Page 55 of Don't Let Me Fall (Don't Let Me 1)

Boyfriend.

23

ASHLYN

I gulp and lean back in the leather seat, putting some distance between Colt and me. The cold pierces the back of my head from the window, bringing an ounce of clarity. And boy, do I need it.

I can’t be here.

Fumbling for the door handle, I shove it open as Colt reaches for my wrist and stops me.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he demands.

“I can’t do this with you.”

“We’re not doing anything––”

“We’re doing everything!” I yell, my emotions clogging my throat. “You have a girlfriend––”

“She’s not my girlfriend, Ash.”

His grasp disappears from my wrist as I yank my arm away from him. I grab his phone from the cup holder and shove it against his chest. “She called you her fucking boyfriend, Colt.”

The rain is coming down in sheets, but I don’t give a shit. After unfolding myself from the passenger seat, I slam the truck door and stomp down the road toward home when hands grab me from behind.

Colt twists me around, forcing me to face him as the water sticks to his long, dark lashes, dripping down his cheeks and off his chin while his headlights cast a glow around us.

“Let me go,” I seethe.

“Get in the truck, Sunshine.”

“I can’t.” My voice cracks, and I flinch in response, a wave of shame flooding every inch of me. Because it’s true. I can’t get back in. I can’t keep playing this game. I can’t keep wanting someone who isn’t mine––who belongs to someone else.

I…can’t.

The hardness in his gaze softens as Colt cups my cheek and forces me to look at him, my heart breaking with every brush of his skin against mine. “Get in the truck, Ash. I’m not gonna let you walk home in the rain when it’s dark outside.”

“I can’t be alone with you.” The declaration hurts. It hurts so damn much, I’m grateful for the rain. Grateful for the disguise it gives my tears as they cling to my lashes.

He drops his arm to his side and heads in the opposite direction of his truck parked on the side of the road.

“Where are you going?” I yell. His clothes are already soaked. The thin cotton sticks to his back, highlighting every tense muscle as he walks away from me.

He doesn’t face me but calls over his shoulder, “I’m walking home.”

“Colt!”

He turns around but continues walking backward, putting more distance between us. And it hurts. The distance. The finality in every step taking him further from me when all I want is to pull him closer.

“Get in the truck, Ash,” he yells over the pouring rain.

“I’m not going to take your car.”

“Yeah, you are,” he calls back. “Drive yourself home. Take a hot bath. I’ll figure out how to pick up my truck later.”

“Colt––”

But he turns around, giving me his back again. Picking up his pace, it turns into a light jog, and he runs down the road.

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