Fueled(book two)(169)

“Saying nothing and running away are two completely different things.” He pushes himself off of the wall and takes a step toward me. I shake my head at him. The fact that not once has he acknowledged that I told him I loved him slingshots into my head. He’s here trying to make things right, but he can’t acknowledge the words I spoke to him. This is so f*cked up. “I could’ve lived with you saying nothing. I could’ve accepted you running away. But you ran into the arms of another woman. I can’t bring myself to trust that it wouldn’t happen again. You made your choice when you slept with Tawny.”

His shoulders sag and his eyes flash with fire at my words before settling with defeat. “I need you.” The unhindered honesty behind his words strikes me and twists my heart.

“There’s a fine line between wanting me and needing me, Colton. I needed you too.” And I still do. “But you obviously needed her more. I just hope she was worth it.” I choke on the words and shake my head. Anything to try and erase the sound of his voice saying he needs me. Anything to prevent the doubt from creeping in.

Hurt propels my thoughts. Devastation controls my actions. “I think it’s best you go.” I whisper, forcing the words past my lips.

He just looks at me, pools of green silently pleading with me. “You’ve made your choice then…. ” His voice is broken. Silent. Resigned.

I can’t bring myself to agree with him. My body is a riot of conflicting answers, and saying it out loud will just add permanence to something half of me wants over and done with while the other half would kill to have a second chance at. There is nothing left for me to say. But I say it anyway.

“Yes, I have. But only because you did it for me.”

“Rylee...”

“And mine's no longer you.”

I break from his gaze and stare at the floor. Anything to get him to leave. He stands staring at me for a time, but I refuse to raise my head and look at him.

“This is f*cking bullshit, Rylee, and you know it,” he says evenly to me before turning to walk out. “I guess you don’t love the broken in me after all.”

The sob catches in my throat at his words and it takes everything I have to stay on my feet. And even standing proves to be too much because the minute I hear the door close, I slide down the wall until I hit the floor.

The tears come. Hard, jagged sobs that shudder through my body and steal little pieces of my soul with each one. His parting words echo over and over in my head until I know for sure that I’m the one that’s broken, not him.

Doubts creep through. Sorrow sets in. Devastation reigns.





I slip back into my hotel room for a quick respite before the next event occurs. I tell myself that I just need to take a breather, but I know for a fact that I’m just being a coward and avoiding Colton as I’ve done for the better part of the day. He’s been nothing but cordial in front of others but aloof when no one is watching. Hurt is evident in his eyes, but then it’s prevalent in mine as well.

In one of the rare instances that we were alone, I tried to talk to Colton about his parting words to me. I wanted to tell him that I do love the broken in him—that I still want the parts of him that he’s hiding away and afraid to let out—but when I opened my mouth to speak, he just dismissed me away with a glacial glare. His patience has obviously run out. It’s what I wanted, so why do I feel like I’m dying inside.

What am I doing? Am I making a huge mistake? I press the heels of my hands to my eyes and sigh. Having him move on should make me happy. Should make me relieved that I don’t have to put up with the “let me explain” routine. Then why am I so utterly miserable? Why do I have to swallow the huge lump in my throat every time I think of him or look at him?