.

And when I step into the blinding morning light through the doorway, I swear to God my heart stumbles in my chest. There she stands. My angel. The one helping me break through my darkness by letting me hold on to her light.

My knock sounds hollow on the front door. I lay my hand on it, contemplating knocking again, just to make sure. My shoulders start to sag in relief that he’s not holed up inside with someone when the door pushes inwards beneath my fingers.

All the blood drains to my feet as the door swings open and Tawny stands before me. Her hair is tousled from sleep. Make-up is smudged under her bedroom eyes. Her long, tan legs connect to bare feet that stick out from under a T-shirt that I know is Colton’s, right down to the small hole in the left hand shoulder. The morning chill showcasing her braless breasts.

I’m sure that the look of shock on my face mirrors the one on hers, if only momentarily, for she quickly recovers, a slow, knowing, siren’s smile spreading across her face. Her eyes dance with triumph, and she licks her tongue over her top lip as I hear footsteps from inside.

“Who is it, Tawn?”

She just widens her grin as she uses her hand to push the door open further. Colton strides toward the door with nothing on but a pair of jeans; jeans his fingers are fumbling to button the fly on. His face sports more than its usual day’s worth of growth, and his hair is unwashed and messy from slumber. His eyes are bloodshot causing him to flinch at the morning sunlight as it comes in through the doorway. He looks rough and reckless and as if the alcohol from the night before has taken its toll. He looks how I feel, shitty, but no matter how much I hate him in this moment, the sight of him still causes my breath to hitch in my throat.

It all happens so quickly, but I feel as if time stops and moves in slow motion. Stands still. Colton’s eyes snapping to mine when he realizes who is at his door. When he understands that I know. His green eyes hold mine. Imploring, questioning, apologizing, all at once for the hurt and crushing devastation that is reflected in mine. He steps forward into the doorway and a strangled cry escapes my lips to stop him.

I struggle to breathe. I try to drag in a breath, but my body is not listening. It does not comprehend my brain’s innate commands to draw in air because it is so overwhelmed. So crushed. The world spins beneath me and around me, but I can’t move. I stare at Colton, the words in my head forming but never making it past my lips. Tears burn in my throat and sting my eyes, but I fight them back. I will not give Tawny the satisfaction of seeing me cry as she smirks at me from over his shoulder.

Time starts again. I draw in a breath and thoughts start to form. Anger starts to fire in my veins. Emptiness starts to register in my soul. Pain radiates in my heart. I shake my head in disgust at him. At her. In resigned shock. “Fuck this,” I say quietly but implacably as I turn to walk away.

“Rylee,” Colton calls out in despair, his voice gravelly from sleep as I hear the door slam behind me. “Rylee!” he shouts at me as I all but run down the path, needing to escape from him. From her. From this. “Rylee it’s not what you―”

“Not what I think?” I yell over my shoulder at him in disbelief. “Because when your ex answers your door this early in the morning with your shirt on, what else am I supposed to think? ” His footsteps are heavy behind me. “Don’t touch me!” I yell as he grabs my arm and spins me around to face him. I yank it from his grip, my chest heaving, my teeth clenched. “Don’t fucking touch me!”