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Fueled (Driven #2) Page 100
Author: K. Bromberg

I don’t know how long I sit there, emotions exploding, world imploding, and heart breaking. When I can compose myself enough to drive without crashing, I start the car. As I pull from the curb, Colton is still standing there in my rearview mirror with a wounded look on his face and regret dancing in his eyes.

I force myself to drive away. From him. From my future. From the possibilities I thought were a reality. From everything I never wanted but now don’t know how I’m ever going to live without.

My feet pound the pavement to the driving beat of the music. The angry lyrics help relieve some of the angst, but not all of it. I make the final turn on the street to reach my house and just wish I could keep running right on past it―past the reminders of him that blanket my house and overload my phone on a daily basis.

But I can’t. Today is a huge day. The corporate big wigs are visiting, and I have to present the final details of the project as well as give the requisite dog- and- pony- show Teddy wants for them.

I’ve thrown myself into preparing for this meeting. I’ve pushed aside—or tried to as best as possible—the sight of Tawny’s face as it flickers smugly through my mind. I’ve tried to use work to drown out Colton’s voice pleading with me, telling me he needs me. I’ve tried to forget the sun glittering off of the foil packet. Tears well in my eyes but I push them back. Not today. I can’t do this today.

I jog the last couple of steps up the front porch and busy myself with my iPod so I’m able to overlook the newest bouquet of dahlias sitting on the doorstep. As I open the door, I pluck the card from the arrangement without really looking at the flowers and toss it in the dish on the foyer table already overflowing with its numerous unopened and identical counterparts.

I sigh, walking into the kitchen and scrunching my nose at the overbearing smell of too many unwelcome flowers that are scattered randomly throughout the house. I pull out my earbuds and lean into the refrigerator to grab a water.

“Phone?”

Haddie’s contemptuous voice startles me. “Jesus, Had! You scared the shit out of me!”

She eyes me with pursed lips for a moment as I chug down my water, her usually cheerful countenance has been replaced with annoyance. “What? What did I do now?”

“Sorry if I worried about you.” Her sarcasm matches the smarmy look on her face. “You were gone a lot longer than usual. It’s irresponsible to go running without your phone.”

“I needed to clear my head.” My response does nothing to lessen her visible irritation. “He calls and texts me constantly. I just needed to escape from my phone…” I gesture to the ludicrous amount of flower arrangements “…from our house that smells like a damn funeral parlor.”

“It is a little ridiculous,” she agrees, scrunching up her nose, her features softening as she looks at me.

“Asinine is what it is,” I murmur under my breath as I sit at the kitchen table to untie my shoes. Between the one to two bouquets delivered daily, with cards that go unopened, to the numerous text messages that I delete without reading, Colton just won’t get the hint that I’m done with him. Completely. Over him.

And regardless of how strong I try to sound when I say those words, I’m quietly falling apart at the seams. Some days are better than others, but those others—they are debilitating. I knew Colton would be hard to get over, but I just didn’t know how hard. And then to add to the fact that he just won’t let me go. I haven’t spoken to him, seen him, read his texts or cards, or listened to the voicemails that are sapping up the memory of my phone, but he remains relentless in his attempts. His persistence tells me that his guilt really must be eating at him.

My head has accepted the finality of it; my heart hasn’t. And if I give in and read the cards or acknowledge the songs he refers to in his texts depicting how he feels, then I’m not sure how resolute my head will remain with its decision. Hearing his voice, reading his words, seeing his face—any of them will crumble the house of cards I’m trying to reconstruct around my broken heart.

“Ry?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

I look up at my dearest friend, trying to hold it together so she can’t see right through my false pretense, and bite my bottom lip to quell the tears that threaten once again. I shake my head and push it back. “Yeah. Fine. I just need to get to work.”

I start to stand up and shuffle past her, wanting desperately to avoid the Haddie Montgomery pep talk. I’m not quick enough. Her hand reaches out and holds my arm firm. “Ry, maybe he didn’t…” she stalls when my eyes meet hers.

“I don’t want to talk about it Haddie.” I shake her hand loose and walk toward my bedroom. “I’m going to be late.”

“All set?”

I glance over at Teddy as I finish my final run through of my Power Point presentation on the conference room screen and make sure that my smile reflects confidence. In case Teddy’s heard the rumors, I can’t let him know that anything is amiss between Colton and I. If I do, then I know he’ll fret about losing the funding. “Definitely. I’m just waiting for Cindy to finish running off copies of the agenda to place on the top of the binders.”

He steps into the room as I refasten a diagram to an easel. “I’m sure you noticed that I adjusted and added a couple of items on the agenda. It doesn’t affect your portion but―”

“It’s your meeting, Teddy. I’m sure whatever you added is fine. You really don’t have to run any changes by me.”

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K. Bromberg's Novels
» Sweet Ache (Driven #7)
» Aced (Driven #5)
» Raced (Driven #4)
» Crashed (Driven #3)
» Fueled (Driven #2)
» Driven (Driven #1)
» Hard Beat (Driven #8)