Crashed

And Becks just stands there, eyes locked on mine, chin raised in that fuck you position daring me to take a shot. “What’s your problem, hotshot? Not so tough now, are ya?”

My body fucking hums, vibrates with every fucking ounce of emotion I’ve held in over the past week, but all I can do is stare at him, wanting so desperately to expel the motherfucking guilt eating at every goddamn piece of me.

Guilt that all of this happened because of me—not stepping up to be a man, leaving her alone with Zander, not getting to The House quick enough, not getting to the bathroom quick enough. The guilt clings to so many fucking things inside of me—the poison and the hope— that the only thing I want to do is drink another fucking beer, numb myself, and push it away.

“You wa

My whole body tenses at his words, and I’m so fucking pissed at myself that I don’t immediately tell him he’s full of bullshit. I’m so motherfucking angry that for a moment—just a flicker of a moment—fear consumes me so I think of flight.

Think of flight when she’s done nothing but prove she’s a fighter—a fucking gorgeous, defiant, scrappy brawler when it comes to what’s hers—while I fucking hesitated. My teeth are gritted so goddamn hard I swear my molars are going to break, and I turn my back to him and walk over to the railing and cuss out into the darkness that rivals the black I feel in my soul right now.

I don’t fucking deserve her. Si

“Cat got your tongue, Colt?” he taunts from behind me. “Are you that fucking stupid you’re going to walk away because she got pregnant? Because of some shit that hap—”

And I’m done.

Temper snapped.

Gas added to my fucking fire.

“You have no fucking clue about what happened!” I yell at him, my voice breaking as I turn to face him. “Not a fucking clue!”

Beckett’s in my face in five strides. “You’re right! I don’t have a fucking clue!” He grabs my shoulders so I can’t turn away from him, and as hard as I try I can’t shrug them the fuck off of me. “But, Colton, brother, I’ve watched you struggle for years with whatever the fuck that bitch of a mother did to you as a kid, but that’s not you anymore. You’re not that kid. Never again. And, dude, Rylee accepts that. Accepts you. Fucking loves you. Figure out how to accept it and the rest will figure itself out.” He reaches out and cuffs the side of my face with a hand before stepping back and shaking his head. “It’s time to man the fuck up and realize you fucking love her too, before it’s too goddamn late and you lose the one person who’s made you whole again. Figure out how to deal with your past so you don’t lose your fucking future.”

And with that the fucker nods his head and walks toward the house as if he didn’t just fuck with me. He stops as he opens the door and turns back to face me. “When we were younger I didn’t get it, but what your dad used to tell you about hurting is feeling and some shit like that?” I just nod. “Yeah, I think you need to remember that now.”

He turns back around and disappears into the house, leaving me all alone with nothing but an empty night and haunting memories.

Hurting is feeling and feeling is living, and isn’t it good to be alive? My dad’s mantra passes through my mind as I walk into my room and see Ry asleep.

Fuck me.

She still takes my breath away. Still makes me want and need and fucking ache like no one ever has. And fuck I still want to corrupt her—that part will never go away. I laugh at my fucked up mind, but I know deep down corruption doesn’t matter anymore. Because she’s what matters now.

Rylee. Motherfucking checkered flags and shit.

I walk toward the bed knowing I could sit and stare at her for hours. Dark curls fa

I rub my hand down my side as I watch her, slide it over my inked scars that remind me of a future I never imagined was a possibility—until three fucking days ago, and my fingers linger over the last one—uncolored and empty. The one thing left I have to figure out before I know for sure if I can do what my head and heart agree on.

Because baggage can be a powerful thing. It can contain you. Prevent you from moving on. Kill you. And sometimes feelings aren’t enough to break its hold. To allow you to move on. But right as fucking rain, standing here, watching her chest rise and fall, it’s time my 747—baggage and all—takes fucking flight.

Because I chose fight.

My breath catches in my throat as I come to the realization that I want this. I fucking want her. In my life—day, night, now, later—and the thought staggers me. Breaks and mends me. Tames the un-fucking-tamable. Fuckin’A.

I shake my head and laugh softly. I guess I should say A to fucking Z. And I can’t resist anymore. I sink down softly into the bed next to her and push away images of what happened the last night we lay there together.

I give into the necessity coursing through me like the adrenaline I crave. I reach out and pull her in tight against me. When I do, she rolls over in my arms so her face is nestled under my chin, her arms pressed between our chests, and the heat of her breath tickling my skin as she murmurs, “I love you, Colton.”

It’s so soft I almost don’t hear it. So quiet and sluggish that I realize she’s still asleep but it doesn’t matter, my breath stops. My pulse races and my heart constricts. I open my mouth but then close it to swallow because I feel like I just ate a mouthful of cotton. I do the only thing I possibly can. I press a kiss to the top of her head.

I want to blame it on the fucking alcohol. And I want to think that someday it might be possible to actually say those words without feeling like I’m opening old wounds just to re-infect them.

I want to have hope that normal might just be a possibility for me. That this woman curled up beside me really is my cure.

So I settle for the only words that will come, the ones I know she knows matters.

“I race you, Ry.” I press a kiss to her shoulder. “Night, baby.”

CHAPTER 34

“The ceremony starts at four. You’ll be there right?”

“Yes, Mother! We’ll be there.” Shane calls out to me as he heads out the front door with a huge grin on his face, a little swagger in his step, and car keys rattling around in his hand.

“I fear we’re creating a monster.” I laugh as I look over at Colton, who has one shoulder leaned against the wall and is staring at me with a quiet intensity. I notice the dark circles still under his eyes that have been there for the last few weeks, and it saddens me he’s having nightmares again and isn’t talking to me about them. Then again he isn’t really talking to me at all about anything, other than work or the boys or the ribbon cutting ceremony later today to kick off the project. And it’s weird. It’s not as if anything is off between us, actually it’s the opposite. He’s more attentive and physical than ever before, but it feels like this is his way to make up for the fact we still haven’t talked about the miscarriage.