K. Bromberg - Crashed

“Shh, shh, shh! It’s okay, Ry. It’s okay.”

Colton .

My whole body sags momentarily. Colton is here. My eyes open, tears already welling in them, and the first sight I see is him. My ace. A shining light in all of this darkness. His eyes meet mine, the lines around his deep with concern and a forced smile on those devastating lips of his. “You’re okay, baby.”

I blink rapidly as everything else comes into focus, the flurry of activity around us in the backyard—policemen, medics. “Zander. Gun. Dad.” My mind is reeling and I can’t get the thoughts into words fast enough, my eyes flitting back and forth, focusing on a group of men hunched over something to the side of me.

I keep repeating the words until Colton leans down and presses a kiss to my mouth. I taste salt on his lips and my mind tries to grasp why he’s been crying. When he pulls back, his smile is a little less shaky. “There’s my girl,” he says softly, his hands smoothing over my hair, my cheeks, my face. “You’re okay, Ry. Zander’s okay, Ry.” He leans his forehead against mine.

“But there was blood—”

“Not yours,” he says, his lips curving into a relieved smile against mine. “Not yours,” he repeats. “You were ridiculously stupid and I’m so angry at you for it, but you went for the gun and the police took their shot. His blood, baby. It was his blood. He’s dead.”

I suck in a breath. Relief I didn’t realize I hadn’t released yet rushes out of my lungs. And the tears come now—hard, ragged, body shaking sobs that release everything. He helps me sit up and pulls my body into his so I’m sitting sideways across his lap, his arms hold me so tight, supporting me, ensuring my safety. He buries his nose in the side of my neck as we cling to one another.

“Zander’s safe. He’s inside. Jax is keeping the boys away so they don’t know—don’t see—what happened. He called Avery to come be with Zander. His therapist is on the way to come help him if he needs it,” he tells me, knowing all of the worries I’d have and assuaging them with every word he speaks. “Are you—where do you hurt?”

“Sir, can we please—”

“Not yet!” Colton snaps at the voice at my back. “Not just yet,” he says so softly I can barely hear him before he pulls me in tighter, breathing me in. I’m completely alert now, can see the activity around Zander’s father’s body. I think I understand the risk I took until I feel Colton’s body shake beneath mine, shudder as he holds in the quiet sobs racking his body.

I’m lost. I don’t know what to do for this strong man silently coming undone. I start to move so I can shift and turn into him, and he just squeezes me that much tighter. “ Please ,” he pleads in a gruff voice, “I don’t want to fucking let go yet. Just a minute longer.”

So I let him.

I let him hold me in this backyard, on a plot of grass where violence tried to rob Zander of hope for the last time.

Colton closes the car door for me and climbs into his side of the Range Rover before starting it. He pulls out of the police barricades and past the flashing lights of the awaiting media as we leave The House. Three very long hours have passed. Three hours of questions and retelling everything I could remember about the backyard exchange. About telling Zander to run on “Batman.” The constant looks from Colton sitting in the corner as I refused medical assistance or a check-up at the hospital. His growing anger as I replayed Zander’s father’s comments and physical attacks. Signing statements and having photographs taken of the bruises on my body as evidence. I field phone calls from Haddie and my parents to reassure them that I’m okay, that I’ll call them later to explain more.

Three hours of feeling helpless to comfort my boys, wanting to tell them I was okay. The therapist thought it was best they didn’t see me with my bruised eye and swollen cheek, because it might dredge up their own histories. As much as it hurt not to see them—show them I’m okay—I kissed Zander and held onto him as long as I could while I repeated my praise over and over to him that this time he didn’t hide behind a couch. This time he helped save someone. I know I’m not his mom, but to ease the guilt and assuage the feeling of helplessness in his traumatized psyche was huge.

We merge onto the freeway and besides Rob Thomas’ voice ironically singing Unwell through the speakers, the car is silent. Colton doesn’t say a word despite his hands gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles are white. I can sense his anger, can feel it vibrating in waves off of him, and the only reason I can think of that he’s mad is because I’ve put myself in danger.

I lean my head back on the seat and close my eyes but have to open them immediately because all I see are his eyes, all I feel is the cold steel pressed against my cheek, all I hear is Zander chanting over and over.

I want to ease the tension between Colton and me, because right now I just really need him. I don’t need him closed off in Colton-I’m-pissed-off-land. I need his arms wrapped around me, the warmth of his breath on my neck, the security I always feel when I’m with him.

“He did what you told him to do.” My voice is so soft I’m not sure he hears me tell him the one thing I didn’t tell the police officers. The one thing I felt would violate a part of the trust Colton had instilled in me. After a few minutes, I hear him blow out a sigh and see him glance over at me. So I continue. “When I went outside, Zander had curled up in a ball and all I could hear the whole time we were out there was him calling to your superheroes.”

I yelp as Colton swerves abruptly across two lanes, car horns blaring, and slams the car into park on the side of the freeway. I don’t even have a chance to catch my breath or for my seat belt to unlock before he is out of the car and stalking toward the shoulder of the road to my side of the car. I dart my eyes back and forth trying to figure out what in the hell is going on. Is something wrong with the car? I watch him as he passes my door and paces to the end of the Rover and back up past the front. He keeps walking for about ten feet, and with his back to me I hear him yell something at the top of his lungs in a feral rage I’ve never heard from him before.

If I’d thought about getting out of the car, I know for sure I’m not now. I can see the tension in his shoulders as they rise and fall with his labored breaths. His hands are fisted as if he’s ready to fight, him against the world.

I watch him, can’t take my eyes off of him, as I try to figure out what’s going on inside his head. After some time, he turns back and walks to my car door and yanks it open. I turn instinctively toward him as I take in his grinding teeth, the strain in his neck, and then my eyes lock onto his. We stare at each other and I’m trying to read what his eyes are saying, but it’s such a contradiction to his posture that I must be wrong. I see his jaw muscle pulse as his hand reaches out toward my cheek and then pulls back. I angle my head in question, my bottom lip trembling because I’m just on overload from everything today. I notice his eyes flicker down to my mouth, take in my vulnerability, and within an instant I’m crushed against his chest, one arm spanning my back, one hand holding the back of my head as he clutches me to him in a hug teeming with absolute desperation.

My tears fall onto his shirt as we cling to each other. “I’ve never felt so helpless in my entire life,” he tells me, voice weighed down with emotion as he squeezes me tighter. “I’m so angry right now and I don’t know how to handle it.” I can hear the growl of his rage simmering just beneath the surface.