K. Bromberg - Crashed

Lead drops through my soul as I try to connect puzzle pieces that don’t belong together.

“Did something happen, Ry? Is it because of the miscarriage? I’ve just … I’ve never heard him sound like that before.”

Thoughts flicker and fade in my mind as I try to figure out what could have happened to Colton. And I’m already on the move and racing upstairs as my brain starts grasping at the possibilities of where he could be. “Q, I think I know where he is. I’ll call you when I know for sure.”

I toss the phone on the bed as I rush into the bathroom stripping my business suit off, leaving a trail of clothes as I go. Within minutes I’ve changed into my exercise clothes and am lacing up my shoes as fast as I can. I grab my phone and am down the stairs, out the doors leading to the deck, and racing down to the beach below.

I break out in a full sprint toward the place Colton took me on that first fateful night here, his happy place, where he goes to think. The more I think of it, the more confident I am that this is where he is. He’s probably sitting on his rock watching the sun sinking into the sea and coming to terms with everything that’s happened.

But why did he not take Baxter? Where is his car? I push the doubts away, convincing myself that he’s just there contemplating things, but uncertainty starts to grow with every pounding step.

But I know when I round the bend I’m not going to find him here. And as I come to the clearing, I already have my phone dialed and ringing.

“Did you find him?” I can tell Becks is freaked, and I feel bad for making him feel that way, but I’m worried.

“No. I thought I did but …” I have to stop to catch my breath because my lungs are burning from my sprint down the beach.

“Ry, what’s going on?”

“He called Quin and said he knows and his head is fucked up.” I pant out. “So I ran to his place on the beach but he’s not here. You know him better than anyone … where does he go when he needs to clear his head besides here?”

“You.”

“What?”

“He goes to you.” The honesty in his voice resonates through the phone line.

My legs stop moving at his words. They strike deep and make my heart twist with love and worry. Tears spring in my eyes as I realize how desperately I miss him in this moment—the him I’d only gotten back weeks ago to be taken away again by God’s cruel twist of fate with the miscarriage. I swallow the lump in my throat and it takes me a minute to find my voice. “Before me, Becks …”

“The track.”

“That’s where he’s gotta be.” I start running back toward the house. “I’m headed there now.”

“Do you want me to—”

“I have to do this, Becks. It’s gotta be me.” I’ve never spoken truer words because deep down I know he needs me. I don’t know why, I just know he does.

“I’ll text you how to get in the facility, okay?”

“Thanks.”

It feels like it’s taken me forever to reach the speedway because of the traffic on the freeway. I pull off the exit in Fontana, my heart lodged in my throat and my hope up in the air as I wonder what I’ll be walking into when I find him.

Panic strikes when I pull through the gates of the complex because it’s pitch black except for a few random parking lot lights. I drive around the side of the facility toward the infield tunnel, and I breathe out a huge sigh of relief when I see Colton’s Range Rover.

So he’s here, but now what am I going to do?

I pull up beside it, the darkness of the empty speedway seeming ominous. I put my car in park and shriek when I hear a knock on the passenger side window. My heart is hammering, but when I see Sammy’s face in the window I tell myself to breathe and get out of the car.

The concern in his eyes has me even more worried. “Please just tell me he’s okay, Sammy.” I can see him struggling about speaking to me, and betraying his boss and his friend.

“He needs you.” That’s all he says—the only thing he needs to.

“Where is he?” I ask, although I’m already following him through a darkened entrance underneath the massive grandstands. We reach a gap between the bleachers and I realize I’m in the middle of the grandstands, looking out on an eerily empty race track. I meet Sammy’s eyes through the darkness, and he signals over my left shoulder. I turn around instantly.

And I see him.

There is a single light on in a section of the grandstands and just in its fringes I see a lone shadow sitting in the darkness. My feet move without thinking and start climbing the stairs, one by one, to him. I can’t see his face in the darkness, but I know his eyes are on me, can feel the weight of his stare. I reach the row of bleachers he’s sitting on and I start walking toward him, anxious and calm all at the same time.

I try to think of what to say, but my thoughts are so jumbled with worry I can’t focus. But once I’m able to see his shadowed face, everything vanishes but heart wrenching, unconditional love.

His posture says it all. He sits leaned over, elbows on his knees, shoulders sagging, and face stained with tears. And his eyes—the ones always so intense but dancing with mischief or mirth—are filled with absolute despair. They lock onto mine, begging, pleading, asking so much of me, but I’m not sure how to respond.

When I finally reach him, his grief crashes into me like a tidal wave. Before I can say a single thing, he strangles out a sob the same time he reaches out and pulls me into him. He buries his face into the curve of my neck and just hangs on like I’m his lifeline, the only thing keeping him from slipping under and drowning. I wrap my arms around him and cling to him trying to give him what he needs.

Because there is nothing more unsettling than watching a strong, confident man come completely undone.

My mind races as his muffled sobs fill the silence and the trembling of his body ricochets through mine. What happened to reduce my arrogant rogue to this distraught man? He continues to hold on as I shush him and rock subtly back and forth—anything I can to quiet the storm that’s obviously raging inside of him.

“I’m here. I’m here.” It’s the only thing I can say to him as he releases all of the tumultuous emotion. And so I hold him in the dark, in a place where he made his dreams come true, hoping that just maybe he’s coming to terms—stopping and facing head on—the demons he usually uses this track to outrun.

Time passes. The sounds of traffic on the highway beyond the empty parking lot lessen and the moon moves slowly across the sky. And yet Colton still holds on, still draws whatever he needs from me while I revel in the fact that he still needs me when I thought he didn’t anymore. My mind jockeys back and forth from memories of a shower bench and him clinging to me then like he is now. Of what could figuratively knock this man of mine to his knees. So I just hold him now like I did then, my fingers playing in his hair for comfort until his tears slowly subside and the tension in his body abates.

I don’t know what to say, what to think, so I just say the first thing that comes to my mind. “Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?”

He loosens his grip and presses the palms of his hands into my back, pulling me tighter against him, if that’s even possible, while drawing in a shaky breath. He’s scaring me, not in a bad way but in the sense that something huge had to have happened to draw this kind of reaction out of him.

He leans back and squeezes his eyes shut before I have a chance to look into them, scrubbing his hands over his face before blowing out a loud breath. He hangs his head back down and shakes it, and I hate that I can’t see his face right now.