Fueled (22 page)

I labor to ask the man who gave me possibilities about the woman who robbed me of everything. My youth. My innocence. My trust. My ability to love. My self.

Of the concept of unconditional love.

“Son? Is everything okay?” Concern creeps into his voice as a result of my silence. “Colton?”

“Dad…” I choke out, my throat feeling like it’s drowning in sand.

“You’re scaring me, Colt…”

I shake my head to get a grip. “Sorry, Dad…I’m fine. I’m good.” I can hear him exhale audibly on the other end of the line, but he remains silent, allowing me a moment to gather my thoughts. He knows something is amiss.

I feel like I’m thirteen and I’ve fucked up again. That adolescent fear fills me—the anxiety that if I push too hard or screw up one more time, they’ll send me back. They won’t want me anymore. The funny thing is I thought I’d conquered this fear a long time ago, but as the question weighs heavy on my tongue, it all comes back. The fear. The insecurity. The need to feel wanted.

Dread strangles my words.

“I...uh...just had a question. Don’t know how to ask it really…”

Silence fills the line and I know my Dad is trying to figure out what the hell has gotten into me. Why I’m acting like the little boy I used to be.

“Just ask, son.” It’s all he says, but his tone—that soothing, acceptance at all costs tone—tells me that he knows something has brought me back to that place in time. And even though all I feel is fear and uncertainty, all I hear is patience, love, and understanding.

I suck in a breath of air and exhale it shakily. “Do you know what happened to
her
? Where she is? What became of her?” My fingers tremble as I bring a hand to run through my hair. I don’t want him to worry or think that I want to find her and…
I don’t know what with her
. Reconcile?
Fuck no
. Never.

But it scares the fuck out of me that the idea of her—just the thought of her—can get me this worked up. Can fuck with my head more than the dreams. “Never mind, I—”

“Colton…It’s okay.” Reassurance fills his voice.

“I just don’t want you to think—”

“I don’t think anything,” he soothes in a way only a father can to a son. “Take a breath, Colt. It’s okay. I’ve waited a long time for you to ask—”

“You’re not mad?” The one fear I have bubbles out of my mouth.

“No. Never.” He sighs, resigned to the fact that a small part of me will always worry regardless of the passage of time.

I feel like a hundred pound weight has been lifted from my chest. Freed me from the fear of asking. “Really?”

“It’s natural to wonder,” he assures. “Normal to want to learn about your past and—”

“I know all I need to know of my past…” The words come out in a whisper before I can stop them. Silence hangs through the line. “I just…fucking Rylee…” I mutter in exasperation.

“You’re having dreams again, aren’t you?”

I struggle to answer. I want to tell him because I feel obligated to be honest after everything he’s done for me, and at the same time feel the need to lie so that he doesn’t worry about the memories that debilitated me as a child. So he doesn’t remember how detrimental they were. So he doesn’t find out
everything
that had happened. “I saw it in your eyes when I got back from Indonesia. Are you okay? Do you need—”

“I’m fine, Dad. It’s just that Rylee had asked if I knew what had happened to
her
. That maybe if I knew I might get some closure. Be able to shut some old doors…”

He’s silent on the connection for a moment. “I kept tabs on her for a while. I wanted to make sure when she got out of jail that she didn’t come back to find you or make trouble for you when you were just starting to do so well. I stopped about ten years ago,” he admits, “but I’ll call the PI that I used, he’ll know her habits better than anyone—and we’ll see what he can find. If that’s what you want…”

“Yeah. Thanks. I just…”

“No need to explain, Colton. You do what you need to fill in that piece you’ve always felt is missing. Your Mom and I knew this day was coming, and we want you to do whatever you have to do to find peace. We’re okay with it.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes, fighting the burn that threatens within. “Thanks, Dad.” There’s nothing else I can say to the man who gave me life after being dead for the first eight years of my existence.

“Sure, son. I’ll call you when I have any news. Love you.”

“Thanks, Dad. Me too.”

I’m just about to hang up when he speaks again. “Colton?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m proud of you.” His voice wavers with emotion, which in turn makes me swallow the lump in my throat.

“Thanks.”

I hang up the phone, toss it on the table, and lean my head back against the wall. The loud breath I exhale into the silence does nothing to ease the overwhelming emotions swimming through me. I sit there for a bit, knowing I need to apologize to Beckett and wanting Rylee in the worst way. Needing something to clear my head.

The idea hits me like lightning, and I’m up, dressed, and climbing out of the RV in less than five minutes. I see the guys working in the garage off to my right, but I can’t talk to anyone right now. Don’t want to. I walk into the open bay where the favorite of all my babies is parked—
Sex
.

I don’t even take a second glance to appreciate the F12’s clean lines and flawless fire engine red perfection, but I sure as hell will enjoy her speed in about one minute. I climb behind the wheel and when the engine rumbles to life, I feel a piece of myself return. Spark back.

I zip past the garage, noting Beckett’s refusal to meet my eyes—
fucking stubborn bastard
—and exit the track. I crank up the volume as
The Distance
comes through the speakers. Great fucking song. The minute I hit the 10 and see it’s unbelievably empty for this time of day, I drop the hammer and fly. Fly faster than is safe but the feeling—luxury cocooning me, perfection in my hands, and an engine that talks to me—clears my head, and eases the self-inflicted tension pulling from all directions.

Sex never disappoints me when I need her the most.

By the time I approach traffic, my head is a little clearer and my mind is made up. I pick up my phone and make the call.

As I look across the kitchen at Zander and his tutor working on his spelling words, I hear the front door slam open. The excited chatter of the boys fills the hallway. They are usually animated when they get home, but today the noise is off the charts. So much so that Zander looks up from his paper and raises his eyebrows at me.

Zack comes barreling around the corner, so excited he stutters—as he normally does when overly excited—for a second. “Ry-Rylee and Za-Zander…Hurry up and get your stuff!”

“No running in the house, Zack,” I warn. “What are you talking about?”

The other boys come flying into the great room before he has a chance to respond. I look over at the boys to scold them for running in the house when my voice falters.

Standing at the entry to the room is Colton. Reckless. Sexy. Devastating. The three words hit me at once at the sight of him.

I know it’s silly. It’s only been four days since I’ve seen or talked to him, but now that he’s in plain sight, I’m staggered at how much I’ve missed him. How much I’ve wanted to see him. Be near him. Hear his voice again. Have a connection with him again.
So much for needing space to clear my head.

I drink him in, my eyes dragging their way up his body. When I meet his eyes, a slow, lopsided grin curls up one corner of his mouth making that dimple I find irresistible deepen. I swear my heart skips a beat at the smoldering look in his eyes. I swallow loudly trying to gain the equilibrium that he’s just knocked out from underneath me.

We stare at each other, the boys’ raucous noise fading to white as we speak without talking. Kyle grabs my hand and tugs on it, breaking the trance between us.

“Colton’s taking us to the go-kart track!” he exclaims, excitement dancing in his eyes.

“He is, is he?” I ask, raising my eyebrows and looking over at Colton.

“Yep, he is,” Colton says as he takes a step toward me, his lopsided grin now at its full megawatt capacity. “Go put your stuff away guys and get in the van. Jackson’s waiting.” My eyes widen at his comment, and I wonder how he coordinated this.

Colton turns and meets Zander’s hopeful eyes. “Hey, Zander, I thought you guys could use a break from all of this school stuff. I know it’s really important, but sometimes a guy needs a break, don’t cha' think?” Zander eyes grow as big as saucers and his mouth spreads in a huge grin. It’s a small miracle how the grace of a smile can ease the severity of the nightmare’s effects on his precious face. “Let’s go get your shoes and we can meet everyone in the van. You game?” he asks.

Zander jumps up and races toward his bedroom, and I bite back the inherent scold of no running. I apologize to the tutor and send her on her way with eyes dazed from the sight of Colton. Poor thing.

When she exits the room, I can hear the boys making their way to the front door with gusto. It is only then that Colton approaches me and backs me up against the kitchen counter. He presses his hips into me at the same time his mouth captures mine in a mind-altering, head-dizzying, soul-emptying kiss.
God, I missed the taste of him
. The kiss is too brief to fulfill my four days of missing him. When our lips part, he wraps his arms around me in a tight hug that I could lose myself in—one teeming with a quiet desperation. He holds me to him, his face nuzzled in the side of my neck, and I can feel him breathe me in drawing strength from our connection.

“Hey,” I murmur softly as his hands press into my back. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He breathes. “Now I am.”

His murmured confession rocks me. Hits those parts deep within in me, unjaded and still full of hope and possibility.

He finally releases me when he hears sounds in the hallway. I gaze up at his face and look beyond the handsome features that still make my breath catch in my throat. I notice darkened smudges under his tired, wary eyes. He’s not sleeping. More nightmares? I don’t know and I don’t want to ask. He’ll tell me if he wants to. When he’s able to.

I stare at him for a beat and try to figure out what’s different about him. It’s only when he angles his head to question my silent appraisal that it hits me. He’s clean-shaven. I reach up and run my hand across his jaw, his face leaning into my touch. And it’s something about that little gesture mixed with his earlier confession that causes my heart to swell.

“What’s this?” I ask, averting my eyes to prevent him from seeing my emotional transparency. “So smooth and clean-shaven.”

“It doesn’t bode too well doing a razor commercial with a five o’clock shadow,” he smirks, running his palms up and down the sides of my torso. Licks of desire flicker low in my belly at his touch.

I laugh out loud. “Understandably. I like it though,” I tell him, running my fingers over it again when he frowns. “It’s okay, Ace, you still ooze bad boy without the stubble. Besides, I’ll get to sleep with someone different than this scruffy-jawed man I’ve been wasting my time on.”

He flashes a wicked smile. “Wasting your time, huh?” He takes a step toward me, lust clearly edging the humor out of his eyes.

Every part of my body tightens at the predatory way his body moves toward mine. My God.
Take me
, I want to tell him.
Take every part of me that you already haven’t stolen, taken, or claimed.

“Oh, most definitely. He’s a rebel...” I scrunch my nose up, playing along “
...and I definitely don’t do the bad boy type
.”

“No?” He wets his lips with a quick dart of his tongue. “What type exactly,
do you do
?” A devilish grin snakes up the corner of his lips as he reaches out to touch my face, and in an instant it disappears. His eyes narrow upon noticing the bruise from Zander on my cheek. My cover-up has obviously worn off. “Who did this to you?” he demands, his hands cupping my neck, angling my head to the side so he can see the severity of the bruise. “Is this from Zander last night?”

I startle at his words. “Yeah, it goes with the territory.” I shrug. “How’d you know about it?”

“Poor fucking kid.” He shakes his head. “I called you this morning. You were still asleep after being up with Zander all night. I hadn’t heard from you and got worried.” He pauses and those words—his admission that he cares for me coming on the heels of him telling me in so many words that he needs me—ignites my soul and makes my lips curl automatically. “So I called the house and Jackson answered. He told me what happened.” He angles my chin up to look at my cheek again. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.” I shake my head, his concern endearing.

“So, I figured the kids might need a break to shake off last night.” He leans in and brushes his lips against mine again. “And I really wanted to see you,” he murmurs breathlessly, his words shooting straight into my heart and embedding themselves into my every fiber.