K. Bromberg - Driven

Is he worth it? Colton sinks down into the chair across from me, a soft smile on his lips as he meets my eyes. Yes. He definitely is. But what do I want to do about that?

“Now I can think clearly,” he sighs after swallowing his first sip. At least someone can, because it sure isn’t me.

“It seems to me like you were doing okay before your coffee,” I kid him as I swallow a bite of muffin. He just smirks at me. “I have to tell you again, Colton, thank you so much for showing up and doing that. It was … you were … what you did for Aiden was above and beyond, and I really appreciate it.”

“It wasn’t anything, Rylee,” and he can see that I’m about to argue with him, “but you’re welcome.”

I nod my head and smile shyly at him, glad he has accepted my gratitude. “The look on those brats’ faces was priceless when you walked up!”

He laughs out loud with me. “No, I think the principal’s face was even better,” he counters, shaking his head at the memory. “Maybe next time he’ll think twice before taking sides.”

“Hopefully,” I murmur, taking a tentative sip of my hot chocolate and trying not to burn my tongue. You burned me . Colton’s words pick this moment to flash through my head. I push them to the back of my mind as I take a sip of my drink. The damn man clutters my mind, my overwhelms my senses, and clouds my heart in one fell swoop.

We sit in an easy silence, watching store patrons and sipping our drinks. I put my hot chocolate down and absently fold the corners of my napkin, deciding if I should say the next comment that pops in my head or let it go. Typical me has to get it out. “Colton?” His eyebrows quirk up at the gravity of my tone. “You’re so good with the boys, I mean way better than most people, and yet you tell me you’ll never have any. It’s very perplexing to me.”

I see the shadow glance through his pale green irises at my words. “No, it’s not,” he states as a matter of fact, averting his eyes and looking out the window at my back before continuing. “Having a child and being good with one are two completely different things.” The muscle in his jaw tics as his eyes track something outside in the parking lot. “Mutually exclusive, I guess.”

“Colton, what you did today,” I tell him, reaching out to put my hand on top of his on the table. My touch draws his eyes back to mine. “You showed a little boy that he was worth something. That he was worthy enough to stand up for.” Emotion fills my voice. My eyes try and tell him that I understand. That he did what should have been done for him as a child. Even though I don’t know his circumstances, I know enough in my line of work to see that no one stood up for him or made him feel like he mattered, until he met his Andy Westin.

“Don’t you do that every day, Rylee? Stand up for them?”

I mull over his words as I finish chewing my bite. “I suppose so, but not with your dramatic flair,” I smile. “I guess I’m more behind the scenes. Nowhere near as public and self-confidence boosting as your demonstration was.”

“What can I say,” he picks at the cardboard guard on the coffee cup. “I know what it’s like to be in Aiden’s shoes. To be the odd kid out that doesn’t fit in due to circumstances beyond your control. To be bullied and made fun of just because .” He squeezes my hand. “You get the picture.”

Sympathy engulfs me as I think of a raven-haired little boy with haunted green eyes. Of the pain he experienced and the memories that will forever be etched in his mind. Of the things he missed out on like comforting lips expressing unconditional love, warm arms to cuddle him tight, and fingers to tickle him into fits of deep belly giggles.

“Don’t look at me like that, Rylee,” he warns pulling his hand away from mine and leaning back in his chair. “I don’t want your pity or sympathy.”

“I’m just trying to understand you better, Colton.” My words the only apology that I’ll give him.

“Delving into my dark and dirty past isn’t going to help you understand me any better. That shit,” he waves a hand through the air, “it’s not something I want to haunt you with.”

“Colton—”

“I told you before, Rylee,” his stern voice silencing me, “I’m not one of your kids. My shit can’t be fixed. I’ve been broken for way too long for that miracle to happen.” The look in his eyes—a mix of anger, shame, and exasperation—tell me that this topic of conversation is now over.

An uncomfortable silence hangs between us as I can’t help but wonder what happened to him as a child. What is he so afraid to confront? Why does he think that he’s so broken?

His voice pulls me from my thoughts, turning the focus of conversation from him to me. “What about you, Rylee? You treat these kids like they’re your own. What’s going to happen when one day you meet Mr. Right and have kids of your own? How are you going to balance that?”

Even after two years, the pang that hits me still figuratively knocks me to my knees. I swallow purposely, trying to wash the acrid taste in my mouth his question brings. I pick at the corner of my napkin, watching my fingers rip tiny pieces off as I answer him. “I can’t … after the accident, I was told that getting pregnant, that the chance of having a child, is …” I shake my head sadly, “a very slim possibility. Like basically being on the pill for life. Most likely never going to happen.” Again . I lift my eyes to his, rocking my head subtly from side to side. “So it’s not something I put much thought into.”

I hear him hiss in a breath and can feel the pity roll off him. There is nothing worse than someone giving you that look . The pity look.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his green eyes burning an intense emerald as he studies me.

“It is what it is,” I shrug, not wanting to dwell on what can never be. “I’ve come to terms with it for the most part,” I lie, and in true Colton Donavan fashion I change the subject to something other than me. “So, Ace,” I wriggle my eyebrows, “You looked kind of hot in your race suit!”

He laughs charismatically at me, “Nice change of topic!”

“I learned from you,” I reply, sucking a crumb off of my thumb. When I look up, Colton is watching me draw my finger from my mouth. Intensity and desire mingle in the depths of his eyes as he studies me. The sexual tension between us mounts. Our draw to each other undeniable.

“Hot, huh?” he prompts, breaking our silent exchange.

I tilt my head and purse my lips as I study him back. “I wanted …” my voice is quiet, unsure, when I speak. The small smile playing at the corners of Colton’s lips gives me the surge of confidence I need to continue. Knowing he wants me. Knowing that he desires me and wants more of whatever this is, emboldens me. Empowers me to finish my thought. “I wanted you to take me right there on the hood of your car.” I can feel my cheeks flush as I look up at him through my eyelashes.

He takes in a sharp breath, his lips parting, eyes clouding with desire. “Why, Ms. Thomas,” he darts his tongue out to lick at his bottom lip, “we might just have to rectify that situation.”

“Rectify?” Desire blooms in my belly at the thought.

He leans in across the table, his face inches from mine. “It’s always been a fantasy of mine.”

I think he’s going to lean in and kiss me. My chin trembles in anticipation, synapses misfiring as I try to tell my brain to be the voice of reason here. To pull me back from the brink of Colton insanity. And then the alarm chime on my cell phone on the table between us goes off. It startles us both and we jump back. “Oh crap! I have a meeting I have to get to,” I tell him as I start gathering our trash and stuffing it inside my empty muffin bag.