Crashed(book three)(88)

“Rylee …” It’s the first time he’s spoken and the desperation in the way he says my name with such anguish sends chills up my spine. “My head’s pretty f*cked up right now.” I force a swallow down my throat and nod my head so he knows I hear him. He closes his eyes for a beat and sighs aloud. “Look I—I … I need some time to get it straight … so I don’t push you farther away … I just …”

I bite my lower lip, not sure if I’m upset that he’s telling me to go or relieved, and nod my head. He reaches out to touch me and I step back, afraid if he does, I won’t be able to walk away. “Okay,” I tell him, my voice barely audible as I take a step backwards. “I’ll talk to you in a couple of days.”

And I can’t look at him again, both our pain right now is so palpable for different reasons, so I turn and head toward the house.

“Rylee,” he says my name again—no one can say it like he does—and my body stops instantly. I know he feels like I do—uncertain, unresolved, wanting me to stay and wanting me to go—so I just keep my back to him and nod my head.

“I know.” I know he’s sorry—for hurting me, for loving me and that I’m being put through this, for Tawny, for the uncertainty, for my own insecurities when it comes to what I can’t give him … so many things I know he’s sorry for … and the biggest one is that he’s sorry for letting me walk away right now because he can’t find it in him to ask me to stay.





“I’m so proud of you, buddy.” I look into Zander’s eyes and fight my own tears. I want him to see the depth of feelings I have for him and for what he just did. For giving the district attorney all they needed to press formal charges against a man that’s disappeared like the wind. To sit at a table full of scary grown-ups and explain, in a voice you just found again, how your father murdered your mother—how he attacked her from behind, stabbed her repeatedly and then waited for her to die while you hid behind the couch because you were supposed to be in bed. Now that, is a courageous kid. I squeeze him tight in my arms, more for me than for him, and wish I could take away the memory from him.


“How’d you get so brave?” I ask him.

I don’t expect an answer, but when he responds it stops me in my tracks.

“The superheroes helped me,” he says with a shrug. I force a swallow down my throat burning with so much emotion I can’t speak. I look into the eyes of a little boy that I love with all my heart, and I can’t help but see pieces of the grown man who owns it too. My heart twists for both, and even though I am filled with such an incredible sense of pride, it’s tinged with a bit of sadness because I know Colton would want to know what Zander did today. The imaginary barriers he vaulted over that most adults could never fathom.

But I can’t tell him.

It’s been four days since I left his house.

Four days without speaking.

Four days for him, for us to get our individual shit together.

And four days of absolute chaos for me in more ways than one: The House, my emotions, the media frenzy over a possible baby, missing Colton.

I tell Zander I’ll put his beloved stuffed dog in his bedroom and tell him to go play tag with the rest of the boys. Go be a kid, play, laugh, and forget the images that haunt him—if that’s even possible.

I go through the motions of getting dinner together, while the familiar and comforting sounds of the boys outside help me cope.

I miss Colton. We’ve been together every day for over a month and I’m used to his presence, his smile, the sound of his voice. I’m hurt he hasn’t called but at the same time I don’t expect him to. Other than texting to make sure I’d gotten home okay and the song I Am Human, I haven’t heard from him. He has a lot to figure out, a lot to come to terms with. And God yes, I want to be there by his side, helping him figure it all out, but it’s not my situation to figure out. Plain and simple.