The Driven Series

by Bromberg, K.

  The tears come now and I don’t have to hide them anymore. They rack my body and tear through my throat. I cry and cry until I have no more tears for the man just within my grasp yet so incredibly far away. I close my eyes momentarily and steel myself for what I’m about to do. In the long run, it’s for the best.

  And I move without thinking. Use the numbness to guide me before I can’t bring myself to do this. Colton’s right. He’s broken. And now I’m broken. Two halves don’t always make a whole.

  I fucked him—yes, it was most definitely fucking because there was nothing soft or gentle or meaningful about it—especially after he admitted to me that he fucked someone else. Tawny of all people. That’s not acceptable to me. Ever. But when I’m near him—when he dominates the air I breathe—I compromise on things I never would otherwise. And that’s not a way to exist. Compromising everything of yourself when the other person compromises nothing.

  I catch the sob in my throat as I have trouble pulling my clothes on. My hands are trembling so badly I can barely slip my clothes to their proper position. I steal a glance in the mirror and it stops me in my tracks. Pure and utter heartbreak is reflected looking back at me. I force my eyes to look away and grab my suitcase as I hear Colton drop something in the shower.

  I wipe the tears that start to fall in their familiar tracks down my cheeks. “Bye, Ace. I love you,” I whisper the words to him that I can’t say to his face. That he’ll never accept. “I think I’ve always loved you. And I know I always will.” I open the door as quietly as possible and slip out of the hotel room, luggage in hand. It takes me a moment to physically release the door handle because I know once I lose the connection, it’s over. And as sure as I am about this decision, I’m still shattering into a million pieces.

  I take a deep breath and let go, grab my luggage, and start to make my way toward the bank of elevators, tears flowing freely.

  “I TOLD YOU, BECKS, I’M sick of her shit. I’m not buying the I’m innocent act she pulled in the team meeting.” I glance over to him as we walk down the hallway, enough alcohol humming through my veins for me to speak my mind.

  Then again, I don’t need alcohol to do that.

  “What the fuck did Tawny do now?”

  “I don’t know, man, but she’s being squirrely and fuck if I can figure out what she’s up to.”

  Sammy snorts behind me and I turn to look at him, figure what the hell he means by it, but he just looks right past me like it’s not his place to say anything. Ha. Like he’s held back before.

  Becks catches my eye with his raised brows as we turn a corner because I’m heading in the opposite direction of our wing of rooms for the team. “You can deal with it when we get back home. I need your head focused on the race.”

  “No shit, Sherlock.” I shake my head, eyes scanning over all of the places I’ve seen Rylee since she’s arrived. I need to see her, need to set the shit right that I did earlier. My dumb-ass move to kiss bar-girl just to make Rylee jealous, show her that I can have anybody I want.

  Even though it’s her I want.

  So I hurt her on purpose as a payback for her twisting the knife a little more every time I see her. Sitting at appearances, promoting the fundraiser—everything beside me—but the minute the attention is off of us, she disengages. Goddamn frustrating woman.

  So why are you looking for her, then? Why do you still care, Donavan? She doesn’t believe a fucking word you say, said she’s done, so how are you going to prove otherwise?

  Fuck if I know but I’m so sick of this ache in my chest that I’m trying to ignore regardless of how much it continues to burn.

  “So you ever going to tell me what the fuck happened between you and Rylee? Why you’re moping around like I kicked your dog?” Becks asks for the hundredth time, even though he knows Baxter would bite his ass if he kicked him.

  I don’t want to talk about this. Never do. I just want it all back how it was. Ry and me in a good place. Then why the fuck did you kiss that chick? Pull your head out and fight for what you want.

  I glance over and Becks is giving me the look like he’s waiting for an answer. My head’s so fucked-up right now I forgot to respond.

  “Nothing. Something.” I exhale. “She thinks I cheated on her.”

  Becks starts laughing and pats me on the back. “Dude, does she not see how goddamn pussy whipped you are? I saw you shove Tawny off you like a hot fucking coal that night she kissed you.” He laughs at the memory that caused the morning after that still haunts me. When Tawny opened the fucking door when Rylee knocked. “If you’re not having your fallback girl, you sure as hell aren’t locking lips—or anything else for that matter—with anyone else.”

  I sigh, that ache returning with a vengeance.

  “It’ll sort itself out as long as you don’t go and do something stupid, Wood.”

  “I won’t,” I lie, then cringe at the memory of Rylee’s eyes filled with hurt as I locked lips with that bimbo earlier. Fuckin’ A.

  “Because she sure as hell wouldn’t do something stupid like …” Becks’s words trail off as we pass the bar before he takes an abrupt turn down the hall in the opposite direction. I start to follow when I see him glance at Sammy. I stop and turn around, the unspoken words causing the heart I’ve thought dead for so long to roar to life.

  I see her instantly, body turned, knees touching, and face close to some fucking douchebag sitting beside her in the bar. I freeze for a moment when I see her leaning forward. The kiss I see is all in my fucked-up mind but I don’t fucking care because I see it anyway, feel it hit me like a goddamn sucker punch. Just like she must have felt when I did it to her earlier.

  The hurt barrels through me. Grabs hold and doesn’t let go.

  And I don’t allow myself to get hurt. Ever. I lived a lifetime of fucking pain caused by the one that was supposed to care about me the most. I know better now. Know that the minute someone gets too close, I push them away. The minute I feel like I’m going to be hurt, I lash out without regret.

  … and I let Rylee in close enough to hurt me …

  She senses me, looks up, and our eyes lock. I see defiance, finality, and fuck if I’m going to let that bastard sitting beside her reinforce it being there. She told me she was going to find a guy for the night to see if it helps with her pain. Apparently she was serious.

  But this isn’t like her—acting like me, throwing the confession I gave her about how I cope back in my face—so it kills me to see her do this to spite me. To hurt me on purpose.

  Bar-boy leans in closer, his mouth near her ear, and she breaks her eyes from mine. And now that ache turns into motherfucking pain.

  Defense mechanism locked and loaded. She’s not going to believe me? Going to pull shit like this? I need to get back to every man for his fucking self … well, after I take care of this I’ll get right on that.

  I’m ready to lash out and thank God the fucker sitting beside her is the perfect size for a punching bag because my fists are clenched and vision is red.

  No one touches what’s mine.

  Even when she tells me she’s not.

  No one.

  Things happen so fast. A shout sounds and I don’t even realize it’s mine until Becks is pushing my chest from the front and Sammy holds my shoulders from behind. It doesn’t fucking matter who’s on me because right now I want blood. I need an excuse to release my anger, at her for not believing me, at me for the stunt I pulled, and because I want to touch her so fucking badly it’s not even funny.

  And he’s touching her instead.

  “Let me go,” I say through gritted teeth, trying to shrug them the fuck off of me. And I don’t care how hard they hold me back because nothing is stopping me. I break free, Becks says something about priorities to which I think I only have one right now and that’s getting this fucking guy away from her.

  The crowd is smart and moves apart as I stalk toward her, mind focused, heart armoring up. She says something to the guy and stan
ds as I near. Her eyes meet mine and they make me so fucking angry and so goddamn whipped that I push it away and focus on him.

  If I was smart I’d haul her over my shoulder, take her upstairs and show her just exactly how I haven’t cheated. But fuck smart and fuck being reasonable because she’s being neither of those right now either.

  Two wrongs don’t make a right but hell if it doesn’t feel good in the process.

  I stop in front of her, lips so fucking close I can taste them, and she lifts that chin of hers up in a non-verbal fuck you. That defiance I find so goddamn sexy is in full effect but right now I’m also scared shitless because the hurt I see mixed with it is my doing … and my undoing.

  What the fuck am I doing?

  My head is such a clusterfuck of emotions and thoughts. The biggest one is hurt her first. Deliver the first blow. And I know it’s not right, know it’s the worst kind of way to be, but my chest hurts so goddamn bad I can’t think straight.

  “What the fuck are you trying to pull, Rylee?” I ask. I know the answer, payback’s a bitch, but I don’t care because bar-boy shifts behind her and his eyes lock and then glance away from mine.

  Good. At least he knows who’s calling the shots here. Too bad Rylee doesn’t.

  And then she reaches back and pats his knee. I have flashbacks of the Merit launch party and Surfer Joe, the déjà vu almost comical.

  Almost.

  Because then she was just an addictive challenge I had to conquer and now … now she’s part of my fucking world. I’m a man with something to lose and that’s not a good place to be.

  “What business is it of yours?” she sneers as my eyes keep flickering back and forth to her hand on his knee.

  And I can’t help it, need to take it off of him, so I reach out to grab her arm and she yanks it away from me. I know why she did it, but the look she gives me mixed with the action flashes me back to my other hurt. When I fought away from any touch at all because of what would come next. The calling to my superheroes.

  I’m staggered.

  And fucking furious.

  At her for fighting me and at me for making her feel that way. It takes a moment to pull me from the thought, to separate the two events that just melded when one has nothing to do with the other and fucked up my head even further.

  I look in her eyes—see the hurt, the defiance, the sadness—and use what I see there to gain my bearings again.

  “I don’t like games, Rylee. I won’t tell you that again.”

  “You don’t like games?” she says, her tone laced with disgust. “But it’s okay for you to play them?”

  Fuck yes I played them, but that’s not the point. The point is right here, right now. At the Merit party she gave me the choice: go or stay. Now it’s my turn to ask.

  “Why don’t you tell your little boy toy he can run along now before things get even more interesting.”

  Watcha gonna do, Ryles?

  Pick me.

  Go with me.

  Fix this shitstorm I started and get us back.

  She shoves against me as hard as she can. “You. Arrogant. Conceited. Egomaniac!” spewing from her lips as she falls into me.

  And every part of me stands at attention at the feel of her against me, wanting and needing but knowing I can’t have, because she sure as fuck didn’t give me the answer I wanted.

  “What the fuck are you trying to prove?” I ask, wanting her to say she wants me, wants to fix this, believe I didn’t cheat on her.

  But she doesn’t. Not even fucking close.

  “I’m just testing your theory,” she says with a smirk.

  “My theory?” What the fuck is she talking about?

  “Yeah, if losing yourself in someone helps get rid of the pain.”

  Ah fuck. In a single second I rein in everything that tumbles inside of me at the thought of her being with someone else, everything but my anger. I sure as shit hold onto that.

  “How’s that working for you?” It’s all I can think to say because her rejection stings something fierce.

  “Not sure.” She shrugs with a smirk. “I’ll let you know in the morning.”

  And I’m so focused on that look on her face when she pushes away from me that I don’t even notice the fucker’s hand in hers.

  When I see it, anger turns to motherfucking fury. “Don’t you walk away from me, Rylee!”

  “You lost the right to tell me what to do the minute you slept with her.” She says, her voice breaking through the haze of my colliding emotions. “Besides, you said you like my ass … enjoy the view as I walk away because that’s the last you’ll be seeing of it.”

  I snap. No excuses, no regrets. My fist is clenched, fury ready to unleash on bar-boy.

  But none of it fucking matters because I feel the steel grip of Sammy on my arm before I get my chance. And then the melee ensues.

  Rylee is screaming at me, insults and names. Sticks and stones, baby. Sticks and stones.

  You got to me.

  You beat me at my own game.

  At least it’s Becks leading her away from me and not the fucking bar-boy. I’ll take any kind of victory I can get at this point.

  The crowd’s buzzing seeps through my rage, drowns out her voice as it fades. And then Sammy’s arm is around my shoulders leading me out of the bar and down a hallway.

  “Calm the fuck down, Wood.”

  My pulse pounds in my ears, my head all is over the place, and my chest hurts even worse. “Just let me the fuck go, Sam,” I grit out. My only thought is: Fuck the race tomorrow, I need to visit with Jack and Jim for a bit.

  “Nope,” he says, ushering me into an elevator in this damn maze of a resort. All I want to do is walk, run, pound out this anger then get fucking plastered so I can’t feel the emptiness inside of me right now.

  We’re done.

  She just made it clear as day and I don’t want us to be done.

  But it really doesn’t fucking matter what I want or don’t want because she doesn’t fucking believe me. And why the fuck should she, Donavan, when you go kissing bimbos to spite her?

  I groan and run a hand through my hair, fucking beside myself as Sammy pushes me out of the elevator car and down the hall.

  “She’s irrational and fuck she was going to sleep with that asshole and … motherfucker!” I shout into the hallway, not caring who the hell is asleep or if anyone is listening. I’m feeling everything all at once when I’m so fucking used to feeling nothing that I can’t concentrate.

  Anger vibrates through me.

  My teeth grind. My hands fist. My blood pounding.

  Fucking Rylee.

  Sammy points to the door to his right and when I stop he puts both hands on my shoulders. “Get your fucking hands off of me, Sammy!”

  He just laughs at me in that snarky way he has, and I’ve just added him to the list of people I want to punch. Right after that fucking bar-boy he prevented me from plowing. I try to jerk my shoulders from his hands as he steers me down the hall, but I should know better by now. He’s stronger than a fucking ox.

  I’m so angry at him.

  So pissed at her.

  So disgusted with myself for the shit I pulled earlier without trying to make things right.

  Rage blinds me and since every fucking room in this resort looks the same, I don’t even realize what room Sammy shoves me into. By the time I look up, it’s too fucking late.

  “Uh-uh! No way! Get that egotistical asshole out of here!”

  My head snaps up the minute I hear her voice. Sugar and spice laced together. Rage and lust and pure need collide momentarily until my mind flashes back to the image of Rylee with that fucker in the bar. The emotion hits me like a freight train.

  I hate her.

  I want her.

  I hate that I want her so much that this is fucking killing me.

  And she comes into view but without the dim light of the bar, I really see her. Hurt staining her face and defiance in her eyes, and I do
the only thing I know how to do … push away the good and prepare for the pain. “Fuckin’ A, Becks! What the fuck is this?” I yell, furious that I was coerced into a confrontation that I don’t want. That I do want. I don’t know what the fuck I want because she doesn’t want me anymore.

  I notice her packed suitcase and my heart fucking constricts in my chest. She’s leaving me? The part of me that hoped this was all just a show dies a fast fucking death. And I thought her always saying she’d stay meant she would. That she understood I’d push and hurt to prove otherwise. I guess she doesn’t understand me as much as I thought she did.

  I say the only thing I can to hide the hurt lancing through me, to lash out. To hide the unexpected let down that drops through my soul knowing she doesn’t want to be here and watch me chase the green flag tomorrow.

  I confessed that I use pleasure to bury the pain … but fuck, right now, I’m about to use anger to hide the foreshadowed devastation.

  “Thank Christ! Don’t let the door hit you in the ass, sweetheart!”

  She steps toward me and I can see the fire in her eyes, the fury in her lips, and that goddamn defiance in her posture. That defiance that makes me ache to take her like no other fucking woman I’ve ever met before, ever had before.

  “This is over here and now!” Beckett’s voice booms at us in a tone I’ve heard very few times during our friendship. Instinct has me turning to look at him because last time I heard him like this he threw a punch at me. I don’t need this shit right now. Not Becks pissed and sure as hell not him interfering. “I don’t care if I have to lock you in this fucking room together, but you two are going to figure your shit out or you’re not leaving. Is that understood?”

  I start to argue with him the same time that Rylee’s voice rises, but he cuts us both off. “Is that understood?”

  The anger in his voice stuns me momentarily, and fuck me, Rylee gets the first word in. “No way, Becks! I’m not staying in this room another second with this asshole!”