Fueled(book two)(142)

On the third ring the phone picks up “Donavan.”

My heart pounds in my chest at the sound of his voice. Keep it light, Rylee. “Ace?” I say breathlessly.

“Rylee?” His voice seems so far away as he says my name. So distant. So detached and bordering on annoyed.

“Hi,” I say timidly. “I’m glad I got ahold of you.”

“Yeah, sorry I haven’t called you back,” he apologizes, but he sounds off. He’s talking to me in the same irritated tone that he spoke to Teagan with.

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.