Crashed

I step to the side and watch him answer questions with a flash of his disarming smile that gets me every time. And as much as I see the cocky bad boy shining through with each answer, I also see a man in utter reverence of the sport he loves and the role he plays in it. A man gaining back bits and pieces of the confidence he left on the track in St. Petersburg with each response.

As much as I’m dreading the familiar call of “gentlemen start your engines,” a part deep down within me sags in relief that he’s back. My reckless, rebellious rogue just found his footing and is stepping back in his place.

Silence descends around us—the constant noise fading to a white humming as the minutes tick away, bringing us closer and closer to the start of the race. I can feel Colton’s restlessness rising, can see it in his constant movement, and wish I could ease it somehow, someway, but fear he’ll sense mine and that will only make matters worse.

I see him toss his empty Snickers wrapper into the trash beside him as he goes over pit stop scheduling with Becks and some of the other crew members, his face intense but his body language fluid. I watch him step away and look at his car, his head angling to the side as he stares at it for a beat—a silent conversation between man and machine. He walks up to it slowly; the crew, still making last minute adjustments, steps back. He reaches a hand out and runs it up the nose to the driver’s cockpit, almost a caress of sorts. Then he raps his knuckles on the side, his customary four times. The last time he holds his fist there, resting against the metal for a second before shaking his head.

And even with the chaos of all the last minute preparations happening around me, I can’t tear my eyes away from him. I realize how wrong I was to hope he’d give this all up as I sat beside his hospital bed. How asking him to give up racing would be like asking him to breathe without air. To love without me being the one he’s loving. Racing is in his blood—an absolute necessity—and that has never been more evident than right now.

I wonder how different this race will be for him without the constant pressure of the demons on his heels, of the need to drive faster, to push harder to outrun them. Will it be easier or harder without the threat he’s had his whole life?

The PA hums to life shattering my thoughts and Colton’s moment of reflection. When he looks over his shoulder, his eyes immediately lock with mine. A shy smile spreads over his lips, acknowledging that our co

People scramble around us but with his eyes on mine, he wraps his knuckles two more times on the hood before turning and walking toward me.

“Starting a new tradition?” I ask with a quirk of my brow, a smile a mile wide and a heart brimming with love. “Two more for extra luck or something?”

“Nah.” He smirks, scrunching his nose up in the cutest way—such a contrast to the strong lines of his face—that my heart melts. “All the extra luck I need is right here,” he says as he leans in and presses the tenderest of kisses to my lips and just holds his mouth against mine for a moment.

Emotions threaten—war really—inside of me as I try to tell myself his sudden affection isn’t because the fates above are giving me one last memory with him because something bad is going happen again. I try desperately to fight the burn of tears and enjoy the moment, but I know he knows, know he senses my unease, because he lifts his hands up to hold my face as he draws back and meets my eyes.

“It’s go

I nod my head subtly. “I know …”

“Baby, Heaven doesn’t want me yet, and fuck if Hell can handle me, so you’re kinda stuck with me.” He flashes me a lighting fast grin that screams everything I never thought was sexy—unpredictable, adventurous, arrogance—and now can’t help the ache it creates.

“Stuck with you, huh?”

He leans in and brings his mouth to my ear. “Stuck in you is more what I’m thinking,” he murmurs, his heated breath against my ear sending shivers down my spine. “So please, please, tell me you’re wearing some type of checkered flag I can claim later because fuck if I don’t want to throw you over my shoulder and take a test lap right now.”

Every part of my body clenches from his words. And maybe it’s my heightened adrenaline and excessive emotion being back in the moment so precious yet stolen so brutally from us months ago, but fuck if I don’t want him to do just that.

“I love a man willing to beg,” I tease, my fingers playing with the hair curling over the neck of his fire suit.

“You have no idea the things I’m willing to beg for when it comes to you, sweetheart.” He disarms me with that roguish grin of his, his words causing my breath to catch in my throat. “Besides, my begging leads to you moaning and fuck if that’s not the hottest sound ever.”

I exhale a small groan of frustration, needing and wanting him desperately when I can’t have him … and I know that’s exactly why the ache is so intense. I start to speak, but am cut off by the opening chords of the Star Spangled Ba

As the song plays on, its last notes sounding, I take a deep breath to prepare myself for the next few moments—to be strong, to not show him my fear’s still there, regardless of how certain he feels. And then chaos descends around us the minute the crowd cheers.

Colton gets suited up, taped down, zipped up, gloves on. Engines start to rev farther down the line, and the rumble vibrates through my chest. He’s in the zone, listening to Becks and getting ready for the task at hand.

Superstition tells me to make this race different. To step back over the wall without Davis’ help. To do anything to not let time repeat itself. And then his voice calls to me. Shattering all my resolve with the shards of nostalgia.

“Rylee?”

My eyes flash up immediately, the breath knocked clear from my chest with his words and the bittersweet memories they evoke, and lock onto his as he strides toward me, shrugging off a groan from Beckett about ru

My mouth parts and my eyebrows furrow, “Yeah?”

He reaches out, the short barrier of a wall between us and yanks my body to his so our hearts pound against one another’s. “Did you actually think I was going to let you walk away this time without telling you?”

The smile on my face must spread a mile wide because my cheeks hurt. Tears pool in my eyes and this time it’s not from fear.

But from love.

Unconditional adoration for this man holding me tight.

“I love you, Ryles.” He says the four words so softly in that rasp of his, and even with everything around us—revved engines, a packed grandstands, the crackle on the PA system—I can hear it clear as day.

His words wrap around my heart, weave through its fibers, and tie us together. I exhale a shaky breath and smile at him. “I love you too, Ace.”

He smirks before pressing a toe-tingling kiss to my lips and says, “Checkered flag time, baby.”

“Checkered flag time,” I repeat.

“See you in victory lane,” he says with a wink before turning and walking back toward a crew standing motionless, waiting for their driver.

I watch them help him slide his helmet on, mesmerized with both love and fear, and then allow Davis to lead me up the stairs to the pit box so I can watch from an elevated level. I place the headset on as I look down over the sill and watch them fasten Colton’s HANS device, yank on his harnesses, and tighten the steering wheel down.