Fueled

When Sammy pushes open the door for me, the cold air of the night hits me like a refreshing blast after the stuffy, smoke filled club. He leads me to the outskirts of the parking garage where the lone limo sits apart from the rest of the cars in the lot. As we get closer, I see Colton’s back, his hands spread wide on the retaining wall bordering the edge of the garage, his weight leaning on them, and his head hanging down between his shoulders. I can sense the fury radiating off of him in waves as we draw near.

Beckett, who’s leaning against the open door of the car, meets my eyes as we approach, uncertainty evident in his before nodding his head at me and sliding into the car next to Haddie. Sammy stops, but I continue forward toward Colton.

The click of my heels on the concrete alerts Colton that I’m near, but he remains facing away from me. I trace the lines of his body’s silhouette against the expansive glitz of the Vegas strip, his imposing figure painting a striking contrast to the sparkle of lights beyond. I stop a few feet from him and watch his shoulders rise and fall in rapid succession as his tension slowly abates.

When he finally turns to face me, his shoulders squared, his eyes dancing with fire, and his jaw rigid with tension, I realize I’m wrong in thinking his anger is gone.

“What the fuck did you think you were doing?” His voice is ice cold.

His words hit me like whiplash, taking me aback with unbelievable force. I thought he was angry at the guy he punched, not with me. Where the hell does he get off being pissed at me? If he was paying attention to his date, he’d know the answer. “What do you think I was doing, Colton? That I was—”

“I asked you a question, Rylee,” he grits out.

“And I was trying to fucking answer it before you so rudely cut me off,” I spit at him, having no problem going toe-to-toe with him tonight. Maybe my intake of alcohol has taken a bit of the edge off, so I’m not intimidated by his intensity. His eyes pierce through the darkness and into mine. Then again, maybe not. “I was buying a drink, Colton. A drink. That’s it!” I throw my hands up as I shout at him, my voice echoing off of the concrete walls.

He looks at me, the muscle in his jaw pulsing as he regards me. “Buying a drink, Rylee? Or flirting around to get someone to buy a drink for you?” he accuses, taking a step closer to me. Despite the lack of light, I can see the fire burning in his eyes and the rage fueling the tension in his neck. Where is all of this coming from?

What. The. Fuck? How dare he accuse me of paying attention to other guys when he was up there preoccupied with Ms. Bunny of the Month? I was being cool, not getting pissed off about how touchy-feely Cassandra was with him, trying to forgo the juvenile emotions I wanted to feel over it. But fuck it. If he’s going to get mad about a guy offering to buy me a drink and touching me even though I said no, then I’m sure as hell going to be pissed about her blatantly displayed attraction to him. Attraction that he certainly didn’t reject.

I’m done with this conversation. Alcohol and anger only result in words you can’t take back in the morning. And we’ve both had way too much to be rational. “Whatever. We’re done here,” I huff as I turn on my heel, intent on heading back to the limo.

“Answer me,” he commands as he grabs my upper arm, stopping me in my tracks. I see Beckett step back out of the limo, a wary look on his face as he stares down Colton over my shoulder. The silent warning is obvious, but the message behind it is unclear.

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m waiting,” he says, keeping his hand on my arm but stepping around to block my path toward the car.

“I was buying myself a drink. That’s it. Big fucking deal!” I jerk my arm out of his grasp, fatigue from the night’s events suddenly hitting me like a bat to the back of the head.

Colton’s eyes bore into mine as if he’s looking for my betrayal or confession of wrongdoing. “There was plenty of alcohol up top. Was that not good enough for you?” he taunts. “You had to go trolling for a guy to buy you one?”

His words slap at me, knock the wind from my sails. What the fuck is his problem? I can’t believe that he’d even think that first of all, but second—and shockingly so—I’m surprised by the quiver in his voice that hints at a touch of insecurity.

Like I could want something more after having him.

I take a step toward him, my voice low but implacable. “I don’t need a man or bottle service to make me happy, Colton.”

He arches an eyebrow at me. “Uh-huh.” He snorts derisively, cleary choosing to not believe me. He’s obviously dated some choice women.

I sigh, frustrated already with our conversation. “You’ve spent enough money on tonight. On me. On everything.” I huff. “You may be used to all of your women needing that to be satisfied. Not me.”

“Of course not.” He snorts sarcastically.

“I’m a big girl.” I continue ignoring his flippant comment. “I can buy my own damn drinks and pay my own way, especially if when you pay it means that you have some kind of ownership over me.”

His eyes widen at my words. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Does he not realize he does this? That he gives so charitably in exchange for people to like and love him? “Look, you’re a very generous guy. More so than most people I know, but why?” I place my hand on his arm and squeeze. “Unlike most people in there, I don’t expect you to pay my way.”

“No girlfr—no one I’m with pays when they’re with me.”

“That’s very chivalrous of you.” I run my hand up his arm and lay it on his cheek, my voice softening, relieved that we have seemed to skirt around having this argument. “But I don’t need any of that pomp and circumstance to want to be with you.” He just stares at me, emerald irises trying to comprehend the honesty in my words. “You have so much more to give to someone than material excess.”

I think my words have hit their mark because Colton falls silent, a war of emotions flowing through his eyes before they break from mine and look out at the city of sin. The muscle in his jaw tics as he pushes down whatever demons he’s fighting internally. I notice his posture stiffen as he shakes my hand off his face, and I can sense his discomfort with the direction our conversation has taken. “You let a guy put his hands on you,” he says in a dangerously quiet voice.

At first I’m hurt by his accusation, but when I look in his eyes, I see it. I see the truth behind Beckett’s revelations about his feelings for me. I see that he’s scared by it and unsure of how to handle it. I see that he’s looking for a reason to pick a fight as a way to deny his feelings.

He wants a fight? I’ll give him a fight because just below my surface is the fear that maybe I’m just what he needs and he might never acknowledge it. That he is exactly what I need and someone like Cassandra just might take that chance away from me. My mind flashes back to the thought of her hands on him. “And your point is what?” I counter with more confidence than I feel. “I’m not going to apologize because someone else finds me attractive.” I shrug. “You sure as hell weren’t paying any attention to me.”

He ignores my comment as only he can, shrugging it off as if I’m at fault here. “I’ve told you before, Ry, I don’t share.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Well neither do I.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The bewildered look on his face tells me he really has no clue as to what I’m talking about. Typical, clueless male.

“Oh c’mon, Colton. Most of those women in there want you, and you were more than willing to be touchy-feely with them.” I throw up my hands in frustration when he looks at me as if I’ve gone crazy, so I figure I’ll give a specific example. “You seem to have no problem having your hands on Cassandra and hers on you,” I accuse, flipping my hair like her and placing my hand on his chest, batting my eyelashes.

“Cassie?” he stutters incredulously. “Oh please.”

“Really? It was obvious to every person up there that she wants you. Roll your eyes all you want and pretend you didn’t notice, but you know you loved every minute of it—Center of attention, Colton. Life of the party, Colton. Playboy, Colton,” I accuse, turning my back to him, rolling my shoulders and shaking my head. I briefly lock eyes with Beckett who’s still standing against the limo, arms crossed over his chest and stoic face devoid of judgment. I turn back to face Colton. “Why is that okay for you? Isn’t turnabout fair play? At least I told the guy you punched to get his hands off of me. I didn’t see you asking Cassie to stop…”

Colton takes a step toward me, lights from beyond playing against the shadows on his face. The devil has once again surfaced and is indeed trying to pull me into his darkness. “I believe it was you I was fucking up there tonight. Not any of them.” His voice implacable and holding just a hint of edge as he watches for a reaction. I cringe knowing that Beckett just heard that.

“Yeah, you’re right. You were with me, but I find it funny minutes later you were with her!” I shout back at him. “You punched a guy for touching me tonight and yet you stood there and let her rub up against you without so much as a thought to pushing her off you. Well I don’t share either. The irony, huh?”

Colton’s jaw flexes before he raises his eyebrows, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips. “I didn’t take you for the jealous type.”

“And I didn’t take you for my type at all,” I counter, my voice icy with contempt.

“Watch it,” he warns.

“Or what?” I goad, taking a fortifying breath. “Like I said, I can take care of myself. The guy offered to buy me a drink. I was in the process of telling him no thank you in so many words when you stormed up to save the day.” I’m not sure why I feel the need to lie about this. Maybe I’m trying to prove to Colton that I can in fact take care of myself. That I don’t need the macho bullshit. I’m not sure, but I’ve thrown it out there, I might as well follow through with it. He doesn’t have to know that I was getting a little unnerved at the situation. “The guy didn’t deserve to be hit.”

Colton’s head snaps up as if I’ve just punched him. “Now you’re defending him?” He brings his hands up to his neck and pulls down on it in frustration. “You’re fucking unbelievable!” he shouts out into the empty garage.

“And you’re drunk, irrational, and out of control!” I yell back.

“No one touches what’s mine without consequences,” he grates out.

“You have to have me first, Colton,” I say with a shake of my head, “and you’ve made it quite clear that all you want from me is a quick fuck when it’s convenient for you!” My voice is firm but betrays me when it wavers on my last words.

“You know that’s not true.” His voice is quiet with an undertone of desperation.

“I do? How’s that?” I throw my hands up in exasperation. “Every time I get too close or things go beyond your stupid rules, you make sure to put me in my place.”

“Jesus. Fucking. Christ. Rylee.” He exhales through gritted, running his fingers through his hair and turning from me to walk a few steps away.

“A pit stop isn’t going to save you this time,” I state calmly, wanting him to know that he can’t cop out now to avoid the rest of this discussion. I need answers and deserve to know where I stand.

He hisses out a loud exhale of breath, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. We stand there in silence for a few moments as I look at his back, and he looks at the city beyond. After a moment he turns around and holds his arms out, his eyes full of a nameless emotion I can’t decipher. “This is me, Rylee!” he shouts. “All of me in my fucked up glory! I’m not Max—perfect in every way, never making a goddamned mistake. I can’t live up to the incomparable standard he’s set, to the pedestal you’ve placed him on!”

I suck in a breath, his words hitting their target. How dare he throw Max and what we had in my face. Thoughts don’t process. Words don’t form. Tears well in my eyes as I think about Max and who he was and Colton and what he is to me. Confusion swamps me. Drags me under. Drowns me.

“How dare you!” I growl at him, hurt surrendering to anger before succumbing to grief.

Colton’s not finished though. He takes a step toward me, pointing his finger at his chest. “But I’m alive, Rylee, and he’s not!” His words rip into me. A tear slides down my cheek, and I turn my back to him, hiding from his words, thinking if I can’t see the plea and hurt in his eyes, I won’t have to accept the truth in his statement. “I’m the one here in front of you—flesh and blood and needing—so either you accept that it’s you that I want. No one else,” he rants, his voice echoing off of the concrete surrounding us and coming back to me twice as if to reinforce his words. “You need to accept me for who I am, faults and all...” his voice breaks “...or you need to get the fuck out of my life…because right now—right now—this is all that I can give you! All I can offer.”

I can hear the pain in his voice, can feel the agony in his words, and it tears at me until a sob escapes my mouth. I bring my hand up to cover it while I clutch my other hand around my abdomen.

“That’s enough, Colton!” Beckett’s voice pierces through the early morning hour when he sees my anguish. “It’s enough!”

In my periphery, I see Colton whirl toward him, fists clenched, emotion overwhelming him. Beckett doesn’t flinch from Colton’s imposing stare but rather takes another step toward him, taunting him with his eyes. “Try me, Wood,” he challenges, his voice hard as steel. “You come at me and I’ll knock you on that drunk, pretty-boy ass of yours in a heartbeat.”

My eyes meet Beckett’s for a fleeting second, the ice in his eyes surprising me before I turn to look at Colton. The features on his face are tight, and his dark hair has fallen over his forehead. The angst in his eyes is so incredibly raw. I study him as he glares at Beckett. His eyes flicker over to mine and whatever expression blankets my face holds his stare. I can see his pain and fear and uncertainty in them, and I realize that as much as his words sting—as much as they hurt me to hear—there is so much truth to them.

Max is dead and never coming back. Colton is here and very much alive, and he wants me in his life in some form or another despite his inability to acknowledge or accept it. I see the plea in his eyes for me to choose him, to accept him. Not my ghost of memories. Just him. All of him. Even the parts that are broken.

And the choice is so easy, I don’t even have to make one.

I step forward toward the eyes that flit frantically back and forth like a lost little boy. I glance over at Beckett and give him an unsure smile. “It’s okay, Becks. He’s right,” I whisper, turning back to Colton. “You’re right. I can’t keep expecting you to be like Max or compare you to what I had with him.” I take another timid step toward him.

“And I don’t want you to think that you have to be like Cassandra,” he says, taking me by surprise that his inference about my insecurity is spot-on. I reach out my hand to him, an olive branch to our argument, and he takes it, pulling me into him. I land against the firmness of his body as he gathers me to his chest, his strong arms wrapped around me a reassurance after the cruel and callous insults we’ve just hurled at each other. I press my face into his neck, the beat of his pulse beneath my lips. He runs a hand up my back, tunneling it into my curls and just holds my head there. He kisses the top of my hair as I breathe in his scent.

“You. This,” he murmurs in a ragged exhale, “it scares the shit out of me.” And my heart stops and breath catches as he falls silent, his pounding heartbeat the soundtrack to my thoughts. “I don’t know how to…I don’t know what to do…”

And if I hadn’t already known, the raw emotion in his voice would have pushed me over the edge. My heart starts again, tumbles inside of me, and falls gloriously. I only hope he’ll catch it. I fist my hand into the back of his shirt, his confession rocking me with hope and possibility. Offering us a chance. I close my eyes, taking a minute to score my memory with this moment. “Me too, Colton,” I murmur into the skin of his neck. “I’m scared too.”

“You deserve so much more that I’m capable of giving you. I don’t know how or what to do to give you what you need. I just…”

I grip my fist tighter into his shirt, the fear so transparent in his tone it wrenches my heart and tugs at my soul. “That’s okay, baby,” I tell him, pressing another kiss against his neck. “We don’t have to know all the answers right now.”

“This is just…” He chokes on his words, his arms tightening around me as the sounds of Vegas swirl in the air around us. In this city of rampant sin and immorality, I have found such beauty and hope in the man holding me tight. “…so much…I don’t know how…”

“We don’t have to rush this. We can just take our time and see where this leads us.” Desperation laces through my words.

“I don’t want to give you false hope if I can’t…” He shakes his head softly with an exhale to finish his statement.

I lean back and look up at the face of the man that I know has captured my heart. The heart I thought would never heal or love again. “Just try, Colton,” I plead. “Please just tell me you’ll try…”

Emotions war over Colton’s features, his resistance to need. So much unspoken swims in his eyes. He leans down and brushes a soft, reverent sigh of a kiss on my lips before burying his face in the crook of my neck and just holds on.

I hold him there in the depths of a concrete garage. Giving as much as I am taking from the man consuming every part of me.

And it’s not lost on me that he never answered my question.

The horizon is just starting to lighten to the east as we drag ourselves off of the plane and climb into the awaiting limo in Santa Monica. We are all exhausted from the whirlwind night.

I glance over at Colton’s profile as we wait for Sammy to finish whatever he’s doing. His head is leaning back against the headrest and his eyes are closed. My eyes track over the silhouette of his nose to his chin, down his neck and over his Adam’s apple. My heart swells at the sight of him and what he’s come to mean to me in such a short amount of time. He’s helping me overcome some of my fears, and I can only hope in time he will trust me enough to let me in on his.

Beckett was right about Colton. He evokes such extreme emotions. He’s easy to love and hate at the same time. Tonight was a breakthrough of sorts—for him to admit that I scare him—but I know in no way shape or form does that mean he’s in love with me. Or that he’s not going to hurt me in the end.

His lack of an answer tells me that his words and his heart are still in conflict. And that he’s not sure if he can get them on the same page. He wants to. I can see it in his eyes, his posture, and the tenderness in his kiss.

But I also see the fear, sense the trepidation and inability to trust that I won’t abandon him. That to love is not to give up control.

It seems like every time he gets too close, he wants to push me further away. Holding me at arms length keeps his fears at bay for a bit. Helps him push them down. Well, what if I just don’t cower at the comments? Worry about his silent distance? What if instead of letting it get to me, I just shrug it off and keep going like nothing’s been said? What will he do then?

Colton shifts his head over and looks at me with a softness in his eyes that makes me want to curl into him. How could I ever walk away from this face? Nothing short of him cheating on me would make me give up on him. He looks sleepy and content and still a bit buzzed.

Haddie hums the song that is playing softly on the speakers in the car. I strain to hear and meet her eyes when I recognize it as Glitter in the Air. Of all the songs to be on, of course it has to be this one.

“Fuckin’ Pink,” Colton snorts out in a sexy, sleepy voice that widens my smile.

Haddie laughs sluggishly in the seat across from us. “I could sleep for hours,” she says resting her head on Beckett’s shoulder.

“Mmm-hmm,” Colton murmurs, shifting so he lies across the seat and places his head in my lap, “and I’m going to start now.” He chuckles.

“You need all the beauty sleep you can get.”

“Fuck you, Becks.” Colton yawns. His voice is slurred from the mixture of both alcohol and exhaustion. “Should we finish what we started earlier?” He laughs softly as he tries to open his eyes. He is so exhausted they only open a fraction.

Beckett bellows out a laugh that resonates in the quiet of the car. “It’d be no contest. Us southern boys know how to throw a punch.”

“You’ve got nothing on some of the fists that have been thrown my way.” Colton nuzzles the back of his head into my abdomen.

“Really? Being bitch-slapped by a girl pissed off at finding out she’s a one-nighter doesn’t count,” Beckett replies, meeting my eyes and shaking his head to tell me that he’s making it up just to goad Colton. I have a feeling he might be lying.

“Mmm-hmm,” Colton murmurs and then falls silent. We all assume that he’s asleep, his breathing evening out, when he speaks again in an almost juvenile, dreamlike quality. “Try having your mom taking a bat to you…” he breathes “…or snapping your bone right through your fucking arm.” He grunts. My eyes whip up to Beckett’s, the same look of surprise I feel reflected in his. “Now that? That beats the one fucking punch I’d let you land before I knock you on your ass.” He emits a sliver of a laugh. “It most definitely beats your fist any day, you cocksucker,” he repeats before a soft snore slips from him.

My mind immediately flashes to the jagged scar on his arm—the one that I’d noticed last week. Now I know why he had changed the subject when I’d asked about it. I think of a little boy cowering in fear, green eyes welled with tears as his mother unleashes on him. The ache in my heart that moments before was because of my feelings for Colton has now shifted and intensified over something I can’t even begin to understand or fathom.

The look on Beckett’s face tells me that this is news to him. That even though he’s known Colton for all these years, he hasn’t had an inkling as to the horror his friend had endured as a young child.

“Like I said,” Beckett whispers, “Lifeline.” My eyes snap up to his and he just nods with a quiet intensity. “I think you’re his lifeline.” We exchange a silent acknowledgment and acceptance before looking back down at the man we love snoring softly in my lap.