Crashed

CHAPTER 3

It’s a perfect day. Blue sky overhead, sun warming my cheeks, and not a thought on my mind. The waves crash into the sand with a soothing crescendo, roll after roll. I come here often, the place we had our first official date, because I feel close to him here. A memory, something to hold onto when I can never hold onto him again.

I wrap my arms around my knees and breathe it all in, accepting that sadness will always be a constant ache in my heart and wishing he were here beside me. But at the same time, I know I haven’t felt this at peace since he’s been gone. I might be turning a corner in my grief—at least that’s what the therapist thinks—since it’s been days without the blind panic and strangling screams that consume my thoughts and skew my grip on reality. I think that maybe after all of this time, I might be able to move forward—not on—but forward.

The lone car in the parking lot to my right catches my eye. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because the car is parked near where Colton parked the Aston Martin on our first spontaneous outing—the most expensive beach date ever—but I look, my heart hoping what my mind knows is not possible. That it’s him parking the car to come join me.

I turn to look just in time to see a figure walk up to the passenger side and lean over to talk to the driver through the open window. Something about the person causes me to rise from the sand. I shield my eyes from the sun’s glare and study his profile, suddenly feeling that something is off.

Without thinking, I start walking toward the car, my unease increasing with each step. The stranger straightens up and turns to face me for a second, the sun lighting his dark features and my feet falter, breath lost.

My dark angel standing in the light.

“Colton?” My voice is barely a whisper as my brain attempts to comprehend how it’s possible that he’s here. Here with me when I saw them load his unresponsive body on the stretcher, kissed his cold lips one last time before they laid his casket to rest. My heart thunders in my chest, its beat accelerating with each passing second as the hope laced with panic starts to escalate.

And although my voice is so soft, he tilts his head to the side at the sound of his name, his eyes filled with a quiet sadness, lock onto mine. He starts to raise a hand but is distracted momentarily when the passenger door is shoved open. He looks into the car and then back to me, resignation etching the magnificent lines of his face. He hesitantly raises his hand again but this time finishes the wave to me.

I bring my fingertips to my lips as the grief rolling off of him finally reaches across the distance and collides into me, knocks the breath clear out of my lungs. I feel his absolute despair instantly. It rips through my soul like lightning splitting the sky.

And in that instant I know.

“Colton!” I say his name again, but this time my desperate scream pierces through the quiet serenity of the beach. Seagulls fly at the sound but Colton slides into the passenger seat without a second glance and shuts the door.

The car slowly heads toward the parking lot’s exit, and I break out into a full sprint. My lungs burn and legs ache but I’m not fast enough. I’m not going to get there in time and can’t seem to make any progress no matter how fast I run. The car turns to the right, out of the lot onto the empty road, and is angled to head past me on its way south. The blue metallic paint shimmers from the sun’s rays and what I see stops me dead in my tracks.

It feels like forever since I have seen him like this. All-American, wholesome with blue eyes and that easy smile I love all too much. But his eyes never break from their focus on the road ahead.

Max never even gives me so much as a second look.

Colton, on the other hand, stares straight at me. The combination of fear, panic, and resignation etched on his face. In the tears coursing down his cheeks, the apologies his eyes express, in his fists pounding frantically against the windows, in his words I can see him mouth but can’t hear him plead. All of it twists my soul and wrings it dry.

“No!” I yell, every fiber of my being focused on how to help him escape, how to save him.

And then I see movement in the backseat and am knocked clear to my knees. The gravel biting into them is nothing compared to the pain searing into the black depths of my core. And although I’m hurting more than I ever thought imaginable, a part of me is in awe—lost in that unconditional love you never think is possible until you experience it for yourself.

Ringlets frame her cherubic face, bouncing with the car’s movement. She smiles softly at Max, completely oblivious to the violent protests from Colton in the seat in front of her. She twists in her car seat and looks toward me, violet eyes a mirror reflection looking back at me. And then ever so subtly, her rosebud lips quirk up at one corner as childhood curiosity gets the best of her and she stares at me. Tiny fingertips rise above the windowsill and wiggle at me.

I have to remind myself to breathe. Have to force the thought into my head because she’s just singlehandedly ripped me apart and pieced me back together. And yet the sight of her has left me raw and abraded with tomorrows that will never be.

That I can never get back.

That were never mine to keep.

And from my place on the ground, my soul clinging for something to hang onto before being swallowed into the darkened depths of despair, I yell at the top of my lungs the name of the only person that can be still be saved.

“Colton! Stop! Colton! Fight damn it!” My voice falls hoarse with the last words, sobs overtaking and despair overwhelming me. I hang my head in my hands and allow myself to be dragged under and drowned, welcoming the devastating darkness for the second time in my life. “No!” I scream.

Invisible hands grab me and try to pull me away from him, but I struggle with every ounce I can muster against them so I can save Colton.

Save the man I love.

“Rylee!” The voice urges me to turn away from Colton. No way in hell am I walking away again.

Never.

“Rylee!” The insistence intensifies as my shoulders are shoved back and forth. I try to flail my arms but I’m being held tight.

I awake with a start, Beckett’s aqua blue eyes staring intensely into mine. “It’s just a dream, Rylee. Just a dream.”

My heart is racing and I gulp in air but my body doesn’t seem to accept it. I can’t grab my next breath fast enough. I bring a trembling hand up and rub it over my face to gain my bearings. It was so real. So impossible, yet so real … unless … unless Colton is …

“Becks.” His name is barely a whisper on my lips as the remnants of my dream gain momentum and I start to understand why Colton would be with Max and my daughter.

“What is it, Ry? You’re white as a ghost.”

The words strangle in my throat. I can’t tell him what my mind is processing. I stutter trying to get the words out when we are interrupted.

“The family of Colton Donavan?”

Everyone in the waiting room stands and moves to congregate near the entrance of the waiting room, where a short woman in scrubs stands untying her surgical mask. I stand too, fear driving me to push my way to the forefront with Becks clearing the path ahead of me. When we stop next to Colton’s parents, he reaches his hand over and grips mine. It’s the only indication that he’s as scared as I am.

Her eyes take in the lot of us and she shakes her head with a forced smile. “No, I need to speak to his immediate family,” she says. I can hear the fatigue in her voice and of course my mind starts racing faster.

Andy steps forward and clears his throat. “Yes, we’re all here.”

“I see that, but I’d like to update his immediate family in private as per hospital protocol, sir.” Her tone is austere yet soothing, and all I want to do is shake her until she says “screw the rules” and gives me an update.

Andy shifts his eyes from her to glance over at all of us before he continues. “My wife, daughter, and I may be Colton’s immediate family, but everyone else here? They’re the reason he’s alive right now … so in my eyes, they are family and deserve to hear the update at the same time we do, hospital protocol be damned.”

A look of slight shock flickers across her features and in this moment I can see why all those years ago the police officers in the hospital didn’t question Andy when he told them Colton was going home with him for the night.

She nods slowly at him, lips pursed. “My name is Dr. Biggeti and I teamed up in the operating room with Dr. Irons on your son’s case.” In my periphery I see most of the guys nod their heads, bodies leaning forward to make sure they hear everything. Dorothea steps up next to her husband, Quinlan on the opposite side, and grabs his hand like Becks is clutching mine. “Colton made it through surgery and is currently being moved to the ICU.”

A collective gasp fills the room. My heart thunders at an accelerated pace and my head dizzies with the news. He’s still alive. Still fighting. I’m scared and he’s scarred but we’re both still fighting.

Dr. Biggeti puts her hands up to quiet the murmuring among us. “Now there are still a lot of unknowns at this point. The bleeding and swelling were quite extensive and we had to remove a small section of Colton’s skull to relieve the pressure on his brain. At this time, the swelling seems to be under control but I need to reiterate the words at this time. Anything can happen in these cases and the next twenty-four hours are extremely crucial in telling us which way Colton’s body will decide to go.” I feel Beckett sway next to me and I detangle our hands and wrap my arms around his waist, and take comfort in the fact we are all here, feeling the same way. That this time I’m not alone in watching the man I love struggle to survive. “And as much as I have hope that the outcome will be positive, I also need to prepare you for the fact that there may be possible peripheral damage that is unknown until he wakes up.”

“Thank you.” It’s Dorothea who speaks as she steps forward and grabs a surprised Dr. Biggeti in a quick embrace before stepping back and dabbing the tears beneath her eyes. “When will we be able to see him?”

The doctor nods her head in compassion at Colton’s parents. “Like I said, right now they are getting him situated and checking his vitals in the ICU. After a bit, you’ll be able to see him.” She looks over toward Andy. “And this time, I must follow hospital policy that only immediate family be allowed to visit with him.”

He nods his head.

“Your son is very strong and is putting up one hell of a fight. It’s obvious he has a strong will to live … and every little bit helps.”

“Thank you so very much.” Andy exhales before grabbing Dorothea and Quinlan in a tight embrace. His hands fist at their backs and expresses just an iota of the angst mixed with relief vibrating beneath his surface.

As the doctor walks away her words hit me, and I close my eyes to focus on the positive. To focus on the fact that Colton is fighting like hell to come back to us. To come back to me.

All of us—crew and family—have been moved to a different waiting room since we were taking up all of the space in the emergency area. This one’s on a different floor, closer to the ICU and to Colton. The room’s a serene light blue, but I’m nowhere near calm. Colton is near. The thought alone has me hyperventilating. I’m not immediate family so I’m not going to get to see him.

And that alone makes every breath an effort.

Leaves every emotion raw, nerves bared as if my skin has been peeled back and exposed to a fire hose.

Each thought focused on how much I need to see him for my own slipping sanity.

I stand and face a wall of windows overlooking a courtyard below. The parking lot beyond is swarming with media trucks and camera crews all trying to get something more on the story than the station next to them. I watch them absently, the mass becoming one big blur. You were a spark of solid color to me in a world that’s always been one big mixed blur of it …

I’m so lost in my thoughts that I jolt when someone places their hand on my shoulder. I turn my head and meet the grief-stricken eyes of Colton’s mother. We stare at each other for a moment; no words are spoken but so much is exchanged.

She’s just come from seeing Colton. I want to ask her how he is, what he looks like, if he’s as bad as the images I have in my mind. I open my mouth to speak but close it because I can’t find the words to express myself.

Dorothea’s eyes well and her bottom lip trembles with unshed tears. “I just …” she starts to say and then drifts off, bringing her hand to her mouth and shaking her head. After a moment, she begins again. “I can’t stand seeing him like that.”

My throat feels like it’s closing as I try to swallow. I reach my hand up to my shoulder and squeeze hers, the only solace I can even remotely offer. “He has to be okay …” The same words I’ve uttered over and over today that fix nothing, but I say them nonetheless.

“Yes,” she says with a determined nod as she takes in the circus of the parking lot. “I haven’t had nearly enough time with him. I missed the first eight years of his life, so I’m owed extra ones for not getting the chance to save him sooner. God can’t be that cruel to rob him of what he deserves.” She looks over toward me on her last words, and the quiet strength of this mother fighting for her son is unmistakable. “I won’t allow it.” And the commanding woman that had slipped momentarily is back in control.

“Mom …” The sob is hiccupped as Quinlan re-enters the waiting room. We both turn to face her as she walks toward us, all eyes in the room on her. I watch Dorothea’s face shifts gears as she goes from fierce protector to maternal soother. She pulls Quinlan into her arms and kisses the top of her head, squeezing her own eyes shut tight as she whispers words of encouragement that she fears are lies.

I feel like a voyeur—wanting my own mother more than anything right now—when Dorothea looks up at me over the crown of Quinlan’s head. Her voice is a hushed murmur but it stops my breath. “It’s your turn now.”

“But I’m not …” I don’t know why I’m so shocked that she’s giving me this opportunity. The rule follower in me bristles, but my traumatized soul stands at attention.

“Yes, you are,” she says, a tight smile on her lips and sincerity flooding her eyes. “You’re helping make him whole—the one thing I’ve never been able to do as a mother and that kills me, but at the same time the fact that he’s found it in you …” She can’t finish the sentence and tears well in her eyes, so she reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Go.”

I squeeze it back and nod at her before I turn to go to the man I can’t live without, fear mixed with anticipation streaks through me like fireworks on a pitch black night.