Driven

CHAPTER 9

I pull into my driveway and sit in the car for several moments humming to the music pouring out of the speakers, running through my time with Colton in my head. I subconsciously sing the song out of habit, for the words and the rhythm are comforting to me. I place my hands on the top of the steering wheel and rest my head on top of them. It’s not like I have been out with many guys in my life, but that was one of the most intense, passionate, and strangely comforting dates of my life. I shake my head as I replay it again.

Holy shit! That’s all I can really think about my evening. About Colton’s unexpected pursuit. The devil on my shoulder reiterates to me that this is all my fault. That if I’d acted like the ‘normal’ me, I would’ve never been willing victim to his deft hands in a backstage alcove. I would’ve never been in the position to tell him ‘thanks but no thanks,’ spurring on this whole chase—this whole challenge—a welcome change in his world of overly eager, willing women.

I scream out startled at the knock on my car window. I am so deep in thought, I never saw Haddie approach my car. My heartbeat returns to normal as I open the door to her.

“Hi, Had. Just a sec,” I say as I reach across my seat to grab my belongings.

I sense Haddie’s presence shift into the doorway as her body blocks the garage light, throwing the front seat in shadow. “Is that Matchbox Twenty?” she questions as she strains to hear the music playing quietly on the stereo system.

Uh-oh, I tell myself, she knows something is up. My subliminal predilection of listening to Matchbox Twenty whenever I’m upset or thinking things through has come back to haunt me. Haddie knows this all too well from the dark period of my life. She knows me so well that she understands certain songs represent certain things I’m working through.

I look over at her, hands on her hips, irritation emanating off of her in waves, and I’m not sure just how much she knows. And depending on what she knows is how hurt she’ll be that I’ve kept it from her.

There is no rationalizing with Haddie when she’s angry. When she feels wronged. I silently groan for I know my interesting day is about to get longer. She never backs down until she gets the answers she wants. She can fool everyone because behind her innocent beauty is her razor sharp wit—but not me.

I know better.

I flip off the car quickly before she can hear which song I have on repeat, Bent. At least it’s not Unwell. I have my bag in my hand but can’t exit the car because she is standing in the way.

“I think we need to have a little chat,” she says haughtily. “Don’t you?” She moves out of the way, her hands on her hips. All she needs is to tap her foot, and I’ll be transported back to being in the principal’s office in grade school.

I force a cheerful smile on my face, “Sure, Had—What’s up? You seem pissed at something?”

“You.”

“Me?” I respond walking to the front door, rolling my eyes since she is behind me.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me either, Ry,” she demands as we walk through the front door.

I laugh at her intimate knowledge of me and my facial expressions, and at the same time I steel myself for all that is Haddie Montgomery.

I drop my stuff by the tall table that stands against the entry wall. I skulk over to the couch in our front room and sink into, wishing I could just close my eyes and fall asleep. But I can’t for Haddie sits down on the other end of the couch and curls her lithe legs beneath her.

“When were you going to tell me?” Her voice is chillingly quiet. This is not a good sign. The quieter she is, the more pissed she is.

“About?” I prompt, figuring if she gives me what she knows, I can at least get credit for telling her the rest that she doesn’t know.

“Colton freakin’ Donavan?” she sputters, eyes wide, trying to suppress a grin that threatens to break through her implacable façade. “Are you fucking kidding me? And you didn’t tell me?” The pitch of her voice escalates with each word. She grabs her glass of wine on the end table next to her and sips it, never breaking eye contact with me over the rim. Her next word is quiet, hurt evident. “Why?”

“Oh, Haddie,” I blow out, scrubbing my hands over my face, trying to bite back the tears that threaten. I lose the battle and a single tear slips down my cheek, “I’m so confused,” I sigh, closing my eyes momentarily to gain control of my slipping emotions.

Haddie’s face softens at my confession. “I’m so sorry, Ry—I just—I’m hurt you didn’t tell me—I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” I tell her, slipping my shoes off, the grains of sand stuck to my feet reminding me that I really was with Colton tonight. As if I need a reminder with the scent of his cologne mixed with the smell of him still fresh in my mind. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. How did you—”

“You didn’t answer your phone … like at all. I was excited to tell you about someone we confirmed for the big launch party tomorrow. I texted and called several times and didn’t get a response,” she says. “I was concerned. It’s not like you to at least give me a one-word answer if you’re busy. I was worried so I called Dane.” My eyebrow rises at that in question. “I guess he had just put two and two together at who CDE is with their contribution at the charity auction and with your little visitor at work today that had all the counselors texting furiously,” she shrugs as a manner of explanation. “So what’s going on, Rylee? What are you hiding from me?”