K. Bromberg - Crashed

“Goddammit, Becks!” It’s the first time I’ve heard his voice in over a week and the sound in it—the fear woven through the anger—has me holding tight onto the ear pieces. “This car is shit! I thought you checked everything. It’s—”

“Nothing’s wrong with the car, Colton.” The evenness of Becks’ voice comes through loud and clear, and Beckett glances over to another crew member and subtly shakes his head no at something.

“ Bullshit! It’s shuddering like a bitch and is gonna come apart once I open her up.” The vibration that’s normally in his voice from the force of the motor isn’t there, he’s not even going fast enough out of turn two to affect him.

“It’s a new car. I checked every inch of it.”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Beckett! Goddammit!” he yells out into the car as it comes to a stop on the backstretch between turns two and three, frustration resonating over the radio.

“It’s a different car. No one’s on the track to hit you. Just take it nice and easy.”

There is no response. Nothing but the distant hum of an idling motor that I’m sure will die soon and then they’ll need to get a crank start out on the track to get it going again. More time for Colton to sit and think and remember and relive the crash that is incapacitating him.

And as time stretches, my concern for the man I love has my own anxiety escalating. Even though we’re all here supporting him, I know he’s over there feeling all alone, isolated in a metal casket on wheels. My heart lodges in my throat as the panic and helplessness I feel starts to strangle me.

Beckett paces back and forth, his hands shoving through his hair, uncertain how to coax his best friend off of the ledge when he’s not listening already. I shift again—Colton’s ragged breathing the only sound on the radio—and I can’t take it anymore.

I walk up to Beckett. “Get everyone off the radios.” He look at me and tries to figure out what I’m doing. “Get them off,” I say, desperation tingeing the urgency in my request.

“Radios off everyone,” Beckett orders immediately as I move to the mic on the counter at the front of the box. I sit down in the seat and wait for the nod from Beckett once he realizes what I’m doing.

I fumble with the buttons on the mic and Davis leans over and pushes down on the one I need. “Colton?” My voice is shaky but I know he hears me because I hear the hitch in his breath when he does.

“Rylee?” It’s my name—a single word—but the break in his voice and the vulnerability in the way he says it causes tears to well in my eyes. He sounds like one of my boys right now when they wake from a terrifying dream, and I wish I could run out onto the track so that I can hold and reassure him. But I can’t, so I do the next closest thing.

“Talk to me. Tell me what’s going through your head. No one’s on the radio but you and me.” Silence stretches for a bit as my palms become sweaty with nerves and I fret that I’m not going to be able to help him through this.

“Ry,” he sighs in defeat, and I’m about to jump back on the mic when he continues. “I can’t … I don’t think I can …” His voice fades as I’m sure memories of the accident assault him, as they do me.

“You can do this,” I say with more resolve than I feel. “This is California, Colton, not Florida. There’s no traffic. No rookie drivers to make stupid mistakes. No smoke you can’t see through. No wreck to drive into. It’s just you and me, Colton. You and me.” I pause a moment and when he doesn’t respond, I say the one thing circling in my mind. “Nothing but sheets.”

I hear the sliver of a laugh, and I’m relieved that I got through to him. Used a good memory to break through the crippling fear. But when he speaks I can still hear the trepidation in his tone. “I just …” He stops and sighs, vulnerability a hard thing for a man to accept, especially in the face of a crew who idolizes and respects him.

“You can do this, Colton. We can do this together, okay? I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” I give him a few seconds to let my words sink in. “Are your hands on the wheel?”

“Mmm-hmm … but my right hand—”

“Is perfectly okay. I’ve seen you use it,” I tell him, hoping to ease some of the tension. “Is your foot on the pedal?”

“Ry?” His voice wavers again.

“Pedal. Yes or no?” I know right now he needs me to take the reins and be the strong one, and for him, I’ll do anything.

“Yes …”

“Okay, clear your head. It’s just you and the track, Ace. You can do this. You need this. It’s your freedom, remember?” I hear the engine rev once or twice, and I see relief mixed with pride in Beckett’s eye before I focus back on Colton. “You know this like the back of your hand … push down on the gas. Flick the paddle and press down.” The engine’s pitch purrs a little higher and I continue. “Okay … see? You’ve got this. You don’t have to go fast. It’s a new car, it’s going to feel different. Becks will be pissed if you burn up the engine anyway so take it slow.”

I turn to watch the car with bated breath as Colton starts slowly into turn three. He’s nowhere near even practice speeds, but he’s going and that’s all that matters. We’re facing our fear of him getting back into the car again together. I just never figured it would be me coaxing him to drive that would lessen my own.

The motor guns again, the reverberation hitting my chest as he nears turn four and I hear him cuss. “You okay?” There is nothing but silence around me and the roar of the approaching engine. “Talk to me, Colton. I’m right here.”

“My hands won’t stop shaking.” I don’t respond because I’m holding my breath as he picks up the pace and enters into turn one. “Becks is gonna be pissed because my head’s fucked up.”

I glance over at Becks again and see the smile flash on his face, and I know he’s listening in, making sure his best friend is okay. “It’s okay … watching you out there? Mine is fucked up too … but you’re ready, you can do this.”

“Aren’t we a fucking pair?” He snorts into the radio and I can sense a little of his anxiety and fear dissipating with each passing second. I see the guys around me relax some as they notice the smile widen on Beckett’s face.

“We are indeed,” I laugh before releasing an exhale in relief. God, I love you, I want to say, but refrain. The rumble increases down the backstretch and I can’t fight the grin on my face at the sound of success. “Hey, Ace, can I bring the guys back on?”

“Yeah,” he says followed quickly by, “Ry … I …”

My heart swells at the emotion in his voice. I can hear the apology, feel the absolute sincerity behind it. “I know, Colton. Me too.”

I fight the tears of happiness that well up, and when I look up at Beckett he has a soft smile on his face. He shakes his head ever so subtly and mouths the word lifeline to me.

The car enters the pits and rolls to a stop. Beckett’s at its side in an instant while I fidget behind the wall, wanting to see Colton face to face to make sure he’s okay. He removes the steering wheel and hands it to Becks before unbuckling his helmet. Becks helps him unfasten it from the HANS device, and when he pulls it from his head, removing the balaclava with it, the crew erupts into a roar of cheers.

Chills dance at the celebratory sounds as Becks helps him out of the car. I step over the wall with the rest of the crew, unable to stay at a distance any longer because now Colton stands there hot, sweaty, and oh my God sexy. Pride tinged with desire spears through me at the sight of him.