Текст книги "Crashed"
Автор книги: K. Bromberg
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 30 (всего у книги 31 страниц)
EPILOGUE 1
10 Years Later
The vibration of the motor rumbles in my chest long before the car slings into turn four. I track the car, my eyes glued to it as he fights traffic on his second to last lap, and I wonder if it will always be this way. If I’ll always be a nervous wreck when he’s out there.
Definitely. Without a doubt.
I hear him shift gears as he enters into turn two, the only turn I can’t see from my place in the box along pit row, so I turn to look at the monitor in front of me. I hear the announcer growing frantic as the end of the race nears, and I don’t fight my pride or smile.
“Donavan’s flying through turn three. One more to go and he’s claiming the checkered flag here today, race fans, as well as taking the lead in the current points standings. Traffic moves aside as he enters turn four and now Donavan’s on the homestretch with no one even challenging him.” His excitement is contagious as I look up from the screen to watch the car fly toward the start/finish line.
And even though the outcome is unfolding in front of me, my rising anxiety won’t be soothed until I can wrap my arms around him again.
“And it’s Donavan across first! Donavan takes the checkered flag here today at the Indy Lights Grand Prix, ladies and gentleman! Another one in the bag for this talented driver I know we’ll see so much more of in victory lane.”
The box around me buzzes with excitement, but I don’t even stop to chat because my headset’s off and I’m jogging down the stairs. Everyone knows the drill by now, so I’m not worried about who’s with whom or where we’ll meet up again. I fight through the crowd just in time to see his car slowly enter the black and white checkered staging area of victory lane.
My body vibrates with excitement, and my heart is in my throat as I see the crew descend around him, reaching their hands into the open capsule of the car and squeeze his shoulders or pat the top of his helmet in congratulations. I stand back letting them have their team moment, anxious to congratulate him myself.
I see the steering wheel get passed out, and then I watch as he unfolds his body from the car. Hands help steady him as he climbs out and finds his legs after sitting for the past five hours.
The crew steps back as one man approaches. This has been the good luck routine for the past year. Love swells as I watch the man I fall in love with more and more every single day step forward and start to help unbuckle his helmet.
The media pushes their way around me to get closer, but I remain rooted and watch the moment that chokes me up every single time I see it. A moment that will never lose its impact.
The helmet and white balaclava comes off in one smooth stroke, allowing me to see Zander’s eyes sparkle with the same pride and excitement I feel over his win. Colton takes his helmet from him and grabs our son in a quick embrace packed full of so many emotions. And I know what Colton is saying to him. The same thing he’s told him countless times over the years. “I’m proud of you, son. I love you.” These are the words he wants him to never forget, or ever be ashamed to say. I swallow the lump in my throat as Colton ruffles Zander’s sweat-soaked hair and then steps back to let him have his moment in the sun.
Colton gets lost in the crowd as Becks steps forward and slings an arm around Zander to praise him before the media descends around them.
I stand in the crowd of people around me and wait, knowing he’ll find me. It takes only minutes before I feel his hands slide around my waist and pull me back against him, my softness to his steel, at the same time I feel his mouth against my ear.
“Zander did good today, huh?” The rasp of his voice has me closing my eyes momentarily and wondering how over ten years later that sound can still get to me. Can still cause every feeling to flood back like the first night we met.
I angle my head sideways, his stubble tickling my skin as I move my mouth closer to his ear so he can hear me above the announcers and craziness around us. “He gets better with each race,” I tell him as I press a kiss to the underside of his jaw and hold it there for a moment. “He has a great teacher,” I say, my lips pressed against his skin. “It’s your turn to take the checkered flag now.” I lift my head up just in time to catch him raise an eyebrow and flash a roguish smirk, and I know he’s most definitely not thinking about his race next week. I can’t help the laugh that falls from my lips. “On the track, Ace! You already claimed this one!”
“Damn straight I did.” He laughs before pressing another chaste kiss to the side of my head, leaving his lips there momentarily before murmuring, “I gotta get back to the team. See you in a bit?”
“Mmm-hmm. Tell everyone dinner’s at six-thirty sharp tomorrow, okay?”
“Yep,” he says as he turns me around in his arms to face him and then looks at me for a beat with that soft smile I love. The years have been kind to him, a few more lines around his eyes perhaps, but he still has the same Adonis-like looks that stop my heart.
He leans forward and presses a kiss to my lips, and it takes everything I have to not sink a little farther into it, into him. Because even after all this time, I simply can’t get enough of him.
Like everything else about me, he senses my need for him and I can feel his smile on his lips before he brushes one last kiss against mine. He leans forward and whispers into my ear, “There’ll be plenty of that later.”
“Whatever happened to when I want, where I want, huh, Ace?” I challenge him.
I love the carefree sound that falls from his lips as he throws his head back in a full-bodied laugh. He shakes his head and just looks at me, his eyes darting over to a meeting room over my shoulder. “I believe I already proved that theory earlier this morning, Mrs. Donavan.” His words cause the ache he’d sated earlier on the desk in that room to come back with a vengeance. He trails a finger down my cheek. “I’ll be more than happy to prove that point to you again a little later tonight though.”
“Oh no worries.” I smirk. “Your point was more than proven.”
“Baby, this point was most definitely more than proven,” he murmurs suggestively as he splays his hand across my lower back and pulls me hard against him so I can feel every single inch of that point pressed against my lower belly. All I can do is breathe out as every part of my body craves him again. “Fuck, I love you,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss to my lips before winking at me and walking back toward Zander and the race team.
And all I can do is watch his back as he walks away—strong shoulders, head held high, and still sexy as hell. I shake my head, reminded of when all those years ago as he walked away from me in a race suit. How he called out my name, found the courage to tell me he raced me, and changed more than just our lives, forever.
EPILOGUE 2
Colton
The house is buzzing with noise like a goddamn beehive.
Just how Ry likes it. Though fuck if I know why, because it’s filled with high powered testosterone, overtaking her tiny bit of estrogen.
I glance out on the patio as I walk down the stairs to see Shane talking to Connor about how he’s doing with his new job, his arm around his wife and a bottle of beer to his lips.
All of the boys are here for our once a month family dinner as Ry calls it, even though some of the boys—shit, men now—are starting families of their own.
“Hey, Shane,” I call out to him through the open pocket doors. “I have a few more beers in here if you want them,” I tease and he snorts and rolls his eyes in response.
“No thanks. I’m good with just one,” he says, holding the bottle up to me in a mock toast with a wide smirk. I laugh, the memory of him green and hungover making me smile.
I walk through the hallway and take it all in. Aiden in his UCLA baseball jersey fresh from practice shooting the shit with Zander in his board shorts and backwards baseball hat, a relaxed grin on his face. Scooter sitting on the deck outside playing with Spiderman figurines with Shane’s two year old son. Shit.
The sight makes me feel like I’m older than dirt.
Everyone’s here but Kyle and Ricky. I feel sorry as fuck for the freshman girls at Stanford those two are currently unleashing their charm on. Or maybe it’s their own type of voodoo. The women don’t stand a chance against them. Hearts are gonna be breaking.
Fuck ’em and chuck ’em.
Thinking of those two has the old term hitting me like a ton of bricks as the memories of that first night flash back. I don’t even fight my smile as I think of the hearts I used to break … damn I was good—until a certain wavy haired vixen crashed into my damn life, grabbed hold, and never let go. Defiance and curves and my world got turned upside down when I opened up that damn storage closet.
And thank Christ for that.
My fucking Rylee.
And then I hear her voice in the kitchen, and my feet head toward her without a second thought. I clear the doorway and every ounce of love I never thought I could have, never thought a possibility, fucking sucker punches me like it does every goddamn time I see them like this.
Pots are boiling on the stove, the microwave is dinging, and the Goo Goo Dolls are playing overhead, but I don’t notice any of that because my eyes are fixed on the sight before me, my heart beating like a damn freight train. They’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, knees touching, giggling uncontrollably over some shared secret, flour coating their hair and faces, and complete adoration reflected back at one another.
I stand there and watch them, my soul aching in the best fucking way possible at how I’m the luckiest son of a bitch on the face of the earth. I’ve been to Hell and back, but it was worth every goddamn second for what I feel right now … feelings that aren’t so fucking foreign any more.
The ones I can’t imagine living a lifetime without.
The giggles stop as a pair of green eyes look up at me from beneath dark lashes, freckles on his scrunched nose dusted with flour, and a lopsided smirk on his lips. He just looks at me, gauging if I’m going to get upset at the mess he obviously played a part in.
Then violet eyes look up at me, that soft smile, on those lips I love, directed straight at me. And I silently marvel at how that simple smile gets me every fucking time, no matter how many years have passed. It has me wanting to pull her into my arms, share all my secrets, and fuck her senseless simultaneously.
Her voodoo powers still in full fucking effect.
And fuck if I’d want it any other way.
I fight the smile creeping onto my lips because I’m the biggest fucking softie when it comes to him—a fact I deny regularly—and try to act tough. “What’s going on here?” I ask, stepping into the room as Rylee pats her hands together and a plume of flour flies into the air like a dust cloud around her, causing them to erupt into another fit of giggles.
I walk over to them, flour coating the soles of my bare feet, and squat down beside them. My eyes dart back and forth over them before I reach out and place a dot of flour on his nose with my finger. “Looks like you guys made quite a mess,” I say, trying to play the part of disciplinarian but failing miserably.
“Well thanks, Captain Obvious!” he giggles at me, sarcasm in full swing.
“Ace Thomas!” Ry reprimands our son, but his words have already knocked me on my ass.
I look at him, search his face over and over, studying it like a fucking road map to see if he has any clue, any goddamn inkling what he’s just said to me, but there’s nothing looking back at me but mischievous green eyes and a heart-breaking smile. My spitting image.
“Hey?”
That telephone-sex rasp of a voice pulls me back from flashes of plastic helicopters, superhero Band-aids covering an index finger, and the sound of thwacking. Thoughts I don’t really remember but that seem clear as fucking day somehow. I shake my head and try to clear out the confusion before I look over to her. “Yeah?”
“You okay?” She reaches out, touches my cheek, and stares at me.
And then he starts giggling, breaking the thoughts holding me hostage. He points to the flour she’s now transferred to my own cheek. “What?” I growl in a monster voice, causing the almost six year old to squeal like a little girl as my fingers reach out to tickle him.
“You’re a flour monster too now!” he says between panted breaths as he tries to squirm away from me.
Our tickle fest lasts for a few more seconds as I let him escape, chase him, and then hug him. And he wiggles for a bit more before I feel his arms slide around my neck and hold on tight.
Those tiny arms pack the biggest punch of all because they hold everything I am in their fucking hands. I take a moment and breathe him in—little boy, flour, and a bit of Ry’s vanilla all mixed in one—and close my eyes.
I guess it was in the cards after all.
Fuck me running.
He saved me.
Then. And now.
Just like his mother did.
I feel her hand on my back, feel her lips press against my shoulder, and open my eyes to look at her—my whole fucking alphabet—and smile.
“I think our flour monster here needs to take a quick bath before dinner,” she says.
“Nah.” I reach up to ruffle his hair, flour flying again. “Nothing a cannonball in the pool won’t wash off, right, Ace?”
He shouts out a “Woohoo!” and gives me a high five before running out of the kitchen at full speed. I watch him run and jump into pool, Zander yelping as the splash soaks him.
“He’s got you wrapped around his little finger,” she says as she walks over to the sink to wash the flour from her hands.
“And you don’t?” I ask with a shake of my head as I walk up behind her and slide my arms around her waist, pulling her back into me. And fuck if that ass of hers pressed against my dick doesn’t make me ache to take her, throw her over my shoulder, and haul her upstairs right now.
I press a kiss to that spot beneath her neck, and even after all this time, her body responds instantly to me. Goose bumps appear on her exposed skin, her breath hitches and the fucking sigh that turns me on, as if her hands are wrapping around my dick, falls from her lips. And if her beautiful body doesn’t turn me hard as fucking steel, her responsiveness does without a fucking hesitation.
That and how much I know she loves me, faults and all.
How in the fuck did I get so lucky?
I shake my head as all of the shit that’s happened in my life flashes through my mind. I chuckle, the things that hit me the hardest—that mean the most—all started with a damn storage closet and this defiant-as-fuck woman in my arms who called me to the carpet, grabbed me by the balls, and told me our outcome was non-negotiable.
And fuck me, we’ve still got a lifetime left for her to call all the shots she wants because my balls are still nestled exactly where they’re supposed to be, right in her hands.
“What are you laughing about?” she asks.
“Just thinking of the look on your face when you found out I’d won the auction,” I tell her, the memory clear as fucking day. “You were so pissed.”
“What woman wouldn’t have been when you came off as arrogant as you did?” She snorts out a laugh and then sighs softly.
And the sigh alone makes my dick start to get hard.
“Arrogant? Me? Never,” I tell her.
“Whatever! I know you fixed that auction, Ace.”
And I laugh. God, I love this woman. Ten years later and still feisty as fuck.
“Baby, that answer I’ll hold on to forever,” I tell her, pressing a kiss to the back of her head.
“That’s not possible,” she whispers, looking up to press a kiss to the underside of my jaw, “because you’ll be busy holding on to me.”
Fuckin’ A straight I will.
I squeeze her a little tighter, not wanting to let her go just yet because, fuck, what racer doesn’t want to hold on to their checkered flag a little longer?
At least I know mine waves only for me.
My kryptonite.
My alphabet, motherfucking A to Z.
My fucking Rylee.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Wow! Where do I even begin to start? I was criticized for the length of my acknowledgments for Fueled…so if you were one who thought I was verbose, I suggest you skip this next part.
A little over nine months ago, I pushed publish on Driven. I wasn’t sure what I expected to happen. I just know that both my mom and my husband kept telling me to not get my hopes up. I could lie and tell you I had grand visions that people would love it and my writing career would take off overnight. In reality, I was scared to death. I’d never done something that put me ‘out there’ in the public realm to be scrutinized, criticized, or possibly praised. I hoped people would buy the book about this cocky, self-assured race car driver and a feisty yet believable heroine. Yes, I did use the formulaic story line of good girl, bad-boy, but I hoped that people would pick the book up for that reason alone and discover that I could actually write, spin a tale, draw you into a different world, and make you feel. And people did buy. And people did criticize my thematic plot. But people also fell in love with Rylee and Colton and the boys.
A little over six months ago I pushed publish again on Fueled with different expectations and a determination to prove that I could make this storyline my own. That I could put my own spin on the cursed ‘second book’ of a trilogy and make it stand apart from the other books it was being compared to. I rewrote most of what I already had written: added Colton point of view chapters, incorporated the superheroes, the ‘I race you.’ And when I hit publish, I had a little more confidence and the knowledge that this book could possible make or break my attempt at becoming a ‘real’ author.
I could have never expected what would happen next, could have never imagined that agents would be calling—agents mind you that had rejected my query letters previously—that other authors I admired would be emailing me, that readers wouldn’t be able to get enough of this world and the story I’d created. The only word I can use to even come partially close to the last five months has been surreal. Completely, incredibly surreal.
I set out to write Crashed with my eighty page outline and the pressure of readers to get it written fast. Nothing like motivation, right? But at the same time, how lucky was I that people wanted more? I know that authors work their whole lives for this moment, so no way in hell was I going to take for granted the opportunity I’d been given. I started Crashed and struggled big time on how to make it live up to Fueled. How was I going to leave something that resonated with the readers as loudly as the chant of the superheroes or the I race you did? It was a tough first two months of writing. And then I realized that Crashed didn’t have to live up to that cliffhanger high you got at the end of Fueled because it was a different part of Rylee and Colton’s story. So with that epiphany, things started coming together and forming into what you just read.
I truly hope you enjoyed the conclusion to Rylee and Colton’s story. I am beyond proud of their journey, their healing, where they ended up, and yet feel bittersweet over its conclusion because just as you have grown to love them and the boys, I have too.
On that note, I have had an outpouring of correspondence from readers who have been touched by Colton’s story of abuse and how I wrote about it…whether it be from a personal experience or that of a loved one. I am truly heartbroken by your stories and yet humbled that you feel I depicted the situations and the psychological effects accurately. I wish that you didn’t have the knowledge to tell me that. For those that are surviving…hour by hour, day by day…your strength amazes me. I know the memories will never disappear, but I hope one day soon, like Colton, your 747 can take flight too.
There are some people that helped make this last book what it turned out to be, and I would like to take a moment to mention them. First and foremost, my husband and three young children who have been the ones to make the biggest sacrifice to get you Crashed as quickly as possible. They went from having a mom/wife who was always present, who never forgot anything, and was always ready for everything, to one who often gets lost in her thoughts, has become quite absentminded, and sometimes fights the spontaneous because she wants to finish this chapter while it’s still clear in her head.
Secondly, I have to thank Beta Biggs and Beta Yeti. Crashed came a long way from their initial reaction that Chapter 15 felt like it was still in Chapter 6 (i.e. slow moving) and for that and so many other things, I will forever be grateful. Thanks for pushing me, daring me to make you ‘feel more’, and all of those comments saying “I know you can do better.’ Your input was monumental, the PM’s unforgettable, and the entire process painless (well, sometimes)…and you too, should take some of the credit for this book because you helped make the conclusion of Rylee and Colton’s story a memorable one we can be proud of.
I also need to thank Beta Who and Beta Haw for giving me much appreciated advice and dead honesty at all times. For that I will forever be grateful and will never be upset even if I choose to go a different route. Friends before books, always.
To my other proofers/readers, thank you for all of your help.
And then there’s a crazy group of ladies—all 7,500 and counting of them—that call themselves the V.P. Pit Crew on Facebook. You guys astound me with your support, your motivation, the friendships started, and the overall community that you’ve created around these books. Your unending support and involvement makes me the luckiest author in the world. Rest assured the Driven Trilogy may be over, but the group is not. Oh and ladies, did you see my shout-outs to you in Crashed?
I’d also like to thank my #WickedAwesomeAdmins (Cara Arthur, Amy McAvoy, and Christina Hernandez) as well as Colton’s assistant (aka Lara) for everything they do for me without asking for anything in return. Ladies, the friendships we have made are so much more valuable than the books that brought us together and for that, I will forever be grateful. #Beckspert #TheRealMrsDonavan #WalkersChristinas #LaraMetHimFirst…Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I couldn’t do it without you.
To Maxanne Dobbs of The Polished Pen…thank you once again for polishing my words and making them shine. I also must thank you for answering my numerous questions and giving me the knowledge to withstand the whirlwind you predicted would come. I am forever grateful and will never write another ‘action beat’ again without thinking of you fondly….well and probably cursing you, but it’s all from a place of love.
To Deborah with Tugboat Designs, thank you for having the gumption to speak up, go against the grain, and tell me I was wrong in my original choice for Crashed’s cover. I am so blessed to have so many people such as yourself in my corner, looking out for me for reasons other than to benefit themselves. I’m glad you spoke up because you were right, Crashed needed to have a couple on the cover. And when you look at three together, it’s perfect.
To Stacey with Hayson Publishing, thank you for being patient as I edited a little bit more and for making Crashed look beautiful and professional. And checkered flag-ish.
To Amy Tannenbaum, thanks for being patient with this leery Indie author who was a little brusque with you during our first few conversations. I appreciate your knowledge, your guidance, and I look forward to seeing where we can take the next step of this ride.
To the bloggers…I have to no words that can adequately express my gratitude for the support you’ve given me and the books. Some of you have been with me from my original requests to read Driven way back in April of 2013. You guys are the reason that our books are seen by readers. Our free publicity, if you will…I will never forget that. Thank you so much for everything you have done helping promote the books and participating in whatever random ideas I have.
Thanks to Jodi Ellen Malpas for letting me ask questions about what comes next, answering honestly, and understanding how ridiculously emotional saying goodbye to a fictional man can be. Thank you to Raine Miller, Laurelin Paige, BJ Harvey, and the various other authors for answering random questions from this newbie. Thanks to Trisha and Carla for teaching me to laugh at this whole experience that can only come with double digit years of friendship.
To sweet Parker, hey, your superheroes finally came too!
And lastly, thank you to my readers…you are amazingly wonderful and leave me speechless on a daily basis with your little notes, emails, and comments. I know you’re sad that The Driven series is over, but rest assured you have not seen the last of Colton and Rylee. In the meantime, a book for Becks and Haddie is up next. And if you’re still missing Rylee and Colton in the meantime, I have a little something to keep their magic alive for you called C.R.A.S.H. Dash…for more information head on over to:
www.kbromberg.com/?page_id=743 or www.facebook.com/Crash13Dash
As always, thanks for reading and for your unending support.
