Crashed(book three)(37)

But the minute our lips touch—the minute the soft sigh escapes his mouth and weaves its way into my soul—I find it hard to think clearly. I withdraw a fraction, needing to make sure he’s okay when all I want to do is devour the apple tempting me.

But I don’t have to because Colton hands it to me on a silver platter when he brings his left hand to the nape of my neck and draws my mouth back down to his again. Lips part, tongues meld, and recognition renews as we sink into each other in a reverent kiss. We’re in no hurry to do anything other than enjoy our irrefutable connection. The annoying beep of the monitors is overtaken by the soft sighs and satisfied murmurs signaling the affection between us.

I am so lost in him, to him—when I feared I might never taste him again—all I can think about now is how will I ever get enough of him?

I feel the tightening of his lips as he grimaces in pain and guilt immediately lances through me. I’m pushing him too hard, too fast to soothe my own selfish need for reassurance. I try to pull away but his hand holds my head firm as he rests his forehead against mine, noses touching, breaths feathering over each other’s lips.

“Just give me a sec,” he murmurs against my lips. I just nod my head slightly against his because I’ll give him a lifetime if he asks.

“These headaches come on so quick it feels like a sledgehammer hits me,” he says after a moment.

Concern douses the flames of lust instantly. “Let me get the doctor.”

“No,” he says, pounding his left hand against the bed making the rails shake. “This place brings me back to being eight.” And the argument that was about to roll off the tip of my tongue dies. “Everyone looking at me with worried eyes and no one giving me answers … except this time I’m the one who can’t give answers.”

He laughs softly and I can feel his body stiffen again with the pain. “Colton …”

“Uh-uh. Not yet,” he says again, stubbornly, as he rubs his thumb back and forth across the bare nape of my neck trying to soothe me when it should be the other way around. “I remember my interview with ESPN. Eating my Snickers bar.” He gets a rather odd look on his face and averts his eyes momentarily. “Kissing you on pit row and then nothing for a bit,” he says, trying to distract me from wanting to get the doctor.

“The drivers’ meeting.” I fill in. “Becks was with you then.”

“Why would I remember eating a candy bar but not the meeting?”

And I draw the connection in my own mind with the missing information that Andy had filled in. Because the traditional good luck Snickers bar is tied to his past—the first chance encounter he had with hope in his life. “I don’t know. I’m sure it will all come back to you. I don’t think—”

“You were next to me during the anthem. The song ended …” His voice fades as he tries to recall the next events, while mine catches in my throat. “I watched Davis help you over the wall, wanting to make sure you were safe while Becks started last minute checks … and I remember feeling the weirdest sense of being at peace as I sat at the start/finish line but I’m not sure why … and then nothing until waking up.”

And the lingering tiptoe of unease that I’d felt earlier turns into a full-on stampede.

My heart plummets. My breath hitches. He doesn’t remember. He doesn’t remember telling me the phrase that’s glued the broken pieces of me together. It takes every ounce of strength I have to not let the unexpected slap to my soul show in the stiffening of my body.

I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear him say those words again—especially after thinking I’d lost him. How knowing he remembered that defining moment between us would mend together the last fissures in my healing heart.