The Driven Series Boxed Set - Limited Edition (Driven #1-4)

by K. Bromberg

  The next few minutes pass in a blur as hugs and high fives are given all around, headsets are removed, and we all move quickly in a big mass toward victory lane. The motor revs as Colton pulls into his spot fresh off his victory lap.

  And I don’t know what the protocol is for non-crew members, but I’m right in the thick of it, fighting my way to see him. Wild horses couldn’t keep me from him right now.

  My view is blocked temporarily by camera crews and I’m so anxious—heart pounding, cheeks hurting from smiling so wide, heart overflowing with love—that I want to push them out of the way to get to him.

  When they shift to get a better shot, I see him standing there, accepting congratulations from Becks, bottle of Gatorade to his lips, hand running through his sweat soaked hair sticking up in total disarray, and the most incredible expression on his face—exhaustion mixed with relief and pride.

  And then as if he can feel my gaze on him, he locks his eyes on mine, the biggest, most heart-stopping grin blanketing his face. My heart stops and starts as I take him in. I swear the air zings with sparks from our connection. He doesn’t even say a word to Beckett but leaves him behind and starts pushing through the crowd, the mass moving with him, his eyes never leaving mine, until he’s standing before me.

  I’m against him in an instant, his arms closing around me and lifting my feet off the ground as he throws his head back and emits the most carefree laugh I’ve ever heard before crushing his mouth to mine. And there is so much going on around us—utter chaos—but it’s nothing compared to the way he’s making me feel inside right now.

  Everyone and everything fades away because I’m right where I belong—in his arms. I feel the heat of his body pressed against mine rather than the press jostling us to and fro to get the perfect shot. I inhale his smell, soap and deodorant intermingled with a hard day’s work—and it has my pheromones snapping to attention, has them silently urging him to take me, dominate me, own me so I’m marked by that scent. I taste Gatorade on his lips and it’s nowhere near enough to satiate the desire coursing through me, because with Colton, one taste will never be enough. I hear his laugh again as he breaks from our kiss and presses his forehead to mine for a moment, his chest rumbling from the euphoric sound.

  “You did it!”

  “No,” he disagrees, pulling his head back to look in my eyes. “We did it, Ry. It was us together because I couldn’t have won without you.”

  My heart tumbles in my chest and crashes into my stomach that’s jolted up as if I’m free falling. And in a sense I am. Because my love for him is endless, bottomless, eternal.

  I smile at him, tears blurring my vision as I press one more chaste kiss on his lips. “You’re right,” I murmur. “We did it.”

  He squeezes me tight one more time and lowers me to the ground with another heart-stopping grin as the world around us seeps back. I step away, allowing everyone else their five seconds with him, and yet all I can think of are his words, we did do it.

  And I watch him—the man I love—and know his words have never been more true. We’ve really done it. We’ve faced our demons together.

  His past, his fears, his shame.

  My past, my fears, my grief.

  He looks over in the midst of an interview question and winks at me with a smirk. Pride, love, and relief flow through me like a tidal wave.

  Holy shit.

  We really did do it.

  SHE SWITCHED IT. WHEN THE hell did she do that?

  I pick up the picture from my bookshelf, the one that sits in exactly the same place the one of Tawny and me used to. Frame’s the same, picture’s not.

  The new one is of Ry and me at my comeback race. I don’t fight the smirk when I think that wasn’t the only victory lane I claimed that night with her arms wrapped around my waist.

  And something else around my cock.

  Fuck, she’s gorgeous. Her head is angled back, grin on her face, but her eyes are on me. And that look in them—that frozen moment of time—reflects clear as fucking day her feelings for me. Not a single doubt.

  I’m one lucky son of a bitch.

  Well shit. When I look at my image, there’s no denying I feel the same way about her. The look on my ugly mug tells anyone who sees the picture that she’s snagged me hook, line, and double-sinker.

  Funny thing is I see a man completely voodooed and I’m not even spooked by it.

  I’m still getting used to the thought of it, the taste of it. And hell if I’m quite liking the foreign feeling, especially because it means I get to slide between those sexy as fuck curves of hers and claim the finish line every chance I get.

  I know the game has caught up with this player because as much as that thought’s a turn on, I like the idea even more that when I wake up I can reach over to find her in my bed next to me, that sleepy smile on her lips and that rasp to her morning voice.

  God, I sound like a fucking pussy. All sappy and shit.

  The woman has topped me from the bottom when I never thought it was a possibility. But fuck me, being beneath her means I get a damn good view of those tits of hers while I’m looking up.

  My balls tighten at the thought alone.

  Yep. I’m a damn voodooed man. Who would’ve known it’d feel so good to be under a woman’s spell.

  I’m starting to feel cracks in the ground beneath me because Hell sure as fuck is starting to freeze over.

  I set the picture down, glancing one more time at it with a shake of my head. Nice, Ry. A sly removal of Tawny and subtle claiming of me.

  And fuck if I don’t like that claim. Who would’ve thought? Huh. Stranger fucking things have happened over the past few months I shouldn’t be so shocked by feeling so okay with this.

  Those baby steps of mine have turned into full on leaps. I guess I should start practicing for the long jump if this shit keeps up.

  I wander out of the office forgetting the article from Race Weekly, so completely lost in thought. And then I see the woman who holds them captive. She’s out on the patio in deep discussion with my mom and Quinlan over something.

  And it’s fucking weird how perfectly she fits here, there, everywhere in my life.

  Jesus, I sound like a fucking Dr. Seuss poem.

  “How come you’re not at the track?”

  My dad’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I immediately realize I forgot to grab the article for him, distracted by Ry’s bait and switch. And then I wonder how long he’s been standing there watching me watch Rylee.

  “What? Why would I be at the track?” He’s lost me. It’s Sunday, a non-race day and no testing scheduled, so why the fuck would I be at the track?

  He looks me in the eyes like he always has to judge how I’m doing from what he sees there since talking’s not really my forte. And for the first time in forever, he gets this ghost of a smirk and just nods his head like he knows something I don’t. He stares at me a moment longer and then hands me the bottle of beer in his hand before sitting down in one of two leather chairs facing the fine-ass view in front of us.

  Of the ocean and the women.

  “Sit down, son.”

  Famous fucking last words. I suddenly feel like I’m thirteen again and about to get read the riot act for something or other that I most likely deserve to get punished for. I take a pull on the beer, enjoying my last meal before the sentence is handed down.

  I sigh and plop down next to him and repeat my question. “Why would I be at the track?”

  “Because that’s where you go when you need to think things through.”

  I look over at him like he’s lost it because he sure as fuck is losing me. “Is there something you know that I don’t? Like what exactly I’m supposed to be thinking through?”

  “You know life is one big scavenger hunt,” he says before falling silent. I stare at him as he looks out the window and try to follow the bread crumbs he seems to be dropping here. “Fate hands you a list of things to experience. Ones you never expected, ones th
at break you, ones that heal you. So many of them you swear you’ll never even attempt or want to cross off your list. You get caught up in the day to day, moment to moment, and then one day you look at your list and realize you’ve unexpectedly completed some of the tasks. It’s only then you realize that the brutal truths the scavenger hunt has made you face has not only made you a better person, but has also given you an unforeseen prize when all is finally said and done.”

  Has he been hitting the bottle today when I didn’t know? He’s gone from the track to a scavenger hunt. I get he’s talking about my life in some context, but I need help connecting the dots here.

  “Dad.” I sigh the word, part question, part exasperation. Throw me a goddamn bone here.

  Rylee laughs and the sound floats inside causing me to look back at her.

  Always back to her.

  “I’m not going to lie, your list has had some pretty fucked-up shit on it, son.”

  The way he says it, like he blames himself for the shit he couldn’t prevent, stabs at the parts deep inside of me. Parts I’d always thought dead until recently. The kid in me starts to apologize and then I stop myself. Can’t apologize if I don’t know what the fuck I did wrong, so I just sip my beer and give a noncommittal sound, not wanting him to feel guilty for the demons that came before he could protect me.

  “I just think it’s time that you look at your list. Take stock of all of those things—expected and unexpected—and look at what extra things you’ve earned for crossing those items off.”

  Silence falls between us as his words and what I think they mean start to sink in. The weight that has been lifted from my shoulders. The poison exorcised from my soul. The new chance at life without the demons snipping at my heels.

  All because of the defiant as fuck contradiction of a woman my eyes keep drifting back to.

  “Sinner and saint,” I murmur without thought. My dad either doesn’t hear me because he just pulls the beer to his lips and takes another sip or chooses to let my comment slide. And as thoughts connect, puzzle pieces begin to fall in place. “Dad?”

  “Hmm?” He doesn’t look at me, just keeps his eyes forward when I slide a glance his way.

  “What is it you think I’m thinking about?” My voice doesn’t sound like mine when I ask it. It’s cautious, quiet, and I don’t care because all I want to know is his answer.

  “How you’re going to ask Rylee to marry you.”

  He delivers the statement so matter-of-factly that it takes a moment for me to register that I’m choking out, “Fucking Christ, Dad!”

  Disbelieving laughter follows right behind my words. I scrub my hands over my face, more than aware of his scrutiny, and yet my mind races with his comment. Parts way down deep that I’m not sure I want to acknowledge flutter to life like nerves right before the green flag is waved on race day. Nerves that tell me my adrenaline need is about to get its next fix.

  A fix.

  A necessity.

  Something you can’t fucking live without.

  Rylee.

  Dots connected. Bread crumbs scattered and gone so I can’t find my way back again.

  The question is, do I want to?

  Shit, I’ve got Becks chewing my ear about it and now my old man starting in. Fuck yes, the thought has crossed my mind. But shit I just realized I’m capable of loving someone, let’s not shoot the gun without loading it first.

  Ruin a good thing by fucking it up with something that’s so bad for so many.

  And things are good between us. Like fucking stellar. We’ve never talked marriage. Never even brought the word up. I told her I wanted to see what life hands us and she was cool with that. Didn’t say first comes marriage and shit.

  So why all a sudden is the idea mulling around in my head when it’s a finish line I swore I was never going to officially cross.

  Fuck me running. C’mon, Donavan. Speak the fuck up. Assert yourself. Say hell no instead of wondering what it would feel like to have her name be Rylee Donavan.

  “Well, I don’t hear you saying no, now do I?” He glances my way, raises his eyebrows, and then leans back to put his feet up on the coffee table.

  Ah fuck, he’s getting comfortable. I know what this means.

  Can’t we just back the hell up here? I prefer the guessing game. I can fill in another answer we can get stuck on. Anything but this because it’s causing me to think of things I shouldn’t be thinking.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose and squeeze my eyes shut momentarily as I try to wish the conversation away. And when I do, all I see is that goddamn vision of Rylee in a white dress that Becks’s comments at the pool party caused me to think of. And shit, that vision comes back with a vengeance. Veils and rings and shit I shouldn’t be thinking of. Shit that’s getting way too comfortable as a visitor in my thoughts lately.

  I shake my head. Need to clear this nonsense. Rid it of the road this man is never going to race down. So why do I see the metaphorical finish line at the end of the track all of a sudden?

  My heart pounds momentarily until I push away the thoughts his words are creating. What the fuck is going on here? Why does my dad have me thinking of scavenger hunts and marriage proposals? Sweet Jesus.

  “You’re not pulling any punches today, are you?”

  “I don’t believe I threw one,” he says, completely unaffected.

  Is he fucking kidding me? Must be nice to sit there so calm and collected when he’s doling out sucker punches to make a damn point.

  I slump down in the chair and rest my head against the back of it, eyes looking up at the pool’s reflection on the ceiling. I focus on it as he allows me the silence I need to swish the thoughts around like mouthwash. A necessary evil that burns before it leaves you cleansed.

  Marriage.

  The word lingers. There’s something about it that I can’t quite put my finger on. First causing panic, then banging around like a ping pong ball before feeling like that fucking grain of sand in my swim trunks. The one you feel at first, irritating with every movement—your mind thinking of how you need to strip your suit off so you can wash it out—but then as minutes pass to hours, you don’t feel it anymore.

  It’s still there, in that spot right between your nuts and your thigh, and you’re kind of okay with it.

  And it’s all because of her.

  Fucking Rylee. I shake my head, one thought more than all others front and center. With temerity and defiance, obstinance and patience, she chipped away at every hard edge of me until there was nothing left but the truths I feared. The bent and broken. The ones buried so goddamn deep I knew they’d push her away.

  And yet when all was said and done, when the poison in my soul was lying on the table so she could see how fucking dark it was, she looked me in the eyes and told me I was brave, loved the broken in me. I gave her my darkest and her response was to give me her light. Her love.

  I blow out another sigh and scrub my hand over my face, words forming and then dying before I can speak.

  “C’mon, Dad, me? Marry someone?” I spit the words out—words that used to be a given fact—so why in the fuck do they feel like lies when they come from my mouth while I’m looking at her?

  “I call bullshit. Nice try though.”

  And there’s the knock-out punch.

  I stare at him, waiting for him to look at me, wanting the fight to prove he’s wrong. To prove that nothing’s changed. I can be with Rylee but that’s enough for me. No rings, no strings.

  But that half-ass smirk is the only reaction he’ll give me to the buttons of mine he’s pushing with expertise. One by fucking one.

  So why doesn’t that pitching feeling in my stomach come when I think of it all of a sudden? I have so many fucking excuses why I’ll never get married and yet even with the last push of my button, not a single one comes to mind.

  The only thing that does cross my mind is the woman sitting feet away, well within perfect reach.

  “Life only hands you so m
any chances, Son. You seem to have used quite a few this year already. I don’t think you should take many more for granted.” He turns his head now and locks eyes with mine. The man that’s sat beside me most in my life, held my hand to help me conquer my biggest fears, called my superheroes with me, is telling me there’s one left I have yet to face.

  That there’s one item left on my scavenger hunt that will give me an even bigger reward than I ever thought I deserved or was imaginable.

  Something happens.

  Fuck if I can explain it other than that dead calm right before the green flag waves. When your body is amped up on adrenaline, mind is blanking sound out, everything is happening at a lightning-fast speed, but you sit there like time is in slow motion. Calm. Resolute.

  At peace.

  I force a swallow down my throat, past my heart lodged there, because motherfucker … this broken man who was once held together with Scotch tape is now rock solid, and it’s all because of Rylee.

  She may be my kryptonite but fuck if I'm the superhero worthy of her.

  His words echo in my head. Pushing me. Questioning me. Making me want things I never expected to want or deserve. Ever. I look down at the label, my fingers playing idly with it as ideas form, possibilities arise.

  “How did you know Mom was the one?” I don’t give him a yes or no answer that my thoughts just might be veering in the direction his questions ask me about. I keep my head down, needing to get used to this idea myself.

  Let the grain of sand irritating my nuts become a bit more familiar first.

  I can feel his eyes on me, know he wants me to look up at him, but I can’t. Fucking sand isn’t all that comfortable just yet.

  “How did I know?” He chuckles and the tone of his voice has a corner of my mouth pulling up into a smile. “Your mother walked into the cafeteria on the lot one day. She was an extra and I was an assistant director and she intimidated the hell out of me. She was gorgeous and commanded attention. And then she looked up and smiled at me and I knew. Just like that.” He pauses for a beat until I raise my eyes to meet his.