What? Whoa! Direction change. I don’t know what to say so I just murmur, “Hmm-hmmm,” afraid that if I speak, it might reveal to him just how much I want to know and at the same time afraid to know the answer to the question.

I can hear him sigh on the other end of the phone, and I imagine him running his hands through his hair in discomfort. His voice is hushed when he finally speaks. “Let’s just say my early childhood … those years were … more fucked up than not.” I can sense his apprehension and can feel his trepidation in his confession.

“Before you were adopted?” I know the answer, but it’s the only thing I can think to say without him thinking I feel pity for him. And silence from me would be even worse.

“Yes, before I was adopted. As a result … I … how do I …?” he struggles finding the right words to express what he wants to say. I hear another exhaled breath before he continues. “I sabotage anything that resembles a relationship. If things are going too well … depending on which shrink you talk to, I purposely, unknowingly, or subconsciously ruin it. Screw it up. Hurt the other person.” It all comes out in a quick jumble of words. “Just ask my poor parents.” A self-deprecating laugh slips out. “Growing up, I fucked them over more times than I care to count.”

“Oh … I … Colton—”

“I’m hardwired this way, Rylee. I’ll purposely do something to hurt you to prove that I can. To prove that you won’t stick around regardless of the consequences. To prove that I can control the situation. To control that I don’t get hurt.”

So many things run through my mind. Most of them are about the unspoken words he’s not relaying. That he’s been left or abandoned. That his history makes him test the limits of the person he’s with to prove he’s not worthy of their love. To prove they’ll leave him too. My heart aches for him and for whatever unknown thing that happened to him as a child. On the other hand, he has opened up to me some, partially answering the question I asked against his lips on my front porch.

“I told you, a 747 of baggage sweetheart.”

“It doesn’t matter, Colton.”

“Yes it does, Rylee,” he laughs nervously. “I won’t commit to anyone. It’s just easier on everyone in the long run.”

“Ace, you’re not the first guy I’ve know with commitment issues,” I joke, trying to add some levity to our conversation. But deep down I know that his inability to commit stems from something way deeper than just typical male reluctance. The shame mixed with desperation in his voice echoes loudly in my head, telling me otherwise.

I hear his nervous laugh again. “Rylee?”

“Yes?”

“I respect you and your need for the commitment and the emotion that comes with a relationship.” He pauses, silence stretching between us as he finds his next words. “I really do. I’m just not built that way … so don’t feel bad. This would’ve never worked.”

My hope, which has been rising despite my trying to control it, crashes back down. “I don’t understand. I just—”

“What?” Colton says distracted, talking to a voice I hear in the background. “Saved by the bell! I’m needed on the track right now. More fine tuning.” I can hear the relief in his voice, happy to have an out from our conversation.

“Oh. Okay.” Disappointment fills me. I want to finish this conversation.

“No hard feelings then? I’ll see you at the track on Sunday?”

I momentarily close my eyes, fortifying my voice with false nonchalance. “Sure. No hard feelings. See you on Sunday.”

“See ya, Ryles.”

The phone clicks and the dial tone fills my ear. I sit there not hearing it. Does he realize that he used his defense mechanism right now? Hurt me to keep me at arm’s length from him? Put me in my place so that he can have all the control.

I’m unsettled. I want to finish our conversation. Tell him that it doesn’t have to be this way. I want to comfort him. Ease the panic that laces his voice. Tell him that he makes me feel again after being numb for so very long. Confess that I want to be with him despite knowing deep down I will be destroyed emotionally in the end.

I pick up my phone, pondering what I’m going to say. In the end, all I text is:

Be safe on the track Ace!

He responds quickly.

Always. You know I’ve got great hands.

I smile sadly. My heart wanting so much that my head knows is never going to happen.


CHAPTER 19


The limo bus pulls through the gates of Auto Club Speedway in Fontana. The boys are buzzing with excitement, eyes wide as saucers taking in the sheer size of the complex. They have put on their shirts and all access lanyards that one of Colton’s staff has left aboard the bus for them. Their wide smiles and their constant oohs and aahs fill the bus and fill my heart with pure elation. Zander bounces unexpectedly on the seat, vibrating with an obvious energy that takes me by surprise. I look at Jackson and Dane, my fellow counselors, and note that they see it too.

For the first time in almost a week, I feel like I can truly smile, and ironically, it’s Colton that has vicariously caused me to. I’m thankful to him for the little touches he has added for the boys: a personalized letter, the shirts, the lanyards, and glossy magazines with his car on the cover. Things that make them feel special. Important.

Our bus is directed down a tunnel under the stands before driving on to the infield. I didn’t think it possible, but the boys’ hooting and hollering becomes even louder at this new development. We come to a stop and the doors open. Within moments a man hops on the bus, bounding with enthusiasm. He directs us off of the bus and has us follow him to a meeting room where we he tells us we will meet up with Colton.

I feel small walking in the midst of this large arena. To the south of us, a large grandstand juts up to towering heights while the banked oval of the track encompasses the entire field around us. I can hear engines revving and see people scurrying to and fro in a garage on my right. With each step we take, my anxiety at seeing Colton again increases. How is he going to react after his telephone confession to me? Will it be business as usual or will there still be that magnetic pull between us? Or will he be indifferent to me? Despite my anxiety, I’m also excited to see Colton in action. To watch him take part in his passion. To watch him in his element.

We arrive at a brick building and our facilitator, whom we’ve learned on our walk is named Davis, leads us into a room with an opened red door. We heed his advice to gather around, the boys chattering excitedly, overwhelmed by our surroundings. They call out random questions to Davis who patiently answers to them.

When they settle down somewhat, Davis explains the reason for testing a car. “When we’re testing, a lot of time goes into tweaking the car. Little adjustments here and there that makes the car go faster or handle better. These changes are essential to the overall performance of the car when the season starts in late March. Along with these tweaks are little meetings where Colton meets with his crew chief, Beckett Daniels, and reviews what they are working on in testing. That is where Colton currently is now, discussing—”

“Not anymore.” Chills dance up my spine as I hear the rumble of Colton’s voice at my back as he enters the room. Whoops go up all around me as the boys say various forms of greeting to him. I look down at Zander and the wide, genuine grin on his face causes my heart to lodge in my throat.

“Hey, guys!” he throws back at them, “So glad you’re here! Are you guys ready for a fun day?”

The cheers go up again as I inhale deeply, preparing myself to turn around and face him. When I do, my heart squeezes tightly in my chest. Colton is on his haunches, eye level with the little guys of our group, and ruffling the hair on their heads playfully. He laughs sincerely at something Scooter says and then stands slowly, lifting his eyes, locking them with mine.

All thoughts leave my head as I drink him in. He’s wearing a red fire safety suit, the top portion unzipped and tied around his waist to reveal a snug-fitting white t-shirt with a faded logo across the chest and a small hole in the left shoulder. His hair is a spiked mess and his jaw sports the shadow of a day’s missed shave. My thoughts immediately veer to how much I’d love to run my tongue over his lips and fist my hands in his hair.

I bite my bottom lip, the quick pain a reminder that this is not going to happen—we’re not going to happen—and to help me resist any urges that I might have of thinking otherwise. Colton’s eyes stay locked on mine as the boys I love surround him. A slow, lazy grin spreads on his face.

All thoughts of resistance vanish. Shit! I’m in so over my head when it comes to him!

“Hello, Rylee.” So much is behind those two words. All of the hurt and confusion and over-analyzing from the past couple of days disintegrates. In case I didn’t know it before, it’s obvious now that his proximity clouds both my judgment and my common sense.

“Hi.” My nervous response is all I can manage as we continue to hold each other’s gazes as if we are the only two people in the room. I fidget with my hands, trying to ignore the desire blooming in my core. Kyle tugs on his hand, and after a beat, he drags his gaze away from me to focus back on the boys.

I slowly exhale the breath I didn’t know I was holding. Dane scoots near me and leans into me. “Damn, Rylee! What the hell’s going on here?” I give him a bemused look, as if I don’t know what he’s talking about. “If I didn’t know any better, that stare said he wanted to eat you for dessert.” I laugh at him, nudging him playfully, trying to use it as a deflection from having to answer. And to hide the blush crawling into my cheeks, remembering Colton’s version of cotton candy dessert. “The man obviously wants you, girl!”