Crashed (53 page)

Who else would I allow to invite seven boys to my house for a pool party to celebrate summer being here? What other woman could I share my demons with and instead of running like a fucking banshee, she looks me in the eyes and tells me I’m brave? Who else would scar their skin to prove to me she’s in it for the long haul?

Motherfucking checkered flags and alphabets and sheets. When the fuck did all of this become okay with me?

I shake my head, pretending I don’t want it but fuck if I can’t look away from her for one goddamn second before my eyes find her again.

I lift the fresh beer Becks hands me and start to take a sip and look over at him as he shakes his head laughing at me. “
What?”

“You are so going to fucking marry her.”

It’s my turn to choke on my beer. I double over in a coughing fit as Becks pounds me a little too hard on the back. “He’s fine!” I hear him say as I try to control the choking mixed with laughter burning its way up my throat. “He’s fine,” he says again, and I can hear the amusement in his voice.

“Fuck off, Becks!” I finally manage to get out. “Not gonna happen!
No rings, no strings
,” I say our old motto with a laugh. And then I look up to find Ry. She’s across the patio sitting on the edge of the pool, Diet Coke in hand, and is playing referee to the boys’ game of Marco Polo. Ricky gets caught as a fish out of water, and Rylee throws her head back in laughter at something Scooter says to him.

And there’s something about her right now—hair highlighted from the sun, a carefree sound to her laugh, and obviously in love with everyone around her. Something about her being with the boys, making life normal for them at a place that has never really been a home until now—until her—hits me harder than that fucking rookie Jameson did in Florida. Has me thinking about the forevers and shit that six months ago would have never once crossed my mind.

It’s just gotta be Becks getting in my head. Fucking it up. The bastard needs to shut the hell up about shit that’s not gonna happen.

Never.

So why the fuck am I wondering what Ry’d look like wearing white? Why am I wondering how
Rylee Donavan
sounds out loud?

Never. I try to shake the thoughts from my head, but they linger, spooking the fuck out of me.

“
So not gonna happen
.” I laugh, not sure if I’m repeating the words to convince Becks or myself. I look back over at Ry for a second. Talk about jumping the gun when I haven’t even found the bullets to load it yet. Fucking Beckett. “Taming’s one thing, fucker. Ball and chaining?” I whistle out. “That’s a whole ’nother ball game I have no interest in playing.” I shake my head again at that shit-eating grin on his face as I rise from the chair. “Never.”

“We’ll see about that,” he tells me with that smirk I want to wipe from his face.

“Dude, do you feel that?” I ask, raising my arms out from my side and lifting my face to the sun before looking back down at him.

“Huh?”

“That’s called heat, Daniels. Hell can’t freeze if it’s still hot outside,” I toss over my shoulder before walking to the edge of the pool. Conversation over. No more discussion of marriage and shit like that.

Is he trying to give me a heart attack?

Fuck.

“Cannonball!” I yell before jumping in, hoping to create more fucking turmoil in the pool than what Becks is trying to create in my head.

Déjà vu hits me like a runaway train as I step from the RV ahead of Colton. The humid heat of Fort Worth hits me instantly, but the sweat trickling in a line down my back has nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with the anxiety coursing through every nerve.

Over Colton.

And over the car we’re walking toward.

I know he’s nervous, can feel it in the tightened grip of his fingers laced with mine, but his outward appearance reflects nothing but a man preparing to do his job. People around us chatter incessantly but Colton, Becks, and I walk off the infield as one unit, completely focused.

I attempt to push away the memories bombarding my mind, to appear calm even though every fiber of my being is vibrating with absolute trepidation.

“You okay?” His rasp washes over me, the concern in it tugs on my guilt since it should be me reassuring him.

I can’t lie to him. He’ll know if I am and it will only cause him to worry more. The last thing I want is him to be thinking of me. I want him focused and confident when he buckles into the car and takes the green flag all the way to the checkered one.

“I’m getting there,” I breathe and squeeze his hand as we reach the pits and the mass of photographers waiting to record Colton’s first race back after the accident. The click of shutters and shouting of questions drowns out the response he gives me. And as I tense up further, Colton seems to relax some, comfortable in this environment like it’s his second skin.

And I realize that while all of this is uncomfortable and foreign to me, this is part of the blur that Colton used to permanently reside in. Surrounded by the shouts and the flashes of light, he’s one hundred percent back in his element. The utter chaos is allowing him to forget the worry I know is plaguing his thoughts, and for that I’m so thankful.

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 connection is so deep that we don’t need words. And that feeling is priceless.

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 gonna be okay, Ry. Nothing is going to happen to me.” I force myself to hear the absolute certainty in his voice so I can relax some, be strong for him.

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 Banner. Colton holds tight to the sides of my face and looks at me a moment longer before pressing one more kiss to my lips, and then nose, before turning toward the flag, removing his lucky hat, and placing his hand over his heart.

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 running out of time.

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.