Driven

CHAPTER 17

“What are your tattoos of?”

He looks up at me, turning his body and raising his arm overhead so that I can see the markings. “They’re Celtic knots.”

“What do they mean?”

“Nothing really,” he says gruffly, busying himself by opening the refrigerator, which I notice is almost empty, and grabbing a beer.

“C’mon.” I prod, curious as to why he is suddenly averting the question when he’s been so forthcoming all evening. He holds a beer out to me and I shake my head no to the offer. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy who marks himself permanently without having a reason or the tattoos a specific meaning.”

I lean against the counter with my shirt and panties on as he takes a long tug on the beer, his eyes meeting mine over the bottom of the bottle. He slides them down the length of my bare legs and back up to my eyes. “The knots mean different things.” He lifts his arm again to show me as I move near him. He points to the first one just below his armpit, “This one means to overcome some type of adversity in life,” he moves to the next one. “This is the symbol for acceptance. This one is for healing, and the bottom one’s for vengeance.” He looks up slowly, a darkness in his eyes as they hold mine, waiting for my reaction. Waiting for me to probe with the obvious question asking why does he need acceptance, healing, and vengeance. We stand in silence until he sighs, shaking his head at me, disbelief on his face that he’s said so much.

I step toward him, reach out tentatively, and run my fingers down the four symbols on his body, their meanings resonating in me, telling me somehow, someway they are a marker of his past history and where he is in his present state of dealing with it. His body shivers at my touch. “They suit you,” I whisper, trying to convey to him that I understand this range of emotions. “Did you get them all at once? Why are three colored in and not the fourth?”

He shrugs away from me, taking another drink from his beer. “No.” That’s all he gives me and his tone tells me that there is no more discussion on that question. Does he get them as he accomplishes each in regards to his past? If so, the vengeance one has me a little more curious.

“You’re Irish then?”

“So my Dad tells me.”

Mr. Forthcoming. I guess he is done talking about him for the night. The theoretical switch has been flipped, and I’m back trying to catch up to his mercurial mood swings. What now? Does he drive me home? Do I stay the night? Do I get a cab? Unsettled by the unknown, I pick up my pants and tug them on, struggling to appear coordinated as my ankle gets caught in the cuff. I can feel the heat of his gaze as he watches me although I dare not look up, embarrassment eminent.

“So, Colton …” I look up as I finish buttoning my jeans to see him watching me as I’d thought, an amused smirk on his face and his eyebrows raised. He may be experienced in the protocol of this type of thing, but I sure am not. My cheeks flush. I search for something to talk about, something that will abate my anxiety until he gives me some kind of inkling as to what or where I go from here. “The boys are really looking forward to going to the track when you test the car.” He snorts his head bobbing back and forth before he stifles a laugh. “What?” I ask confused by his reaction to my seemingly non-amusing comment.

“All business now, are we?” I eye him carefully as he walks toward me, wary of the predatory look in his eyes. “How is it that ten minutes ago you were naked and compliant beneath me and now you’re nervous and uncomfortable just being in the same space as me?” Probably because you dominate any space you occupy. He reaches out to tug one of my curls. His emerald eyes darken as he watches me. “Am I that scary of a guy, Rylee?”

Shit. I have to work harder at not wearing my emotions on my sleeve. “I’m not nervous.” My over-emphatic answer a dead give away of the exact opposite.

“Oh, Rylee, it’s not exactly polite to lie when some of me is still in you.”

My blush darkens. Well, when he puts it that way … “I’m not lying. I just wanted to—to—uh get the dates so that I can tell the boys.”

He raises his eyebrows, a knowing smile on his lips. I’m a horrible liar, and I know he can see right through mine. “What an apropos time to ask,” he smirks. “Well,” he reaches out and cups my neck, laying a tender kiss on my lips, “my day planner’s at home. I’ll have to text you the dates.”

I open my eyes from his kiss as his words enter my head. What? I feel his body tense once he’s realized what he said. Did I miss something? I snap my eyes up to his and he takes a cautious step back from me. The look on his face is indiscernible.

“Is this not your house?” I shake my head. “What am I missing here?”

Colton runs a hand through his hair, exhaling loudly. “It’s my place. I just don’t stay here that often.” His expression is guarded, tension in the lines around his mouth. His uneasiness unnerves me.

“Oh. Okay. Where else do you …?” And it hits me. The wrong key in the door. The fumbling with the alarm code. The inability to find something in the kitchen cupboards. The empty refrigerator. Colton saying that he shouldn’t have brought me here. How could I be so naïve? I raise my eyes to meet Colton’s and he knows that I know. The look on his face says it all. I try to swallow the lump in my throat. “So, this is your place, but not exactly where you live.” I slowly annunciate every word. “Its where you bring all your dates, escorts, whatever you call them, to fuck.” I choke on the last word. “Right?”

“That’s not what this is.” His voice is reticent. Rueful.

I snort at his response. “Then what the fuck is this, Colton? I think I need a little clarity here seeing as I still have some of you in me, as you so kindly pointed out. Are you referring to the house or as a definition of you and me?”

He just stares at me. Green eyes glistening like a hurt puppy dog. “You and me,” he breathes.

I walk out of the kitchen, rolling my shoulders, needing some space from him. From that look in his eyes. Why the fuck am I feeling guilty about the look in his eyes when I’ve done nothing wrong? Ugh! This is bullshit. I walk out into the family room, not wanting him to see the tears of hurt that flood my eyes. I quickly wipe them away with the back of my hand as I focus on the painting, a wash of colors, over his fireplace. “That’s not what this is? Then tell me what I’m supposed to think. You tell me you don’t do girlfriends, you only make arrangements. Is this where your arrangements meet you for a good time?”

“Rylee.” My name is a one-word plea on his lips. And he is right behind me. I hadn’t heard him follow me, my thoughts too loud in my own head. “I keep screwing this up with you,” he mumbles to himself.

“You’re damn right you do.” I turn around to face him. “What? You like me enough to fuck me but not enough to stick around or bring me to your real house? Unbelievable!” I huff at him, my ego at all time low. Does he really think that I’d be okay with this? Just when I think that I can possibly take that step over the line in the sand, move on from Max, he makes me jump back as if a rattlesnake has just bitten me. Bastard! “Maybe you should explain to me a little bit more about your set-up here. Make me understand the shit that’s in your head.” Why am I even asking? It’s not like I really want to know the details about his sordid affairs. To know about what else goes on here on the kitchen counter. “I mean if that’s all I am to you, then I at least deserve to know what’s expected of me. My protocol.” My words drip with anger laced sarcasm. I cross my arms over my chest, a useless form of protection from him.

“Ry? I—uh …” I can see the regret in his eyes, in the slouch of his posture. He regards me silently for several moments, an internal struggle warring behind his façade. “Rylee, this is not what I’d planned for me. For us.” He pauses, his eyes floating with emotion. “You. What you are? What we are? It scares the shit out of me.”

Whoa! What? Haddie’s words come back to me in a rush. I want to melt at his words, at the knowledge that I affect him that much, but a part of me feels like I’m being played here. An easy out for him as an excuse for his actions. Tell me what I want to hear to get me back in his bed, crisis averted, and then drop me at the first chance he gets. He hates drama and I’ve just caused some. I’m not going to let myself be played by the master player.

“I scare you? Shit, Colton, I just let you tie me up, blindfold me, and have your way with me on the kitchen counter. A man I’ve only known for two weeks when I’ve only been with one other person before! And. I. Scare. You?” His eyes widen, startled at my admission. I raise my hands up exasperated, wanting to move on before I have to address the little fact about myself that I’d let slip. “You told me at the beach that night that you set guidelines, mitigate promises for the future or some bullshit like that … tell me, Colton, do you do that before or after you bring them to this—to here?” I’m on a roll here, anger and humiliation fueling my fire. He just stares at me, eyes wide, arms hanging limply at his sides. “C’mon. Since you didn’t have the courtesy beforehand to let me know what I was getting in to, I think you should at least tell me now.”

“Rylee, that’s not what this—”

“I’m waiting, Colton.” I lower myself to the edge of the camel-colored leather couch, crossing my arms across my chest. I think I’m going to need to be seated for this one. “How do you set up your arrangements?”

He sighs loudly, running his hand over his jaw, scrubbing it back and forth before looking back at me. He finally speaks, his usually resonating voice, soft and hesitant as if he’s scared to tell me. “Usually, I hit it off with someone. We figure out we like each other.” He shrugs apologetically, “And then I tell her that I enjoy her company but I can only give her a good time. That I would love to spend more time with her but all I can give her is a few nights a week … to meet me here,” he gestures at the room we’re in, “and have some fun.”

I’m not sure if I want to hear his answer now that I’ve asked. “Go on …”

He cocks his head to the side and regards me intently, the timid person I’d seen moments before slowly morphing back into the confident man I expect him to be. “The first time we meet here,” he eyes me cautiously, knowing that I’m thinking this is my first time here. Was this the imminent plan he had laid out for me after screwing me on the counter? I purse my lips, trying hard to keep my face enigmatic. I nod at him to continue, anger unfurling in my belly. “Well, I sit her down and explain that I want to spend time with her, but that there is no happy ever after. Never will be. And if she can accept my terms, my requirements, then I would love to spend time with her here, have her accompany me to functions if need be, and allow her the notoriety and perks of being with me, until our arrangement has run its course.”

Wow. It takes me a minute to process his words. Talk about taking emotion out of the picture. It sounds more like a business transaction. He stares at me, unashamed now that he has more stable footing talking about something he’s in control of.

I look at him wide eyed. “This really works for you?” I sputter, taken aback. “Why not just hire an escort? I mean that’s what you’re really doing.” My head is reeling with this information and yet the masochistic part of me wants to know all the gory details. Wants to hear the words so that I heed the warning and walk away unscathed. “Someone to look pretty on your arm and for you to use when it suits you.”

“I beg to differ,” Colton says vehemently, steel in his eyes. “It’s not like that. I never exchange money for sex, Rylee. Never. I’ve already told you that once. I won’t tell you that again.”

Like he has any room to be pissy. He just told me he expects me to be his compliant little woman, happy with any scraps he throws me way. Too many thoughts are running through my head to form a coherent, intelligent response. “What—” I finally ask, stumbling for the right words. “You say your arrangement has rules. Do you mind if I ask what exactly those are?”

I’m curious. I’m horrified. I’m floored that this is the path he has chosen when he could obviously have anyone he wants.

I can sense that he’s uncomfortable, embarrassed even to respond and this fact gives me a tiny bit of hope. Hope for what though, I’m not exactly sure.

“I know it sounds cold, but I’ve found that if I lay it all out on the table beforehand, it minimizes complications and lessens expectations further down the line. That way they walk into this willingly after they know the stipulations.”

“Not me!” I shout at him. “You didn’t have the courtesy to tell me!” He starts to speak, and I raise my hand to shut him up. I need a moment to think. I need a minute to wrap my head around his screwy ideals. I lower my head, swallowing loudly. Is this what I am to him? A complication to be mitigated? God, too much information is sometimes a bad thing. I chew the inside of my lip in thought. “Why not just say friends with benefits or fuck buddies?”

Irritation flashes through his eyes, and he shifts restlessly, running his fingers through his hair, blatantly ignoring my comment. “You really want to know this, Rylee? The stipulations?” he asks me of my original question.

I nod, biting down on my bottom lip, worrying it back and forth. “I’m curious,” I state, in the back of my head thinking that a psychiatrist would have a field day with this conversation. “I guess I’m just trying to understand this. Trying to understand you. Trying to understand what exactly you would have expected from me.” His eyebrows shoot up at my comment and I know that he’s heard me. My statement in past tense. That now he knows in no way will I be accepting his self-serving arrangement.

He sits down across from me, his eyes on mine. “Rules?” he sighs tentatively, and I nod my head for him to get on with it. “I require monogamy. I require confidentiality as my reputation as well as my family’s is very important to me.” He pauses looking deeply at me, gauging to see if he should continue. “What else?” he breathes in deeply. “I require good hygiene, that she is healthy, drug free, and STD free. Birth control is a deal breaker since as I’ve told you, children are not now, nor will they ever be an option for me or my future.”

He stops and I’m not sure if he’s really done, or just thinking of more of his requirements. Ironically enough, I don’t think his demands are all that odd. I mean it seems a little much to hammer out on a first date with someone, but if I were to be in a committed relationship with someone, these are things I’d want to know. But then again, a committed relationship to me has the promise of a future, the element of give and take, and the progression of feelings into love.

“So … Wow!” I say taking a moment, “that’s quite a laundry list of requirements. Are there any more?”

“A few,” he admits, “but I think we’ve exhausted this topic, don’t you?”

I agree to myself, but I’ve already delved this far, I might as well get the answers I want from him. I ignore his statement and continue anyway. “Oh, you must want to bypass the part where you have your Pretty Woman moment and leave the money on the nightstand after you’ve had your way with her.” His eyes whip back up to mine, and I know that I’ve figuratively hit the nail on the head. “I mean, this is all on your terms. Let me guess, you don’t actually sleep with her because it’s too intimate? Or you buy her clothes and show her off in between bedding her and little do you know, she’s using you to further her fledgling modeling career? What exactly is she getting out of this, Ace, besides a quick fuck with a guaranteed prick, and I’m not talking about the one in your pants.” My stomach is a bit queasy all of the sudden, and I realize that I don’t want to know these details. I don’t want to hear what rules and regulations some floozy agrees to, what factors they have to abide by, or what sexual favors they must agree to so that they can sleep with him and be seen on his arm.

I’m flustered. I’m in way over my head and way out of my element here. I understand that with his usual arrangements, they both use each other. I get that. He gets a companion and she gets the media buzz that might further her career. What I think hurts the most is that I have no intention of using him. I’m not a model or struggling actress. I worry that he dangled the rhetorical carrot in my face with the money for Corporate Cares. That way he can justify in his mind using me if he thinks I am using him.

I can feel the tears burn in the back of my throat. I’m so mad right now and oddly it’s not at Colton. I’m mad at myself for believing—despite my false bravado that I didn’t want anything to progress with Colton—deep down, I still had a touch of hope. Now with his revelations, I know way more than I want to and enough to know that what he’s offering is not enough for me.

“But why, Colton? Why is this all that you’ll allow yourself when you deserve so much more?” The look in his eyes tells me that the honesty behind my words affects him.

He puts his head in his hands, his shoulders moving as he sighs. He looks back up at me a myriad of emotions in his face. “I hate the drama of it, Rylee. The points system of who is contributing how much, the jealousy over my lifestyle and the media surrounding it, the expectation of the next step to take. So many things,” he pauses, eyeing me, his tone indifferent. “Relationships are just way too much shit to handle in my crazy life.”

I stare into the depths of his eyes and can see right through the bullshit lies he’s just tried to feed me. There is something more here. Why is he afraid to get too close to somebody? What happened to him to get him to this point? “That’s a bullshit answer and you know it.” He flinches at my response. “I expected more from you.”

“Rylee, I’m not one of your troubled kids that needs fixing. I’ve been fucked up for way too long to be fixed now, so don’t get that look in your eye that you know different. Some of the best shrinks in L.A. couldn’t do it, so I doubt you’d be able to.”

His words sting. The hurt from them sits heavy on my chest as he just sits there staring at me. I can see him emotionally pulling away. The cold, detached look on his face tells me he is shutting down. Shutting me out. It pisses me off further seeing as all this crazy information was just thrown at me. He can shut down and I’m fighting for him. But for what? To be his sometimes girl when he’s horny? This is so fucked up!

I rise from the couch pacing the living room as I think, and try to process where my head is. The more I think, the angrier I get. “Tell me something, Colton?” I whirl back around on him, unable to let go our conversation about the sordid details of his affairs. I’m a mix of random emotions, I want to go, to have him leave me alone, and yet I can’t stop staring at the train wreck that is in front of me. Can’t stop the part of me that wants to help him. “Is this what I am to you? Is this the type of agreement that you were hoping for between you and me?” I ask him, my voice wavering.

“Rylee, that’s not what I—” he shakes his head, running both hands over his face, his emotional struggle being played out before my eyes. “At first, yes,” he recants, “but after this past week—after tonight—I’m just not sure anymore.”

“What? Now I’m not good enough for you?” What the hell am I doing? One minute I’m mad that he thinks of me as an arrangement and the next I’m pissed that now he doesn’t. Get your head straight, Rylee!

“Christ, Rylee!” he hisses as he stands abruptly, shoving a hand through his hair and stalking toward me. He reaches out to touch me, but thinks better of it when I shrug my shoulder back from his touch. “I don’t know what I want.” The muscle in his jaw twitches, and I can see the strain in his neck. He clenches and unclenches his fists, closing his eyes and sighing deeply before opening them up to meet my eyes again. I catch a fleeting glimpse of fear and then resolve before he reins it in. “But whatever this is, I know I want it with you, Rylee.”

I have to control the rush of feelings that flood through me at his words. He wants it with me. What with me, though? He is so close that I want to reach out and touch him. Calm that glimpse of fear that I see in his eyes. But I know if I touch him, skin to skin, I will acquiesce to his ridiculous demands. And I know deep down, as much as I want him, I don’t think I can be what he wants me to be. I can’t play the role that he needs me to play in order to keep that haunted part of him locked away. I am so torn that the feud between my head and my heart, with his beautiful face before me holding such vulnerability, is making me physically ill.

“My way? My arrangement as you call it…” he shakes his head, “is all I know how to do, Rylee. Is all I know how to be.” He reaches out to grab my hand, and I have to steel myself to not react to his mere touch. “It’s all I can give you right now.” The solemnity in his voice touches me deep down and twists in my heart.

I turn from him and walk the length of the room, grabbing his beer without thinking and taking a long swallow of it. I hate the flavor of beer but I don’t even taste it. I’m tired. I’m hurt. And I can’t fight the tears that threaten to flood anymore. My eyes pool and a single tear falls over and runs down my cheek in silence. My back is to him for I’m afraid to see the look on his face when I speak my next statement. “I don’t know if I can do this, Colton.” I shake my head, sighing deeply.

“Rylee, don’t be ridiculous.“

“Ridiculous?” I sputter. “No, ridiculous is me thinking for a second that I could do this, Colton.” I shrug my shoulders in sadness and resignation. “I walked into this—whatever we have here—telling myself that all you want is a quick fuck from me.” I turn back to him as I speak and see him wince at my words. “Maybe a little fling … and I thought I could give that to you. Take that from you. But now that you’re actually offering it to me, I don’t think I can.” Another wayward tear falls over the edge, and I note that his eyes follow it slowly sliding down my cheek before bringing his eyes back up to mine.

“What do you mean, Rylee?” His mask slips momentarily, and I can see the vulnerability and panic flutter over his face. “Why not?”

A small part of me relishes the idea that my threat can make him panic but staying is not going to fix things. I press my fingers to my eyes. I’m sure I look like hell right now, hair frizzed, eyeliner smudged, lipstick gone, but I really don’t care. My insides are ten times more devastated than what my outside looks like. “When I tell myself in my head, that this is all I am to you—sex without feelings or the possibility of a future—it’s one thing.”

Without thinking I give into my addiction. I can’t resist. I reach out and brush my fingers over his cheek. He starts to turn his cheek into my hand and catches himself before he does. I let my hand fall at his subtle rejection. “But when I hear the words from your lips. When I hear you tell my your rules and regulations, it’s a whole different thing.” I close my eyes momentarily, trying to stop the small tremor in my voice. “I will not be inconsequential, Colton. To you or anyone else.”

Colton runs a hand through his hair and scrubs his hands over his eyes. “That’s not what you are to me, Rylee,” he breathes raising his eyes to me.

I stare at him. I want to believe him. I really do. But I can’t sell myself short. I deserve more than this. I want more than what he’s offering. “That may be true, Colton, but that admission, it’s not enough for me.” It breaks my heart to say these words to him.

“Rylee, just try it,” he urges. “Try it my way.”

“Oh save it, Colton!” I bite at him, throwing my hands up in the air. “I’m not one of your little floozies who’s going to do whatever you say just because you say to. I’m sure you have those lining up waiting to be your plaything. Catch one of them and toss her back when your tired of her. Not me, Ace. I don’t work that way.” My anger has resurfaced despite my exhaustion and aching heart.

Colton just stares at me. We stand within a foot of each other, eyes locked, and yet I feel so far away from him. It’s hard to believe it’s been less than an hour since we were ensconced within each other’s worlds.

“Rylee.” My name is a soft plea from his lips.

“What, Colton?” I snap at him, immediately wincing at my tone.

“That first night …” he begins softly and then stops turning from me and walking toward the kitchen.

“What about it, Colton?” I follow him partway, leaning against the back of his couch. “I should have seen it then. You sleeping with me and then humiliating me by jumping out of bed like I’d burned you.”

“You did, Rylee.”

“What? What in the hell are you talking about?”

“That first night,” he continues, ignoring my comment. “After the second time,” he says blowing out a loud breath. He continues to look at his bare feet, his hips resting against the counter, hands shoved in his pockets, and discomfort rolling off him in waves. “I kissed you and asked you if you were all right.” I nod my head acknowledging him. Remembering the raw honesty in that simple moment between us. “I swear to God, Rylee … I felt like you saw me. Really saw me.” He raises his eyes to meet mine and they’re swimming with emotion. “And you were sitting there, your dark hair falling all around you with that white sheet pooled around your waist …” he shakes his head before continuing, “your lips were swollen, your eyes were so wide and trusting … and I realized in that second that it meant more to me,” his voice is hoarse with emotion, “that you meant more to me, Rylee, than anything I can remember. Ever.”

I stare at him, so many things running through my head, but more than anything, his words resonate into every dark part of me that craves to be wanted, needed, and desired. At least I know why he reacted how he did. Why he showed up this morning. Hope starts to soar in me. Maybe I can do this. Maybe with time, I can prove to him that there can be more. I wring my hands to try and stifle my sudden enthusiasm.

“You scared the shit out of me, Rylee. You burned me.” He runs his hand through his hair, his eyes darkening, “And then I realized, as I do right now, that in the end I’m going to break you apart.”

“What?” I snap my head up to meet his eyes, my hopes crashing down around me. Did I just hear him correctly?

“I can’t do that to you, Rylee.” I see his fists clench as he fights his emotions. “I tried to warn you, but I’m so frickin’ drawn to you. I just can’t stay away.”

I feel schizophrenic trying to keep up with the ebb and flow of his moods. “You tell me you can’t do this, that you’ll destroy me, but then you tell me you can’t stay away even though you are the one warning me. You push me away then show up at my doorstep and give me tonight.” I walk toward him in the kitchen until I stand right in front of him. “Which way is up, Colton?”

Without a word, he grabs me and pulls me against his chest, wraps his arms tightly around me, and buries his nose in my hair. I press my hands against his back and absorb the comforting feel of his warmth, surprised at his unexpected show of emotion. His need for me is palpable. It oozes off of him and wraps its way into my soul. It takes everything I have to not tell him yes. Tell him I’ll do anything just to have a piece of him. That is how much he means to me already. But my thoughts are louder than my heart. I wish that I could just quiet my head and sink into the reassuring feeling of his arms around me. Block out everything else.

“I’m going to hurt you, Rylee. And you already mean too much to me to do that to you.” I stiffen at his hushed words breathed into the crown of my head. And despite his words, he holds me tighter. I try to push away from him but the steel hold of his arms will not release me. I relent eventually and lay my face against his chest, inhale the smell of us mingled there, feel the coarseness of the smattering of hair on his chest, and hear the strong, steady beat of his heart. “It’s a first for me to care enough about someone to stop beforehand. To acknowledge it. Regardless, knowing it ahead of time isn’t going to stop me from doing it. And I just can’t do that to you, Rylee.” His chest heaves a long breath. “And that’s why I can’t do this anymore with you. Why we can’t …”

“But why, Colton? Why can’t you? Why can’t we?” I’m panicked now, despite his arms tight around me. Now that I want him, he’s telling me no. Or maybe that’s exactly why. I’m grasping at straws now.

“Look, let’s not get this confused here. I’m not and never have been the boy you bring home to mom, Ry. I’m the one you throw in her face to piss her off and show her you are asserting your independence. Let’s not make me out to be better than I am.”

I’m still not buying it. Why does he think so horribly of himself? He can give me this crappy answer ad nauseam and I still won’t believe it. “Who did this to you?”

We’re quiet for a few moments as he mulls over my questions. Eventually he sighs, “I told you, Rylee, I’ve got a 747 of baggage.”

I push against his chest, resisting his hold. I need to see his eyes. Need to look into them. When I do I can see the emotion swarming in them. He’s hurting too. But he’s also shutting down. Putting me at arm’s distance emotionally so that it prevents further hurt in him. But what about me? I want to scream at him. What about my hurt? Why does this have to be so complicated? Why can’t I just let it be and enjoy the ride? Hope that he’ll see the real me and fall in love with time? Because I know that if he doesn’t face whatever trauma has made him this way, he’ll never get over it. He’ll never be able to have a normal relationship. He’s right. His 747 of baggage is going to ruin whatever chance we may have. “I’m not buying it, Colton.”

With my words, he removes his hands from my arms, now physically distancing himself from me. “I can’t give you any more, Rylee.” He looks down and then looks back up, the mask effectively in place. “This is who I am.”

Tears pool in my eyes, my voice a whisper. “And this is who I am, Colton.” It’s when I speak those words that I know. I have already started to fall for him. Warts and all. Somehow, someway, despite the short amount of time I’ve spent with him, he has penetrated that protective wall around my heart, and I’ve started the slow descent toward love. And that’s why I know I can’t do this. I can’t walk knowingly into heartbreak. I’ve been devastated once. I don’t think I can survive another one. And I know without a doubt that loving Colton and not getting love in return would devastate me.

“I guess we’re at an impasse.” His voice is gruff and he stuffs his hands in his pockets. The weight of his hands causes his jeans to hang lower on his hips. I have to physically stop myself from looking at the sexy inverted triangle of muscles that peeks over the waistband. I don’t need a reminder of what I’ll no longer have.

“Then I guess it’s time for you to take me home.” I avert my eyes, unable to meet his as I choke the words out.

“Rylee …” is the only thing he says to me.

“I deserve more than this, Colton,” I whisper raising my eyes to meet his, “and so do you.”

I can see his hands grip the kitchen counter as he digests my words, his knuckles white, and his face lined in anguish. “Please, Rylee. Stay the night.”

I hear the desperation in his voice, know that he really means his plea, but I know he is asking for the wrong reasons. He is asking to ease the hurt he knows he is causing me, not because he wants to make this more than the arrangement he desires.

“We both know that’s not how this story goes.” A tear slips and slides down my cheek. “I’m sorry I can’t be what you want me to be. Please take me home Colton.”

***

The ride home is silent. Adele’s velvety voice sings softly on the radio about never finding someone like you, and deep down I know the premise rings true for my circumstance. I think that it would be hard to compare anyone to Colton. I glance at him intermittently, watching the shadows and lights of the night play over the angles of his face. I know I am doing the right thing, self-preservation at it’s best, but my heart still aches at the thought of the mesmerizing man I’m willingly walking away from.

We arrive at my house with fewer than ten words spoken between us. Oddly, I’m still comfortable with Colton’s presence despite the inner-turmoil my decision has created.

He opens my door and escorts me out with a sad half-smile on his lips. He places his hand on my lower back as we walk up the walkway. At the front door lit by a lone porch light, I turn to him. We both say each other’s names at the same time and then smile softly at each other. The smiles never reach our eyes though. They reflect a weary sadness.

“You first,” I tell him.

He sighs and just stares at me. I want so much for him to be able to express to me the plethora of emotions I can see swimming in his eyes but I know that he’ll never get the chance to tell me. He reaches out and brushes his knuckles over my cheek with the back of his hand. I close my eyes at the singular sensation. When he stops, I open them back up, tears pooling in them, to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

And I know that apology is for so many things. For what can never be. For what should be. For hurting me. For not being the person I need him to be. For not being able to confront whatever is in his past.

“I know.” I reach up and run my fingers over his unshaven jaw and up through his wavy hair before returning back to his face. It’s almost as if I am committing his lines and his features to memory. Something I can hold on to. For despite having to work with him still, I know that this will be the last time I’ll allow myself to touch. Touching him again will be too dangerous for my weakened heart.

I step up on my tiptoes and brush my lips gently against his. Within moments, Colton has his arms around me and is lifting me up to his level. Our eyes lock on each other at this equal playing field. He leans into me to resume our kiss. I feel something different in this kiss. Something shifts in the tenderness. I realize that we are saying an unspoken goodbye. All of the hurt and unspoken possibilities are thrown into the unyielding softness of our exchange. The desperation and carnal need of earlier has been replaced with a poignant resignation. We slowly end the kiss, Colton slowly lowering me, my body sliding down the familiar length of his. Once my feet are on the ground, he rests his forehead against mine. Our eyes remain closed as we absorb this last moment with each other.

I move my hand between our bodies and place it over his heart, our foreheads still touching. “I wish you’d explain to me why you don’t do relationships, Colton.” My voice is barely a whisper, the threat of tears evident in my voice’s wavering. “Maybe I could understand you—this—better then.”

“I know,” he breathes in response. He shifts and places his trademark kiss on the tip of my nose.

It is this unbidden action that is my undoing. Tears silently coarse down my cheeks as Colton whispers, “Goodbye,” before turning without looking back at me and hurrying down the pathway.

I can’t bear to watch him leave. I fumble clumsily with the front lock before shoving the door open and slamming it shut. I lean against the door and slide down it to sit on the floor, my silent tears turning into uncontrollable sobs.

This is how Haddie finds me moments later after being woken by my less-than-graceful entrance.