Crashed(book three)

“You sure you’re okay?”

I feel his weight on the bed as he sits down next to me, his cologne momentarily masking the antiseptic smell the cleaning crew left behind. “Mmm-hmm. I’m just tired,” I tell him as I roll on my side so I can look at him. “Thank you for this afternoon,” I say, thinking about our time on the beach. Our conversation, our food from the deli reminiscent of our first date, and of the silence between us that isn’t so lonely or pained any more. “Are you okay?” I ask the same question back to him.

He pets Baxter on the head and leans down to press a tender kiss to my lips, and it’s not lost on me that he never answers the question. “I’m gonna go do some work for a bit,” he says as he rises from the bed. “You sure you’ll be okay?”

“I’m fine, Colton. I’m just going to go to sleep.” I squeeze his hand as he turns to walk out of the bedroom. “Hey, do you know where my phone is so I can let Haddie know I’m all right?”

He walks over to the dresser and brings it to me, pressing another kiss to my forehead and then my nose before walking out of the room. I watch him leave knowing the sight of him will never get old. I will never take it for granted since it has taken so much work for us to get to this point.

I power on my phone, surprised it has any battery left since it’s been here since the night everything happened. It turns on and I shake my head at the endless texts of well-wishes. I read a few about the ground breaking ceremony we have coming up to commemorate the new project beginning. And then my last text completely throws me.

Knocks the wind out of me, and steals my heart.

It’s from Colton and I don’t think words from him have ever been so honest or the depths of his despair so raw.

I’m lost here. You’re somewhere in this damn hospital and I need to talk to you. F*cking touch you. Something to you because I’m scared as f*ck … so I’m going to tell you the way I know you’ll hear me. Broken by Lifehouse.

And the tears come now. They fall freely down my face and I don’t try to stop them or hide them because no one is here to see them now. And because they are tears of joy.

He loves me.





“You going to sit out here and drown your f*cking sorrows all night like a whiny little bitch or what?”


The voice coming from the pitch black night scares the shit out of me. “F*cking Christ, Becks!” I bark as I turn to see him walking down the side of the house. “What the f*ck, dude? You ever heard of the front door?”

“Yeah, well, you ever heard of answering your f*cking cell phone? Besides, knocking’s for friends and I’m f*cking family so quit your bitching.”

“I’ve been in the hospital more than enough over the past two months, a heart attack’s not part of my f*cking game plan.” I take a long tug on the beer, my head finally becoming fuzzy enough that when I think of Rylee, the image of her cold, covered in f*cking blood, and unresponsive isn’t what comes to mind first.

“Well, what is part of the game plan then?” he asks as he opens the beer he’s pulled out of the fridge, that f*cking smirk on his face telling me he has a point and f*ck me, I don’t need any more points or advice or f*cking anything right now.

“Really, make yourself at home,” I tell him. “Steal my beer.”

“Nah, just borrowing it,” he says as he plops down in the chair beside me and we sit in silence, trying to gauge the other’s mood. “We didn’t get a chance to talk much at the hospital.”

“Yeah? Well, I had more important things on my mind than shooting the shit with you.” And f*ck if I’m not being an a*shole. I needed him there too, but I’m not real comfortable with where the f*ck he’s going with this. I feel a Becks’ dress down coming. F*ck!

“She asleep?” he asks, lifting his chin up toward the second story.

“It’s past midnight, what do you think?”

“Don’t be such an a*shole. Look, you’ve been handed a lot of f*cking shit to deal with and—”

“Butt the f*ck out, Becks. Let me just drink my goddamn beer in peace.” I toss my empty bottle toward the trash can and f*cking miss. I must be drunker than I thought. F*ckin’ A.

“No can do, brother.” He sighs as I mutter f*cker under my breath which garners a drawn out chuckle from him. “You’ve f*cked this up one too many times so I’m here to help.”

“Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out, sweetheart.” I just want to be left the f*ck alone. Me, my beer, my dog, and my f*cking peace.

“Nice try but you’re stuck with me. Kind of like herpes, only better.”

What the f*ck? “Dude, did you just actually compare yourself to f*cking herpes?” I lean my head back and look at the stars in the sky before angling it over to stare at him and shake my head. “Because at least with herpes, my dick gets serviced first. With you, it’s more like being bent without any f*cking lube.”

He laughs that laugh of his that tugs a smile up at the corner of my mouth. The stubborn f*cker is getting to me when all I want is to be left the f*ck alone.

“Well at least it’s nice to know you’ll let me in somehow,” he says, winking and staring at me until I can’t take it. I let out the laugh I’ve been holding in.

“You’re a sick f*ck, you know that?” I say, uncapping another bottle of beer.

“You wouldn’t want me any other way.”

“Mmm-hmm,” I say as I down half of the bottle letting the night’s silence settle around us. As much as I want to be left alone—to deal with the f*cked up shit in my head that’s telling me a decision’s going to have to come sooner than later—it’s nice that Becks is here, even if he’s a f*cking pain in my ass. I drum my thumbs to Seether playing through the speakers as he gives me a couple of minutes before he starts playing shrink to the f*cking poisonous shit in my head.

“Remember that girl, Roxy Tomlin?” he asks finally, throwing me for a loop.

“Hoover?” I laugh, curious as to why he’s bringing up the blow job queen from our past. The one who sucked Becks off just to get to me. And normally, I’d be shoving that shit out the f*cking door with a stunt like that, but after he’d bragged she gave the best head he’d ever had, I took advantage of the more than willing offer.

“Yeah, f*cking Hoover. The suction that never stopped.” He laughs with me, shaking his head at the memory. “Still pretty goddamn high on the ranking scale in my book.”

“No f*cking Rylee, but yeah.” I shrug. “She was decent.”

“Decent?” he barks out. “I swear to God, the woman had no f*cking gag reflex.”

“Maybe that’s ’cause you’re not big enough to reach the back of her throat.” I quirk my eyebrows as I finish another beer. He wants to come to my house and f*ck with my head, I sure as shit am going to f*ck with his.

“F*ck off, Wood.”

His bottle cap hits me in the chest as I sit back and smirk. “I’ve had much better offers, my friend, but thanks anyway.” My head’s spinning trying to figure out where the hell he’s going with this line of thinking, but f*ck if I can figure it out.

“I ran into her the other day.” His calm cadence makes me to turn my head and look at him.

“And …?”

“Shocked the shit out of me is what she did.”

“Why’s that?” I pretend to be interested but he’s losing me. I glance up at the bedroom window behind me where the light’s still off, and even though I’m way beyond the road to drunk, I like knowing Ry’s up there. I try to focus back on Becks but why the f*ck do I care about the easy piece we both had way back f*cking when with a head so screwed up it rivaled mine?

“I barely recognized her. Still gorgeous as f*ck. Filled out in all the right places now.”

Yeah, yeah, get to your f*cking point, Beckett.

“And she had three kids in tow.”

“Look, dude, I know there’s some kind of six degrees of Kevin Bacon f*cking happening here right now, but I’m not f*cking following you so just spit out your goddamn point.” Then it hits me. Oh shit! “They’re not your kids are they, Becks?”

“Jesus Christ, Donavan, you’re f*cking drunker than I thought.” He chokes out a cough before raising his hand in the air and pointing to himself. “King of double bag before you stab, right here!”

“And who taught you that, douche bag?”

“Apparently not you since you obviously didn’t practice what you f*cking preach.”

His unexpected words cause a twinge in my gut that I f*cking hate. The same f*cking twinge I get every time I think of Rylee lying there on the goddamn floor all by herself, for who knows how long, and every time I think of the small piece of me dying inside of her. I gulp down the beer, pushing the thoughts from my f*cking head and force myself to breathe.

“Where the f*ck are you going with this, Daniels, because I’m drunk, have no f*cking patience, and kind of think you’re trying to push my buttons to get me to react to whatever f*cking point you’re taking your sweet ass time getting to. So just f*cking get to it.”

“Remember that one night we all got plastered at Jimmy’s bonfire?”

“Beckett!” I growl at him because my tolerance ran out like five f*cking minutes ago.

“Chill out, shut the f*ck up, and listen.” I snap my head over to look at him because I’m in no f*cking mood. “We were wasted and she started talking about the shit that had happened to her—bad shit—you remember?” I give him a measured nod, still not following the f*cking road map he’s lost himself on, but recall the story of abuse in all forms. A conversation I took no part in. “And she said she never wanted kids, that life’s too f*cked up and she didn’t want them to go through the shit she did. And now she has three kids, is married, and seems genuinely happy.”

“The f*cking point?” I growl at him

“Quit being so goddamn stubborn, Donavan, and connect the f*cking dots, will you?”

“I’m not a f*cking constellation. Your dots aren’t drawing a picture so help me the f*ck out.”

“You look like the Little Dipper to me.” He smirks.

I pick up the pillow next to me and chuck it at him. “F*ck off! Big Dipper’s more like it.” I take a long tug on my beer. F*ck, it’s empty. They’re disappearing faster than I can count them. Usually I’d just crash right here, but f*ck Ry’s up there. No way I’m sleeping without her next to me. I sigh, Becks’ words running circles in my head, hinting at his point but never really landing on the f*cking bull’s-eye. “Seriously, Becks, what are you trying to tell me here? Just spit it out.”

“Things f*cking change, dude! Life changes. Priorities change. Pre-f*cking-conceived notions change. You have to adjust and change with them or your ass gets left behind.” He shoves up out of his chair and walks to the railing and looks out into the blackness beyond. When he turns back around, he is dead serious. “We’ve been best friends for what? Almost twenty years. I love ya, man. I never interfere with the shit you’ve got going on … which woman’s warming the sheets, but f*ckin’ A, Wood …”

I’m not liking where this conversation is going. Deflection is my only thought. “I thought you told me I needed to f*ck a B instead,” I say, trying to add some humor to this serious conversation, and f*ck all if I can follow how we went from Hoover Tomlin to Becks sticking his goddamn nose where it doesn’t f*cking belong.

He laughs—has the balls to f*cking mock me—before walking over to me and shaking his head at me. “You don’t get it, do you? F*ck the A or the B, you have the whole goddamn alphabet upstairs and she’s asleep in your f*cking bed right now, but the only letter that can f*ck this up is U!” he shouts at me.

What the f*ck? He’s taking her side? I swear to God, Ry’s worked her f*cking voodoo p-ssy magic on him and he’s never even had it before. Talk about super powers and shit.

“Becks? How am I going to f*ck this up? She’s here isn’t she? I want her here, brought her here, so what the hell else do you want from me? And how the f*ck does Hoover factor into this shit?”

“Jesus f*cking Christ!” he swears as he paces in front of me and takes a long pull on his beer. “She’s here for now! She’s here until you start thinking too f*cking much about how, now that she might be able to have a baby, she just might not want you anymore because you’ve never wanted one. Until you start pushing her the f*ck away and trying to hurt her so she makes the decision for you so you don’t have to f*cking make it for yourself. But things f*cking change, Colton! Look at Roxy ‘Hoover’ Tomlin. She never wanted kids because of the shit that happened to her as a kid and now her kids? They’re her whole goddamn world!”

“F*ck. You.” The ice in my voice rivals the chill of the f*cking polar ice cap.

“No, f*ck you, Colton! You sat in that goddamn hospital room when she needed you the most and sure as f*ck you were there … but fluffing pillows doesn’t fix the shit that’s hurting inside of her. Or in you. I sat there and plain as f*cking day watched you start to pull the f*ck away from her.”

“I’m warning you, Becks!” I say, standing up, fists clenched, fury racing through my veins. His words hit a little too close to f*cking home. A little too close to a truth I always said I never wanted—would never tolerate—but now all of a sudden I can’t get out of my mind. Ideas of a life I never even thought could exist for me. But how is that even f*cking possible? The broken merry-go-round in my head keeps whirling, but all I can think about is shutting Becks the f*ck up because he’s right about me pulling away. About me not being there for her when she needed me most. So f*cking right my stomach is a motherf*cking mess.

“Truth hurt, dude? You want to throw a punch at me? Take the truth you don’t want to f*cking face out on me?”

I grit my teeth and throw my bottle into the can and watch it shatter into a million f*cking pieces. And once again I’m back here—broken glass, broken mind, and f*cked up all around. He pushes my shoulder from behind, egging me on, and I take the f*cking bait so quick it’s not even a thought. I whirl around, arm cocked back, fists clenched, and a f*cking freight train of anger tears through me.

And Becks just stands there, eyes locked on mine, chin raised in that f*ck you position daring me to take a shot. “What’s your problem, hotshot? Not so tough now, are ya?”

My body f*cking hums, vibrates with every f*cking ounce of emotion I’ve held in over the past week, but all I can do is stare at him, wanting so desperately to expel the motherf*cking guilt eating at every goddamn piece of me.

Guilt that all of this happened because of me—not stepping up to be a man, leaving her alone with Zander, not getting to The House quick enough, not getting to the bathroom quick enough. The guilt clings to so many f*cking things inside of me—the poison and the hope— that the only thing I want to do is drink another f*cking beer, numb myself, and push it away.

“You wanna fight? How ’bout you save it? How about you fight for what f*cking matters? Because she,” he says, pointing up to the bedroom window and lowering his voice to a quiet f*cking steel, “she’s worth the fight, dude. Worth every goddamn fear eating at you. Every piece of it, Colton—A to motherf*cking Z.” He steps into me and jabs a finger into my chest. “Time to deal with your past, because Rylee?” He points up to the room again and then back at me. “She’s your goddamn future. It’s fight or flight time, man. Let’s just hope you’re the man I’ve always thought you were.”

My whole body tenses at his words, and I’m so f*cking pissed at myself that I don’t immediately tell him he’s full of bullshit. I’m so motherf*cking angry that for a moment—just a flicker of a moment—fear consumes me so I think of flight.

Think of flight when she’s done nothing but prove she’s a fighter—a f*cking gorgeous, defiant, scrappy brawler when it comes to what’s hers—while I f*cking hesitated. My teeth are gritted so goddamn hard I swear my molars are going to break, and I turn my back to him and walk over to the railing and cuss out into the darkness that rivals the black I feel in my soul right now.

I don’t f*cking deserve her. Sinner and saint. My caution to her motherf*cking checkered flag. And as much as I know this—as much as my f*cking chest hurts with each breath because of this—she’s the only thing I see. The only one I want. My f*cking Rylee.

“Cat got your tongue, Colt?” he taunts from behind me. “Are you that f*cking stupid you’re going to walk away because she got pregnant? Because of some shit that hap—”

And I’m done.

Temper snapped.

Gas added to my f*cking fire.

“You have no f*cking clue about what happened!” I yell at him, my voice breaking as I turn to face him. “Not a f*cking clue!”

Beckett’s in my face in five strides. “You’re right! I don’t have a f*cking clue!” He grabs my shoulders so I can’t turn away from him, and as hard as I try I can’t shrug them the f*ck off of me. “But, Colton, brother, I’ve watched you struggle for years with whatever the f*ck that bitch of a mother did to you as a kid, but that’s not you anymore. You’re not that kid. Never again. And, dude, Rylee accepts that. Accepts you. F*cking loves you. Figure out how to accept it and the rest will figure itself out.” He reaches out and cuffs the side of my face with a hand before stepping back and shaking his head. “It’s time to man the f*ck up and realize you f*cking love her too, before it’s too goddamn late and you lose the one person who’s made you whole again. Figure out how to deal with your past so you don’t lose your f*cking future.”

And with that the f*cker nods his head and walks toward the house as if he didn’t just f*ck with me. He stops as he opens the door and turns back to face me. “When we were younger I didn’t get it, but what your dad used to tell you about hurting is feeling and some shit like that?” I just nod. “Yeah, I think you need to remember that now.”

He turns back around and disappears into the house, leaving me all alone with nothing but an empty night and haunting memories.