And he has to do it without Rylee, the one person he desperately wants to be there.
Or does he?
Fear is a brutal bitch to face.
It squeezes your lungs so you can’t breathe, locks your jaw to bear the brunt of your stress, and cinches your heart so your blood rushes through your body.
The guys are at my back pretending to be busy. Ignoring the fact that I’m standing in front of my car, staring at the cause of my biggest fucking fear right now and my greatest goddamn salvation. I need it more than ever between the bullshit Tawny hit me with and not having the one person I want most but don’t want to taint any further around.
Rylee.
She said she’d he here when I got in the car for the first time. I need her here, need to know she’s here to come back to at the end of the run. The salve to my stained soul. But how in the fuck could I call her and ask her when I’ve pushed her so far away?
So here I stand, surrounded by my crew but battling the shit in my head all alone. And of course my mind veers to the vultures at the gates that shoved cameras in my face and spewed Tawny’s bullshit lies about Rylee when I left the house earlier. Then it slides back to Rylee and how much I want her here right now.
Fuck this, Donavan. Quit being such a pussy and get in the goddamn car. You’ve faced shit ten times worse than this. You’ve got this. Man the fuck up and get in the car.
I take a deep breath and squeeze my eyes shut momentarily as I lift my helmet and push it down on my head. My silent acknowledgement to the guys that I’m ready to tackle this.
It takes me a minute to buckle my helmet; my hands tremble like a motherfucker. Becks steps forward to help and I glare at him to back the fuck off. If I can’t fasten this then I don’t deserve to get behind the wheel.
I slide my hand up the nose toward the cockpit. I knock softly out of habit to ease my superstitious mind.
Spiderman. Batman. Superman. Ironman.
Four knocks, one for each of the superheroes that the little boy in me still thinks will help protect him. They pulled me through the last crash, I know they’re good for it.
I take a deep breath and try not to think as I lift one leg and then the other so I can drop into the driver’s seat. I sit there, try to make myself numb so I can’t feel the fear coursing through me and trickling down the line of my spine in rivulets of sweat.
Becks steps up and locks the steering wheel in place and thank fuck for that because now I have somewhere I can put my hands and grip so that they stop shaking. I feel his hand pat the top of my helmet like he usually does, but before he clicks my HANS device he pulls my helmet up so I’m forced to look at him.
I see the fear flicker in his eyes but I also see resolve. “All you, Wood. Take your time. Ease into her.” He nods at me. “Just like riding a bike.”
A bike my ass. But I nod at him because I have a feeling I could argue the point just to cause a distraction from actually having to do this. I focus on the wheel in front of me as he studies me, gauging whether I really am okay being here.
“I’m good,” I lie. And he stands there for a minute more before the guys bring the crank out and we fire the engine.
The reverberation through my body and sound in my ears of the engine’s rumble is like coming home and making me question myself all at once. Kind of like Rylee.
I hold onto that thought—to the idea of her being here when she’s not—as I rev the motor a few times. It sounds the same and yet so very different from the memory still hit and miss in my mind from the wreck.
The crew gets over the wall and it’s just Becks and me. He leans over and pulls on my harness, the same way he has for the past fourteen years. It’s comforting in a sense because he doesn’t act like anything is different, knows that this is what I need. Routine. The sense that everything is the same when it’s a clusterfuck in my head.
He raps the hood twice as is his habit and walks away. I don’t follow him because if I do, I know I’ll see the falter in his step. And his hesitancy will reaffirm my fear that I’m not ready.
I give it some gas, let the car rumble all around me to clear my head, and psych myself to do this. And I sit here long enough that I know I look like a pussy who shouldn’t be in the car so I put the car in gear and begin to ease out onto pit row. My heart is in my throat and my body vibrates from more than just the car. Nerves and anxiety collide with the need to be here, to do this, to be able to outrun my demons and find the freedom-laced solace I’ve always been able to find on the track.
I exit pit row and squeeze the wheel, frustrated that my fucking grandmother can drive faster than I am.
“That’s it, Wood. Nice and easy,” Becks says, and it takes everything I have to shut him out, to listen to the car like I always do and try and hear what she’s telling me. But I can’t drown out the bullshit in my head so I close my eyes momentarily and tell myself to just push the gas and go.
And I do. I push it, flick the paddle as I change gears, and enter the high line into turn two because I’m not going fast enough to have to worry about drifting into the wall.
But the more I accelerate, the less I hear. She’s not talking to me. The noises aren’t the same. “Goddammit, Becks! This car is shit! I thought you checked everything. It’s—”
“Nothing’s wrong with the car, Colton.”
“Bullshit! It’s shuddering like a bitch and is gonna come apart once I open her up,” I grate out, pissed at that placating tone in his voice. I’m the one in the fucking car—the one that can possibly slam headfirst into the wall—not him.
“It’s a new car. I checked every inch of it.”
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Beckett! Goddammit!” I pound my fist against the steering wheel, completely backing off the gas.
I know he says something about taking it nice and easy but I don’t really hear it because the flashback hits me so hard I suffocate in the open air.
The car stops but dizziness spirals through me.
My body slams to a stop but my head hasn’t.
A breath shocks into me as I realize what just happened. That I survived that tumbling pirouette into the catch fence. That I escaped the shredded fucking mass of metal on the track at my back.
Pain radiates around me like a motherfucking freight train. My head splinters into a million damn pieces, hands grabbing and groping and pushing and prodding. That familiar pang twists in my gut because I don’t want anyone’s hands on me, can’t handle the feeling. I don’t want to be reminded of the little boy I used to be and the fear that used to course through me when I was touched by others. By him.
Medical jargon flies at a rapid pace and it’s so technical I can’t catch the gist. Just tell me if I’m going to be fucking all right. Just tell me if I’m dead or alive, because I swear to God my life really did just flash before my eyes and what I thought was going to be … what I thought I wanted out of life … just got twisted and turned more than the aluminum of my car.
How could I have been so wrong? How could I have thought change would be the catalyst when it ended up being my fucking epiphany? Shows me to try and change the road fate’s already set for me.
I writhe to get away from the hands that touch, twisting and turning to find her. To go back and tell her that I was so wrong. Everything I put her through. Each rejection and rebuff was my fault. Was a huge mistake.
How do I make it right again?
Pain grapples again and mixes with the fear that ripples under the surface. My head feels like it is going to explode. Lazy clouds of haze float in and out and eat the memories away. Take them with them as they leave and fade. Darkness overcomes the edges until I can’t take it anymore. Voices shout and hands assess my injuries, but I fade.
My thoughts.
My past.
My life.
Bit by bit.
Piece by piece.
Until I am cloaked in the cover of darkness.
“Colton?” It’s
her voice that shocks me from my memory like a drowning man finally breaking the surface for air. I gasp in a breath just as hungrily.
I shake my head and look around. I’m all alone on the backstretch of the track, sweat soaking through my fire suit. Did I really hear Ry or was that part of my flashback?
“Rylee?” I call her name. I don’t care that there are guys on the mics that probably think I’m losing it because she’s not here … because they’re right. I am losing it.
“Talk to me. Tell me what’s going through your head. No one’s on the radio but you and me.”
She’s here. It’s her. I don’t even know what to do because I feel like I’m hit with a wave of emotions. Relief, fear, anxiety, need.
“Ry … I can’t … I don’t think I can …” I’m such a fucking head case that I can’t string my thoughts together to finish a thought.
“You can do this,” she tells me like she actually believes it, because I sure as fuck don’t. “This is California, Colton, not Florida. There’s no traffic. No rookie drivers to make stupid mistakes. No smoke you can’t see through. No wreck to drive into. It’s just you and me, Colton. You and me, nothing but sheets.”
Those words. I know they don’t belong right here in this moment but fuck if they don’t draw a sliver of a laugh from my mouth but that’s all I can manage because they also make me think of everything I’ve put her through. How nothing but sheets between us has led to her having to deal with the fallout of Tawny and all of that bullshit.
And yet somehow she’s here. She came for me. Does she have any fucking clue what that means to me especially when I’m the last one on earth that deserves her right now?
I pushed and now she’s pulling.
“I just …” Can’t do this anymore. Push you away and hurt you. Push the gas and drive the car. Not have you near me.
I know my head’s fucked up but I’m in overload mode again and then she speaks and lets light into my darkness.
“You can do this, Colton. We can do this together, okay? I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
I don’t deserve you. Your faith in me. Your belief in me.
“Are your hands on the wheel?” The confidence in her voice staggers me when I feel anything but.
“Mmm-hmm … but my right hand—”
“Is perfectly okay. I’ve seen you use it,” she says and the thought flickers through my head of just how she saw it the last time we had sex.
“Is your foot on the pedal?” she asks.
“Ry?” I want to stay in these thoughts of her, don’t want the fear to ride the wave back into my psyche.
“Pedal. Yes or no?”
“Yes …” But I’m not sure I can do this.
“Okay, clear your head. It’s just you and the track, Ace. You can do this. You need this. It’s your freedom, remember?”
She knows the words to pull me back from the edge. I take a deep breath and hold on to the confidence that she has to try and override the fear crippling my thoughts with images and sensations of tumbling into the wall. The wall that looks exactly like the one to the right of me.
Surrounding me.
C’mon, Donavan. Engage the motor. Prevent it from dying. The engine revs and a part of me sighs at the progress.
“You know this like the back of your hand … push down on the gas. Flick the paddle and press down.”
I make myself focus on her voice, hold on to the thought that she came back to help fix the broken in me. And the car starts to move down the backstretch and into turn three.
“Okay … see? You’ve got this. You don’t have to go fast. It’s a new car, it’s going to feel different. Becks will be pissed if you burn up the engine anyway so take it slow.”
I push a little harder, accelerator unsteady, but I’m starting to move around the track. I pass the point similar to where I went into the wall in St. Petersburg and I force my mind to tune out the unease and focus on listening to the car talk to me.
“You okay?” I can’t answer her because I may be trying to engage mentally but my body is still owned by the fear. “Talk to me, Colton. I’m right here.”
“My hands won’t stop shaking,” I tell her as I look at the gauges and realize I’m going faster. And with speed I need to concentrate on the feeling of the track beneath me, the pull of the wheel one way or another, the camber when I hit the corners. Routine items I can diagnose without thinking. Because I don’t want to think. Then doubts come, fear creeps.
I shake the thought and sigh, knowing how much shit I’m going to get from Becks since I’m not focusing like I should on the task at hand. “Becks is gonna be pissed because my head’s fucked-up.”
She doesn’t respond and I start to crawl back in my own mind for a moment when she clears her throat. She has my attention now. Is she crying?
“It’s okay … watching you out there? Mine is fucked-up too … but you’re ready. You can do this.” Something about her willingness to be vulnerable to me when I know she’s standing around all the guys hits places inside I’m glad I can’t analyze right now.
“Aren’t we a fucking pair?” I laugh, finding it rather humorous how screwed up we both are.
“We are indeed,” she says, and the little laugh she emits tells me so much. I press the accelerator down some. I’ve never needed approval from anyone, but right now I need it from her. Need her to see that I’m trying, both on and off the track.
“Hey, Ace, can I bring the guys back on?”
“Yeah,” I reply quickly. I hit turn four again and feel a little more confident, a lot more sure that I can do this. And I know how a large part of that is because she’s here. Shit, even after I was an asshole to her, have put her through hell with the paparazzi chasing her, she’s still here. “Ry … I …” My voice fades but my mind completes them.
I’m sorry.
I race you.
Thank you.
“I know, Colton. Me too.” Her voice breaks when she says it, and I feel like I can breathe again, like my world was just somehow set right when it’s been inside out the time without her.
Colton’s demons have robbed him of so much in his life. But he’s finally faced them, finally told Rylee he loves her. We know how the story ends, so when did he have that a-ha moment when he knew she was the one he wanted to do the one thing he swore he’d never do—get married?
In this new scene, you’ll get the answers.
She switched it. When the hell did she do that?
I pick up the picture from my bookshelf, the one that sits in exactly the same place the one of Tawny and me used to. Frame’s the same, picture’s not.
The new one is of Ry and me at my comeback race. I don’t fight the smirk when I think that wasn’t the only victory lane I claimed that night with her arms wrapped around my waist.
And something else around my cock.
Fuck, she’s gorgeous. Her head is angled back, grin on her face, but her eyes are on me. And that look in them—that frozen moment of time—reflects clear as fucking day her feelings for me. Not a single doubt.
I’m one lucky son of a bitch.
Well shit. When I look at my image, there’s no denying I feel the same way about her. The look on my ugly mug tells anyone who sees the picture that she’s snagged me hook, line, and double-sinker.
Funny thing is I see a man completely voodooed and I’m not even spooked by it.
I’m still getting used to the thought of it, the taste of it. And hell if I’m quite liking the foreign feeling, especially because it means I get to slide between those sexy as fuck curves of hers and claim the finish line every chance I get.
I know the game has caught up with this player because as much as that thought’s a turn on, I like the idea even more that when I wake up I can reach over to find her in my bed next to me, that sleepy smile on her lips and that rasp to her morning voice.
God, I sound like a fucking pussy. All sappy and shit.
The woman has topped
me from the bottom when I never thought it was a possibility. But fuck me, being beneath her means I get a damn good view of those tits of hers while I’m looking up.
My balls tighten at the thought alone.
Yep. I’m a damn voodooed man. Who would’ve known it’d feel so good to be under a woman’s spell.
I’m starting to feel cracks in the ground beneath me because Hell sure as fuck is starting to freeze over.
I set the picture down, glancing one more time at it with a shake of my head. Nice, Ry. A sly removal of Tawny and subtle claiming of me.
And fuck if I don’t like that claim. Who would’ve thought? Huh. Stranger fucking things have happened over the past few months I shouldn’t be so shocked by feeling so okay with this.
Those baby steps of mine have turned into full on leaps. I guess I should start practicing for the long jump if this shit keeps up.
I wander out of the office forgetting the article from Race Weekly, so completely lost in thought. And then I see the woman who holds them captive. She’s out on the patio in deep discussion with my mom and Quinlan over something.
And it’s fucking weird how perfectly she fits here, there, everywhere in my life.
Jesus, I sound like a fucking Dr. Seuss poem.
“How come you’re not at the track?”
My dad’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I immediately realize I forgot to grab the article for him, distracted by Ry’s bait and switch. And then I wonder how long he’s been standing there watching me watch Rylee.
“What? Why would I be at the track?” He’s lost me. It’s Sunday, a non-race day and no testing scheduled, so why the fuck would I be at the track?
He looks me in the eyes like he always has to judge how I’m doing from what he sees there since talking’s not really my forte. And for the first time in forever, he gets this ghost of a smirk and just nods his head like he knows something I don’t. He stares at me a moment longer and then hands me the bottle of beer in his hand before sitting down in one of two leather chairs facing the fine-ass view in front of us.