Crashed (Driven, #3)(104)

What the f*ck? He’s taking her side? I swear to God, Ry’s worked her f*cking voodoo * magic on him and he’s never even had it before. Talk about super powers and shit.

“Becks? How am I going to f*ck this up? She’s here isn’t she? I want her here, brought her here, so what the hell else do you want from me? And how the f*ck does Hoover factor into this shit?”

“Jesus f*cking Christ!” he swears as he paces in front of me and takes a long pull on his beer. “She’s here for now! She’s here until you start thinking too f*cking much about how, now that she might be able to have a baby, she just might not want you anymore because you’ve never wanted one. Until you start pushing her the f*ck away and trying to hurt her so she makes the decision for you so you don’t have to f*cking make it for yourself. But things f*cking change, Colton! Look at Roxy ‘Hoover’ Tomlin. She never wanted kids because of the shit that happened to her as a kid and now her kids? They’re her whole goddamn world!”

“Fuck. You.” The ice in my voice rivals the chill of the f*cking polar ice cap.

“No, f*ck you, Colton! You sat in that goddamn hospital room when she needed you the most and sure as f*ck you were there … but fluffing pillows doesn’t fix the shit that’s hurting inside of her. Or in you. I sat there and plain as f*cking day watched you start to pull the f*ck away from her.”

“I’m warning you, Becks!” I say, standing up, fists clenched, fury racing through my veins. His words hit a little too close to f*cking home. A little too close to a truth I always said I never wanted—would never tolerate—but now all of a sudden I can’t get out of my mind. Ideas of a life I never even thought could exist for me. But how is that even f*cking possible? The broken merry-go-round in my head keeps whirling, but all I can think about is shutting Becks the f*ck up because he’s right about me pulling away. About me not being there for her when she needed me most. So f*cking right my stomach is a motherf*cking mess.

“Truth hurt, dude? You want to throw a punch at me? Take the truth you don’t want to f*cking face out on me?”

I grit my teeth and throw my bottle into the can and watch it shatter into a million f*cking pieces. And once again I’m back here—broken glass, broken mind, and f*cked up all around. He pushes my shoulder from behind, egging me on, and I take the f*cking bait so quick it’s not even a thought. I whirl around, arm cocked back, fists clenched, and a f*cking freight train of anger tears through me.

And Becks just stands there, eyes locked on mine, chin raised in that f*ck you position daring me to take a shot. “What’s your problem, hotshot? Not so tough now, are ya?”

My body f*cking hums, vibrates with every f*cking ounce of emotion I’ve held in over the past week, but all I can do is stare at him, wanting so desperately to expel the motherf*cking guilt eating at every goddamn piece of me.

Guilt that all of this happened because of me—not stepping up to be a man, leaving her alone with Zander, not getting to The House quick enough, not getting to the bathroom quick enough. The guilt clings to so many f*cking things inside of me—the poison and the hope— that the only thing I want to do is drink another f*cking beer, numb myself, and push it away.

“You wanna fight? How ’bout you save it? How about you fight for what f*cking matters? Because she,” he says, pointing up to the bedroom window and lowering his voice to a quiet f*cking steel, “she’s worth the fight, dude. Worth every goddamn fear eating at you. Every piece of it, Colton—A to motherf*cking Z.” He steps into me and jabs a finger into my chest. “Time to deal with your past, because Rylee?” He points up to the room again and then back at me. “She’s your goddamn future. It’s fight or flight time, man. Let’s just hope you’re the man I’ve always thought you were.”

My whole body tenses at his words, and I’m so f*cking pissed at myself that I don’t immediately tell him he’s full of bullshit. I’m so motherf*cking angry that for a moment—just a flicker of a moment—fear consumes me so I think of flight.

Think of flight when she’s done nothing but prove she’s a fighter—a f*cking gorgeous, defiant, scrappy brawler when it comes to what’s hers—while I f*cking hesitated. My teeth are gritted so goddamn hard I swear my molars are going to break, and I turn my back to him and walk over to the railing and cuss out into the darkness that rivals the black I feel in my soul right now.

I don’t f*cking deserve her. Sinner and saint. My caution to her motherf*cking checkered flag. And as much as I know this—as much as my f*cking chest hurts with each breath because of this—she’s the only thing I see. The only one I want. My f*cking Rylee.

“Cat got your tongue, Colt?” he taunts from behind me. “Are you that f*cking stupid you’re going to walk away because she got pregnant? Because of some shit that hap—”

And I’m done.

Temper snapped.

Gas added to my f*cking fire.

“You have no f*cking clue about what happened!” I yell at him, my voice breaking as I turn to face him. “Not a f*cking clue!”

Beckett’s in my face in five strides. “You’re right! I don’t have a f*cking clue!” He grabs my shoulders so I can’t turn away from him, and as hard as I try I can’t shrug them the f*ck off of me. “But, Colton, brother, I’ve watched you struggle for years with whatever the f*ck that bitch of a mother did to you as a kid, but that’s not you anymore. You’re not that kid. Never again. And, dude, Rylee accepts that. Accepts you. Fucking loves you. Figure out how to accept it and the rest will figure itself out.” He reaches out and cuffs the side of my face with a hand before stepping back and shaking his head. “It’s time to man the f*ck up and realize you f*cking love her too, before it’s too goddamn late and you lose the one person who’s made you whole again. Figure out how to deal with your past so you don’t lose your f*cking future.”