Fueled (Driven, #2)(123)

I swallow loudly, my lips falling lax as I look at Beckett, a one-man army on a mission. “Look, Ry, I know it’s easier for you to do it this way…to leave this way…but if you love him—if you ever loved him? You’ll do this for me. If you leave, it’s too dangerous…I can’t have Colton flying close to two hundred miles an hour tomorrow with his head focused in la-la land thinking about you instead of being focused on the goddamn track.” He grabs my suitcase and sets it back down.

All I can do is look at him through blurred eyes and with a hurting heart. He’s so right on every level, and yet I don’t know if I can find it within me to pretend. To act like I’m unaffected when the sight of Colton causes my breath to hitch and heart to twist. When we continually tear each other apart and purposely hurt one another. I cry out a strangled sound, hating the woman that I’ve become in the last few days. Hating Colton. Just wishing that I could be numb again even though it felt so damn good to feel again. But if I can’t have him—have my beautifully damaged man—then I’d rather be numb than live in this endless abyss of pain.

Beckett sees the hysteria surfacing—sees the moment that I realize how much I actually love Colton and the devastation I foresee on the horizon—and mutters, “Motherf*cker!” in exasperation at being the one left to tend to my irrationality before calmly walking me over to the bed and pushing my shoulders down. “Sit!” he orders.

He squats down in front of me, the motion much like a parent does to a child, and it makes me realize what a good guy Beckett really is. He reaches out and puts his hands on my knees, looking me squarely in the eye.

“He f*cked things up, right?” All I can do is nod my head, my throat clogged with emotion. “You love him still, correct?”

I tense at the question. The answer comes so willingly into my mind that I know even though I love him—that loving him will most likely bring me a truckload of continual hurt—it’s just not enough. “Beckett…I can’t keep doing this to myself.” I lower my head, shaking it as my breath hitches again.

“Remember when I told you that Colton was going to push you away to prove a point?” I nod my head, listening to him but really just wanting to be by myself, wanting to take my suitcase with items sticking out of it at all angles and make a mad dash to the airport—back to structure and predictability and a life without Colton.

And that thought alone robs me of every emotion possible.

Beckett squeezes my knees to get me to focus back on him. “Right now is that time, Rylee. You need to push away everything in your head. Clear all of the assumptions out and think with your heart. Just your heart, okay?”

“I can’t do it anymore, Becks—”

“Just listen to me, Ry. If you really love him, then keep knocking on that f*cking steel gate he has around his heart. If he’s really worth it to you, you’ll keep at it.” He shakes his head at me. “The damn thing’s got to give sometime, and you’re the only one I think is capable of doing it.” When I just stare at him with my mouth lax, he just shakes his head at me. “I told you, you’re his lifeline.”

I just stare at him, unable to speak, trying to digest his words. Am I his lifeline? Can I possibly be his lifeline? I feel more like a weight dragging us toward the bottom of the ocean than a lifeline. And why does Beckett keep telling me to clear all assumptions?

“That can’t be. Love doesn’t fix—”

I’m startled from my thoughts from a knock on the door. I start to stand but Beckett just pushes back down on my shoulder and goes to answer it. When he opens it, I see Sammy shoves Colton through the door before Beckett slams it shut.

Despite everything Beckett said, just the sight of Colton ignites my temper. I’m off the bed in a flash the minute he stalks into my room. “Uh-uh! No way! Get that egotistical * out of here!” I shout at Beckett.

“Fuckin’ A, Becks! What the f*ck is this?” he yells, confusion in his voice. He glances down at the haphazard packed suitcase and grunts. “Thank Christ! Don’t let the door hit you in the ass, sweetheart!”

I step toward him, fueled with fury and ready to detonate.

“This is over here and now!” Beckett’s voice booms at us like a parent scolding his children. We both stop mid-motion as Beckett turns toward us, exasperation on his face and obstinance in his stance. “I don’t care if I have to lock you in this f*cking room together, but you two are going to figure you’re shit out or you’re not leaving. Is that understood?”

Colton and I both start yelling at him at the same time, and Beckett’s voice thunders over ours. “Is that understood?”

“No way, Becks! I’m not staying in this room another second with this *!”

“Asshole?” Colton whirls on me, his body mere inches from mine.

“Yeah! Asshole!” I sneer.

“You want to talk about *s? Try that stunt you pulled with bar boy back there. I believe you claimed the title right then, sweetheart. ”

“Bar boy? Wow, because having a harmless drink is so much worse than you with your gaggle of whores earlier, right?” I shove at his chest, the physicality of the action giving me a small iota of the release that I need.

Colton steps back from me and walks to the far side of the room and back, blowing out a puff of air from his lungs. My room feels small with Colton eating up the space, and I just want him gone.