62. Colton

62

COLTON

“ Y ou sure you’re okay?” I ask for the millionth time.

I can’t help it. Ella might tell me that she’s feeling better, but I can see how weak she still is.

It’s been two days since she woke up and we discovered the truth about why she had been hospitalized in the first place. She’s been eating and gaining strength, but she still has a way to go.

“Yes, I’m fine. Can you please stop fussing?”

“Nope. Never. And I’ve got to warn you, it’s only going to get worse.”

“Brilliant,” she mutters under her breath, making me smile.

“You’re carrying precious cargo.”

Even as I say the words, I find them hard to believe.

Getting a girl pregnant has always been one of my biggest fears. I can push women away. I can put my barriers up and stop them from getting too close. But a baby…

I might be an asshole, but there is no way I could turn my back on a baby. A baby I helped create.

But hearing the nurse say those words to Ella…I didn’t feel any of that fear.

It felt…it felt right.

It feels right.

With my grip on her waist tightening, we continue toward the exit of the hospital.

“Of course.” Ella laughs.

“What?” I ask innocently. “It’s Texas. Everyone has trucks this big. It would be weird not to,” I counter, eyeing the sleek blue truck I rented.

“Sure.” She chuckles as I pull the passenger door open and help her inside before putting her bag in the cab and joining her.

“Ready to go home, Bombshell?” I ask, turning to look at her.

She’s got some color back in her face and the mischievous twinkle I love so much in her eyes again.

Every time I look at her, all I can think about is what a fucking moron I was for pushing her away.

“It’s not quite Seattle, is it?” Ella muses as I follow the GPS toward her mom’s address. We left the city behind a few minutes ago, and now there is nothing but fields. It’s pretty. Peaceful. Exactly what both of us probably need right now.

“It’s perfect,” I muse, reaching over to take her hand in mine.

Things are still a little tense between us. I wish they weren’t, but I fully understand that she can’t let it all go.

She shouldn’t. I hurt her. Badly. I deserve for her to remember that forever. I deserve to be punished for it forever.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“You have nothing to thank me for. I’m the one who almost fucked everything up.”

“You came though, Colt. And you’re still here. I know how hard this all must be for you right now, and yet you’re right here, facing it head-on.”

“Nothing is as scary as I fear it will be when you’re with me.”

She glances over at me, and I hear the silent question on her lips loud and clear.

“I got lost in that hospital room, Bombshell. I had too much time to think, too much time to lose myself in the darkness. I want to promise you that it won’t happen again, but?—”

“We do it together, Colt. We fight the darkness together.”

“Fuck, that sounds good.”

“We’re not perfect. Neither of us are even close. But together, we can make everything better. Easier. We just need to trust each other, be open with each other.”

“We can do this,” I say confidently.

“One step at a time.”

A s we get closer to her mom’s house, the home Ella grew up in, my eyes are everywhere, taking in everything that Ella had surrounding her in the years before I met her.

I want to know it all. Where she used to hang out with friends, where she went to school, where she had her first kiss, and the place she used to go when it all got too much. There isn’t a single thing about my girl that I don’t want to learn. Every single bit of it has led to her being the incredible woman that she is today.

“Point stuff out,” I encourage.

“Really?” she asks.

“Really. I want the good, the bad, and the ugly.”

I catch her smirk before she lifts her free hand and points down an alleyway.

“Gave my first blow job down there.”

I choke on my breath. “The fuck, Ella?” I blurt after coughing and spluttering everywhere.

She holds steady until I look her in the eyes. Then, she falls about laughing.

“Fuck, that feels good,” she confesses as she lifts her hand to wipe a tear from her eye.

“Not funny.”

“You said the bad and ugly.”

“Bombshell, there is nothing bad or ugly about having you on your knees,” I mutter, tugging at my pants to make some space. The thought alone is enough to give me a semi.

It’s been too long. Way too fucking long.

She laughs at me before she begins taking her tour guide role a little more seriously.

By the time we pull into her mom’s driveway, I feel like I know this little town, or at least Ella’s favorite parts of it, and I feel a little closer to her because of it.

“So, this is where you grew up, then?” I ask as I take in the modest southwestern-style home before me.

“Yep. Mom and Dad bought it a year before I was born. Every single thing that has happened in our lives has revolved around this place.”

“Must have been nice to have somewhere you loved to come home to,” I muse.

Sure, we always had nice houses to return to. But I never really considered anywhere that we lived a home. Maybe before Mom was diagnosed we did. But I barely have any memories of that now. They’ve all been engulfed by the hell that came after.

“Yeah. I always felt safe here.” As she says the words, the front door opens and Angie appears with a wide smile on her face and a floral apron wrapped around her body.

“Looks like Mom’s been baking.”

“I think I’m going to like it here,” I say before killing the engine and undoing my seat belt.

“You sure you’re okay with staying here?” Ella asks nervously, sitting frozen in her seat.

“I want whatever you need right now. And I can think of worse things than living with a woman who bakes.”

“I thought you came here for me, not my mom,” she teases.

Reaching out, I wrap my hand around the back of her neck and pull her a little closer.

Holding her eyes, I confess, “Baby, you have no idea.”

Closing the space between us, I brush my lips against hers, not giving a single shit that her mother is watching.

“Colt,” she whispers before I deepen the kiss.

Her hand presses against my chest, but just when I think she’s going to try and push me away, her fingers twist in the fabric and she holds me close.

Our tongues tangle, and I lose myself in the kind of kiss I’ve been craving for the past few days.

Minutes pass without care. The only important thing is us, our connection, our future.

When we finally part, we’re both breathing heavily and Ella’s eyes are dark and hungry.

Heat unfurls within me, ensuring that that semi I was rocking earlier is firmly full mast at the prospect of getting more than a kiss from my girl.

“We should go in,” she whispers, her voice raspy with need.

Swallowing thickly, I force out my agreement. “Not sure I can face your mom for a few minutes,” I say.

Her eyes drop to my pants, and I swear she squirms in her seat.

“Better give yourself a good talking to, Rogers. It’s go-time,” she says before pushing the car door open and hopping out as if everything is fine.

“Ella,” I growl, rushing to get out so I can help her.

“I’m fine,” she argues as I wrap my arm around her, attempting to assist her, but she ducks away and rushes toward Angie.

Mother and daughter embrace on the doorstep as if they haven’t seen each other in months, not hours.

My heart constricts as I watch them. The love they have for each other is clear for anyone to see, and I can’t help but wonder what that must be like. To have a parent who would give up everything they have to ensure your happiness.

Pain slices through my chest. Dad’s been good to us. He’s provided us with everything West and I could need. But his focus has never been love and care. It’s always been success, fame, and legacy. Numerous times in the past I’ve questioned what might have happened if we didn’t follow in his footsteps.

If we weren’t gifted football players, or even if we chose a different path…would he be in our lives? Would he care enough if we had “normal” jobs? If our faces weren’t on ESPN every week, our names talked about in almost every home across the country?

Deep down, I know the answer, and it doesn’t paint a pretty picture. It’s certainly not something I want to dwell on.

“Come in, come in,” Angie says once the two of them have parted.

The second I’m close enough, Ella reaches for my hand and tows me inside.

My heart in my throat, I walk deeper into their house.

One word floats around as Ella shows me her parents’ home.

Family.

Every inch of this place screams it. And not just any family—a really fucking happy one.

There isn’t a surface that doesn’t have a photograph of them on it. There’s kids’ artwork from all stages of their lives adorning the walls. Certificates, trophies of all kinds. The sight of all of it makes my eyes burn.

Sure, Dad used to display our trophies. But they were in a cabinet and there for no other reason but to show off when anyone visited the house. They weren’t placed with pride like I know every single thing here has been.

We come to a stop in the kitchen and I suck in a shaky breath, forcing Ella to look up at me.

“Are you…are you okay?” she whispers, her eyes bouncing between mine.

I swallow thickly before pulling her into my arms and pressing a kiss on her forehead.

“Yeah, Bombshell. I’m good.”

“B-but?—”

“I’ve got you in my arms. I promise you, everything is perfect right now.”

She wants to say more, but when I look down and find her eyes, she swallows the questions. For now.

“Are you both hungry?” Angie asks, suddenly appearing behind us. “I made cookies and?—”

“Starving,” I say, forcing a smile onto my face.

“Take a seat, both of you, then I’ll get out of your hair so you can settle in. All the sheets are washed and?—”

“Thank you, Mom. We really appreciate it.”

A plate full of mouthwatering cookies appears before us along with two glasses of milk before Angie disappears from the room.

I shake my head, a wide smile playing on my lips as I look between our snack and my girl.

“She made us cookies and milk,” I say in disbelief. “I don’t think anyone has ever made me cookies and milk.” The confession hurts. If I was sitting in front of anyone but Ella, I probably wouldn’t say anything. But it’s time to follow through on my promises and give her access to every part of me.

The smile she gives me is full of understanding and warmth.

“Doesn’t matter if you have; no one makes cookies and milk like Angie Myers,” she says before lifting a cookie from the plate and taking a bite. “They’re warm, too,” she mumbles around the mouthful.

Reaching out, I don’t take another from the plate. Instead, I steal hers, making her laugh float through the air as I stuff the entire thing in my mouth.

“Mmm,” I moan, lifting my glass of milk to wash it down. “You’re right. I’ve never had cookies and milk like this.”