K. Bromberg - Crashed

“It’s a start,” I reassure him. “Baby steps, okay?” All I want to do is wrap him in my arms and take away all of his pain and frustration, but he seems so fragile that I fear touching him, despite how much it would lessen the lingering unease that tiptoes in my head. My usual optimism has been put through the ringer these past few weeks, and I just can’t seem to shake the feeling that this isn’t the worst of it. That something else is lurking on the horizon waiting to knock us down again.

“What else do you remember?” I prompt, wanting to get his mind off of his hand.

He gives me his recollections of the day, little pieces are missing here and there. The details aren’t too major but I do notice that the closer he gets to the start of the race, the bigger the voids are. And each piece of the puzzle seems to get harder and harder to recall, as if he has to grab each memory and physically pull it from its vault.

Giving him a moment to rest, I return from the in-suite bathroom to put away the mouthwash he’d requested. I find Colton looking out the window, shaking his head at the media circus below. “I remember being in the trailer. The knock on the door.” His eyes angle over to me, salacious thoughts dancing within his glints of green as I return to my seat on the bed beside him. “A certain checkered flag I never got to claim.” He purses his lips and just stares at me.

And resistance is futile.

It always is when it comes to my willpower and Colton.

I lean in, doing what I’ve wanted to do desperately. Giving into the need to feel that connection with him—to feed my one and only addiction—and brush my lips against his. I know it’s ridiculous that I’m nervous about hurting him. That somehow the lascivious thoughts behind our innocent brush of our lips are going to cause pain to his healing head.

But the minute our lips touch—the minute the soft sigh escapes his mouth and weaves its way into my soul—I find it hard to think clearly. I withdraw a fraction, needing to make sure he’s okay when all I want to do is devour the apple tempting me.

But I don’t have to because Colton hands it to me on a silver platter when he brings his left hand to the nape of my neck and draws my mouth back down to his again. Lips part, tongues meld, and recognition renews as we sink into each other in a reverent kiss. We’re in no hurry to do anything other than enjoy our irrefutable connection. The annoying beep of the monitors is overtaken by the soft sighs and satisfied murmurs signaling the affection between us.

I am so lost in him, to him—when I feared I might never taste him again—all I can think about now is how will I ever get enough of him?

I feel the tightening of his lips as he grimaces in pain and guilt immediately lances through me. I’m pushing him too hard, too fast to soothe my own selfish need for reassurance. I try to pull away but his hand holds my head firm as he rests his forehead against mine, noses touching, breaths feathering over each other’s lips.

“Just give me a sec,” he murmurs against my lips. I just nod my head slightly against his because I’ll give him a lifetime if he asks.

“These headaches come on so quick it feels like a sledgehammer hits me,” he says after a moment.

Concern douses the flames of lust instantly. “Let me get the doctor.”

“No,” he says, pounding his left hand against the bed making the rails shake. “This place brings me back to being eight.” And the argument that was about to roll off the tip of my tongue dies. “Everyone looking at me with worried eyes and no one giving me answers … except this time I’m the one who can’t give answers.”

He laughs softly and I can feel his body stiffen again with the pain. “Colton …”

“Uh-uh. Not yet,” he says again, stubbornly, as he rubs his thumb back and forth across the bare nape of my neck trying to soothe me when it should be the other way around. “I remember my interview with ESPN. Eating my Snickers bar.” He gets a rather odd look on his face and averts his eyes momentarily. “Kissing you on pit row and then nothing for a bit,” he says, trying to distract me from wanting to get the doctor.

“The drivers’ meeting.” I fill in. “Becks was with you then.”

“Why would I remember eating a candy bar but not the meeting?”

And I draw the connection in my own mind with the missing information that Andy had filled in. Because the traditional good luck Snickers bar is tied to his past—the first chance encounter he had with hope in his life. “I don’t know. I’m sure it will all come back to you. I don’t think—”

“You were next to me during the anthem. The song ended …” His voice fades as he tries to recall the next events, while mine catches in my throat. “I watched Davis help you over the wall, wanting to make sure you were safe while Becks started last minute checks … and I remember feeling the weirdest sense of being at peace as I sat at the start/finish line but I’m not sure why … and then nothing until waking up.”

And the lingering tiptoe of unease that I’d felt earlier turns into a full-on stampede.

My heart plummets. My breath hitches. He doesn’t remember . He doesn’t remember telling me the phrase that’s glued the broken pieces of me together. It takes every ounce of strength I have to not let the unexpected slap to my soul show in the stiffening of my body.

I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear him say those words again—especially after thinking I’d lost him. How knowing he remembered that defining moment between us would mend together the last fissures in my healing heart.

“Do you?” His voice breaks through my scattered thoughts as he kisses the tip of my nose before guiding my head back so he can look into my eyes.

I try to mask the emotions that I’m sure are swimming there. “Do I what?” I ask, forcing a swallow down my throat over the lie that clogs it.

He angles his head as he looks at me and I wonder if he knows I’m holding something back. “Do you know why I felt so happy at the start of the race?”

I lick my lips and mentally remind myself to not worry my bottom lip between my teeth or else he’ll know I’m lying. “Uh-uh,” I manage as my heart deflates. I just can’t tell him. I can’t force him to feel words he doesn’t remember or make him feel obligated to repeat words that make him recall the horrors of his childhood.

… What you said to me—those three words—they turn me into someone I won’t ever let myself be again. It triggers things—memories, demons, so fucking much …

His words scrape through my mind and score a mark that only he will ever be able to heal. And I know as much as I want to, as much as it hurts me to suppress my need to hear it, I can’t tell him.

I force a diminutive smile on my lips and meet his eyes. “I’m sure you were just excited about the start of the season and thinking that if your practice runs were any indication, you were going to be claiming the checkered flag.” The lie rolls off of my tongue, and for a minute I worry he’s not going to believe it. After a beat one corner of his mouth lifts up and I know he hasn’t noticed.

“I’m sure there was more than one checkered flag I was focused on claiming.”

I shake my head at him, the smile on my lips beginning to tremble.

Colton’s face transforms instantly from amusement to concern at the unexpected change in my demeanor. “What is it?” he asks, bringing his hand up to cradle the side of my face. I can’t speak just yet because I’m too busy preventing the dam from breaking. “I’m okay, Ry. I’m going to be okay,” he whispers reassurances to me as he pulls me into him and wraps his arms around me.