Primal Instinct

by Tara Wyatt

  “Let’s just call this an extended one-night stand. Nothing more.”

  For one brief slice of a second, he looked as though she’d slapped him. But then, just as quickly, it was gone. He shook his head, his jaw tight. “I wish it hadn’t gone down this way. I…” He looked as though he wanted to reach out to her but stayed where he was, silhouetted against the bathroom door. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Taylor. I never wanted to hurt you.”

  “Don’t worry. You didn’t,” she lied, rubbing at her nose. “Besides, I’m the one breaking up with you.”

  He rubbed a hand over the center of his chest. “We…I…let this go too far, and I…” He swallowed hard. “I’m really sorry this couldn’t work out.”

  “So I guess that’s it then, huh?” Her chest tightened and then expanded, the pain almost too much to contain. Too big for this absurdly calm conversation. It was as though someone had dipped her heart in liquid nitrogen and crushed it into a million pieces. Shards of what used to be her heart stabbed her lungs, making it hard to breathe.

  She’d wanted him to deny it, to fight for her, to promise he’d stay, to tell her that he loved her as much as she loved him. Instead, he’d let her push him away with surprising ease, almost with relief. Which was only proof that getting out now, before the scar he’d leave got any uglier, was the smart thing to do.

  God, she was so fucking stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She’d let her loneliness and her hormones scramble her brain. She’d thrown herself off the same cliff twice now, and only had herself to blame now that she’d landed broken against the rocks at the bottom for a second time.

  She wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh, scream, cry, or punch something.

  He nodded slowly, watching her intently. “Yeah. I guess so. I’ll call Owens, have Virtus take over your security detail. I think that’s best.”

  She wasn’t sure how long they stood there, watching each other, because time seemed to have stopped.

  “Fine.” She forced her legs to move, despite the weakness in her muscles. “I’ll get my shit.” She brushed past him, and the shower-fresh scent of his skin twisted her entire chest into a knot of pain.

  As fast as she could manage, she gathered up her clothes and toiletries, shoving them carelessly into her bag. She could hear Colt on the phone with Sean, his deep voice rumbling through the wall and slamming into her. She sat on the bed, her bag beside her, her hands plunged into the mounds of fabric as she clenched and unclenched her fists, just trying to breathe.

  “Owens is on his way to pick you up. He’ll be here in ten.” He was still in nothing but a towel. Still not fighting for her. For them. For what they’d shared.

  “I’ll wait downstairs.” She stood and shouldered her bag. She was going to cry, but she’d be damned if she was going to do it front of him.

  He snagged her arm as she walked past him. “I’m sorry, Taylor.”

  She nodded, gingerly extracting her arm. “Good-bye, Colt.”

  Chapter 26

  Colt stood in his kitchen, staring unfocused at the coffeemaker as it spit and sputtered coffee into the glass carafe. He braced his palms against the counter, holding himself upright against the waves of shock and pain crashing into him.

  He’d done the right thing. He needed to believe that. Because otherwise he didn’t know how to cope with the pain he’d seen in Taylor’s big blue eyes. She’d put on a brave front, but he knew he’d hurt her. Just like he’d predicted, she hadn’t been able to escape unscathed. Even on her own terms.

  She’d ended things between them, and even though it had gone against everything he had in him—his brain screaming at him to tell her he loved her, that he wouldn’t leave, that he needed her—he’d let her walk away. It didn’t matter what it cost him; he’d made a promise that he’d protect her from anyone or anything, no matter what. And he had by letting her go, by handing her over to Virtus. He was protecting her from himself.

  He’d done the right thing.

  He knew now that he’d been so fucking reckless. None of this should’ve ever happened. He should’ve never slept with her, never duped himself into thinking he could actually be good enough for her. Then, at least, he wouldn’t be standing in his kitchen, trying to remember how to breathe.

  But he needed to let her go. He hadn’t known what to do: if he should end things, if he should take the contract, if he should be a selfish asshole and tell her that he was in love with her…He leaned on the counter, shaking his head. The fact that she’d found it even though he hadn’t left it out in the open had to be some kind of sign from the universe. Like she’d said: Ultimately, it was for the best.

  He scooped up a mug and hurled it against the far wall, watching as it shattered and landed in shards on the floor.

  “Fuck!” He slammed his fist against the counter, rattling dishes in the cupboards above. He grabbed a second mug, but before he could throw it against the wall, his phone buzzed. He set the mug down clumsily, yanking his phone out of his pocket as hope soared through him.

  But it wasn’t Taylor. He swiped his finger across the screen to answer his sister’s call.

  “What?” He grimaced at the gruffness in his voice and forced himself to take a breath.

  “Uh, hi. Bad time?”

  “No. Sorry. What’s up?”

  “Just calling to remind you about Ben’s birthday party this weekend. Are you still planning on bringing Taylor?”

  He picked up the discarded mug and squeezed it so hard that the handle snapped off. “No. That’s…We…No. Just me.”

  “Oh, okay.” And then softer, “Oh. I’m sorry, Colt. You okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “You don’t sound fine.”

  “Lacey.” His voice low, he turned her name into a warning.

  “Okay. Well. I’m here if you need me. See you Saturday?”

  “Sure. Saturday.”

  They hung up and he smashed the mug, watching it explode into pieces in a violent reflection of the pain slicing through his chest.

  * * *

  Blue balloons emblazoned with a white “6” bobbed cheerfully in the warm breeze as Colt pushed open the gate to Lacey’s backyard. He tightened his grip around the handle of the gift bag containing a Lego Batman set, took a deep breath, and plastered a smile on his face that he hoped didn’t look as phony as it felt.

  A few of Ben’s cousins—nieces and nephews from Paul’s side—ran around the yard screaming, playing the world’s loudest game of tag. Seeing him at the gate, Lacey came over, a smear of what he hoped was chocolate frosting across the front of her jeans.

  “Hey,” she said, giving him a quick hug and pressing a firm kiss to his cheek. “Let me take that.” She reached out a hand for Ben’s present, and he let her take the bag. She stood awkwardly in front of him for a second before smiling nervously, her eyes darting back and forth between Colt and the house. “So, listen. Don’t be mad.”

  He closed his eyes briefly and blew out a breath, planting his hands on his hips. “What am I not supposed to be mad about?”

  She chewed her lip and looked up at him, suddenly looking much younger. “I invited her.”

  “Her who?” Colt’s heart leaped and clenched in his chest at the absurd hope she’d somehow contacted Taylor and brought her here. Even as he thought it, he knew it was ridiculous, but he could feel his chest filling with the idea anyway.

  “Mom.”

  With one syllable, she knocked him flat on his ass, deflating all of that hope and letting it escape through the puncture wound she’d just created.

  “You invited her? Here?” He jabbed a finger in the direction of the house, glad Lacey had taken the bag from him, because he really wanted to smash something. His garbage bin at home was full of broken mugs, plates, a lamp, and the glass shards of more than one empty Johnnie Walker bottle.

  Five days. Five days since he’d let her walk away. Five fucking miserable days. He’d alternated between beating the shit out of his punching
bag, going on punishing runs, and drinking until he was so numb he couldn’t even feel his own skin. He was trying to pulverize the pain, to drink it into submission. And when that failed, he simply sat in his office, staring at the contract, trying to figure out if he should just take the job and leave.

  Lacey nodded quickly and grabbed his arm, knowing he was about to bolt. “She’s changed, Colt. She’s sober. She’s trying.”

  “And what is this? A stop on her ‘making amends’ tour?”

  “She wanted to be here for Ben.” And then, her voice quieter, “And the chance to see you.”

  “I can’t believe you pulled this crap on me, Lace. You could’ve at least warned me. Given me the option.”

  “But then you wouldn’t have shown up at all.”

  “And what does that tell you?” he whispered fiercely, trying to keep his voice down. “I don’t have time for this shit.”

  Her face crumpled, and her lower lip trembled. “I’m sorry, Colt. I was just trying to…” She trailed off, hands fluttering helplessly in front of her. “Please don’t be mad.”

  At the sight of tears threatening in her eyes, his anger dissipated, and he pulled Lacey in for a hug. “I’m not mad. But I can’t do this.” Not only had he shut that door a long time ago, but he wasn’t anywhere near the right frame of mind to deal with his mother. “Tell Ben I said happy birthday and that I’m sorry I had to go.” He kissed the top of her head, pulling away from the hug.

  “Please don’t leave on my account. I’ll go. You stay.”

  His head snapped up at the low, feminine voice that he recognized instantly, even though he hadn’t heard it in over fifteen years. His mother took a tentative step toward where he and Lacey stood, her eyes shining as she studied him. Her auburn hair was streaked with gray, but still hung in long, thick waves around her shoulders. Delicate lines framed her eyes and mouth and traced gracefully across her forehead, and her frame was smaller than he remembered. Smaller, but also stronger looking. Healthier.

  Lacey backed away, and his mom took another step forward. Carefully, as though she were reaching her hand into a lion’s cage, she curved her hand up and cupped his cheek. Her touch was warm and gentle. “Look at you,” she whispered, and with a slow blink two tears broke free, racing each other down her cheeks. “So handsome. So strong.”

  Despite his best efforts, something in him gave at his mother’s touch. He took a breath, and then another as they studied each other.

  “Hi, Mom,” he finally managed. He hadn’t expected to feel so overwhelmed at seeing her. Overwhelmed with what he’d lost—any chance at a decent childhood, all the years he’d gone without a parent in his life—and with the happiness and relief at seeing that she really was okay. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d touched him so tenderly, and it felt…right.

  “Can we go somewhere and talk?” she asked. “There’s so much I need to say to you.”

  He nodded, not trusting his voice to work properly through the surge of emotions clogging his throat. Anger. Hope. Grief.

  He led her into the house, through the kitchen, and into the living room. He sunk down on the far end of the sofa, unable to take his eyes off of her. Unable to believe how healthy and whole she looked. And yeah, it was good to see her like that, but fuck, it also made him angry. She’d taken so much from him, and she got to be okay. When did he get to be okay? He was the one who’d had everything taken away, who’d sacrificed and fought and struggled, and what did he have to show for it? PTSD, and a broken heart.

  He sat back on the couch, his arms splayed over the back, one ankle propped on the opposite knee. Trying to look calm and in control.

  She met his eyes and took a long, deep breath. “Colton, I’m so sorry. I screwed up. I should’ve never kicked you out all those years ago. I know you were only trying to do what you felt was right, and that you were trying to look out for me and Lacey. I wasn’t…making good decisions then. For you or Lacey, or for myself. You kids deserved so much better than I ever gave you, and for that I’m so sorry. I understand if you don’t want anything to do with me. I just needed you to know that none of what happened was your fault. It was my fault, and mine alone.”

  He nodded slowly, not really knowing what to say. “Okay. I…thanks. For telling me that.”

  “I can’t tell you how deeply I regret the way I treated you. You’re my son. I love you. I will always regret that I was so awful to you. I don’t expect you to forgive me, and I’m not asking you to. I just wanted you to know.” She shrugged, one slim shoulder rising. “And I wanted to see the man you’d become so that I could tell you how proud I am of you. Lacey told me about your military service. That you were awarded a Medal of Honor.”

  He almost snorted. He’d been awarded the medal “for extraordinary courage and selflessness” even though he’d been one of the only surviving members of Delta Company to make it out of that mission.

  He swallowed thickly and rolled his neck to one side, her words easing into him. He’d carried the weight of her rejection, of his failure as a son and a brother for so long that he’d forgotten it was there. But now that it was starting to lessen, just a little, he felt a thousand pounds lighter.

  “So you don’t blame me for…” He didn’t finish his thought, not wanting to rehash everything.

  She pressed a hand to her chest, pain flashing in her green eyes. Green eyes just like his. Just like Lacey’s. “Oh, God, no. Colton, no. I don’t blame you for anything. It was all my fault. I was the screw-up. Please don’t think it was you. I would hate for you to blame yourself for my actions. I’m responsible for my actions. Not you.”

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to pull her words as deep into him as possible.

  “Lacey said that you’re a bodyguard now?” she asked after a long silence.

  He blew out a breath and allowed himself a small smile. “Personal security expert, yeah. For a couple of years now.”

  She smiled warmly at him, pride and hope shining in her eyes. “You were always so concerned with protecting everyone around you.” Her voice softened. “Even at great personal cost to yourself. Sometimes at too great a cost.”

  The ache in his chest flared up again.

  “How long have you been sober?” he asked.

  “Five years now.” She pulled a small bronze coin out of her pocket and handed it to him. It was adorned with an embossed V, and Colt turned it over in his fingers, examining it briefly, before handing her five-year sobriety chip back to her.

  “Good for you.” And he meant it.

  She nodded. “I hope that you’re happy, Colton. You deserve so much to be happy. My wish for you”—she laid a tentative hand on his tattooed arm—“is to rise above the damage I inflicted on you. You’re strong, and smart, and worthy of happiness and love and everything good. Because you are good. There’s nothing bad in you.”

  He’d imagined coming face-to-face with his mother countless times over the years but never had the conversation gone like this. He opened his mouth and spoke words he never thought he’d say. “I forgive you, Mom.” It was stunning how freeing uttering those four words was. Freeing and…peaceful. As though something that had been twisting and churning in him for years was finally still.

  * * *

  Taylor’s phone buzzed for the tenth time that night, and she pulled it out, already knowing what she’d see.

  Colt: Can we talk?

  She stared at the message, her thumb poised over the screen, hovering between replying and deleting it. She lay sprawled across her bed, right in the center of it, taking up as much room as possible so she wouldn’t notice how empty it was without Colt in it.

  Dropping the phone down onto the pillow, she pulled the covers tighter around her, the silence of the house pressing down on her. Ian—whom everyone called Mac—was in the guest room. The room that Colt had occupied not that long ago. He’d been staying with her for a few days now, keeping an eye on everything, but there’d been
no sign of her father, and her stalker was in jail.

  She hadn’t felt like trying to make forced conversation with Ian, so she’d gone to bed at an absurdly early hour, only to lay in bed, staring at her phone, watching Colt’s text messages come in. She couldn’t figure out what she wanted to do. If she should text him back. If she wanted to see him. It was hard to think in the quiet house. Hard to feel anything but numb.

  Although she had enough songs for the album, she’d picked up her guitar earlier, hoping to sort out her thoughts with her fingers on the strings, but nothing had come. Colt had taken everything and left her empty.

  Her phone began to vibrate on the pillow, and she snatched it up, her heart slowing when she saw Jeremy’s name on the screen. She swiped her finger across the screen to answer it.

  “Hey, Jer.”

  “Taylor? Are you all right? You sound funny.”

  She sat up and pushed a hand through her hair. “I’m fine. What’s up?”

  “I have good news. I just had a meeting with Ernie Glick, and he listened to several of the demos you’ve recorded.” He paused for dramatic effect, but Taylor couldn’t muster up the energy to care. She’d handed in a bunch of songs about a man who didn’t love her. Fuck, she didn’t even want to release the album anymore, but she knew she didn’t have a choice. An album full of songs that were nothing but lies. The prettiest illusions.

  “Yeah?” she prompted, wanting to get off the phone.

  “He loved it. Said it was some of your best work. Heartfelt, and real. They want to put a major marketing push behind this.”

  “Awesome. Great. Can we talk later? I have a headache.”

  “Oh. Um, sure. Yes. Feel better. And congratulations. This is going to be the biggest album of your career.”

  “Thanks. Night, Jer.” She hung up and squeezed her phone tight to her chest, the plastic creaking ominously under her grip. Her eyes burned, tears filling her eyes. She wanted to scream, smash things, and get drunk, but with Ian around, she couldn’t really do any of those things. But she couldn’t stay here, in this deadly silent house, in her cold, empty bed. She felt as though she couldn’t breathe.