“I thought I’d lost you. I was so fucking petrified, Ry. And then I got to you and fell to my knees to hold you, to help you, to … I don’t know what the fuck I was going to do with you, but I had to touch you. And you were okay.” His voice breaks again as he leans in and rests his forehead against mine. “You were okay,” he repeats before pressing his lips to mine and holding them there as his shoulders shake and tears fall down his cheeks until I taste the salt of them mixed between our lips.
“I’m right here, Colton. I’m okay,” I reassure him as we press our foreheads together, our hands holding the back of each other’s necks as the outside world whizzes past us at eighty miles per hour, but it’s just him and me.
Feeling like we’re the only two people in the world.
Accepting that the emotions we’re feeling are only getting stronger with the passage of time.
Coping with the notion that we won’t always be able to save the other.
Loving one another like we never thought possible.
We turn down Broadbeach Road, our hands linked between us, and drive into a media frenzy bigger than I have ever seen. Colton blows out a loud breath. Our emotions have been put through the ringer, and I fear how much more Colton can take before he snaps.
And I pray this unruly crowd isn’t going to be the straw that breaks the camel’s back because, frankly, I just can’t take any more.
I bow my head and put my hand up to shield the swollen side of my face from the constant flashes and thumps on the car for us to look up. Within minutes Colton drives slowly forward and we edge into the opening gates as Sammy and the two other security guys on duty step forward to prevent the press from entering the property. We park and within moments Colton is opening my door, the sudden roar from the media over the gates hits me like a tidal wave.
He helps me out of the car, and I wince in pain as my body starts to stiffen from everything it has been put through. Colton notices my grimace and before I can object, he has me cradled in his arms and is walking us toward the front door. I lay my head under his neck, feel the vibration in his throat as he says, “Sammy,” and nods his head in acknowledgment at him.
And then he stops dead in his tracks. I’m not sure what’s he’s heard or what sets him off, but he unexpectedly turns and is walking toward the gates at the front of the driveway. “Open the fucking gates, Sammy!” he barks as we near them, and I immediately shrink into Colton as confusion and uncertainty fills me.
I hear the clank of metal as the motors start moving, hear the reporters become even more frenzied at the sight of the gates opening, and then I hear them go absolutely ballistic when they see the two of us standing there. My heart is pounding and I have no idea what in the hell he is doing. We stand there for a moment, him holding me, me burying my face into his neck, the incessant questions ringing out one after another, and the camera flashes so bright I can see them through my closed eyelids.
Colton angles his face down and places his mouth close to my ear, and even though there is all this outside noise, I can hear him clear as day. “This is something I should have done when this first started. I’m sorry.” He presses a chaste kiss to my cheek. “I’m gonna put you down now, okay?”
I try to figure out what he’s referring to, but I just nod my head. What is he doing?
He lowers me to the ground. “You okay?” he asks as he looks in my eyes like we are the only two people standing here. When I nod he gets that little smirk on his face, and before I can read it his lips are on mine in a soul-devouring, heart thumping, thigh-clenching-together kiss that leaves no questions about who Colton’s heart and emotions belong to. His lips claim me, tasting like a needy man starving. And I am so lost in him, to him—just as needy for him—that I don’t hear the people around us, the clicks of the cameras, because regardless of the outside world, it always comes back to us.
He breaks the kiss with a gasp from me and gives me that smirk again. “If they’re gonna stare, Ryles.” And shrugs his shoulders unapologetically as I mentally finish the phrase he said to me in Vegas … we might as well put on a good show.
“Did you all get a good picture?” he shouts to the crowd around us, and I look over at him confused. “Now this is what you can print with your goddamn picture. Rylee isn’t the home wrecker folks. Tawny is. Just like Tawny is a fucking liar.” He glances over at me as I stand there with my mouth agape over his comment. “Yep,” he shouts. “Paternity test is negative. So your story? Isn’t really a story anymore!”
It takes a minute for the meaning of his words to sink in and I just stare at him as he looks at me with the hugest grin on his face, and shakes his head as he pulls me under his arm and tucks me against him. “Wha—why—how?” I stutter as so many emotions flicker through me at a rapid pace, the most prominent one: relief.
“Chase is going to kill me for that one,” he mutters to himself with a smirk on his face that I don’t quite understand. Before I can ask, Colton turns us around and starts walking back through the gates as questions are yelled out about what happened today at The House. He ignores them and waits for the gates to shut before turning and looking at me. “That’s what I was calling to tell you … and then everything happened.”
I just stare at him. I can see the burden that’s been heavy in his eyes is gone—has probably been gone all day—but then again I’ve been a little preoccupied. I nod my head, unable to speak as he takes my hand and raises it to his lips.
And it hits me harder than ever before.
We can do this. All of the obstacles between us have been removed in one way or another. It’s just this selfless girl and this healing boy and we can really make this work.
He looks at me as tears well in my eyes, and I step into his arms and don’t let go, because I’m exactly where I want to be.
Exactly where I belong.
Home.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
It’s only the hundredth time he’s asked me, but a part of me smiles silently at how well he’s taking care of me. The day had just gotten longer and longer as I assured an adamant Haddie I was okay and that she didn’t need to fly home from her job in San Francisco to physically see I was all right, and that I’d call her again in the morning. Next it was my parents and the same reassurances, and then the boys … checking in on Zander and wishing I was there to speak to him face to face as well as talk to the rest of the boys. Colton cut me off after that, telling the rest of the people who called—his parents, Quinlan, Beckett, Teddy—that I needed rest and I’d call them in the morning.
“I’m fine. I’m not feeling too well but I think it’s because I’m exhausted. My stomach is upset. I should’ve eaten more food before I took the pain meds. And now they’re making me super sleepy …”
He sits up in bed. “Do you want me to go get you something to eat?”
“No,” I tell him, pulling his arm so he lies back down. I look over at him. “Hold me?”
He instantly shifts and gingerly places his arms around me, pulling me into him so our bodies fit against each other. “Okay?” he murmurs into the crown of my head.
“Mmm-hmm,” I say, snuggling in as close as my sore body will allow because the pain is a little more bearable with his arms holding me tight.
We sit there for a bit, our breathing slowly evening out. I’m just on the cusp of sleep when he murmurs, “I race you, Ry. I really, really race you.”
Every part of me sighs at those words, at the admission I know is hard for him. I press a kiss to my favorite place beneath his jawline. “I race you too, Colton.”
More than you’ll ever realize.
The cramps in my stomach wake me up.
I lie in the pitch black, moonless night as the little, continuous stabs of pain combined with the sweat coating my skin, and the dizziness in my head, tell me I need to get to the bathroom quickly before I throw up. I slide out of Colton’s loosened grip on me, trying to be quick but also trying not to disturb him. He mum
bles something softly, and I still momentarily before he rolls onto his back and quiets down.
My head’s fuzzy as I stand, and I’m super groggy from the pain medication. Talk about feeling like I’m walking through water. I laugh because the floor even feels kind of wet and I know it’s just my drug laden brain. I run my hand along the wall to help steady myself and guide me through the dark room so I don’t accidentally bump something and wake up Colton.
My God, I’m going to be sick! I feel the huge rugs covering the bathroom floor beneath my feet and almost moan out in pain mixed with relief knowing the toilet is so close. I slip some as I hit the tile and curse Baxter and the damn water bowl he always drips from. I shut the bathroom door and flick on the light, the sudden brightness hurting my eyes so I squeeze them shut as the dizziness hits me at full force. I bend over, hand on the toilet rim, stomach tensing and ready to puke, but all I feel is the room spinning. My stomach revolts, the dry heave hitting me over and over. My stomach is tensing so forcefully I feel wetness run down my legs.
And I start laughing, feeling so pathetic that I’m puking so hard I’ve just peed myself, but my mind is so sluggish, so slow to piece my thoughts together that instead of figuring out what to do next, I sink down on my knees. I slide on the slick marbled floor coated with urine, but my stomach hurts so badly and my head’s so dizzy I don’t really care. All I can think of is how pathetic I must look right now. How there is no way in hell I’m going to call Colton for help.
And I’m so tired—so sleepy—and afraid I’m going to throw up again, I decide to lay my head atop my hands on the rim of the toilet and just rest my eyes for a minute.
My head starts to slide off of the toilet, and I don’t know how much time has passed but the falling motion jerks me awake. I’m immediately assaulted with such a wave of heat through my body followed up by an absolute chill that I force myself to stop a minute and take a deep breath.
Something’s not right.
I feel it immediately, even though my mind is trying to snap my thoughts together, line them up so that they’re coherent. And I just can’t. Nothing’s making sense to me. My head is heavy and my arms feel like a million pounds. I try to call out to Colton for help, not caring anymore if I’ll be embarrassed about sitting in a pool of piss. Something’s just not right. I put my hand on the wainscot to help support myself so I can stand up and open the door so he’ll hear me call his name, but my hand slips. And when I can open my eyes, when I can focus, my handprint is smeared in blood down the wall.
Hmm.
I kind of laugh as delirium takes over. As I look down to see that I’m not sitting in urine.
No.
But why is the floor covered in blood?
“Colton!” I call, but I’m so weak I know my voice isn’t loud enough.
I’m floating and it’s so warm and I’m so tired. I close my eyes and smile because I see Colton’s face.
So handsome.
All mine.
I feel sleep start to pull on me—my mind, my body, my soul—and I let its lethargic fingers begin to win the tug-of-war.
And right before it takes me, I understand the why, but not the how.
Oh, Colton.
I’m sorry, Colton.
Darkness threatens to pull me under its clutches.
Please don’t hate me.
I have nothing left to resist its smothering blackness.
I love you.
Spiderman. Batm—
The sound of the gunshot startles me awake. I spring up in bed and have to catch my breath as I tell myself it’s all over. Just a goddamn nightmare. The fucking bastard is dead and got what he deserved. Zander is fine. Rylee is fine.
But something’s off. Still not right.
“Say something I’m giving up on you …” I jolt from the panic I feel from hearing the lyrics as they pass through the overhead speakers. Shit. I forgot to turn them off last night. Is that what scared the fuck out of me? I scrub my hands over my face trying to snap me from my sleep-induced haze.
That had to have been it.
“… I’m sorry that I couldn’t get to you …”
I reach for the control on the nightstand to shut the music off. And then I hear it again, the sound that I’m sure was what woke me up. “Bax?” I call out into the room as I realize Ry’s side of the bed is empty. He whimpers again. “Fuckin’ A, Bax! You really have to take a piss now?” I say to him as I place my feet on the floor and stand, waiting for a second to steady myself and thank fucking God this is getting easier because I’m sick of feeling like an eighty-year-old man every time I stand.
I immediately look out toward the top of the stairs to see if any lights are on downstairs and the hairs on the back of my fucking neck stand up when it’s dark as fuck. Baxter whimpers again. “Relax, dude. I’m coming!” I take a few steps toward the bathroom and feel a bit of relief when I see the sliver of light around the closed door to the toilet room. Jesus, Donavan, chill the fuck out, she’s fine. No need to go smothering her and shit just because I’m still freaked the fuck out.
Baxter whimpers again and I realize he’s in the bathroom too. What the fuck? The dog’s licked his balls one too many times and is going crazy. “Leave her alone, Bax! She doesn’t feel good. I’ll take you out.” I walk into the bathroom, knowing he’s not going to come with me unless I grab his collar. I yell a hushed curse trying to get him to obey but he doesn’t move. I’m fucking beat and not in the mood to deal with his stubborn ass. I slip on the water on the floor and my temper ignites. “Quit drinking the goddamn water and you won’t have to go to the bathroom in the middle of the fucking night!” I take another step and slip and I’m fucking pissed. I’ve had it right now and am having trouble keeping my cool.
Baxter whimpers again at the bathroom door and when I reach it, I rap my knuckle against it. “You okay, Ry?” Silence. What the fuck? “Ry? You okay?”
It’s a split fucking second of time between my last word and the door flinging open but I swear to God it feels like a lifetime. So many thoughts—a fucking million of them fly through my mind, like at the start of a race—but the one I always block out, the one that I never let control me, owns every fucking part of me now.
Fear.
My mind tries to process what I see, but I can’t comprehend it because the only thing I can focus on is the blood. So much blood, and sitting in the middle of it, shoulders slumped against the wall, eyes closed and face so pale it almost matches the light marble behind it, is Rylee. My mind stutters trying to grasp the sight but not processing it all at once.
And then time snaps forward and starts moving way too fucking fast.
“No!” I don’t even realize it’s my voice screaming, don’t even feel the blood coat my knees as I drop to them and grab her. “Rylee! Rylee!” I’m shouting her name, trying to jostle her the fuck awake, but her head just hangs to the side.
“Oh God! Oh God!” I repeat it over and over as I pull her into my arms, cradle her as I jolt her shoulders back and forth to try to wake her up. And then I freeze—I fucking freeze the one time in my life I need to move the most. I’m fucking paralyzed as I reach my hand up and stop before it presses to the little curve beneath her chin, so afraid that when I press my two fingers down there isn’t going to be a beat to meet them.
God, she’s so beautiful. The thought flickers and fades like my courage.
Baxter’s wet nose in my back snaps me to, and I suck in a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. I get a little better grip on my fucking reality—my fucking sanity—and it’s not very strong but at least it’s there. I press down and let out a shout in relief when I feel the weak pulse of her heart.
All I want to do is bury my face in her neck and hold her, tell her it’s going to be okay, but I know the thirty seconds I’ve fucking wasted sitting here have been more than too much.
I tell myself that I need to think, that I need to concentrate, but my thoughts are so fucking scattered I can’t
focus on just one.
Call 9-1-1.
Carry her downstairs.
So much fucking blood.
I can’t lose her.
“Stay with me, baby. Please, stay with me.” I plead and beg but I don’t know what else I can do. I’m lost, scared, fucking beside myself.
My mind fucking whirls out of control with what I need to do and what’s most important … but the one thing I know more than anything else is I can’t leave her. But I have to. I pull her out of the small room housing the toilet, my feet slipping on the blood all over the floor, and the sight of it smearing—dark marring the light floor—as I drag her to the rug causes new panic to arise.
I lay her gently down. “Phone. I’ll be right back.” I tell her before I run, slipping again to the nightstand where my phone is. It’s ringing in my ear as I reach her and immediately bring my fingers to her neck as it rings again.
“9-1-1—”
“5462 Broadbeach Road. Hurry! Please—”
“Sir, I need to—”
“There’s fucking blood everywhere and I’m not sure—”
“Sir, calm down, we—”
“Calm down?” I scream at the lady. “I need help! Please hurry!” I drop the phone. I need to get her downstairs. Need to get her closer to where the ambulance can get to her faster.
I pick her up, cradle her, and I can’t help the fucking sob that overtakes me as I run as fast as I can through my bedroom to the stairs and down them. Panic laced with confusion and mind-numbing fear runs through me. “Sammy!” I’m screaming. I’m a fucking madman, and I don’t fucking care because all I can see is her blood coating the bathroom. All I can think of is being a little kid and that fucking doll Quin used to have—Raggedy Ann or some shit like that—how her head and arms and legs lolled to the fucking side regardless of how she held her. How she’d cry when I’d tease her over and over that her doll was dead.