Crashed

“What would you like it to say?” Ms. Ever-efficient asks while walking to the bedside opposite me, as Colton gathers his thoughts. And with just the slightest glance my way, she refocuses on him and softens her voice. “Colton?”

“Yeah?” he answers, raising his eyes to meet the question in her voice.

She reaches out and squeezes his bicep, her eyes roaming over his wound before withdrawing her hand when he doesn’t respond. “I’m so glad that you’re okay.”

I can hear the sincerity in her voice—know she means it—but it still doesn’t make me like her any more.

“Coulda been a lot worse from what I’m told, so I’ll get there.” Colton takes a sip of water while his brow furrows in concentration. “Tell them I’m awake and have been for a day or so. I’m on the road to recovery and will be heading back to California within the week, once I’m cleared, and returning to the track in no time. Thank them for their support and prayers, and instead of any flowers or gifts, I’d rather they make a donation to Corporate Cares. The boys need it more than I do.”

Tawny looks up from her phone where she’s typing all of this and asks, “What about your memory loss?”

“None of their business,” Colton says, glancing up at Becks again, a silent understanding passing between them. “That’s all.” Tawny lifts her focus from her phone and looks at Colton as if she doesn’t understand. “You can go now,” he says to her, and I have to hide the look of shock on my face at the unexpected dismissal.

Tawny’s head snaps up as she shoves her phone in her purse. “Well, um, okay,” she says, color staining her cheeks as she heads for the door.

“Hey, Tawn?” Colton’s words stop her and the acid in his tone surprises the hell out of me.

“Yes?” she asks as she turns around to face the two of us side by side.

“After you issue the press release, you can get your stuff and head back home.”

She angles her head and stares at Colton for a moment, confusion flickering over her face. “It’s okay. It’s better if I stay here and deal with the media—”

“No,” Colton says. “I don’t think you understand what I’m saying.” Tawny’s tongue darts out and wets her bottom lip as nerves start to eat at her. She takes a step toward the bed as he begins to explain. “We’ve known each other, what? Most of our lives? Long enough for you to know that I don’t like being fucked with.” Colton leans forward as her eyes widen and I hold my breath in disbelief at the ice in his voice. “You fucked with me, T. And more importantly you fucked with Rylee. Now that? That I most definitely remember. Game over. Pack your shit. You’re fired.”

I hear Beckett suck in a breath. At the same time Tawny sputters out, “Wh-what? Colton, you—”

“Save it.” Colton holds up a hand to stop her and shakes his head in disappointment. “Save your ridiculous excuses and go before you make things any worse for yourself.”

She just stares at him, blinking away the tears before glancing over at Beckett, spinning on her heels, and rushing out of the room.

I watch her leave, trying to fathom what it would be like to be in her shoes. To lose both your job and the man you’ve believed is yours.

And as I hear Colton breathe out a huge sigh beside me, I actually feel sorry for her.

Well … not really.

A muffled sound pulls me from sleep. And I’m so tired—so wanting to sink into the blinding oblivion because I’ve had so little sleep over the past two weeks—that I keep my eyes closed and write it off as the purr of the jet’s engine. But because I’m now awake, when I hear it a second time, I know I’m wrong.

I open my eyes, startled at what I see. The sight of my reckless bad boy—eyes squeezed tight, teeth biting his bottom lip, and face painted with the grief that courses down his cheeks—coming completely undone in disciplined silence. I’m momentarily frozen with uncertainty.

I’m uncertain because I’ve felt a disconnect between us in the past few days. On the one hand I felt like he was trying to push me away—keep me at arms’ length—by keeping all discussions superficial. By saying his head hurts, that he needed to sleep, the minute I brought up any serious subject.

And then there were the odd moments when he thought I wasn’t paying attention to him when I’d notice him looking at me from the reflection in the room’s window with a look of pained reverence, one of longing laced with sadness. And that singular look always caused chills to dance over my flesh.

He hiccups out a sob and opens his eyes slowly, the pain so evident in them, my grown man scarred by the tears of a scared little boy. He looks away momentarily and I can see him trying to collect himself but only ends up squeezing his eyes shut and crying even harder.

“Colton?” I shift from my reclined position, starting to reach out, but then pulling back in uncertainty because the absolute desolation reflected in his eyes. My hesitation is answered by Colton looking at my hand and shaking his head as if one touch from me will crumble him.

And yet I can’t resist. I never can when it comes to Colton.

I can’t let him suffer in silence from whatever is eating his soul and shadowing his face. I have to connect with him, comfort him the only way that has seemed to work over the past few weeks.

I unbuckle my seat belt and cross the distance between us, my eyes asking if it’s okay to make the connection with him. I don’t let him answer—don’t give him another chance to push me away—but rather settle across his lap. I wrap my arms around him as best I can, nestle my head in the crook of his neck, and just hold on in reassuring silence.