Page 80 of Aced (Driven 4)
The flash of Conner’s camera. Out of control. Protective. Scared.
Too much, too fast. Colton’s words keep repeating in my head.
“Stop thinking, baby,” Colton says. “You keep tensing up. Just shut it all out for a while.”
I close my eyes as he clears the landing, my pulse racing and body still trembling, but I feel a bit calmer with the staccato of his heartbeat against my ear. He lays me gently on the bed, the softness of the mattress beneath me nowhere as calming as the warmth of his body against mine.
“A little better?” he asks as he brushes my hair off my face.
I nod my head, hating the sting of tears and the burn in my throat. “I’m sorry.” It’s the only thing I can manage to say as I attempt to find myself through this panic-laced fog.
“No . . . don’t be sorry,” he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “You’re exhausted. I know you’re used to being so strong but stop fighting it. Allow yourself a couple hours not to be. Okay?”
I open my eyes and look into the crystalline green of his. I see love, concern, compassion, and more than anything I see his need to take care of me. So as much as I’m feeling a little less shaky, I sigh and nod my head. “I need to apolo—”
“I’ve got everything under control.” He presses a finger to my lips to quiet me. “Just close your eyes and rest.”
And I do. I close my eyes as I hear his footsteps retreat down the hallway. Follow them down the stairs and onto the tiled floor below. I force myself to relax, to try and quiet my head.
For some reason I don’t think it’s going to happen.
Ace is crying.
I just shut my eyes.
The crying is getting closer.
Then why is it dark outside?
And it’s getting louder.
How long have I been asleep?
And louder.
Please leave me alone.
I squeeze my eyes shut tighter. Roll on my side away from the doorway. I just need to sleep. Don’t want to think. Just want to drift back into the blackness of slumber and shut everything out.
“Ry? Ry?” Colton’s hand pushes gently on my shoulder. Ace’s cries hit a fever pitch.
“Yeah,” I murmur, eyes still closed, but my breasts tingle with the burn of milk coming in as my body reacts instinctively to the sound of my baby.
“Ace is hungry,” he says, pushing my shoulder again.
And even though he says the words and I can hear Ace cry, that innate instinct isn’t there. There’s cotton in my mouth. I can’t tell him no. I’m not sure that I want to either. But at the same time the only word I can use to describe how I feel is listless.
You’re just tired. You got an hour’s sleep when you really need twelve. Your body is sore, changing, working overtime to produce milk and heal, and is making you more groggy than eve
r.
That’s all.
“’Kay.” It’s all I say as I roll on my side and lift up my shirt on autopilot. My breasts ache they are so heavy with milk. Colton lies Ace down beside me in the middle of our bed as I guide my nipple into his mouth.
Ace latches on, and I wait for that feeling to consume me. The one I’ve gotten every other time we’ve connected like this in the most natural of actions. There’s usually this soothing calm that spreads throughout me, like endorphins on speed. And this time when Ace latches on, all I want to do is close my eyes and crawl back into sleep I desperately need.
“I’ll be right back,” Colton says, causing panic I don’t quite understand.
