Page 32 of Crashed (Driven 3)
“You said you’d gladly walk out.” His repeats, his voice resolute as if he doesn’t believe I’m telling him the truth. “Your pity’s not needed nor welcome.”
“You’ve been pulling away because you think I’m only here out of pity? That you got hurt and now I don’t want you anymore?” And now I’m pissed. “Glad you thought so highly of me. Such an asshole,” I mutter more to myself than to him. “Feel free to make assumptions, because in case you haven’t noticed, they’ve done wonders for our relationship so far, right?” I can’t help the sarcasm dripping from my voice, but after everything we’ve been through together—everything we always seem to come back to when all is said and done—I’m hurt that he even remotely thinks I’m going to want him any less because he’s not one hundred percent.
“Rylee.” He blows out a loud breath and reaches for my hand but I pull it back.
“Don’t Rylee me.” I can’t help the tears that swim in my eyes. “I almost lost you—”
“You’re goddamn fucking right you did, and that’s why I have to let you go!” he shouts before swearing out a muttered curse. He laces his fingers at the back of his neck and then pulls his elbows down, trying to staunch some of his anger. My eyes flash up to meet his, my breath choking on confusion. “I heard you on the phone with Haddie the other night when you thought I was asleep. Heard you tell her that you’re not sure you’ll be able to watch me get back in the car again. I can’t be made to choose between you and racing,” he says, anguish so palpable it rolls off him in waves and crashes into the desperation emanating off of me. “I need both of you, Rylee.” The desolation of his voice strikes chords deep within me, his fear transparent. “Both of you.”
And now I get it. It’s not that he thinks I don’t want him because he’s hurt, it’s that I won’t want him in the future because I’ll fear for every minute of every second that he’s in that car, as well as the minutes leading up to it.
I had no idea he’d heard my conversation. A conversation with Haddie that was so candid, I cringe recalling some of the things I said, without the sugarcoating I’d use with most others.
I lift my hand to his face and bring it back to look at mine. “Talk to me, Colton. After everything we’ve been through, you can’t shut me out or push me away. You’ve got to talk to me or we can never move forward.”
I can see the transparent emotions in his eyes, and I hate watching him struggle with them. I hate knowing something has eaten at him over the past week when he should have been worried about recovering. Not about us. I hate that he’s even questioned anything that has to do with us.
He breathes out a shaky breath and closes his eyes momentarily. “I’m trying to do what’s best for you.” His voice is so soft the sound of the waves almost drowns it out.
“What’s best for me?” I ask in the same tone, confused but needing to understand this man so complicated and yet so childlike in many ways.
He opens his eyes and the pain is there, so raw and vulnerable they make my insides twist. “If we’re not together … then I can’t hurt you every time I get in the car.”
He swallows and I give him a moment to find the words I can see he’s searching for … and to regain my ability to breathe. He’s been pushing me away because he cares, because he’s putting me first and my heart swells at the thought.
He reaches up and takes the hand I have resting on his cheek, laces his fingers with it, and rests it in his lap. His eyes stay focused on our connection.
“I told you that you make me a better man … and I’m trying so fucking hard to be that for you, but I’m failing miserably. A better man would let you go so that you don’t have to relive what happened to Max and my crash every time I get in the car. He’d do what’s best for you.”
It takes a moment to find my voice because what Colton just said to me—those words—are equivalent to telling me he races me. They represent such an evolvement in him as a man, I can’t stop the tear that slides down my cheek.
I give in to necessity. I lean in and press my lips to his. To taste and take just a small reassurance that he’s here and alive. That the man I thought and hoped he was underneath all of the scars and hurt, really is there, really is this beautifully damaged man whose lips are pressed against mine.
I withdraw a fraction and look into his eyes. “What’s best for me? Don’t you know what’s best for me is you, Colton? Every single part of you. The stubborn, the wild and reckless, the fun loving, the serious, and even the broken parts of you,” I tell him, pressing my lips to his between every word. “All of those parts of you I will never be able to find in someone else … those are what I need. What I want. You, baby. Only you.”
This is what love is, I want to scream at him. Shake him until he understands that this is real love. Not the unfettered pain and abuse of his past. Not his mom’s twisted version of it. This is love. Me and him, making it work. One being strong when the other is weak. Thinking of the other first when they know their partner is going to feel pain.
But I can’t say it.
I can’t scare him into remembering what he felt for me or said to me. And as much as it cripples me that I can’t say I race you to him, I can show him by standing by his side, by holding his hand, by being strong when he needs me the most. By being silent when all I want to do is tell him.
He just stares at me, teeth scraping over his bottom lip, and complete reverence in his eyes. He sniffs back the emotion and clears his throat as he nods his head, a silent acceptance of the pleading in my words. “What you told Haddie is true though. It’s going to kill you every time I get in the car …”
“I’m not going to lie. It is going to kill me, but I’ll figure out how to handle it when we get to that point,” I tell him, although I already feel the fear that stains the fringes of my psyche at the thought. “We’ll figure it out,” I correct myself and the most adorable smile curls one corner of his mouth, melting my heart.
He just nods his head, his eyes conveying the words I want to hear, and for now, it’s enough for me. Because when you have everything right before you, you’ll accept anything just to keep it there.
“I’m not any good at this,” he says, and I can see the concern fill his eyes, etch across his features.
“No one is,” I tell him, squeezing our linked fingers. “Relationships aren’t easy. They’re hard and can be brutal at times … but those are the times you learn the most about yourself. And when they’re right,” I pause, making sure his eyes are steadfast on mine, “they can be like coming home … finding the rest of your soul …” I avert my eyes, suddenly embarrassed by my introspective comments and my hopeless romantic tendencies.
He squeezes my hand but I keep my face toward the sun, hoping the color staining my cheeks isn’t noticeable. My mind races with the possibilities for us if he can just find it within himself to let me have a permanent place there. The silence is okay now because the empty space between us is floating with potential instead of misunderstanding. And on this patio, bathed by sunlight, we’re lost in thought because we’re accepting the fact that there are tomorrows for us to experience together, and that’s a good place to be.
As my mind wanders I see the plate of food and pain meds on the table next to us. “Hey, you need to take your pills,” I say, finally turning toward him and meeting his eyes.
He reaches out and cups the side of my face, brushing the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip. I draw in a shaky, affected breath as he angles his head and watches me. “You’re the only medicine I need, Rylee.”
I can’t help the smile spreading across my lips or the sarcastic comment that slides off my tongue. “I guess the doctors didn’t mess with your ability to deliver smooth one-liners did they?”
