The Driven Series

by Bromberg, K.

  I still want him. I still feel him.

  I’m pathetic.

  The only personal contact I’ve had with him came via email the day after he dropped me off. He sent me a text saying:

  Whataya Want From Me by Adam Lambert.

  I listened to the song, confused by the lyrics. He’s telling me that we’re not going to happen and yet he sends me a song asking me not to give up while he works his shit out. A part of me is pleased that he’s still communicating, while another part of me is sad that he just won’t let me lick my wounds by myself. I wasn’t even going to respond until I heard the song playing on Shane’s radio. I texted back:

  Numb by Usher

  I was trying to tell him that until he confronts his same old modus operandi, nothing’s ever going to change, and he’s going to remain numb. He never replied, and I didn’t expect him to.

  I sigh loudly, alone at the kitchen counter at The House. Zander is at a counseling session with Jackson, and the rest of the boys are at school for another two hours. I’m on my last stack of resumes . One applicant is coming for an interview, but besides her, I’ve come across no one else even close to qualified.

  The muffled sound of my cell phone ringing breaks me out of my trance. I scramble frantically to pick it up, my heart racing, hoping that it might be Colton even though we have not talked since Sunday night. My mind tells me it’s not going to be him while my heart still hopes that it is.

  My screen says private caller and I answer it with a breathless “Hello.”

  “Rylee?”

  My heart swells at the rasp of his voice. Shock has me hesitating to respond. Pride has me wanting to make sure that the hitch in my voice is absent when I finally speak. “Ace?”

  “Hi, Rylee.” The warmth mixed with relief in his voice has me shaking with an undercurrent of emotions.

  “Hi, Colton.” I reply, my tone matching his.

  He chuckles softly at my response before silence fills the phone line. He clears his throat. “I was just calling to let you know a car will pick you up at The House on Sunday at nine-thirty.” His voice, so full of warmth moments before, is now disembodied and official sounding.

  “Oh. Okay.” I sag in my chair, overcome by disappointment that he’s just calling to reiterate the email one of his staff members sent two days ago. I can hear him breathing on the line and can hear voices in the distance.

  “You still have a total of ten, right? Seven boys and three counselors?”

  “Yes.” My tone is clipped, business-like. My only form of protection against him. “They are extremely excited about it.”

  “Cool.”

  Silence hangs in the air. I need to think of something to say so he doesn’t hang up. Despite the tension between us, knowing he is on the other end of the line is better than him not being there at all. I know my line of thinking screams “desperate,” but I don’t care. My brain scrambles to form a sentence, and right when I say his name, Colton says mine. We laugh.

  “Sorry, you go first, Colton.” I try to rid my voice of the nerves that creep their way into my tone.

  “How are you, Rylee?”

  Miserable. Missing you. I infuse happiness into my next words, glad he’s not in front of me to read through my lie. “Good. Fine. Just busy. You know.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I’ll let you go.”

  No! Not yet! My mind grasps to think of something to keep him on the phone. “Are-are you … ready for Sunday?”

  “We’re getting there.” I think I hear a tinge of relief in his voice but chock it up to my imagination. “The car seems to be working great. We’ve made some adjustments to the lift/drag ratio, which seems to be working better.” I can hear the enthusiasm in his voice. “We’ll dial it in more on Sunday. And Beckett, my crew chief, thinks we need to adjust the camber, and you asked me why I don’t do relationships.”

  What? Whoa! Direction change. I don’t know what to say so I just murmur, “Hmm-hmmm,” afraid that if I speak, it might reveal to him just how much I want to know, and at the same time, afraid to find out.

  I can hear him sigh on the other end of the phone, and I imagine him running his hands through his hair. His voice is hushed when he finally speaks. “Let’s just say my early childhood … those years were … more fucked up than not.” I can sense his apprehension.

  “Before you were adopted?” I know the answer, but it’s the only thing I can think to say without him thinking I feel pity for him. And silence would be even worse.

  “Yes, before I was adopted. As a result … I … how do I …?” He struggles to find the right words. I hear another exhaled breath before he continues. “I sabotage anything that resembles a relationship. If things are going too well … depending on which shrink you talk to, I purposely, unknowingly, or subconsciously ruin it. Screw it up. Hurt the other person.” It all comes out in a quick jumble of words. “Just ask my poor parents.” A self-deprecating laugh slips out. “Growing up, I fucked them over more times than I care to count.”

  “Oh … I … Colton—”

  “I’m hardwired this way, Rylee. I’ll purposely do something to hurt you to prove that I can. To prove that you won’t stick around regardless of the consequences. To prove that I can control the situation. To avoid getting hurt.”

  So many things run through my mind. Most of them are about the unspoken words he’s saying. That his history makes him test the limits of the person he’s with to prove he’s not worthy of their love. To prove they’ll leave him too. My heart aches for him and for whatever unknown thing that happened to him as a child. On the other hand, he has opened up to me some, partially answering the question I asked against his lips on my front porch.

  “I told you, a 747 of baggage sweetheart.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Colton.”

  “Yes it does, Rylee.” He laughs nervously. “I won’t commit to anyone. It’s just easier on everyone in the long run.”

  “Ace, you’re not the first guy I’ve known with commitment issues,” I joke, trying to add some levity to our conversation. But deep down I know that his inability to commit stems from something way deeper than just typical male reluctance.

  I hear his nervous laugh again. “Rylee?”

  “Yes?”

  “I respect you and your need for the commitment and the emotion that comes with a relationship.” He pauses, silence stretching between us as he finds his next words. “I really do. I’m just not built that way … so don’t feel bad. This would’ve never worked.”

  My hope, which has been rising despite my trying to control it, crashes back down. “I don’t understand. I just—”

  “What?” Colton says distracted, talking to a voice I hear in the background. “Saved by the bell! I’m needed on the track right now. More fine tuning.” I can hear the relief in his voice.

  “Oh. Okay.” Disappointment fills me. I want to finish this conversation.

  “No hard feelings then? I’ll see you at the track on Sunday?”

  I momentarily close my eyes, fortifying my voice with false nonchalance. “Sure. No hard feelings. See you on Sunday.”

  “See ya, Ryles.”

  The phone clicks and the dial tone fills my ear. I sit there not hearing it. Does he realize that he used his defense mechanism right now? Hurt me to keep me away? Put me in my place so that he can have all the control.

  I’m unsettled. I want to finish our conversation. Tell him that it doesn’t have to be this way. I want to comfort him. Ease the panic that laces his voice. Tell him that he makes me feel again after being numb for so very long. Confess that I want to be with him despite knowing deep down I will be destroyed in the end.

  I pick up my phone, pondering what I’m going to say. In the end, all I text is:

  Be safe on the track Ace!

  He responds quickly.

  Always. You know I’ve got great hands.

  I smile sadly. My heart wanting so much that my head knows I’ll never get.

&nb
sp; THE LIMO BUS PULLS THROUGH the gates of Auto Club Speedway in Fontana. The boys are buzzing with excitement, eyes wide as saucers taking in the sheer size of the complex. They have put on their shirts and all access lanyards that Colton’s staff has left aboard the bus for them. Their wide smiles and their constant oohs and aahs fill the air and fill my heart with joy. Zander bounces unexpectedly on the seat, vibrating with an obvious energy that takes me by surprise. I look at Jackson and Dane, my fellow counselors, and note that they see it too.

  For the first time in almost a week, I feel like I can smile, and ironically, it’s Colton that has made me feel this way. I’m thankful to him for the little touches he has added for the boys: a personalized letter, the shirts, the lanyards, and glossy magazines with his car on the cover. Things that make them feel special. Important.

  Our bus is directed down a tunnel under the stands before driving onto the infield. I didn’t think it possible, but the boys’ hooting and hollering becomes even louder. We come to a stop and the doors open. Within moments, a man hops on the bus, bounding with enthusiasm. He directs us off of the bus and has us follow him to a meeting room where he tells us we will meet up with Colton.

  I feel small walking through this large arena. To the south of us, a large grandstand juts up to towering heights while the banked oval of the track encompasses the entire field around us. I can hear engines revving and see people scurrying to and fro in a garage on my right. With each step we take, my anxiety about seeing Colton again increases. How is he going to react after his telephone confession to me? Will it be business as usual or will there still be that magnetic pull between us? Despite my anxiety, I’m also excited to see Colton in action. To watch him in his element.

  We arrive at a brick building and our facilitator, who we’ve learned on our walk is named Davis, leads us into a room with a red door. We heed his advice to gather around, the boys chattering excitedly. They call out random questions to Davis who patiently answers them.

  When they settle down a bit, Davis explains the reason for testing. “When we’re testing, a lot of time goes into tweaking the car. Little adjustments here and there that makes the car go faster or handle better. These changes are essential to the overall performance of the car when the season starts in late March. Along with these tweaks, Colton meets with his crew chief, Beckett Daniels, and reviews what they are working on. That is where Colton currently is now, discussing—”

  “Not anymore.” Chills dance up my spine as I hear the rumble of Colton’s voice. Whoops go up as the boys greet him. I look down at Zander and the wide, genuine grin on his face causes my heart to lodge in my throat.

  “Hey, guys!” he throws back at them. “So glad you’re here! Are you guys ready for a fun day?”

  The cheers go up again as I inhale deeply, preparing myself to turn around and face him. When I do, my heart squeezes tightly. Colton is on his haunches, eye level with the little guys of our group, and ruffling the hair on their heads playfully. He laughs sincerely at something Scooter says and then stands slowly, lifting his eyes, locking them with mine.

  All thoughts leave my head as I drink him in. He’s wearing a red fire safety suit, the top portion unzipped and tied around his waist to reveal a snug-fitting white t-shirt with a faded logo across the chest and a small hole in the left shoulder. His hair is a spiked mess and his jaw sports the shadow of a day’s missed shave. My thoughts immediately focus on how much I’d love to run my tongue over his lips and fist my hands in his hair.

  I bite my bottom lip, the quick pain a reminder that this is not going to happen—we’re not going to happen—and to help me resist any urges that I might have of thinking otherwise. Colton’s eyes stay locked on mine as the boys I love surround him. A slow, lazy grin spreads on his face.

  All thoughts of resistance vanish. Shit! I’m in so over my head.

  “Hello, Rylee.” So much is behind those two words. All of the hurt and confusion and over-analyzing from the past couple of days disintegrates. In case I didn’t know it before, it’s obvious now that his proximity clouds both my judgment and my common sense.

  “Hi.” My nervous response is all I can manage as we continue to hold each other’s gazes, as if we are the only two people in the room. I fidget with my hands, trying to ignore the desire blooming in my core. Kyle tugs on his hand, and after a beat, he drags his gaze away from me to focus back on the boys.

  I slowly exhale the breath I didn’t know I was holding. Dane scoots near me and leans in. “Damn, Rylee! What the hell’s going on here?” I give him a bemused look, as if I don’t know what he’s talking about. “If I didn’t know any better, that stare said he wanted to eat you for dessert.” I laugh at him, nudging him playfully, trying to avoid having to answer. And to hide the blush crawling into my cheeks, remembering Colton’s version of cotton candy dessert. “The man obviously wants you, girl!”

  “Oh, whatever! You read the tabloids, Dane. He’s a total player. I’m sure he gives that look to every woman.” I’m grateful for the distraction when Zander sidles up next to me, and I place my hand on his shoulder. Colton notices and looks up from the other boys to meet Zander’s eyes. He moves from the crowd of boys and walks over to kneel in front of us.

  “Hiya, Zander. I’m so glad you could come today.” Colton remains still, watching and waiting for an indication from Zander about how he should proceed.

  I suck in a breath as I hear a hoarse sound from Zander’s mouth. A croaked, “Hi,” comes out and the cautious smile on Colton’s face spreads to a megawatt grin. A tear trickles down my cheek, and I quickly dash it away, looking over to Dane and Jackson to see relief and pride on their faces as well.

  Zander spoke his first word!

  Colton clears his throat, and I think the moment may have gotten to him too. “So I’m going to need special help from you later, if that’s okay?” When Zander nods, Colton slowly reaches out, showing Zander the intention of his actions, and when he doesn’t flinch, Colton gently tousles his hair.

  Colton glances up to me as he stands, and the tears swimming in my eyes are for both Zander’s reaction and because of the man before me. Over everything that can’t be with him. He gives me a resigned, knowing smile before turning his focus back on the other six boys. “So guys, are you ready to head down to the pits, check out the car, and get ready to test it all out?” Colton staggers back playfully at the roar of the boys’ consent. “I take that as a yes!” He laughs.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a statuesque blonde enter the room with a clipboard in one hand, a worn baseball cap in the other, and an official-looking pass around her neck. She leans against the doorjamb watching Colton and must feel my stare on her because she turns, slowly eying me up and down. Her eyes finally meet mine, a small smirk on her lips and a less than friendly look in her eyes. And then it dawns on me who she is. She’s Tawny Taylor: sometimes escort, CD Enterprises employee, and who knows what else to Colton. I bristle at the realization; her lengthy legs, sample size figure, long blonde hair, and stunning face making me feel beyond insecure. Why would Colton chase someone like me when he could have someone like her?

  Colton looks over at her as she says his name in her throaty voice, interrupting his answer to Shane’s question. “Just a minute, boys.” He excuses himself and walks over to where she stands.

  She holds out the battered baseball cap, and he runs a hand through his hair before placing it on his head. I hear their quiet voices and make out a few words in between the yells of my boys. Colton holds his hands on his hips, broad shoulders filling out the faded T-shirt, as he nods his head at Tawny. Her smile is wide, knowing, and when she reaches a hand out to place it on Colton’s upper arm, I hate her immediately. My ears perk as I hear my name. What? Tawny glances over at me quickly before returning to Colton. It seems as if they are wrapping things up, so I busy myself by paying attention to the posters hanging on the walls. I hear Colton say, “Thanks,” before returning to his audience. Tawny turns
for the door and notices me studying her. She flashes me an insincere, catty smile as she walks out the door. Her smile says it all. Colton’s her territory, and I’m just an intruder.

  Well, game on, sweetheart!

  With Tawny gone and at least one adversary known, I turn my attention back to Colton, who is telling the boys what to expect from testing. He patiently and simply answers their questions. Zander stands closely to Colton, engaged in watching the conversation, his eyes never leaving his face. When he finishes, Davis glances at his watch and pipes up, “Okay, guys, I’m going to lead you down to the pits. You guys can sit in the seats right above so you can see everything. We’re also going to get you outfitted with headsets so that you can hear us talking back and forth with Colton.” He grabs his clipboard and turns toward the door, “So if you’ll follow me, we’ll get you all set!”

  The boys fidget animatedly as they fall into line behind Davis. I grab my bag and start to follow, anxiety rising at the possibility of being alone with Colton. I usually have strong will power but when it comes to Colton, it’s nonexistent. I take my first step when I hear his voice behind me. “Can I have a sec, Ry?”

  I ignore the raised eyebrows that Dane gives me before turning and following the boys out the door. Not trusting my voice, I figure that my lack of forward movement is enough of an answer for Colton.

  “It’s good to see you.” His voice is gruff.

  I take a deep breath and close my eyes momentarily, trying to clear the emotion from my face and remove my heart from my sleeve. I slowly turn around, a falsely calm smile on my lips as I remind myself of his words from the other day. The full force of the devastating effect he has on me hits me when I meet his eyes.