Crashed(book three)(47)

“I’m staying, Colton. No questions asked. I’m not leaving you here by yourself.” I just hold up my hands when he starts to argue. Stubborn *. “If you want to keep acting like one of the boys when they throw a tantrum, then I’ll start treating you like one.”

For the first time since we’ve been out on the patio, Colton raises his eyes to meet mine. “I think it’s time everyone leaves.” His voice is low and full of spite.

I walk closer, wanting him to know that he can push all he wants but I’m not backing down. I throw his own words back in his face. Words I’m not even sure he remembers. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Ace, but rest assured it’s going to be my way.”



I make sure Becks locked the front door on his way out before grabbing the plate of cheese and crackers to head back upstairs. I find Colton in the same location on the chaise lounge but he’s taken his hat off, head leaned back, eyes closed. I stop in the doorway and watch him. I take in the shaved patch that’s starting to grow back over his nasty scar. I note the furrow in his forehead that tells me he’s anything but at peace.

I enter the patio quietly, the song Hard to Love is playing softly on the radio, and I’m grateful that it masks my footsteps so I don’t wake him as I set his pain meds and plate of food down on the table next to him.

“You can go now too.”

His gruff voice startles me. His unexpected words throw me. My temper simmers. I look over at him and can’t do anything other than shake my head in sputtering disbelief because his eyes are still closed. Everything over the past couple of days hits me like a kaleidoscope of memories. The distance and avoidance. This is about more than being irritated from being confined during his recovery. “Is there something you need to get off your chest?”

A lone seagull squawks overhead as I wait for the answer, trying to prepare for whatever he’s going to say to me. He’s gone from crying without explanation to telling me to leave—not a good sign at all.

“I don’t need your goddamn pity. Don’t you have a house full of little boys that need you to help fulfill that inherent trait of yours to hover and smother?”

He could’ve called me every horrible name in the book and it wouldn’t sting as much as those words he just slapped me with. I’m dumbfounded, mouth opening and closing as I stare at him, face angled to the sun, eyes still closed. “Excuse me?” It’s no match for what he’s just said, but it’s all I’ve got.

“You heard me.” He lifts his chin up almost in dismissal but still keeps his eyes closed. “You know where the door is, sweetheart.”

Maybe my lack of sleep has dimmed my usual reaction, but those words just flicked the switch to one hundred percent. I feel like we’ve time warped back to weeks ago and I immediately have my protective guard back up. The fact that he won’t look at me is like kerosene to my flame. “What the f*ck’s going on, Donavan? If you’re going to blow me off, the least you can do is give me the courtesy of looking at me.”

He squints open an eye as if it’s irritating him to have to pay attention to me and I’ve had it. He’s managed to hurt me in the whole five minutes we’ve had alone together, and the fact that my emotional stability is being held together by frayed strings doesn’t help either. He watches me and a ghost of a smirk appears, as if he’s enjoying my reaction, enjoying toying with me.

Unspoken words flicker through my mind and whisper to me, call on me to look closer. But what am I missing here?

“Rylee, it’s just probably best if we call it like we see it.”