K. Bromberg - Slow Burn

I close my eyes, not wanting to focus anymore on what will never be the same. I crawl onto my bed and beneath my covers, trying to find some kind of solace, but I don’t think it’s an emotion one can hope for when facing a cancer diagnosis.

Next I lose myself to my thoughts, suddenly questioning my knee-jerk decision this afternoon at Dr. Blakely’s office. Should I opt for a single mastectomy and save my other breast? Keep a piece of myself?

That’s stupid. The remaining breast would just be a continually ticking time bomb. I made the right decision. I tell myself that over and over as the tears slide silently down my cheeks and wet the pillow beneath me.

But the doubt still niggles its way into my psyche.

I know what to do to reinforce my decision. I reach to the edge of the bed and grab my cell. Within moments my voice mail is activated, and Lexi’s voice is filling my ears.

Time is precious. Waste it wisely .

“Give me strength, Lex,” I whisper into the silence.

I realize how much I don’t want to be alone right now. I know it’s the loneliness talking, but I miss the sounds of Dante moving about in the kitchen downstairs. I reluctantly admitted to Rylee what had happened with him and why he’s gone merely because I didn’t want to lie to her again but knew she’d be worried that I was alone.

Shockingly she gave in to my need for solitude after I explained that with her knack for planning, I knew after the surgery I’d probably never be left alone. And I needed as much time to myself right now as I can get. But lying here with only my thoughts screaming through the silence, I wish I would have accepted Ry’s offer to spent the night and snuggle up with me.

But I didn’t.

So I replay the voice mail again.

And again.

Because I know if I keep the phone replaying the message, it will prevent me from dialing Becks.

I miss him. Desperately. I’m doing the right thing because if I feel like this after such a short time, it makes me realize just how he’d feel if he went through all of this with me and then was left alone in the end.

Fucking brutal.

Exhaustion starts to win the battle over my internal thoughts. My finger hitting the repeat command every two minutes and thirteen seconds as the voice mail ends to start it anew.

I begin to drift off to sleep.

I don’t walk away from the people I love without a fight, and damn it to hell, Haddie Montgomery, you’d better prepare for that fight because I’m in love with you .

The words flicker through my mind, and I’m so tired and worn-out from the day that I vaguely wonder if I’m remembering or if my finger actually dialed his number and I’m hearing him say them to me.

Regardless, I succumb to the pull of slumber, my last waking thoughts focused on Becks conquering my heart rather than the cancer invading my body.

Chapter 27

BECKS

The engine revs down the backstretch, the computer in front of me reporting all of the gauges in the car that I usually study and scrutinize religiously.

But not today.

Today the constantly fluctuating numbers don’t register at all. I see them, I record them, but where they usually reflect specific issues with the car, today they don’t trigger to life anything in my brain.

“We good?” Colton’s disembodied voice comes through my headset, and I realize I didn’t even check what I was supposed to, so I can’t answer him. I don’t have a clue.

I’d love to say, Yeah, we’re good , but this is my best friend’s life in a car that will fly close to if not over two hundred miles per hour. I can’t bullshit him, even though the thought crosses my mind.

“Sorry, Wood,” I tell him, calling him the nickname someone on the race team gave him years ago. “Got distracted with something. Wasn’t able to track the numbers.” I ignore the glances from the crew when they hear my explanation over their headsets. They saw me sitting at the computer. No distraction occurred whatsoever. “Give me a sec, and I can pull them up, make sure they’re within range.”

“Feels like they are,” Colton says, his voice strained from the force as he enters turn three. “Ass end’s not sliding anymore on the top side. Feels like the guys fixed it with that last adjustment.”

“Good,” I tell him as I scramble to study the numbers and make sure his assessment is in fact correct.

Fuck if Haddie’s not gotten to me—goddamn voodooed me—but hell if I can tell Colton that. Explain to him I’m so distracted by a woman who keeps pushing me away that I can’t focus on my fucking job. Yeah. Cuz that’s professionalism at its finest.

“ Good? That’s all you’ve got for me?” The car accelerates out of turn one, his voice vibrating with the pressure against his body. “Why don’t you work on pulling your head out of your ass and doing your fucking job, huh?”

I bite the knee-jerk reaction on my tongue to tell him to go to hell. I deserve the shit he just gave me after blowing our meeting yesterday with Penzoil because I was too distracted.

“Numbers are within range.” I tell him as my eyes glance over the last gauge readings. “We’re all set.”

There’s silence on the radio, and I know he knows I’m off my game right now. He won’t ask why because hell, we’re guys and don’t get all touchy-feely, and shit, but I never fuck up with sponsors. And I fucked up with Penzoil without a doubt.

The silence hangs there, the sound of the engine all I hear on the open mic as I wait to see if he’s going to push my buttons here or if he’ll rake me over the coals in private.

It’s one or the other. Colton’s not the type of guy to let something like this go. Not because I fucked up, but because as much as he’ll never admit it, he cares. The stubborn bastard.

“Good. I’m taking her for another twenty. Balls out,” he finally says. And I know it’s his way of saying, You paying attention now?

The car’s dialed, and for him to run full throttle is something he knows I hate. Runs the risk of fucking up its perfect state. He’s goading me into reaction, and fuck him, I’ve got enough shit to deal with, I don’t need him on my back too.

“Have fun,” I tell him, noticing Smitty down the line whip his head over to look at me when my typical arguing with Colton over unnecessary risks doesn’t come.

Fuck. It must be pretty obvious, I don’t have my shit together.

Colton’s only response is a deep rev of the engine, which to me says, Fuck you . I start packing my shit up as my mind absently notes the turns one through four as he hits them from the pitch of the engine alone.

I debate sticking around for him to get out of the car and dealing with the ration of shit I know he’s gonna give me but figure it’s not worth it. I’m pissed and moody and going to blows with my best friend isn’t something I want to tempt.

Although, fuck, is it tempting.

Maybe I just want to get a reaction out of someone since it seems like I can’t get shit out of Haddie.

Zip. Zero. Zilch.

Anger, accusations, indifference … anything would be better than the silence.

It’s been five days since I went to her house and found her in the backyard. I can still see the look in her eyes, feel the desperate hunger in her touch. But riding next to that is the rejection on her tongue and the sting in her words.

And then she got me so goddamn flustered that I told her I loved her. Fucking loved her. Something I hadn’t even fully admitted to myself because thinking you feel it is one thing, but saying it aloud—putting it out into the universe—you can’t take that shit back. And then what did she do in return?

Nothing.

Not a goddamn thing.