by Bromberg, K.
Colton and I stand side by side as the boys walk through the door that Principal Baldwin is holding open for them. Nosy bystanders scurry by, pretending they are not watching. Aiden stops in the doorway and turns around, awe still on his face and says, “Thanks, Colton,” before disappearing inside the building.
When we turn back to the car, I catch a look of accomplishment and pride on Colton’s face. I have a feeling mine looks the same way.
“Why did you agree to come here if you don’t like coffee?”
Against my better judgment, I’ve agreed to go get some coffee with Colton after leaving the school. I’m still floored by Colton’s actions, and feel I at least owe him my time in return for what he’s just done. I can still see the look on Aiden’s face in my head. I don’t think I will ever forget it.
“I may not like the coffee part, but Starbucks has some damn good food that is oh-so-bad for you.” I laugh as he shakes his head at me. Kind of like you, Colton.
We place our order amid glances from the other patrons who recognize Colton. He’s sans baseball hat and not incognito. We shuffle over to a corner that luckily has an empty table with two deep, comfortable-looking chairs on either side of it. We sit down and Colton pulls our muffins out of the bag and sets mine before me.
“You know that after what you did today, you’ve most likely reached idol status with the boys now.”
He rolls his eyes at me and picks a piece of his muffin off and places it in his mouth. I watch it clear his lips and see his tongue dart out to lick a crumb. A flash of desire sears through me. I see the corner of his mouth twist up, and I force myself to look up to his eyes, which have noticed where my attention is focused. We stare at each other, unspoken words igniting the heat between us.
The barista at the counter calls out, “Ace,” and Colton smirks at me before rising from the table to get the drinks. I watch him walk, his long, lean legs covered in denim with a forest green Henley shirt covering his broad shoulders and narrow waist, the long sleeves pushed halfway up his strong forearms. I watch the barista blush as she hands him our drinks and continues to stare as he turns to prepare his coffee.
I stare at him, confusion running through my head. We are so comfortable together. So drawn together. And yet we can’t give each other what the other needs. Maybe I’m being selfish, but I know I won’t be satisfied with just bits and pieces of him. Scraps he’ll throw my way when he deigns to. But that notion confuses me even more since I’ve yet to see him act that way with me thus far. He tells me one thing about how his arrangements operate, but then acts another way with me.
Is he worth it? Colton sinks down into the chair across from me, a soft smile on his lips as he meets my eyes. Yes. He definitely is. But what do I want to do about that? He sighs after swallowing his first sip. “Now I can think clearly.” At least someone can, because it sure isn’t me.
“It seems to me like you were doing okay before your coffee,” I kid as I swallow a bite of muffin. He smirks. “I have to tell you again, Colton, thank you so much for showing up and doing that. It was … you were … what you did for Aiden was above and beyond, and I really appreciate it.”
“It wasn’t anything, Rylee.” He can see that I’m about to argue with him. “But you’re welcome.”
I nod my head and smile shyly at him, glad he has accepted my gratitude. “The looks on those brats’ faces were priceless when you walked up!”
He laughs out loud. “No, I think the principal’s face was even better,” he counters, shaking his head at the memory. “Maybe next time he’ll think twice before taking sides.”
“Hopefully,” I murmur, taking a tentative sip of my hot chocolate and trying not to burn my tongue. You burned me. Colton’s words pick this moment to flash through my head. I push them to the back of my mind as I take a sip of my drink. The damn man clutters my mind, overwhelms my senses, and clouds my heart in one fell swoop.
We sit in an easy silence, watching store patrons and sipping our drinks. I put my hot chocolate down and absently fold the corners of my napkin, deciding if I should say the next comment that pops in my head or let it go. Typical me has to get it out. “Colton?” His eyebrows quirk up at the gravity of my tone. “You’re so good with the boys, I mean way better than most people, and yet you tell me you’ll never have any. I don’t understand why.”
“Having a child and being good with one are two completely different things.” The muscle in his jaw tics as his eyes watch something outside in the parking lot.
“Colton, what you did today,” I tell him, reaching out to put my hand on top of his. My touch draws his eyes back to mine. “You showed a little boy that he was worth something. That he was worthy enough to stand up for.” Emotion fills my voice. My eyes try and tell him that I understand. That he did what should have been done for him as a child. Even though I don’t know his circumstances, I know enough in my line of work to see that no one stood up for him or made him feel like he mattered, until he met his Andy Westin.
“Don’t you do that every day, Rylee? Stand up for them?”
I mull over his words as I finish chewing my bite. “I suppose so, but not with your dramatic flair.” I smile. “I guess I’m more behind the scenes. Not nearly as public and self-confidence boosting as you are.”
“What can I say?” He picks at the cardboard guard on his coffee cup. “I know what it’s like to be in Aiden’s shoes. To be the odd kid out who doesn’t fit in due to circumstances beyond your control. To be bullied and made fun of just because.” He squeezes my hand. “You get the picture.”
Sympathy engulfs me as I think of a raven-haired little boy with haunted green eyes. Of the pain he experienced and the memories that will forever be etched in his mind. Of the things he missed out on like comforting lips expressing unconditional love, warm arms to cuddle him tight, and fingers to tickle him into fits of deep belly giggles.
“Don’t look at me like that, Rylee,” he warns, pulling his hand away from mine and leaning back in his chair. “I don’t want your pity or sympathy.”
“I’m just trying to understand you better, Colton.” My words the only apology that I’ll give him.
“Delving into my dark and dirty past isn’t going to help you understand me any better. That shit...” he waves a hand through the air “...it’s not something I want to haunt you with.”
“Colton—”
“I told you before, Rylee...” his stern voice silencing me “...I’m not one of your kids. My shit can’t be fixed. I’ve been broken for way too long for that miracle to happen.” The look in his eyes—a mix of anger, shame, and exasperation—tells me that this conversation is now over.
An uncomfortable silence hangs between us and I can’t help but wonder what happened to him as a child. What is he so afraid to confront? Why does he think that he’s so broken?
His voice pulls me from my thoughts, turning the focus of our conversation from him to me. “What about you, Rylee? You treat these kids like they’re your own. What’s going to happen when one day you meet Mr. Right and have kids of your own? How are you going to balance that?”
Even after two years, the pang that hits me still knocks me to my knees. I swallow purposely, trying to wash the acrid taste in my mouth. I pick at the corner of my napkin, watching my fingers rip tiny pieces off as I answer him. “I can’t … after the accident I was told that getting pregnant, that the chance of having a child is...” I shake my head sadly “...a very slim possibility. Like basically being on the pill for life. Most likely never going to happen.” Again. I lift my eyes to his, rocking my head subtly from side to side. “So it’s not something I put much thought into.”
I hear him draw in a breath and can feel the pity roll off him. There is nothing worse than someone giving you that look. The pity look.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“It is what it is.” I shrug, not wanting to dwell on what can never be. “I’ve come to terms with it for the most part,” I li
e, and in true Colton Donavan fashion I change the subject to something other than me. “So, Ace...” I wriggle my eyebrows “...you looked kind of hot in your race suit!”
He laughs, “Nice change of topic!”
“I learned from you,” I reply, sucking a crumb off of my thumb. When I look up, Colton is watching me draw my finger from my mouth. Intensity and desire mingle in the depths of his eyes as he studies me. The sexual tension between us mounts. Our draw to each other is undeniable.
“Hot, huh?” he says.
I tilt my head and purse my lips as I study him back. “I wanted …” My voice is quiet, unsure, when I speak. The small smile playing at the corners of Colton’s lips gives me the surge of confidence I need to continue. Knowing that he desires me and wants more of whatever this is, emboldens me. It empowers me to finish my thought. “I wanted you to take me right there on the hood of your car.” I can feel my cheeks flush as I look up at him through my eyelashes.
He takes in a sharp breath, his lips parting, eyes clouding with desire. “Why, Ms. Thomas...” he darts his tongue out to lick at his bottom lip “...we might just have to rectify that situation.”
“Rectify?” Desire blooms in my belly at the thought.
He leans in across the table, his face inches from mine. “It’s always been a fantasy of mine.”
I think he’s going to lean in and kiss me. My chin trembles in anticipation, synapses misfiring as I try to tell my brain to be the voice of reason here. To pull me back from the brink of Colton insanity. And then the alarm on my cell phone goes off. It startles us both and we jump back. “Oh crap! I have a meeting I have to get to,” I tell him as I start gathering our trash and stuffing it inside my empty muffin bag.
Colton reaches out and grabs my hand, stopping my flurry of movement. He waits until my eyes meet his to speak. “This conversation isn’t over, Rylee. You keep sending me so many damned mixed messages that—”
“What?” I screech, dumbfounded, trying to pull my hand back from his, but his grip holds my hand still. “What are you talking about? You’re the one sending mixed messages. Whispering sweet nothings one minute and then pushing me away the next!” Are we experiencing the same thing here? How am I being confusing?
“I swear to God,” he murmurs softly to himself, releasing my hand as he leans back in his chair shaking his head, amusement on his face. I can barely make out his next words when he speaks. “We haven’t really even started this yet, and you’re already topping me from the bottom.” I can sense his exasperation as he runs a hand through his hair.
I look at him, unsure what exactly he means, but not really having the time to ask him to explain. I stand up and Colton grabs my hand again, pulling me up against him so I am forced to tilt my head up to see his face. He closes his eyes momentarily, as if he is resigning himself to something, before opening them again to lock onto mine. “I want you, Rylee. Any way I can have you.”
His words create a vacuum of air, and I feel like I can’t breathe. We’re standing in a packed Starbucks with orders being called and people talking on cell phones and espresso machines steaming milk, but I hear none of it. It is just Colton and me and his deafening words.
I swallow loudly, trying to process them. Unable to speak, time passes until I find my voice. “Any–any way you can have me?” I stutter breathlessly, eyes wide with optimism. “Does that mean that you’re willing to … to try more than an arrangement? Try to compromise with me?”
I feel his body tense from my words and when I see the look in his eyes, I realize I misunderstand what he’s saying. My chest deflates and my hopes sputter when he speaks, unable to look me in the eyes. “That’s not what I meant, Rylee. All I know is how I operate. By my rules. They allow me that deep-seated desire for control that I so desperately need to be able to function. I have to have it on my terms.” I feel his body shift before bringing his eyes to mine. I glimpse an unexpected vulnerability in them. “Rylee, this is all I can give you. For now … Will you at least try my way? For me?”
For now? Try for me? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? That there is the possibility of a future? I try to stop my mind from reading into that comment. Colton’s proximity and the words he just dropped like bombs on my rationality leave me stuttering as I try to respond coherently. “I thought you told me this wouldn’t work. That we have two different sets of needs. That you … I think your words were, that you’re going to break me apart?” My words may sound strong and decided, but I’m anything but that.
He grimaces when I throw his words back at him and hangs his head, his voice soft. “Yeah, I know. I can’t prevent the inevitable. But I still want you to try.”
Blinded by my feelings for him, I ignore his admission of inevitable hurt because my head is still wrapping itself around that word: try. He’s asked me to try. Am I willing to do that? For him? For a chance at us? To hope for the opportunity to show him that it’s okay to want more. That he deserves more. My train of thought derails when Tawny’s words flitter through my mind. You’ll think you can change him and his ways. And just when that happens, you’ll be over quicker than that last lap he just took. I shake my head, trying to rid her words from my head.
“Don’t answer yet, Rylee.” Colton’s voice is a plea, mistaking the shake of my head as a denial to his request. “Have dinner with me first before you tell me no.” I step back from him, needing the distance despite knowing I’m already going to tell him yes. “I have to have at least one more night with you. I need to.” His eyes search mine for an answer. “I’ll pick you up at three o’clock tomorrow.”
I stare at him. “I can drive, Colton,” I say, exasperated that once again he’s made the decision for me. If I’m willing to try for him, shouldn’t he try for me as well?
“Nope.” He smiles, holding the door open for me as we leave. “I’m driving. That way you can’t run away.”
“WE DON’T HAVE TO FIX each other. Come over. We don’t have to say forever. Come over.” I hum along with the Kenny Chesney song that is playing softly on the speakers of the Range Rover as we drive north along on the Pacific Coast Highway. I smile at the coincidence that Colton texted me this song earlier, and now it is playing on the radio as a member of his security staff, Sammy, drives me to wherever he is.
I reach beside me at my bag, rifling through the change of clothes and miscellaneous toiletries I packed. I pull out my compact mirror to check my reflection. My hair is piled on the top of my head in a stylish yet effortless disarray of curls with several wisps hanging loosely around my face and onto my nape. I set down my compact and bring my hands back to check the tie on my neck where the straps of my blue maxi dress meet, leaving my back bare until just below my shoulder blades. I say a silent thank you to Haddie for her suggestion to wear the dress. Cute, casual, and just enough cleavage to keep him sneaking a peek she told me over our second glass of wine.
As we drive north, the lush hills on my right give way to the ocean on our left. I place a hand over my stomach to try and settle the butterflies. I shouldn’t be nervous to see Colton, but I am. I feel that tonight is going to be a turning point for whatever “we” are. I lean my head back and look out the window at the endless sea and hope that I can handle the repercussions of whatever that turning point may be. I close my eyes momentarily and wonder how an intelligent woman like me can knowingly walk into foreseeable devastation.
Taylor Swift’s Red is playing when we start driving through Malibu. I listen to the words, relating to them. “Loving him is like driving a new Maserati down a dead end street.” I shake my head, feeling like that dead end is going to come so much quicker than I want it to.
Sammy turns left onto Broadbeach Road, and I am pulled from my thoughts. Expensive houses line my left, bordering the coveted Malibu shoreline. Houses range from modern to Cape Cod to old world, with perfectly manicured landscaping and gated walls.
Within moments, we turn up to a driveway where large wooden gates are swinging open
for us. We pull through the gates onto a cobblestone and grass driveway and come to a stop. Sammy escorts me from the car, and I look up at the two-story structure in front of me. It has an impenetrable-looking ledge stone façade, the top portion shaped like a stretched letter ‘U’ where an open-air deck sits between two sections of the house. There are no windows on the walls that face me, and I assume that the opposing walls are solely glass to showcase the Pacific. At ground level below the deck is a massive arched wooden door, and my eyes are drawn to it as it slowly opens.
Colton stands in the doorway, stopping me in my tracks when a slow, lazy smile lifts one corner of his mouth. The sight of him is like a sucker punch to my abdomen. I struggle to breathe as I drink him in. He is all kinds of sexy, wearing a pair of worn blue jeans, a faded black T-shirt, and bare feet. I’m not sure why the sight of his bare feet peeking out from beneath his pant legs is so attractive to me, but it’s worth another glance. I regain my wits despite the humming of nerves and start moving toward him again as his eyes languorously appraise my body. I reach the doorway and stop in front of him, my smile matching his.
“I told you I’d hurt you and yet here you are,” he murmurs captivated, astonishment flickering through his green eyes. Before I have a chance to process his words, he reaches out and takes my hand, pulling me against him. My hands land on his chest feeling every bit of muscle beneath the incredibly soft cotton of his shirt.
“Hi,” he breathes, a shy smile on his lips and eyes steadfast on mine.
“Hi,” is all I can manage before he leans in and brushes a slow, tantalizing kiss on my lips that speaks of the possibilities this evening holds. When he pulls away, every nerve in my body is humming.
“Beautiful as always, Rylee,” he praises, taking my hand and ushering me in the door. “Welcome to my home.”
The significance of his statement is not lost on me. This is his home. Not a place he brings his sometimes girl. I can’t help wondering if he has invited me here to prove a point. To demonstrate that he is trying.