The Upside of Falling

by Meghan Quinn

  “Not really, but the way she looked so scared . . . I knew it wasn’t in the cards for us.”

  Gramps shakes his head, tsking at me. “You didn’t give her a chance to try?”

  “I don’t think she would, Gramps.” Despite how much she pushed for us, I don’t think she would.

  “Do you like her, Colby?”

  I nod my head, pinching my brows with my fingers, willing the simmering headache to stop. “I do.”

  “Well then, you never know until you give it a shot. You have the next few weeks off, maybe make it impossible for her to say no to you.”

  “And how do you expect me to do that?”

  Gramps laughs, his chuckle followed by a deep cough. Pressing his hand against his chest, he says, “Boy, you’re a handsome fella with Brooks blood running through your veins. Put your mind to it and you can make it happen.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  He scoffs. “In this day and age, with the technology you have at your disposal, it’s easier than it will ever be.” When I told him Rory had written actual letters to me, he’d been very impressed with my girl. But . . . well, it wasn’t enough. He nods at me.

  “Pull out your phone, and I’ll show you how it’s done.”

  “What? No way.”

  He wiggles his old, arthritis-riddled fingers at me. “Hand me the damn thing. I’m old, listen to what I have to say.”

  Sighing, a smile playing at my lips, I unlock my phone and hand it over to him. He studies it for a second and says, “For God’s sake, I can’t see a thing. Open up a text message and type out exactly what I say.”

  “Gramps, we parted on good terms. I don’t want to mess around with her.”

  “Good terms means you can communicate with her. Listen to me, damn it. I know what I’m doing. Now open a text and get ready to type.”

  Letting out a heavy breath, I wait for the mastermind to do his work. This ought to be good.

  Chapter Seventeen

  RORY

  I stare at the text from Colby, reading it over and over in my head, trying to understand it, trying to determine if he’s drunk or if he’s incredibly awkward and unsure how to talk to girls.

  I’m leaning toward drunk . . .

  I read it one more time.

  Colby: Roses are red, planes are grey, please accept this emoji bouquet.

  At the tail end of his text is every flower emoji available. I mean, it would be a very pretty and colorful bouquet, but still, I think he’s drunk.

  After we parted ways on Friday, I expected him to go back to the quiet and reserved Colby, the one I wrote letters to—because I promised—but the one I’d possibly never receive much from in return. I sobbed all the way home, and there were moments when I wanted to call him and tell him I’d been wrong. That I did want to try. That I cared about him too much not to. But I didn’t call, because that small amount of time with him—being held by him, talking with him so easily—was wonderful. Addictive. He is addictive. Even in the quiet moments, I felt at peace. I didn’t want to have momentary tastes of that sort of ease, only for it to be taken away . . .

  This text, though. Boy, is it something.

  I tuck my legs under me, adjusting my seat on my parents’ couch and stare at my phone. I asked Ryan what I should do, sending her a screenshot of the text, but she hasn’t gotten back to me. I feel like I should reply. It’s been over two hours; is that too late to respond? Would he be more drunk now?

  Before I can find out, another text from him comes in. Afraid of what it might say, I squint as I read the text message.

  Colby: Sorry about that last text message. My Gramps was trying to show me what it’s like to be “a man” and win a girl back. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. Hope I didn’t bother you.

  A small smile slips over my lips as my heart starts to beat rapidly in my chest. He was talking to his grandpa about me? Trying to win a girl back. What does that mean?

  Not able to resist, even though I probably should, I text him back.

  Rory: That was your gramps? Wow, I might just be in love with him. I’ve never received such a beautiful bouquet of flowers before.

  His text back is immediate.

  Colby: Technically, I sent you the bouquet, so . . .

  I chuckle, loving this playful side of him, a side I’m sure he doesn’t give to a lot of people. Especially since he has to set a good example at the Air Force Academy, being a leader. I feel honored. Privileged.

  Rory: Taking credit for your grandpa’s sweet moves. You heathen.

  Colby: Always. How have you been?

  I shut my eyes and lean back on my couch. See, this is why I shouldn’t have texted him back. Because right now, all I can think about is getting lost in his arms—in the way he makes me feel so alive—but there is a barrier between us that prevents me from following that desire.

  “Are you okay?” my mom asks, sitting across from me. Bryan and my dad are in the basement watching hockey, our bellies are full from some homemade chili and cornbread, and our house is content. Quiet.

  “Yeah,” I sigh, checking my phone again, reading his message one more time.

  “Doesn’t seem like it. Is there something on your mind?”

  Sitting up, I set my phone down and say, “So, I met this guy a few weeks back.” My mom’s face lights up, and she positively gushes from the news. “Don’t get weird on me.”

  She shakes her head, hands still on her lap. “I won’t, I won’t.” She takes a calming breath. “Just give me a second.” She stares at her hands for a few beats, as if she truly needs to gather herself. “Do you have a picture of him?”

  Rolling my eyes, I shake my head. “No, I don’t have a picture of him.”

  “Rats.” She snaps her finger in disappointment. “Tell me about him, at least. What’s his name? What does he look like? Is he sweet?”

  Surrendering to my mom’s badgering, I answer, “His name is Colby. He’s very sweet, very protective, the kind of guy who I know would never intentionally hurt me. Really loyal with a strong work ethic and integrity.” I think back to our time at Garden of the Gods. “He’s incredibly handsome, Mom. He has these dark, smoldering eyes that capture you the minute you make eye contact, almost like you can’t look away.”

  “Oh, the eyes are the window to the soul.”

  Isn’t that the absolute truth when it comes to Colby? “And he’s tall, broad, built. Very strong, but not like bodybuilder strong.”

  “A pushups guy.” My mom nods her head.

  “Totally. And he’s . . .” I have the urge to groan in frustration from the loss. “He’s beautiful with his words, Mom.”

  “Oh honey, he sounds lovely. What’s the problem?”

  “He’s a senior cadet at the Air Force Academy.”

  She claps her hands together. “Oh, a military man, how exciting.”

  “Not so much. He was recently accepted into flight school, which means he could be leaving soon, once he graduates.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  Did she not just hear me? “Mom, he could be leaving.”

  “So? That doesn’t mean anything.” Coming over to my side of the couch, she sits down and takes my hand in hers, getting ready to unleash her opinion. “I’ve seen boys come in and out of your life, good and bad ones. But I’ve never seen you talk about them like you just talked about—”

  “Colby,” I answer, and her smile grows.

  “Colby.” She tests his name on her tongue. “I’ve never seen you light up like you did when you were talking about him, which means to me that you truly care about him.”

  “I do,” I admit. “I really do. I like him, Mom.”

  “Then why are you holding back? I’m assuming that’s what the issue is, right?”

  “Yeah. He told me on Friday about his acceptance to flight school. It was a blow I wasn’t ready to take. I was caught off guard and before I could say anything, he gave me an out. I took it.”

  “O
h, honey.” My mom shakes her head. “Poor Colby. How did he take it?”

  I look at my phone. “He asked me to continue to send him letters and now . . . now he’s texting me.”

  “Because he doesn’t want to let go.”

  “Neither do I.”

  My mom pulls me into a hug as a tear slips down my cheek. “Then don’t let him go.”

  “I don’t see how it’s going to work out. He’s headed for a different life.”

  Pulling away, my mom takes my face in her hands, her thumbs rubbing away my tears. “You know, honey, sometimes we need to take a chance in life to see if the feelings we harbor in our heart will bring us true happiness. You will never know if what you feel for this man is real until you give it a chance. But you will regret the missed opportunity if you don’t go for it.” She presses a kiss against my forehead. “Trust your heart on this one, and the rest will work out.” Standing, she straightens her khaki pants and says, “Now, I’ll be in the kitchen making some pie. Would you like apple or blueberry?”

  Wiping another tear away, I say, “Apple all the way, Mom.”

  “That’s my girl.” She points at my phone. “Chin up and text him back. At least see if he’ll send you a picture for your old hen of a mother.”

  I chuckle and shoo her away toward the kitchen with my hand. Turning back to my phone, I reread his last text message.

  Colby: Always. How have you been?

  Taking a deep breath, I decide to jump in head first, letting my heart lead the way.

  Rory: I’ve been missing you.

  I bite my bottom lip as I press send, my stomach fluttering with nerves as the little dots dance around, his reply seconds away.

  Colby: I think you just made my heart leap in my chest.

  Rory: Does that mean you’ve missed me, too?

  Colby: Missed doesn’t describe what I’ve been feeling.

  Rory: I don’t think I can stay away.

  Colby: I know I sure as hell can’t. I tried, one day, and failed.

  Rory: So what do we do now?

  Colby: Meet me. Somewhere, anywhere, tell me when and where. I’ll be there. I have the next two and a half weeks off. I’m all yours.

  Rory: Don’t tease me, Colby.

  Colby: Never . . . meet me, Rory.

  Biting the side of my cheek, I shift my weight and tuck my legs under my bottom, holding my phone in front of me. The way he demands to meet him—not leaving it as a question—makes me giddy inside, because with Colby I know it’s not an alpha move. It’s out of desperation, and to me, that’s sexy. I still recall my reaction when he told me in his text messages that he desperately wanted to meet me. I feel the same thrill here.

  I might be crazy for putting my heart first and my mind second when it comes to this man, but I know if I don’t, my mom was right, I might very well regret it for the rest of my life. I have never felt this way about another man.

  I text him back, a giant smile on my face the entire time.

  Rory: My place, tomorrow night at six. Address to follow.

  His response is immediate.

  Colby: I’ll be there.

  Chapter Eighteen

  COLBY

  The steps to Rory’s apartment creak under my six-foot-two frame, bending and stretching beneath me. The narrow walls bow and crack, showing off the age of the building with its chipped paint and dented surface. It’s not pretty, but I’m sure Rory has made it perfect.

  With a single flower in hand, I make my way to the second floor, eating up the steps two at a time, feeling nervous, but more than anything, excited.

  After a long lecture from Gramps telling me to pull my head out of my ass, I sent his lame poem to Rory. When she didn’t respond right away, I regretted everything I’d ever done in life. Then my phone dinged, and it started a conversation, a conversation I’d craved. And even though I didn’t want to, I had to hand it to Gramps. He knew how to win a girl back with a corny poem. He says it works every time . . . at least it did with Grandma whenever she was mad at him.

  I stuck that advice in my back pocket in case I ever needed it.

  When I reach the top of the stairs, I knock on the only door on the landing. The building is less than stellar and not a place I’d want her living. In my mind, she deserves more than an entryway door barely hanging off the hinges and walls that seem to crumble when you look at them.

  Footsteps pad across the floor and the door opens, revealing a very bubbly and energetic Rory. I don’t even get a chance to say hi before she’s pulling me into her apartment and wrapping her arms around my waist. I return the embrace, my arms encasing her tightly as I press my cheek to the top of her head. God, I needed this. Needed to hold her. After a moment, I take in her studio apartment. The focal point is her large bed decorated in red and orange floral bedding with giant pillows and fluffy blankets. To the left there is a small kitchenette and two-person dining table, decorated in bright turquoise and yellow. To the right, there is a tan loveseat covered in colorful pillows facing a matching entertainment center. It’s homey, bright, and so Rory.

  I like it a lot.

  Rubbing her back, I say, “Hey there.”

  Pushing off my chest slightly, she looks up at me and smiles that gorgeous smile. “You’re here.”

  I nod. “I’m here.” I give her the single rose—feeling a little dumb—but when she takes it, her eyes light up.

  “Thank you. This is so sweet.” Standing on her toes, she presses a light kiss across my cheek and takes off toward her kitchen, bouncing away in leggings and another one of those comfy sweaters of hers. This one is mint green. It highlights her beautiful eyes and makes her figure look fucking incredible.

  I shut the door behind me and make my way into the apartment while I watch her take out a glass, fill it with water and put the single rose inside. Once she sets it on the table, she turns toward me and takes my hand in hers, directing me to the loveseat. She pushes some pillows to the side and sits down, pulling me down with her.

  She plays with the fabric of my shirtsleeve and says, “I love the rose, but the emoji bouquet was far more impressive.”

  I chuckle. “Yeah, Gramps is a real smooth guy.”

  She wiggles her eyebrows at me. “I think I might need to meet this bouquet-giving legend.”

  “God, he would probably eat up the opportunity to meet you.”

  “Yeah?” She’s turned toward me, both her legs tucked under her bottom. “Is he handsome? I might like the original version over the twice duplicated.”

  “If you’re looking for an old man with arthritis who enjoys a warm blanket over his shoulders and a good montage of fighter pilot videos, then he’s your guy.”

  “Oooo, you’re getting me all hot and bothered.” She waves her hand in front of her face.

  I take her hand and link it with mine, the feel of her palm molding against mine easing the tension in my shoulders, and I feel relaxed. Being around her does that to me, like she’s a safe place. I don’t have to worry about outside factors. Instead, I can let my guard down and breathe.

  “Did you mean it?” I ask, wanting to gauge her reaction. “Did you mean it when you said you couldn’t stay away? Because if you’re not feeling the same thing I am, then—”

  She sits up on her knees and covers my mouth with her hand, her eyes searching mine, bouncing back and forth, the green of her irises so goddamn beautiful my stomach flutters, and my chest constricts.

  Her soft hair floats over her shoulders as she tilts her head ever so slightly to the side. “I meant everything I said. I know this won’t be easy, but I want to take it one step at a time.” She lowers her hand and scoots even closer. “I spoke with my mom last night about us, and she asked if I would regret not taking the chance at being with you.”

  “What did you say?” I ask, waiting with bated breath for her answer.

  “I knew I would regret every last minute of it.”

  Smiling, I pull her over my lap so her back is leani
ng against the armrest of the sofa, and her hamstrings are across my legs. Moving in, invading her space, I press my palm against her cheek and lean forward, brushing my lips across hers. Satisfied, she lets out a long sigh and grips the back of my head, pulling me in closer, deepening our kiss, her mouth parting, our tongues colliding.

  Sliding my hand down, my thumb presses against the spot below her ear, her skin silky and soft beneath my touch. Before my hand can slide any farther south, I put some distance between us.

  Eyes fluttering open, heady with yearning, she gazes at me, a sinister smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Don’t look at me like that,” I say, putting more distance between us.

  “Like what?” she asks, sitting up until she’s straddling my lap, her legs draped on either side, her center pressed against mine, her chest just below my eyes.

  I kick off my shoes and twist on the couch so I’m the one leaning against the armrest, my legs stretched out, my feet hanging off the end of the cushion. I place both my hands on her legs, keeping her in place, looking up at her beauty, completely in awe that I was able to make this connection with the girl I knew would flip my world upside down.

  “Don’t look at me like you’re about to devour me.”

  She plays with the fabric of my shirt, dancing her fingers across my chest. “You know, you were a really tough shell to crack.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “What was it about the letters that made you give in?”

  I don’t skip a beat when I answer, “The heart and honesty behind them. I was already physically attracted to you and interested, but it was your vulnerability that cracked me.”

  “It was all true,” she whispers.

  I gently rub my palms against her legs. “I know. Tell me about him, about your brother.”

  Looking wistfully off to the side, she smiles the smallest of smiles, true love for her brother clear in her expression. “He’s amazing, Colby. Such a gentle soul, sweet and kind. He loves baseball, a huge Rockies fan. He watches every game with Dad in the basement. They have their little man cave down there, no girls allowed.” I smile at that. “He loves Credence Clearwater Revival and will listen to their greatest hits album on repeat for hours on end.”