Chapter 28 Colt
Colt
Lavender and cinnamon. The smell of her brought back another flash of a memory.
I was sitting on the floor of a bathroom, panicking and shaking, having a full-on meltdown. But Stella came in and helped. I was a mess, and she helped put me back together.
The memory makes me feel sick, I guess because I want to be strong for her, but instead, I’m just twice the mess now that I was before.
No matter how much she says it, or Beau says it, I simply can’t see myself being good for her. She’s kind and strong, and she’s starting to become the center of my world.
I look down at my arms, at my scars. It’s unhealthy for me to depend on someone so universally like this. She deserves someone to take care of her, not the other way around.
Hell, I was too weak to even cook her a meal until this morning. She deserves so much more than that.
But I’m addicted to her. I don’t know if I can let her go. I let myself continue kissing her, tasting her, because I’m not strong enough to resist her pull, even if it would be best to keep my distance.
Beau is asleep on top of the covers, passed out cold. I don’t remember his whole ordeal with the Danielle chick, but I wish I did. I know the encounter today bothered him a lot more than he’s letting on.
Silently, I strip down and pull my swimming trunks on over my still-hard dick, making my way out to the balcony without waking my friend.
Stella is sitting on the edge of the hot tub, her feet dipped in the swirling water, but the rest of her is on full display.
She smiles when she sees me, a sinful grin that does unspeakable things to my self-control. She looks me up and down, admiring my muscled form.
“Easy there, sweetheart. I’m still fragile, remember. Don’t go getting any ideas.” I paste an easy smile on my face, blocking out the dark thoughts that keep trying to creep back into my psyche.
“I don’t think you’ve ever been fragile a day in your life,” she says, sinking down into the hot water.
I climb in after her, groaning as the heat seeps into my muscles. I’m just as stiff from sitting around for so many weeks as I am after a tough practice or game.
“You can’t tell me not to be turned on and then make sounds like that,” she complains. “It’s not fair.”
“First off, I didn’t tell you that you couldn’t be turned on—the hornier the better, in my opinion. We just can’t act on it, because you’re drunk and I have brain damage.” She snorts at my ridiculousness, which makes me smile.
“What’s the second thing?” she asks, drifting closer.
“Secondly,” I begin, watching the tantalizing beads of water roll between her gorgeous tits. “I’m just as turned on, so I’d say it’s pretty fair.”
She kisses me softly before pulling back and taking the seat next to me. I wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her into my side, enjoying the feel of her wet skin on mine.
“Do you want to have sex? I mean, if you weren’t still hurt. I know you don’t remember how it was before, but I don’t want you to feel like we have to do it. I want you to be ready to do it.”
My chest constricts at her concern. She’s right, I don’t remember our first time, or any of the times after.
“Believe me, I very much want to have sex with you, Stella. But, truthfully, I don’t know if it would be a good idea.
” I look down, trying to see her reaction to my words, but she just waits for me to continue.
“I don’t remember how it feels, what you like, what we’ve done.
I would feel like a—an imposter, I guess. ”
“I’ve been trying to keep quiet, trying to let you work through everything at your own pace.
But I’m starting to wonder if it would be better for me to tell you about us, our time together.
Maybe if I reintroduce myself to you, you won’t feel so out of place.
” Her suggestion gives me pause. It could help, sure, but it would require me to be a burden to her… again.
“Tell me what you’re thinking. We always used to talk through how we felt,” she says.
“We did?” I ask skeptically, and she nods.
“You were the first person I told about all my baggage and why I moved to St. A’s. Besides Beau, I was the first person you told about your dad passing away. Our relationship started because we chose to trust and confide in one another.”
I ponder her words. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I would feel better if I just talked to her rather than trying to keep everything bottled up.
Looking down at my arms, I decided to give it a shot. Dwelling on what I don’t remember can only lead me down a rabbit hole—the rabbit hole I’ve been trying to climb out of for two weeks.
The doctors mentioned that I had been on antidepressants before the accident, but had recently gotten off of them.
She’d asked if I wanted to restart them, and I declined, thinking that if I got better once, then I didn’t need them again.
The only problem is I don’t remember getting better.
I don’t know how I managed to push back the darkness.
“How long were we together before I got hurt?” I ask. It’s something I should’ve asked a while ago, but I was ashamed that I didn’t know.
“We’d been seeing each other for about three months, but we met two weeks before that. I actually didn’t like you at all at first,” she says, grinning mischievously.
I rear back, disbelieving. “I find it very hard to believe you didn’t like me,” I say, leaning closer. “I’m very lovable.”
“You’ll just have to take my word for it, won’t you?” she teases. “To be fair, you also weren’t a big fan of your actions the day we met. You made up for your bad first impression, later, though.” Her eyes shine, lost in the past.
“There’s a lot to unpack there,” I say, scrunching my brows. “Tell me how we met,” I urge, growing more and more curious.
Her face flushes, and she meets my gaze again. “I don’t know if that’s the best way to reintroduce you to our relationship.”
“Tell me anyway,” I press.
“Well…you had been out drinking because your team won a preseason game or something. You had too much to drink, by accident, I think, and combined with your antidepressants, which you were still taking at the time, you ended up much more inebriated than you had anticipated.”
“Okayyyy,” I say, wanting her to keep going but growing scared at what she’ll say. I didn’t hurt anyone, did I?
“My roommate ended up bringing you home from the bar. You all…you know…hooked up. Very loudly.”
I grimace. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry,” I apologize, even though I don’t remember this in the slightest.
She laughs awkwardly. “Don’t worry, you’ve apologized a million times since then. I’ve moved on.”
“So, I slept with your roommate…” I resume, still waiting to hear where she comes into play.
“The next morning, you came out of her room while I was having breakfast. Your clothes were thrown all over the living room, so you were hungover and in your underwear.” I can see she’s holding herself back from laughing at the image of Past Me fumbling around in the dark for my clothes. I groan with embarrassment.
“I was already sick of you because of what I found in the bathroom, so I kicked you out. But your phone was dead, and you couldn’t call a ride, so you came back to use my charger.”
“What was in the bathroom?” I ask in apprehensive horror.
She winces silently before saying, “A used condom…on the floor.”
“Oh, my God, what the fuck? That’s nasty.” I state, disgusted now. How did we end up together if this was how we met? If I were her, I would’ve run for the hills and never looked back. I wouldn’t have left it on the floor, would I?
“You didn’t know the condom was there. I’m not even sure you’re the one who dropped it there to begin with. I’m inclined to believe it was Summer, since I know you well enough now to know you’re the least disgusting guy on the planet. I mean, you make your bed every morning. Who does that?”
I laugh, grateful that she’s trying to ease the blow with a compliment, even if it’s a tad backhanded. “I think making your bed every morning sets you up for success the rest of the day. No matter what happens, you’ll always come home and see that you achieved at least one productive thing.”
“You never told me that,” she starts, but I interrupt—for comedic effect, of course.
“You also never know when you’ll bring a pretty girl home,” I finish, and she punches me lightly in the chest, making me bark out a laugh. “I’m kidding. But it worked. I don’t know the first time you saw my room, but it obviously left an impression.”
“Jerk,” she says, grinning from ear to ear.
“Okay, okay, finish the story,” I say after I control my laughter.
“Well,” she begins, “after you charged your phone enough to call for a ride, you left. But then the next Monday, you realized we had a class together and found me. I may have called you a man-whore and told you to beat it.” She looks at me sheepishly, an apology in her eyes, but I just laugh again.
“I guess I probably deserved that,” I concede.
“No, you didn’t. I was projecting onto you. You were only trying to ask for my help, not hit on me or whatever I thought you were going to try.” She grabs hold of my hand under the water, squeezing gently.
“It’s not what you think. I don’t want to sleep with her again. I just need to…talk to her. I need to ask her what happened… if…”
“You don’t remember having sex with her? She had sex with you while you were blacked out? Are you serious?”
“I remember leaving the bar with her. And I remember bits and pieces. I know at some point I told her I was done, but I’m not sure she listened. I—I don’t remember if we used protection, okay? I just need to clear the air with her.”
“Colton… I—are you going to report her?”
“No. That wouldn’t achieve anything except making things messy. No one is going to believe that I made out with her in front of the entire bar, left with her, and then didn’t want to have sex. Besides, I did want to, until I realized how drunk I was.”
“Well, if it makes you feel better, you did use a condom.”
“I wanted to know about the condom,” I say aloud, realizing I remember the rest of the conversation in the hallway that day.
Stella’s eyes widen. “Yeah, I was so mad that she had taken advantage of you…” she trails off. “You remember?”
I nod my head, realizing this is the first complete memory that’s come back. All of them up to this point have just been flashes.
“Keep…keep talking. Maybe more will come back,” I suggest, holding onto this one memory like it’ll fade if I lose my focus.
“I-I was so mad after that conversation. I couldn’t even focus. I didn’t go to my next class that day because I spent two hours standing outside the administration building, wondering if I should go in and report her.”
“Wait, you never told me that,” I say, shocked both by her admission and by the fact that I know she never mentioned it.
Stella smiles and nods, proud that I know that, but her eyes are far away. “I never went in. You had said it would only make things messier, and I didn’t want to step on your toes. I mean, we weren’t even friends.
“Eventually, I went to the gym and tried to forget about it, forget about you, but every time I walked into my dorm, all I could do was focus on how Summer just got away with it. She used you, and no one knew. No one cared. And I had judged you for it instead, because you’re a man and I thought all men were—” she breaks off, her throat catching on the words.
Her face started to fall as she was talking, and at some point, I wrapped both my arms around her and held her to me.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” I take her face in my hands and force her to meet my eyes. “You cared, Stella. When you had no reason to, you cared.”
She nods, biting her lip.
“After that, when we saw each other again at the bar, I was glad when you approached me. I wanted us to start over on better terms.” She rests her forehead against mine. “I guess that’s when you could say we officially met; we got to redo our first impressions.”
I shake my head. “I like the way we met. Don’t try to water down our story.”