When Becks speaks next, his voice is the quiet, calculating calm he used with me when we were in the hotel room the night before the accident.
“You don’t want sponge baths from Nurse Ratchet downstairs? I get that too. But you have a choice to make because it’s either her, me, or Rylee washing your balls every night ’til you’re cleared by the docs. I know who I’d choose and it sure as fuck isn’t me or the large, gruff, German woman in the kitchen. I love ya, dude, but my friendship draws the line when it comes to touching your junk.” Becks leans back, his arms still crossed and his eyebrows raised. He shrugs his shoulders to reiterate the question.
When Colton doesn’t speak, but rather remains ornery and stares Becks down from beneath the brim of his cap, I step up—tired, cranky, and wanting time alone with Colton—to try and right our world again.
“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 asshole. “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 fuck’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.”
“Probably best?” My voice escalates and I realize that maybe we’re both a whole lot exhausted and overwhelmed with everything that’s occurred, but I’m still not getting what the hell is going on. Panic starts burgeoning inside me because you can only hold on so tight to someone who doesn’t want to be held on to. “What the hell, Colton? What’s going on?”
I push off the chair and walk to the ledge and look out over the water for a moment, needing a minute to shove down the frustration so patience can resurface, but I’m just plain worn out from the whiplash of emotions. “You don’t get to push me away, Colton. You don’t get to need me one minute and then shove me away as hard as you can the next.” I try to keep the hurt out of my voice but it’s virtually impossible.
“I can do whatever the hell I want!” he shouts at me.
I whirl back around, jaw clenched, the taste of rejection fresh in my mouth. “Not when you’re with me you can’t!” My voice echoes across the concrete of the patio as we stare at each, the silence slowly smothering possibilities.
“Then maybe I shouldn’t be with you.” The quiet steel to his words knocks the wind out of me. Pain radiates in my chest as I draw in air. What the hell? Did I read this all wrong? What am I missing?
I want to tear into him. I want to unleash on him the fury I feel reverberating through me.
Colton deflects his eyes momentarily and in that moment, everything finally clicks. All of the puzzle pieces that seemed amiss over the past week finally fit together.
And it’s all so transparent now, I feel like an idiot that I didn’t put it together sooner.
It’s time to call his bluff.
But what if I call it and I’m wrong? My heart lurches into my throat at the thought, but what other option do I have? I smooth my hands down the thighs of my jeans, hating that I’m nervous.
“Fine,” I resign as I take a few steps toward him. “You know what? You’re right. I don’t need this shit from you or anyone else.” I shake my head and stare at him as he grabs his hat, places it on his head, lowering the bill so I can just barely see his eyes that are now open and watching me with guarded intensity. “Non-negotiable, remember?” I throw my threat back at him from our bathtub agreement weeks ago, and with those words I see a sliver of emotion flicker through his otherwise stoic eyes.
He just shrugs his shoulder nonchalantly, but I’m onto his game now. I may not know what it is, but something’s wrong and frankly this been here, done that bullshit is getting old. “Didn’t you learn fucking anything? Did they remove the common sense part of your brain when they cut it open?”
His eyes snap up to mine now and I know I’ve gotten his attention. Good. He doesn’t speak but I at least know his eyes are on me, his attention is focused. “I don’t need your condescending bullshit, Rylee.” He yanks the bill of his hat down over his eyes and lays his head back, dismissing me once again. “You know where the door is.”
I’m across the patio and have flipped his hat off of his head within seconds, my face lowered within inches of his. His eyes flash open, and I can see the wash of emotions within them from my unexpected actions. He works a swallow in his throat as I hold my stare, refusing to back down.