Page 107 of Don't Let Me Fall (Don't Let Me 1)

Theo stares down at Blakely for another beat. Turning around and facing Colt, he apologizes, “Sorry. I got”––he exhales through gritted teeth and shakes his head––“distracted.”

Once the nightstand is in place, the guys bring up Blakely’s bed frame and put everything together. Meanwhile, I pick up pizza, grateful for the reprieve. Because whatever was going on in there? It was a hot mess.

47

ASHLYN

“So…where exactly are you taking me?” I ask. The sun is high in the sky, and the freeway is buzzing from excited college students anxious to get where they’re going to celebrate Spring Break, and Colt and I aren’t any different.

He surprised me with a weekend getaway, and I’m so ready to put away my books, catch a few rays of sun, and soak up my days and nights with the guy beside me.

Ever since SeaBird last week, things have been…freaking perfect.

His familiar sunglasses are propped on his nose, and his hair is a mess of waves from running his hand through it. But it’s his corded forearm resting on top of the steering wheel and the carefree smirk that does me in.

Like he has a secret.

And I want to know what it is.

“Seriously,” I prod. “Where are you taking me?”

“You packed the things I told you?” he asks.

“Most of them.”

His brow quirks. “What’d you forget?”

“I may have misplaced my slutty lingerie and edible underwear.”

With a dry laugh, he shakes his head and sticks out his lower lip in a pout to make any toddler proud. “Party pooper.”

I roll my eyes and reach over to him, booping his bottom lip with my index finger. “I think you’ll survive, mister.”

“Barely.”

A few minutes later, we pull off the freeway and take a winding road through the city and turn into a warehouse district, leaving me with more questions than answers.

As I peek out the passenger window, I murmur, “Seriously, though. Where the hell are you taking me?”

He parks and pulls the keys out of his truck, his eyes glazed as he studies the building in front of us as if it holds a ghost. And his earlier carefree attitude? It seems to have evaporated into a plume of smoke.

“Colt, what’s wrong?” I plead quietly.

He exhales slowly but doesn’t take his eyes off the building. “This is it.”

“It?” I glance at the gray building surrounded by a sidewalk and concrete steps. There isn’t anything special about it. Nothing to make it stand out or look unique in any way.

“The rink where we were supposed to be.” He swallows thickly. “It’s where my team practiced when I was a kid. I knew it like the back of my hand and told my dad I’d meet him here for the last game of the season, but Dad knew I’d be late. My girlfriend, Brooke, had been out of town. She’d gotten home the night before, so I went to her parent’s house to see her before the game during my senior year. My dad was pissed I was late and missed the bus with the rest of the team. Like I said. I told him I’d meet him here, but he let the bus leave without him and waited for me at the house. By the time I pulled into the driveway so I could grab my gear, he was furious.”

“Colt.” I reach over the center console and place my hand on his, though it doesn’t put a dent in his haunted gaze.

“We were fighting on the way to the game.” He sniffs, then exhales long and slow. “I didn’t even see the semi before it hit us on my dad’s side. He died on impact. And me?” Grabbing my hand, he tangles our fingers together and squeezes. Like I’m the only thing keeping him present. In this car. Instead of being lost in the memory of the worst day of his life. “I walked away with barely a scratch, Ash. I replay the drive all the time. I replay the whole day,” he clarifies, his body oozing with disgust.

“It wasn’t your fault, Colt.”

“I know,” he rasps, glancing at me with a weak smile. “But every time I got on the ice after the accident, I couldn’t stop replaying the day. How it looked. How it sounded. Even how it smelled.”

“It’s why you quit,” I whisper.

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