I shake my head to rid the poison eating my thoughts when I turn the corner of the building and am thrown into a maelstrom. I swear there are over a hundred cameras that flash all at once. The roar of questions thunders so loudly that I’m blasted by a tidal wave of noise. I’m surrounded immediately, my back pressed against the wall as microphones and cameras are shoved in my face documenting my slowly depleting grip on reality.

“Is it true they’re issuing Colton his last rites?”

Words trap in my throat.

“What is the status between you and Mr. Donavan?”

Anger intensifies but I’m overwhelmed by the deluge.

“Is it true that Colton’s on his death bed and his parents are at his side?”

My lips open and close, my fists clench, eyes burn, soul tears, and my faith in humanity crumbles. I know I look like a deer in the headlights, but I’m trapped. I know that if I thought I felt the claws of claustrophobia inside, I feel the cinch of my windpipe as the hands of the media squeeze the air from me. My breath comes in short sharp bouts. The blue sky spins above as my mind warps it into a lazy eddy, blackness starts to seep through as my conscious fades.

Just as I am about to sink into the welcoming oblivion, strong arms wrap around me and prevent my crash to the ground. My weight slams into Sammy’s like a freight train, and memories spear through my mind of the last time I fell into the arms of a man. Bittersweet images flicker of lost auction paddles and jammed closet doors. Vibrant green eyes and an arrogant, self-assured grin.

Rogue. Rebel. Reckless.

Sammy’s voice breaks through my clouded mind as he chastises the press. “Back off!” he grunts as he supports my dead weight, arm around my waist. “We’ll give an update when we have one.” Flashes reignite the sky.

Again, the whoosh of doors, but this time I don’t cringe. The beast on the inside is much more palpable then the one outside. My breath begins to even some and my heart decelerates. I am pushed down into a chair, and when I look up Sammy’s eyes meet mine, searching for something.

“What in the hell do you think you were doing? They could’ve eaten you alive,” he swears. It is such a flagrant show of emotion from the otherwise stoic bodyguard that I realize my mistake in going outside. I’m still finding my footing in Colton’s very public world; and then I feel horrible because while I’ve been in the waiting room surrounded by everyone, I realize Sammy’s been out here by himself making sure that we’re left alone and undisturbed.

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” I breathe an apology. “I just needed some air and … I’m sorry.”

Concern lingers in his eyes. “Are you okay? Have you eaten anything? You almost fainted there. I think that you need to eat some—”

“I’m fine. Thank you,” I say as I stand slowly. I think I surprise him when I reach out and squeeze his hand. “How are you doing?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, although the gesture is anything but. “As long as he is okay, then I’ll be fine.”

He nods at me as he turns to reclaim his post at the hospital doors before I can say anything else. My eyes track his movements for a moment, the callous comments from the press reverberating through my mind, while I build up the courage to walk back to the waiting room.

I close my eyes for a moment. I will myself to feel anything other than the numbness that consumes my soul. I try to pull from my depths of despair the sound of his laugh, the taste of his kiss, even his stubborn nature and staunch resolve—anything to cinch together the seams of my heart that Colton’s love stitched backed together.

Not inconsequential, Rylee. You could never be inconsequential.

The memory whispers through my mind and is like flint re-sparking to life tiny flickers of hope. I take a deep breath and will my feet to move forward down the long corridor to where everyone else waits impatiently. I am just passing the nurses station when I hear Colton’s name mentioned by two nurses whose backs are facing me. I slow my stride, trying to catch any bit of information I can. I try to force my mind from fretting that we’re being lied to about the gravity of the situation, when I hear the words that punch the air from my lungs.

Makes my heart stop.

Causes a shiver to ricochet through my body.

“Who’s in OR One with Mr. Donavan?”

“Dr. Irons is lead on the case.”

“Well hell, if there’s anyone I’d want operating on me in this circumstance, it sure as hell would be Ironman.”

Spiderman.

I gasp, the nurses turn to take notice of me. The taller of the two steps forward and angles her head at me. “Can I help you miss?”

Batman.

“What did you just call Dr. Irons?”

Superman.

She looks at me, a slight crease in her brow. “You mean our nickname for Dr. Irons?”

Ironman.

All I can do is nod my head because my throat chokes with hope. “Oh, he’s known around here as Ironman, sweetie. Do you need something?”

Spiderman. Batman. Superman. Ironman.

I just shake my head again then take the three steps toward the waiting room, but sag against a wall and slide down to the floor, as I become overwhelmed with hope, overpowered by the presence of Colton’s beloved superheroes.

A childhood obsession now turned into an adult’s grasp on hope.

I rest my face on my bent knees as I cling to the notion that this coincidence is more than just that—a coincidence. I rock my head back and forth, their names falling from my lips in a hushed chant that I know for the first time ever has been uttered with absolute reverence.

“Colton used to say that in his sleep as a little boy.” Andy’s voice startles me as he slides down the wall next to me, a heavy exhale falling from his lips. I shift some so I can look over at him. He looks years older in the hours since the race started this morning. His eyes hold a quiet grief and his mouth tries to lift in a soft smile but fails miserably. The man I’ve only known to be full of life has been sapped of his exuberance. “I haven’t heard that in forever. Actually forgot about it until I just heard you say it.” He chuckles softly, reaches out and pats my knee as he stretches his legs out in front of him.

“Andy …” His name is a murmur on my lips as I watch him struggle with emotion. I desperately want to tell him about the signs—the random occurrence of his son’s dearly loved superheroes—but worry he’ll think I’m losing my grip on reality just as I fear Beckett thinks I am.

As I worry I might be.

“I’m surprised he told you about them. It used to be this secret code he’d chant as a little boy when he had a nightmare or was scared. He would never elaborate … would never explain why those four superheroes were so comforting to him.” He looks over at me, the soft smile falling. “Dottie and I could only ever imagine what he was hoping those superheroes would save him from …”

The words drift between us and settle in questions we both want to ask but neither say aloud. What does Andy know that I don’t and vice versa? He dabs the back of his hand at his eyes and exhales a shaky sigh.

“He’s strong, Andy … he’s going to be … he has to be okay,” I finally say when I trust the resolve in my voice.

He just nods his head. We see a set of doctors running past us and my heart lodges in my throat, worried it’s because of Colton. He scrubs a hand over his face and I watch the love fill his eyes. “The first time I ever saw him, he broke my heart and stole it all with one, single look.” I nod my head at him to continue because more than anything I understand that statement, for his son did the same thing to mine.

He captured it, stole it, broke it, healed it, and forever owns it.

“I was on set working in my trailer on a scene rewrite. It had been a long night. Quin was sick and had been up all night.” He shakes his head and meets my eyes for a moment before looking back down to focus them on the band of his watch that he’s fiddling with. “I was late for a call time. I opened the door and almost tripped over him.” He takes a moment to will the tears I see welling in his eyes to dissipate. “I think I swore aloud and I saw his little figure jolt back in unmistakable fear. I know he scared the shit out of me, and I could only imagine why a child would have that type of a reaction. He refused to look at me no matter how gentle I made my voice.”

I reach over and take his hand in mine, squeezing to let him know that I know Colton’s demons without him ever revealing them. I may not know the specifics, but I have seen enough to get the gist.

“I sat on the ground next to him and just waited for him to understand that I wasn’t going to hurt him. I sang the only song I could think of.” He laughs. “Puff the Magic Dragon. On the second time through, he lifted his head up and finally looked at me. Sweet Christ he stole my breath. He had the hugest green eyes in this pale little face and they looked up at me with such fear … such foreboding … that it took everything I had not to wrap my arms around and comfort him.”

“I can’t imagine,” I murmur, going to withdraw my hand but stopping when Andy squeezes it.

“He wouldn’t speak to me at first. I tried everything to get him to tell me his name or what he was doing, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered—my missed call time, the wasted money, nothing—because I was mesmerized by the fragile little boy whose eyes told me they’d seen and experienced way too much in his short life. Quinlan was six at the time. Colton was smaller than she was so I thought he was about five. I was shocked later that night when the police told me he was eight years old.”

I force the swallow that’s stuck in my throat down as I listen to the first moments in Colton’s life when he was given unconditional love. The first time he was given a life of possibilities rather than one of fear.

“I eventually asked him if he was hungry and those eyes of his got as big as saucers. I didn’t have much in the trailer that a kid would like, but I did have a Snickers bar and I’ll admit it,” he says with a laugh, “I really wanted him to like me … so I figured what kid couldn’t be bribed with candy?”

I smile with him, the connection not lost on me that Colton eats a Snickers before every race. That he ate a Snickers bar today. My chest tightens at the thought. Was that really only hours ago? It feels like days.

“You know Dottie and I had talked about the possibility of more kids … but had decided Quinlan was enough for us. Well, I should say that she would have had more and I was content with just one. Shit, we led busy lives with a lot of travel and we were fortunate enough with one healthy little girl, so how could we ask for more? My career was booming and Dottie took parts when she wanted to. But after that first few hours with Colton, there wasn’t even a hesitation. How could I walk away from those eyes and the smile I knew was hiding somewhere beneath the fear and shame?” A tear slips over and down his cheek, the concern for his son, then and now, rolling off of him in waves. He looks up at me with gray eyes filled with a depth of emotions. “He’s the strongest person—man—that I’ve ever met, Rylee.” He chokes on a sob. “I just need him to be that right now … I can’t lose my boy.”

His words tear at places so deep inside of me, for I understand the anguish of a parent scared they’re losing their child. The deep seated fear you don’t want to acknowledge but that squeezes at every part of your heart. Sympathy swamps me for this man that gave Colton everything, and yet the numbness inside me incarcerates my tears. “None of us can, Andy. He’s the center of our world,” I whisper in a broken voice.

Andy angles his head to the side and looks over and studies me for a moment. “I fear every time he gets in that car. Every goddamn time … but it’s the only place I see him free of the burden of his past … see him outrun the demons that haunt him.” He squeezes my hand until I look back up to see the sincerity in his eyes. “The only time, that is, until recently. Until I see him talk about, worry about, interact with … you.”

My breath catches, tears well for the first time but don’t fall. After having Max’s mom, Claire, hate me for so long, the unspoken approval from Colton’s father is monumental. I hiccup a breath, trying to contain the tornado of emotions whirling through me.

“I love him.” It’s all I can manage to say. Then it’s all I can think about. I love him, and I might not ever get to really show him now that he’s admitted to feeling the same way about me. And now I stand on the precipice of circumstances so out of my control that I fear I might not ever get the chance to.