Crashed

CHAPTER 8

Colton

Pain pounds like a fucking jackhammer against my temple. My eyes burn like I’m waking up after downing a fifth of Jack. Bile rises and my stomach churns.

Churns as if I’m back in that room—dank mattress, crab weeds of trepidation blooming in me as I wait for him to arrive, for my mom to hand me over, trade me … but that’s not fucking possible. Q’s here, Beckett. Mom and Dad.

What the fuck is going on?

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to shake away the confusion, but all I get is more of the goddamn pain.

Pain.

Ache.

Pleasure.

Need.

Rylee.

Flashes of memories I can’t quite grasp or understand blindside me before disappearing into the darkness holding them hostage.

But where is she?

I fight to gain more memories, pull them in and grasp them like a lifeline.

Did she finally figure out the fucking poison within me? Realize this pleasure isn’t worth the pain I’ll cause in the end?

“Mr. Donavan? I’m Dr. Irons. Can you hear me?”

Who the fuck are you? Ice blue eyes stare at me.

“It may be tough to speak. We’re getting you some water to help. Can you squeeze my hand if you understand me?”

Why the fuck do I need to squeeze his hand? And why is my hand not moving? How the hell am I going to drive in the race today if I can’t grip the wheel?

My heart hammers like the pedal I should be dropping on the track right now.

But I’m here.

And last night I was there, with Ry. Woke up with her … and now she’s gone.

… checkered flag time, baby …

It all zooms into focus at once. And then complete darkness. Checkered holes of black—polka dots of void—throughout the slideshow in my head. I can’t connect the dots. I can’t make sense of anything except that I’m confused as fuck.

All eyes in the room stare at me like I’m the side show at the goddamn circus. And for his next act folks, he’ll move his fingers.

I try my left hand and it responds. Thank fucking Christ for that.

My mind flashes back. Crunching metal, flashing sparks, engulfing smoke. Crashing, tumbling, free-falling, jolting.

… It looks like your superheroes came this time after all …

My mind tries to figure out what the fuck that means but comes up empty.

Rylee’s gone.

She doesn’t love the broken in me after all.

I try to shake the bullshit lies from my head but groan as the pain hits me.

Max.

Me.

She left.

Can’t do this again.

I can’t believe I was selfish enough to even ask her to.

“Colton.” The doc is talking again. “You were in a bad accident. You’re lucky to be alive.”

A bad accident? The flickering images in my head start to make more sense but gaps of time are still missing. I try to speak but my mouth’s so dry all that comes out is a croak.

“You injured your head.” He smiles at me but I’m wary.

Never look a gift horse in the mouth.

He may have given me life again, but the fucking reason for living isn’t here. She’s smart enough to leave because I just can’t give her what she needs: stability, a life without racing, the promise of forever.

“The nurse is bringing you some water to wet your throat.” He notes something on his tablet. “I know this might be scary for you, son, but you’re going to be okay. The tough part’s over. Now we need to get you on the road to recovery.”

The road to recovery? Thanks, Captain Obvious—more like the speedway to Hell.

Faces fill my immediate space. Mom kissing my cheek, tears coursing down her face. Dad hiding his emotion but the look in his eyes tells me he’s a fucking wreck. Quin beside herself. Becks muttering something about being a selfish bastard.

This must be pretty fucking serious.

And yet I still feel numb. Empty. Incomplete.

Rylee.

After a few moments they slowly back away at my Mom’s insistence to give me space, to let me breathe.

And the air I’ve just gotten back is robbed again.

I turn to look at the vague blur I notice in my periphery, and there she stands.

Curls piled on top of her head, face without makeup, hollow, tear-stained cheeks, eyes welled with tears, perfect fucking lips in a startled O standing in the doorway. She looks like she’s been through Hell, but she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever fucking seen.

Call me a pussy, but I swear to God she’s the only air my body can breathe. Fuck if she’s not everything I need and nothing that I deserve.

Her hands are fiddling with her cell phone, my lucky shirt hanging off her shoulders, and I can see the trepidation in her eyes as they flit around everywhere but at me.

Breathe, Donavan. Fucking breathe. She didn’t leave. She’s still here. The neutralizer to the acid that eats my soul.

Her eyes finally find and lock onto mine. All I see is my future, my salvation, my singular chance at redemption. But her eyes? Fuck, they flicker with such conflicting emotions: relief, optimism, anxiety, fear, and so many more unknown.

And it’s the unknown I focus on.

The unspoken words telling me all of this is tearing her apart. That it’s not fair for me to put her through this again. But racing is my life. Something I need as much as I need the air that I breathe—ironic considering she’s my fucking air—but it’s the only way I can survive and outrun the demons that chase me. The black ooze that seeps in every crack of my soul making sure it can never be eradicated. I can’t be selfish and ask her to stand by me when all I want is to be the most self-centered bastard on the face of the earth.

Urge her to go but beg her to stay.

But how can I let her go when she owns every single part of me?

I’ll gladly suffocate so that she can breathe freely. Without worry. Without the constant fucking fear.

Be selfless for the first time ever when all I’ve been my entire life is self-serving.

I should have told her—got over the fucking fear that consumes my soul—but I couldn’t … and now she doesn’t know.

… I Spiderman you …

Words scream through my head but choke in my throat. The words I don’t know if I’ll ever be healed enough to say.

She robbed me of that all those years ago.

And now I’ll pay for it.

By letting my one fucking chance go.

Then I hear the sob wrench from her throat. Hear the disbelief and torment in that singular sound as her shoulders shake and her posture sags.

And I know what I want and what is best for her are two completely different things.