Driven

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask softly, afraid to pry but wanting him to share what deep, dark secret has a hold on him. Me playing Ana to his Christian.

He sighs loudly, the silence thick in the car. I steal a quick glance over at him and see the stress etched in lines around his mouth. The lights of passing cars cast shadows on his face, making him seem even more untouchable than I feel he is from me despite his close proximity. I regret asking the question. Afraid I’ve pushed him further into his memories.

Colton withdraws his hand from mine and takes his baseball hat off, tossing it in the backseat, and shoves his hand through his hair. The muscle twitches as he clenches and unclenches his jaw in thought. “Shit, Rylee.” And I think that is all I’m going to get as the car descends back into silence. Eventually he continues, “I don’t …” he stops as he exits the freeway. I can see him grip the steering wheel tightly with both hands. “I don’t need to haunt you with my demons, Ry. Fill your head with the shit that’s a psychologist’s wet dream. Give you ammunition to dissect and throw back in my face at everything I do—everything I say—when I fuck things up.”

I immediately hear the when not if in his statement. The ingrained notion that he is a screwup. The raw emotions behind his words hit me harder than the insensitivity he spits at me. My years of experience tell me that he’s still hurting—still coping with whatever happened long ago.

We stop at a light and Colton scrubs both hands over his face. “Look, I’m sorry. I—”

“No apologies needed, Colton.” I reach out and squeeze his bicep. “Absolutely none.”

He hangs his head momentarily, closing his eyes, before lifting it back up and opening them. He glances over at me, a reserved smile on his face, sorrow in his eyes before mumbling, “Thanks.” He looks back at the road and steps on the accelerator with the change of the light.

CHAPTER 16

Our late dinner is sinfully good. Colton takes me to a small surf-shack type restaurant on Highway 1 slightly north of Santa Monica. Despite the busy Saturday night crowd, when the hostess sees Colton, she greets him by name and whisks us out to a rather private table on the patio that overlooks the water. The crash of waves serves as a soft background music to our evening.

“Come here much?” I ask wryly, “or do you just use the fact that the hostess is in love with you to get the primo table?”

He flashes a heart-stopping grin at me. “Rachel’s a sweet girl. Her dad owns the place. He has a ladder up to the rooftop. Sometimes him and I go up there and throw back a few beers. Shoot the shit. Escape the madness.” He leans over and taps the top of my nose with his finger. “I hope this is okay?” he asks.

“Definitely! I like laid back,” I tell him. When his grin only widens and his eyes darken, I look at him confused, “What?”

He takes a sip of beer from his bottle, amusement on his face, “I like you laid back too, just not in this environment.” His suggestive tone causes butterflies in my stomach. I giggle and swat at him playfully. He catches my hand and brings it casually to his lips before setting it on his thigh with his hand closing around it. “No, seriously,” he explains, “This is way more my style than the glitz and glamour of my parents’ lifestyle and expectations. My sister fits that lifestyle so much better than I do.” He rolls his eyes despite the utter adoration on his face when he mentions her.

“How old is she?”

“Quinlan? She’s twenty-six and a total pain in the ass!” he laughs. “She’s in graduate school at USC right now. She’s pushy and overbearing and protective and—”

“And she loves you to death.”

A boyish grin blankets his face as he nods in acceptance, “Yes, she does,” he mulls it over thoughtfully. “The feeling is completely mutual.”

His simple ease in expressing his love for his sister is charming to me in a man otherwise unwilling to express himself emotionally. He can easily express his desire and sexuality, but I’ve yet to hear him emote real, true feelings.

The waitress arrives halting our conversation, and asks me if I am ready to order although her eyes are fixated on Colton. I want to tell her I understand, I’m under his spell too. I’m still unsure what I want so I look at Colton, “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

He looks up at me, surprise on his face, “Their burgers are the best. Does that sound okay?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“A girl who’s after my own heart,” he teases, squeezing my hand. “Can we get two surf burgers with fries and another round of drinks, please,” he tells the waitress and as I try to hand her my menu, I notice how flustered she is by Colton speaking to her.

“So tell me about your parents.”

“Uh-oh, is this the Colton background portion of the night?” he kids.

“You got it, Ace. Now spill it,” I tell him, taking a sip of my wine.

He shrugs. “My dad is larger than life in everything he does. Everything. He’s supportive and always positive and a good friend to me now. And my mom, she’s more reserved. More the rock of our family.” He smiles softly at the thought, “but she definitely has a temper and a flair for the dramatic when she deems it necessary.”

“Is Quinlan adopted too?”

“No,” he drains the remainder of his beer, shaking his head. “She’s biological. My mom and dad decided one was enough for them with their busy schedules and all of the traveling to onset locations.” He raises his eyebrows, “And then my dad found me.” The simplicity in that last statement, the rawness behind the words, is profound.