Fueled (Driven, #2)(97)
I swallow the lump in my throat, needing any type of connection with him. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you picked up.”
“Yeah, I’ve just been real busy with work.”
“Feeling better then?” I ask, then cringe when there’s silence on the line― the pause that tells me he has to think of something quick to say to cover the lie.
“Yeah…just getting some last minute details done to try and push a patent through on one of our new safety devices.”
My insides twist at his disembodied tone because I can feel it. I can feel him removing himself from all we shared together. From all the emotions I thought he felt but couldn’t put words to. I try to hide the desperation in my voice as the first tear trails down my cheek. “So how’s it going?”
“Eh, so-so…look, babe...” he laughs “...I’ve gotta run.”
“Colton!” I plead. His name falls from my mouth before I can stop it.
“Yeah?”
“Look, I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I didn’t mean...” My words falter as I choke on getting the lie out.
The line is silent for a moment, and that’s the only reason I know he’s heard me. “Well that’s a slap in the face,” he says sarcastically, but I can hear the annoyance in his voice. “Which one is it, babe? You either love me or you don’t, right? It’s almost worse when you say it and then take it back. Don’t you agree?”
I think it’s the obvious derision in his voice that breaks me this time. I catch the sob before it comes out loudly. I hear him laugh with someone on the other end of the line. “Colton…” is all I can manage to say, the hurt swallowing me whole and pulling me under.
“I’ll call ya,” he says, the phone clicking off before I have a chance to say what I fear could possibly be my final goodbye. I keep the phone to my ear, my mind running through all of the other ways that conversation could have gone differently. Why did he have to be so cruel? He forewarned me. I guess I’m at fault all around in this case. First for not listening and then for opening my big mouth.
I cross my arms and lay my head down on my desk, groaning when I realize I’ve laid my head on top of the schedule his office has sent over to me. Of the events that I’ve been contracted to attend. With him. What the f*ck did I do to myself? How could I have been so damn stupid agreeing to go along with this? Because it’s him, the small voice in my head reiterates. And because it’s for the boys. I pick up the schedule, crumple it up, and throw it across the room hoping for a thump at least, but the soft sound of it hitting the wall does nothing to assuage the pain in my chest.
Within moments, sobs rack my body. Fuck me. Fuck him. Fuck love. I knew this was going to happen. Bastard.
I wake Saturday morning still feeling like shit but with a renewed purpose. I get up and force myself to go for a run, telling myself it will make me feel better. It will give me a fresh outlook on things. I take the run and pound my feet into the pavement at a relentless pace to relieve some of my heartache. I arrive home, out of breath, body tired, and still feeling the ache deep in my soul. I guess I lied to myself there.
I take a shower and tell myself no more tears today and definitely no more ice cream.
I am scooping the last of the mint chocolate chip out of the carton when my cell phone rings. I glance at the unknown number, curiosity getting the best of me. “Hello?”
“Rylee?” I try to place the feminine voice on the other end of the line but can’t.
“Yes? Who is―”
“What the hell happened?” the voice demands of me in a clipped and obviously annoyed tone.
“What? Who―”
“It’s Quinlan.” A small breath squeaks past my lips in shock. “I just left Colton’s house. What the hell happened?”
“Wh-what do you mean?” I stammer because I can answer that question in so many different ways.
“God!” She sighs in frustration and impatience on the other end of the line. “Will you two get your shit together and pull your heads out of your asses? Fucking Christ. Maybe then you’d realize you two have got something real. Something that’s undeniable. It would take an idiot not to see that spark between you guys.” I remain silent on the other end of the line. The tears I told myself I couldn’t cry, leak out of the corners of my eyes. “Rylee? You there?”
“I told him I loved him,” I tell her softly, wanting to confide in her for some reason. Maybe needing some kind of validation about his response from someone that’s closest to him so I don’t keep replaying it over in my head endlessly.
“Oh shit.” She breathes in shock.
“Yeah...” I laugh anxiously “...that about sums it up in a nutshell.”
“How’d he take it?” she asks cautiously. I tell her his reaction and how he’s been since then. “Sounds like what I’d expect from him.” She sighs. “He’s such an ass!”
I remain silent at her comment, dashing away my tears with the back of my hand. “How is he?” I ask, my voice breaking.
“Moody. Grouchy. Surly as hell.” She laughs. “And from the number of his friends Jim and Jack, empty and lining his kitchen counter, I’d say he’s trying to drink himself into oblivion to either help forget his demons or so he can push down the fear he has in regards to his feelings for you.” I exhale the breath I’m holding, a part of me reveling in the fact that he’s hurting too. That he’s affected by what’s happened between us. “And because he’s missing you terribly.”