Crashed (Driven, #3)(94)

I’m the reason she’s going to have to make a choice, one I’m not even sure I want her to make any more.

I sink into the seat beside her bed and give in to my one and only weakness now, the need to touch her. I gently place her limp hand between both of mine, and even though she’s asleep and doesn’t know I’m touching her, I still feel it—still feel that spark when we connect.

I love you.

The words flicker through my mind, and I gasp as every part of me revolts at the words I think, but not the feelings I feel. I focus on the f*cking disconnect, on shoving those words that only represent hurt out, because I can’t have them taint this moment right now. I can’t have thoughts of him mixed with thoughts of her.

I try to find my breath again as the tears well and my lips press against the palm of her hand. My heart pounds and my head knows she just might have scaled that final f*cking steel wall, opened it up like f*cking Pandora’s box so all the evil locked forever within, could take flight and exit my soul with just one thing left.

Fucking hope.

The question is, what the f*ck am I hoping for now?





My head is foggy and I’m so very tired. I just want to sink back into this warmth. Ah, that’s so nice.


And then it hits me. The blood, the dizziness, the pain, the rectangular tiles on the ceiling as the stretcher rushes down the hallway, once again foreshadowing the doctor’s words I never expected to hear again. I open my eyes, hoping to be at home and hoping this is just a bad dream, but then I see the machines and feel the cold drip of the IV. I feel the pain in my abdomen and the stiff salt where tears have stained my cheeks.

The tears I’d sobbed when I heard the words confirming what I’d already known. And even though I’d felt the life slipping out of me, it was still heartbreaking when the doctor confirmed it. I screamed and raged, told her she was mistaken—wrong—because even though she was bringing my body back to life, her words were stopping my heart. And then hands held me down as I fought the reality, the pain, the devastation until the needle was pressed into my IV and darkness claimed me once again.

I keep my eyes closed, trying to feel past the emptiness echoing around inside of me, trying to push through the haze of disbelief, the unending grief I can’t even comprehend. Trying to silence the imaginary cries I hear now but couldn’t hear last night as my baby died.

A tear trickles down my cheek. I’m so lost to everything I feel, so I focus on every single feeling as it makes the slow descent because I feel just the same.

Alone. Fading. Running away without any certainty but the unknown.

“And she’s back with us now,” a voice to my right says, and I look over to a lady with kind eyes in a white coat—the same lady that broke the news to me earlier. “You’ve been out for a while now.”

I manage a weak smile, my only apology for my reaction, because the one person I wanted to see, the one person I need more than anyone isn’t here.

And I’m devastated.

Does he know about the life we’d created? Part him, part me. Could he not handle it so he left? The panic starts to strangle me right away. The tears start to well as I shake my head, unable to speak. How is it possible that God would be so cruel to do this to me twice in my life—lose my baby and the man I love?

I can’t do this. I can’t do this again.

The words keep running through my mind, the scalpel of grief cutting deeper, pressing harder, as I try to feel anything but the unending pain, the incomparable emptiness owning every part of me. I grasp for anything to hold on to except for the handfuls of razorblades I keep coming up with.

“I know, sweetie,” she says, rubbing her hand over my arm. “I’m so very sorry.” I try to control my emotions over the baby and Colton—two things I can’t control—and two things I now know I’ve lost. My chest hurts as I draw in breaths that aren’t coming fast enough. As I try to swallow over the emotion that’s holding my air hostage. And then I think it’d be easier if I choke. Then I’d be able to slip away, creep back under that cloak of darkness, and be numb again. Have hope again. Be bent and not broken again.

“Rylee?” she says in that questioning way to see if I’m okay or if I’m going to freak out on her like I did when she told me about the miscarriage.

But I just shake my head at her because there’s nothing I can say. I focus on my hands clasped in my lap and I try to get a hold of myself, try to get used to the loneliness again, the emptiness.

When I’ve finally calmed down some, she smiles. “I’m Dr. Andrews. I told you that before but understandably you probably don’t remember. How are you feeling?”

I shrug, the discomfort in my empty womb is no match for the deep ache in my heart. “I’m sure you have questions, should we start or do you want to wait for Colton to come back first?”

He didn’t leave me? I gasp in a huge breath of air as the lump in my throat loosens, lets air in, and her words help the slice of the proverbial scalpel hurt a little less. She just angles her head and looks at me with sadness, and I feel like she’s telling me something without telling me. But what? Colton’s reaction to the news? I’m so scared of facing him, of having to speak to him about this on the heels of knowing how he reacted with Tawny’s bombshell, but at the same time a flicker of relief shudders through me that he’s still here. “He’s here?” I ask, my voice barely audible.