The Driven Series

by Bromberg, K.

  “You were next to me during the anthem. The song ended …” His voice fades as he tries to recall the next events, while mine catches in my throat. “I watched Davis help you over the wall, wanting to make sure you were safe while Becks started last minute checks … and I remember feeling the weirdest sense of being at peace as I sat at the start/finish line but I’m not sure why … and then nothing until waking up.”

  And the lingering tiptoe of unease that I’d felt earlier turns into a full-on stampede.

  My heart plummets. My breath hitches. He doesn’t remember. He doesn’t remember telling me the phrase that’s glued the broken pieces of me together. It takes every ounce of strength I have to not let the unexpected slap to my soul show in the stiffening of my body.

  I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear him say those words again—especially after thinking I’d lost him. How knowing he remembered that defining moment between us would mend together the last fissures in my healing heart.

  “Do you?” His voice breaks through my scattered thoughts as he kisses the tip of my nose before guiding my head back so he can look into my eyes.

  I try to mask the emotions that I’m sure are swimming there. “Do I what?” I ask, forcing a swallow down my throat over the lie that clogs it.

  He angles his head as he looks at me and I wonder if he knows I’m holding something back. “Do you know why I felt so happy at the start of the race?”

  I lick my lips and mentally remind myself to not worry my bottom lip between my teeth or else he’ll know I’m lying. “Uh-uh,” I manage as my heart deflates. I just can’t tell him. I can’t force him to feel words he doesn’t remember or make him feel obligated to repeat words that make him recall the horrors of his childhood.

  … What you said to me—those three words—they turn me into someone I won’t ever let myself be again. It triggers things—memories, demons, so fucking much …

  His words scrape through my mind and score a mark that only he will ever be able to heal. And I know as much as I want to, as much as it hurts me to suppress my need to hear it, I can’t tell him.

  I force a diminutive smile on my lips and meet his eyes. “I’m sure you were just excited about the start of the season and thinking that if your practice runs were any indication, you were going to be claiming the checkered flag.” The lie rolls off of my tongue, and for a minute I worry he’s not going to believe it. After a beat one corner of his mouth lifts up and I know he hasn’t noticed.

  “I’m sure there was more than one checkered flag I was focused on claiming.”

  I shake my head at him, the smile on my lips beginning to tremble.

  Colton’s face transforms instantly from amusement to concern at the unexpected change in my demeanor. “What is it?” he asks, bringing his hand up to cradle the side of my face. I can’t speak just yet because I’m too busy preventing the dam from breaking. “I’m okay, Ry. I’m going to be okay,” he whispers reassurances to me as he pulls me into him and wraps his arms around me.

  And the dam breaks.

  Because kissing Colton is one thing, but being encircled in the all-encompassing warmth of his arms makes me feel that I’m in the safest place in the entire world. And when all is said and done, the physical side to our relationship is earth shattering and a necessity no doubt, but at the same time this feeling—muscular arms wrapped around me, his heated breath murmuring reassurances into the crown of my head, his heart beating strong and steady against mine—is by far the one that will carry me through the tough times. The times like right now. When I want him so much—in so many ways—that I never realized were possible. That never even flickered on my radar before.

  I’m crying for so many reasons that they start to mix and mingle and slowly fade with each tear that makes the all too familiar tracks down my cheeks. I’m crying because Colton doesn’t remember. Because he’s alive and whole and his arms are wrapped tight around me. I’m crying because I never got the chance to experience this with Max and he deserved it. I’m crying because I hate the hospital, what it represents, and how it affects and changes the lives of everyone inside for the good and for the bad.

  And when the tears stop—when my catharsis is actually over and all of the emotions I’ve kept pent up over the past week abate—I realize what matters most is this, right here, right now.

  We can get through this. We can find us again. A part of me worries deep down that he’ll never remember that moment so poignant in my mind, but at the same time we have so many more moments ahead of us, so many ready for us to make together, that I can’t feel sorry for myself any longer.

  My breath hitches again and all I can do is hold on a little tighter to him, hold on a little longer. “I was so worried,” is all I can say. “So scared.”

  “Spiderman. Batman. Superman. Ironman,” he whispers in what seems almost a reflex.

  “I know.” I nod and pull back from him so I can look him in the eyes as I wipe away the tears from my cheeks. “I called to them to help you.”

  “I’m sorry that you ever had to.” He says the words with such honesty that all I can do is stare into his eyes and see the truth within them. That his apology knows how truly scared I was.

  I lean in and press my lips gently to his one more time, unable to resist. Wanting him to feel the sense of relief finally settling in my soul. Wanting to prove to him that I can be the strong one while he heals. That it’s okay for him to let me.

  “Well lookie here. Sleeping Beauty finally woke his ugly ass up.”

  We break from our kiss at the sound of Beckett’s voice, heat flooding my cheeks. “I was just going to call you.”

  “Really? Is that what you were doing?” he teases as he approaches the bed. “Kiss a lot of frogs? Because it looks to me like the comatose prince here has you under his spell.”

  I can’t hold back the laugh that bubbles up. “You’re right. I’m not sorry at all.” I reach out and squeeze the hand he offers me. “But I was going to call you next.”

  “No worries. I know you would have.” He turns and looks at Colton, his smile the brightest I’ve seen since race day. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. Welcome to the land of the living, man.” And I know he sounds tough, but I catch the break in his voice and the water beading at the corners of his eyes when he focuses on Colton. He reaches out and cuffs his shoulder. “Shit. That freakish-looking shaved patch on your head might just knock you back down to the realm of good looking people. How’s it feel leaving the land of I’m-a-fucking-God?”

  “Fuck off. This coming from the land of I’m-a-fucking-comedian?”

  Beckett barks out a laugh with a shake of his head. “At least in my land we don’t have to modify door casings to allow overinflated egos to walk through.”

  “This is the kind of welcome back to the world I get? I feel the love, dude. I think I prefer the drugs they’re giving me to hold me under rather than wake up and listen to this shit.” Colton squeezes my hand and his eyes dart over to mine before returning back to Beckett.

  “Really? Because I may not have just awoken from a coma, but I assure you that the fuzzy feeling those drugs give you is nothing compared to being awake and the feeling of a warm, wet—”

  “Whoa!” I hold my hands up and scoot off the bed, not wanting to hear where the rest of this conversation is going. The faint smell of last night’s dinner in the trash gives me all the excuse I need to give them a moment alone. “That’s enough for me, boys. I’m going to head down, stretch my legs, and take this trash out.”

  “Oh, Ry! C’mon …” Becks says, holding his hands out to the side of him. “I was going to say bath. A warm, wet bath.” He laughs loudly and then I hear Colton’s laugh and I feel like the world that had been shifted off its axis has just been righted somewhat.

  “Yeah,” I chide as I pull the liner from the trash can. “I know I always use the adjectives warm and wet when referring to a bath.” I shake my head and catch Colton’s gaze for a beat. “Be
back in a couple of minutes.”

  MY HEART FEELS SO MUCH lighter as I walk down the corridor back toward Colton’s room. I’ve texted his parents and Quinlan about him being awake again, and I’m sure they’ll be here momentarily. I head to the end of the hall, where the staff of the hospital has so graciously placed Colton’s room. His room is more private than most of the others so he can stay out of the sight of other hospital visitors. And there’s less chance of the media getting a coveted picture of him.

  I’m just about to enter his room when I realize he might want some water. I turn around, not paying attention, and almost run head on into the one person I have no desire to see.

  Ever.

  At all.

  Tawny.

  We both startle when we see each other. And of course I’m looking ragged from intermittent sleep and days’ old clothes, while she is looking perfectly polished and camera ready. And I have to give her credit, she’s kept her distance since Becks gave her the dressing down in the waiting room. But when she offers me up a consolatory smile, I don’t care that it’s not meant in her usual catty way, because all of the emotions I’ve pent up over the past few days erupt.

  “What are you doing here?” I spit out between gritted teeth. If you could make revulsion a sound, my voice would definitely be laced with it right now. My fingernails dig into my palms, my hands fist, and every muscle in my body is vibrating with indignation.

  It takes a minute for the shock to fade from her face, but when it does, I recognize the mask of superiority slip in its place.

  “Colton’s awake.” She shrugs, a smirk ghosting over her pink painted lips. “He wants to speak with me privately,” she says as she juts her chin out in case I didn’t already know her disdain for me.

  “Anything that’s Colton’s business, is my business.”

  “Keep dreaming, doll.”

  “Wipe the smug look off your face, Tawny.”

  “Are we feeling a little guilty for fucking with Colton’s head the night before a race. Everyone knows you were playing your little games with him. That you made him tired. That you—”

  The air whooshes out of her when my hands grip her arms and shove her up against the wall, fury sheathed in calm. “Let me make something perfectly clear to you, Tawny. I’m only going to say it once, but it’s best you listen, understood?”

  I watch her swallow, and her breath comes out in a shaky shudder as she nods. Her eyes flicker around the hallway but there is no one around to come to her rescue.

  I lean in closer, fire in my veins and ice in my voice. “You are the reason that Colton is here. Not me. You. There’s a special place in hell for women like you—women who fuck with other women’s men—and if you keep your shit up, rest assured one of those spots is going to have your name written all over it.” I squeeze her arms a little harder, a silent warning that I’m just getting warmed up.

  “Here’s how this is going to play out, just in case you haven’t gotten that new watch and are still living in the past. Colton’s no longer on the market. He’s mine and I’m his. Is that clear?” I don’t care that she doesn’t respond because I’m on a roll and nothing’s going to stop me. I see her eyes widen and I continue. “Second, if you ever try to insinuate or imply to anyone that there is anything more between you and Colton than a business relationship with family ties, you’re going to have to deal with me … and I guarantee that it’s not going to be pretty. You haven’t seen anything yet, doll. I protect what’s mine without a second thought to collateral damage.” She tries to shrug her shoulders out of my grip, and that just causes me to lean in closer and squeeze a little tighter. “You will treat me with respect and keep your gaggle of whoring friends away as well.”

  Despite my hands holding her hostage, she regains some of her composure and responds. “Or what?”

  I continue on as if she never speaks. “You will keep your relationship with Colton completely professional and will keep your tits and other assets out of his face. Is that clear enough or do I need to spell it out for you?”

  I loosen my grip, message delivered, although I feel no better for it because Colton is still in the bed on the other side of the wall. Tawny eyes me up and down. “Oh I think you’ve made it crystal clear … too bad you don’t get that Colton needs me in his life.”

  In a heartbeat I slam her back up against the wall, this time my forearm pushes against her chest and my face is within inches of hers. “Your expiration date was years ago, sweetie. I am all he needs. And if you attempt to show him otherwise, that very prestigious job of yours might just go bye-bye … so I’d definitely think twice before opening your mouth again.” I start to walk away but turn back and glare at her, her eyes reflecting the anger in mine. “Oh, and, Tawny? Colton will not know about this conversation. That way you can keep your job and he can keep the notion that his childhood friend and college sweetheart really is the nice person he believes her to be, and not the underhanded bitch you really are.”

  “He’d never believe you. I’m still here, aren’t I?” She says the words to my back, and I turn slowly trying to gain some semblance of control over the inferno of rage boiling just beneath the surface.

  “Yeah, for now,” I say with a raise of an eyebrow and a disbelieving shake of my head, “but the clock’s ticking, doll.” Tawny starts to speak but I cut her off. “Try me, Tawny. Try me, because there’s nothing I’d rather do than prove to you how serious I am right now.”

  “Is there a problem here?” The voice jolts me out of my rage induced haze as I look over to the nurse from earlier, who’s now leaving Colton’s room.

  I look from her and then back at Tawny for a second. “No problem,” I say, saccharine lacing my tone. “I was just taking out the trash.” I shoot Tawny one more warning look before I take the ten steps to Colton’s room and enter it with a smile plastered on my face.

  I breathe out in relief that Dr. Irons is busy examining Colton when I enter the room, because I need a minute to settle my thundering pulse and calm my fingers trembling from anger. Colton glances up and smiles softly at me before focusing back on the doctor and answering his questions.

  I exhale the shaky breath I was holding and see Beckett angle his head as he looks at me, bemusement in his eyes as he tries to figure out why my cheeks are so flushed. I just shake my head at him, and at that moment, Dr. Irons decides to remove the bandage from Colton’s head.

  I have to withhold the gasp that instinctively wants to escape from my lips at the sight. There is a shaved patch of hair with a two inch diameter circle of staples on the upper portion of the right side of his skull. It’s still swollen and the silver staples juxtaposed against the pink incision with the dark red of the dried blood make a ghastly contrast.

  Colton must see the look on my face because he looks over at Beckett while Dr. Irons examines the incision and says, “How bad?”

  Beckett just chews the inside of his cheek and twists his lips as he looks at it and then back at Colton. “It’s pretty nasty, dude.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” Beckett says and nods his head.

  “Whatever.” Colton shrugs with nonchalance. “It’s just hair. It’ll grow back.”

  “Think of the serious sympathy points you could get with Rylee though if you play it up.”

  Colton glances over at me and smirks. “I don’t need any sympathy points with her.” I’m about to speak when his gaze shifts over my shoulder. “Tawny.”

  My back bristles instantly but I try to smooth it down as best as I can. I’ve said my piece. I’ve given her enough rope to hang herself; let’s just see if she chooses to swing or stand.

  “Hey,” she says softly. “It’s good to see you awake.”

  I step to the side of the bed next to Colton—staking my claim in case I hadn’t made it crystal clear earlier—and reach out to squeeze his right hand, noting its strength has still not returned.

  “It’s good to be awake,” Colton replies as he winc
es at Dr. Irons’ intrusive fingertips against his scalp and hisses in a breath of air. “Give me a minute, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  We all stand there quietly watching Colton until the exam is over and the doctor steps back. “So what other questions do you have, Colton, because I’m sure you have some besides what we spoke about earlier?”

  Colton looks over to me and I’m sure he sees the dare in my eyes because mirth begins to dance in his. He works his tongue in his cheek as his grin widens with a lift of his eyebrows.

  “Not yet, young man.” Dr. Irons laughs out in amusement as he guesses the question and pats him on the knee. I’m sure embarrassment stains my cheeks but I don’t even care. “What I wouldn’t give to be in my early thirties again,” he sighs.

  Colton laughs and looks over at me, eyes locking, sexual tension crackling, and the underlying ache starting to smolder. “At any time and in any place, sweetheart,” he repeats the words back to me he’d said the night we met.

  Everyone else in the room ceases to exist. My insides coil with craving from his words and the salacious look in his eyes. The muscle in his jaw tics as he stares at me for a beat before looking back at Dr. Irons. He shrugs in mock apology as a mischievous grin lifts one corner of his mouth.

  “Sorry, Doc, but you gave me a rule and that just tempts me to break it that much more.”

  Dr. Irons shakes his head at Colton. “So noted, son, but the ramifications of …” he continues on in warning about needing to watch the pressure of blood flowing through the major arteries in his brain while they heal, and thus certain strenuous activities can cause that pressure to be stronger than is safe at this stage of healing. “Anything else?”

  “Yes,” Colton says, and I don’t miss the look that passes between him and Beckett. He pulls his eyes back to the doctor’s and says, “When will I be cleared to race again?”