Crashed

I swallow the bile that wants to resurface again, and this time I can’t hold it down. I run to the bathroom and upset the contents of my stomach. I take a moment to compose myself, talk myself down from the ledge I want to leap from because this is too much for me. So many things are happening in such a short amount of time that my mind wants to shut off.

But if it’s true, what does that mean? To him as a person and us as a couple and to me as the woman who can’t ever give him that? And especially given to him by her? My stomach revolts at the thought again, and all I can do is drop my forehead on the lid of the toilet, squeeze my eyes close, and shut out images of an adorable little boy with inky hair, emerald eyes, and a mischievous smile. A little boy I’ll never be able to give him.

But she can. And if that’s the case, how in the fuck am I going to be able to handle it? Love the man but not the baby that’s his because I’m not the mother—simply because he’s part Tawny—now what kind of horrible person would that make me? And I know that’s not true, know I could never not love a child because of circumstances he has no control over, but at the same time, there would be that constant devastating reminder of what someone else can give him that I can’t.

The ultimate gift.

Unconditional love and innocence.

I wipe away the tears I didn’t even realize were falling when I hear the distant bark of Baxter and make my way out onto the deck. The harmless beast of a dog clears the top of the stairs coming up from the beach and plops down exhausted on the deck with a groan. I take a deep breath and prepare myself for Colton’s arrival, unsure which version of him I will be facing.

Within moments he appears, hair dripping with sweat, cheeks red, and chest heaving from the exertion. I want to ask how he’s feeling, where his head is, but I think better of it. I’ll let him set the tone of this conversation.

He looks up and I see the shock flicker across his features when he sees me. He stands, hands propped on his hips, and just stares at me for a beat. “Why the fuck are you still here?”

So that’s how this is going to be.

I thought I had calmed down, hoped that he had with his run, but obviously we’re both still bound with a barbed wire ball of hurt. We’re both still hell-bent on proving our points. The question is how is he going to handle what I have to say? Is he going to lash out again? Rip me apart for a second time? Or is he going to realize that despite Tawny’s bombshell, our figurative race doesn’t stop? That we can withstand the collateral damage?

“You don’t get to run anymore, Colton.” I hope my words—words he’d used with me before—will hit their target and sink in.

He stops mid-stride beside my chair but keeps his head angled down to avoid looking at me. “You don’t fucking own me, Ry. You don’t get to tell me what I can or can’t do any more than Tawny can.” His voice is a whisper but his words sucker punch me.

“Non-negotiable, remember?” I warn him with challenge I don’t feel reflected in my eyes. He just stands there impatiently, muscles tense, and I feel compelled to continue. To either stop or start the fight brewing between us. “You’re right.” I shake my head. “I don’t own you … nor do I want to. But when you’re in a relationship, you don’t get to hurt someone because you’re hurting and then bail. There are consequences, there are—”

“I told you, Rylee …” He turns to face me now, his eyes still averted, but the tone of his voice—one of pure disgust—has me rising to my feet. “I do as I damn well please. It’s best you remember that.”

“Colton …” It’s all I can manage, feeling like I’ve been knocked back a few steps by his sudden assertion, his sudden need to grab his life that he feels is spiraling out of control. But he doesn’t get it. It’s not just his life anymore. It’s my life too! This is about the man I love and the possibilities I feel. This is killing me just as much as it is him, but he’s too wrapped up in his own head to see differently. I force a swallow as I try to find the words to tell him this, to show him we’re both hurting, not just him. But I’m too slow. He beats me to the punch.

“You tell me we’re in a relationship, Rylee … Are you sure it’s what you want because this is how my life goes,” he shouts, his body moving restlessly with all of his negative energy. “The charmed life of Colton fuckin’ Donavan. For every up there’s a motherfucking free fall down. For every good there’s a goddamn bad.” He takes a step toward me, trying to antagonize me and push my buttons. I dig my nails in my palms to remind myself to let him get it off of his chest. To let him blame everyone in the world if need be, so he can calm down, realize this is not the end of his world, despite it feeling like it is for me. “Are you ready for that kind of spin on the track of my life?” He finishes, the sarcasm dripping from his words as he steps within a few feet of me. I can feel the anger vibrate off of him, can sense his desperation at which straw to grab and hold onto to get me to react. I force a swallow and shake my head.

“Okay,” I say, drawing the word out, buying time as I try to think of what to say. “What is the good and the bad then?”

“The good?” he asks, his eyes widening as sweat drips down his torso. “The good is I’m alive, Rylee. I’m fucking alive!” He shouts, thumping his chest with his fist. I cringe as his voice rings in my ears. He mistakes my reaction and feeds off of it. “What? Did you think I was actually going to say you?” I tell myself not to cry, tell myself that’s not the answer I was hoping for, but who am I kidding? Did I really think that in the midst of all of this he’d hold onto me as his strength? His reason? I can hope, but for a man so used to relying on himself, I shouldn’t be surprised.