Christ.
I don’t have an opportunity to stop her before she’s dragging me down the hallway to a door on the left that she quickly opens and shuts, pinning me against the wood.
She goes for my pants like a crazed animal, but I stop her abruptly. Is she fucking crazy?
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Having some fun.” She smiles wickedly at me.
“Oh no, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.” She tries for my pants again, her persistence difficult to stop.
I remove her hands again and put them at her sides. “Aurora Oaks, stop it right now.” I use a stern voice that only puts more fight into her eyes, igniting her feistiness.
“You can’t talk to me like that and think it’s going to do anything but turn me on more.”
Jesus.
I hold her at a distance, keeping my hands firmly planted on her shoulders, my pelvis far away from her grabby hands. “Rory, there is nothing more I want to do right now than fuck you against that wall. Believe me, I want you . . . bad. But I’m not about to fuck you with your parents—who are wearing matching sweaters by the way—only a few feet away. Okay? Not going to happen.”
She sighs and slouches in my grasp. “And here I thought you liked to live on the edge.”
I chuckle. “I might jump out of airplanes on a daily basis, but there is no way in hell you could convince me to have sex with you right before your parents serve us Christmas dinner . . . in matching sweaters.”
“Caught up on the matching sweater thing?”
“It’s just so goddamn innocent,” I grit out. Nothing my parents would have ever done and yet, I would have liked it. Hell, I like that Rory’s parents are wearing them, and I want to take a picture.
Stepping forward, she tries to come in closer where I palm her head, not wanting to let her get any closer.
“Hey.” She laughs. “Don’t you palm me.”
“I’m keeping you at a distance.”
“I just want a hug and a kiss hello.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Are you sure that’s all you want?”
She nods. “Promise, no funny business.”
Giving in, because I can’t resist this girl, I pull her into a hug. I love the feeling of her arms around me, holding me tight, her body so goddamn perfect against mine. Lifting her head, she purses her lips and I meet her halfway, letting the feel of her sweet mouth caress mine for a few brief seconds before pulling away.
“Thank you for coming here tonight.”
“Thank you for inviting me. It means a lot to me.” More than I think she will ever understand.
She presses another light kiss against my lips and says, “Want to meet Bryan?”
“I would love nothing more than to meet your brother.”
We step out of the room and make our way down the hallway. When she reaches for the door, I stop her. “Do I need to know anything before we go in there?”
She shakes her head. “Just act normal. No loud sounds.”
I nod. “Okay, no stern cadet voice. Got it. Not that I would talk to your brother like that.”
“Hey, I didn’t think you would talk to me like that either and yet, you do.”
Leaning down into her ear, keeping my voice low, I say, “Only when I want you to come.”
She scoffs and bumps her elbow into my stomach playfully just before she opens the door to Bryan’s bedroom.
The room is impeccably clean, which reminds me of my childhood room—everything in place, the bed made—and music plays softly from a docking station off to the side.
It’s peaceful in here.
“Hey Bryan.” Rory talks softly, her voice incredibly soothing. “I want you to meet someone. This is my boyfriend, Colby.” It’s the first time Rory has called me her boyfriend. My chest puffs with a sense of pride, being able to take claim to this amazing woman.
Bryan doesn’t look up, he doesn’t acknowledge us, but instead rocks back and forth in his chair that looks like half an egg.
Rory nudges me with her elbow, so I crouch down a few feet away from Bryan, getting at his eye level. Forearms leaning on my quads, I quietly say, “Hey Bryan. It’s so nice to meet you. Rory has said nothing but great things about you. She told me you love the Broncos. I like the Broncos too. Last year, I parachuted into the stadium and handed them the game ball.”
He doesn’t answer me, he doesn’t look at me, but he gestures something with his hand. Confused, I turn to Rory who says, “That’s his sign for playing ball. He’s non-verbal, and we live by his form of sign language to communicate with him. You’ll learn it as we go.”
Walking over to a bin of balls, Rory picks one up and sits a few feet away from Bryan. She goes to toss the ball at him when he begins to shake his head and hand vehemently.
“You don’t want to play ball?”
He does the ball sign again and then gestures toward me.
I turn to Rory, unsure of what to do when she slowly faces me, her expression one of shock. “Do you want to play ball with Colby?”
He does another motion, which I can’t quite read, and I wait for Rory’s cue. Taking a deep breath, she hands me the ball and says, “He wants to play with you.”
“Oh okay. What do I do?”
“You lightly bounce the ball at him, and he’ll hit it back at you. That’s all.”
“Okay.” I take the ball, get comfortable on a bean bag chair—because sitting cross-legged on the floor like Rory isn’t going to happen—then I bounce toss the ball at Bryan. With the whip of his hand, he hits it back at me followed by a laugh.
“Good hit, man.” I toss it again and get ready for the swat back, the whip of his hand accurately sending the ball right back to me. “Damn, that was hard.”
Bryan chuckles again, not looking at me, but more at the ball.
I continue to toss the ball at him, Rory watching the both of us, CCR playing in the background.
Knowing he won’t reply doesn’t stop me from wanting to talk to him a little more, so I say, “Your sister told me you’re on the Special Olympics bocce team here in the Springs. That’s pretty cool, man.” I mimic the smooth, comforting tone Rory uses when talking to Bryan. “I’ve never played bocce ball, but I looked it up on the Internet the other night to see what it’s all about, and it looks pretty badass. You’re going to have to teach me sometime.”
For the next ten minutes, I play ball with Bryan. Rory leaves at one point, just letting the boys have some time. I like it. Bryan doesn’t say anything, but I can tell he’s listening, especially when I talk about the Broncos and the academy. He lights up when I mention his favorite players, and when I talk about flying planes, especially the gliders at the academy, he makes noises and uses his "more" sign to tell me he wants me to keep talking.
When we’re called for dinner, Rory entwines her hand with mine, pressing a kiss to my cheek, her grip incredibly tight on mine. She speaks highly of me at dinner, announcing my accomplishments to her family, and when Bryan has a meltdown, everyone handles it with such poise and loving hearts that I can’t help but admire the Oaks and their understanding souls.
And to be honest, it’s hard to avoid becoming attached to them.
I grew up in a cold home where love was non-existent. My grandpa was the only source of affection, and visits with him became few and far between. When I wasn’t being yelled at, I was sent to my room, never invited to watch a show, play a game, or be involved in the family. It was like I was the third wheel my mom and Ted were desperately trying to shake off.
But being in this house, surrounded by these beautifully kind and loving people, I feel wanted, like I belong.
And that is the best Christmas present I could ever receive.
Chapter Twenty-Six
RORY
I love him.
There is no denying it. I am head over heels in love with Colby Brooks.
And I know the exact moment it happened.
It was when Bryan laughed after the first toss of the ball Colby sent his way. It was the look on Colby’s face, as if his day had been made by the sweet sound of my brother’s joy.
I fell so hard, I couldn’t breathe.
And then Colby started talking to him, leading the conversation like I would, not skipping a beat when Bryan didn’t answer. And he looked as though he was truly enjoying himself. He’s remarkable. And my brother was happy. It floored me.
When Mom caught me in the hallway crying, she asked where Colby was and if everything was okay. I parted the door for her to see and she immediately understood, whispering into my ear that he was a keeper.
I couldn’t agree more.
After dinner, we exchanged gifts. My parents got Colby a gift card to Olive Garden—and told him to take me out to dinner, which made me laugh—and I got him a Colorado sweatshirt. It felt lame after his gift to me. But he truly loved it, which made me love him that much more.
And then the gifts he brought my family . . .
He gave my mom an Air Force blanket and my dad an Air Force T-shirt, looking unsure the entire time they opened them. So thoughtful. He gave Bryan a plane, and then spent time going into detail about it. Bryan didn’t say much, but when he picked up the plane and clutched it to his chest, I thought my heart was about to explode.
It was one of the best nights of my life. Saying goodbye to him that night was difficult. After we’d decked ourselves out in puffy jackets and winter hats, he pinned me against his truck, and then kissed me passionately under the softly falling snow, the moon and lights of my house creating a romantic ambiance.
I’d grown to know Colby as thoughtful and precise in everything he did, but that night, he showed unexpected compassion and love. It astounded me.
We spent New Year’s with Hardie, Joey, Stryder, and Ryan in my small apartment, chowing down on appetizers, drinking more than we should have, and playing games. Colby laughed, joked around with his friends, and loved on me so hard, keeping me in his embrace constantly. He seemed so happy. We made out in my bathroom, and then once everyone left, he explored every inch of my body.
And now I have to say goodbye to him. Again.
The cadet wing returns tomorrow, and Colby likes to get back to the dorms one day early so he can be prepared when the underclassmen return. It’s not like he’s leaving for another state, but I don’t get to see him during the week with his schedule, his jumps, and the studying he’s committed himself to every night. I get the weekends with him. And for now, that’s going to have to be enough.
It doesn’t help that when I arrived this morning to spend a little extra time with him, he was wearing his desert camo pants with his sand T-shirt tucked in tight, the fabric of the sleeves stretched by his thick biceps, and the light green belt pulled through the loops of his pants accentuating the V-shape of his stunning body.
It’s my first time seeing him in one of his uniforms, and it’s doing all kinds of things for me. I have to take a picture of him before I leave, because he’s so freaking hot right now.
Lying on the bed in the pool house, I watch him expertly fold his laundry, being anal retentive about every little piece of fabric out of place and making sure the ends are flush together.
“Do you do this every time you fold your laundry?” I ask.
Looking up at me, he gives me a curt nod and then returns his attention to the socks he’s clipping strands from. “As a firstie, I have to set a good example.”
Firstie. I learned that term recently. A senior in the academy is known as a firstie, because oddly, they count backward when referring to what class you’re in. So freshman are fourth years. It’s confusing, I know.
“And you have to clip the strings on your socks? That seems a little excessive, doesn’t it?”
“It’s how we do it,” he answers, his voice stern.
Okay, he’s been like this ever since I got here: cold, distant, closed off, giving me short and terse answers. It’s not making me feel very settled with him leaving for school, almost like he’s preparing to break things off, which seems absolutely crazy given the past two and a half weeks we’ve had together.
When I was working, he was working out and studying, but when I was free, we were together constantly. We watched movies, cuddled, played games, laughed and joked, and were at each other’s bodies whenever the mood struck, which was extremely often. The man is insatiable and has really impressive stamina.
But now, it’s like he’s creating distance, his heart preparing for any blow that might come his way. He’s barely looked at me, our conversations have been incredibly short, and he didn’t kiss me like he normally does when he first saw me.
I’m worried.
Sitting up on the bed, I cross my legs and try to be as strong as possible when I ask, “Are you going to break up with me?”
Even though the question puts a grapefruit-sized lump in my throat and sends my stomach into a spiraling pit of depression, I ask anyway. I’d rather know now than be dragged along the rest of the semester, expecting the worst.
He’s in the middle of folding another pair of socks when he stops mid roll and stares at me, his face pale, devoid of all color.
“What? No. Why would you ask that?”
“Because you’re being weird and distant and you leave soon. I don’t know, you’re just not being yourself, and it’s scaring me.”
Sighing, he tosses the socks on the bed and pushes his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . I’ve never had a girlfriend while at school. I’m fucking nervous you’re going to think weekends aren’t enough, that’s it’s not worth it. That I’m not worth it.” His voice trails off.
How could he possibly think he’s not worth it?
I think back to the conversation we had about his family, his mom and Ted, and what Ted did to him. The mental abuse, the doubt—the lies Ted instilled in Colby as such a young boy—and I realize it’s no surprise Colby doesn’t know how to navigate this. Us. It’s moments like this when I understand how deep the scars that Colby has carried around with him for years really are.
He can be so strong, so impeccably programmed to do everything right, and his caring soul shines through every day. But when it comes to matters of the heart, it’s like he lacks the confidence to hold anyone close.
Reaching for him from my position on the bed, I link his hand with mine and pull him down onto the mattress to sit right next to me. I want to be as close to him as possible, so I straddle him and make myself comfortable on his lap. Searching his eyes, I grip his cheeks trying with everything in me to show him how much he is worth my time.
“You’re worth it to me, Colby.” The words are on the tip of my tongue, those three little words that can alter a relationship from fun to forever. But it’s too soon, right?
And yet, I want to say them.
I so badly want to tell him I love him.
With everything in me, I want him to know that despite his mother’s neglect and his stepfather’s abuse, he’s a loveable and beautiful human. With a soul so devoted to doing the right thing, he’s irresistible to me. My heart beats wildly for him, seeking the rhythm of his love.
“I don’t want to hold you back from having fun. It’s just weekends, Rory.”
“I’m well aware of the time I’ll get with you. My question is, where is this all coming from?” Turning away, I force him to look me in the eyes. “Where, Colby?”
Releasing a heavy sigh, he places his hands on my hips and presses his forehead to my chest. “I get these fucked-up dreams sometimes, like my mind is merging my past with my present into an all-out nightmare that I can’t seem to shake the next day. They feel so real that I wake up in a cold sweat, my nerves a wreck, and my confidence shot.”
“Did you have one of these dreams last night?” He nods against me. I cradle his head and kiss the top. “What happened?”
He takes a moment to collect himself and lifts his head, his eyes distraught, hau
nted, his jaw tight like he’s about to break his teeth with one clench. “Ted was in it. He always is,” Colby says, his voice so low, it feels like an earthquake rumbling over my skin. “He was berating me in my old room, telling me how I’m wasting your time. How I’m a worthless piece of shit who doesn’t deserve someone as good as you, as beautiful and caring. He made it quite clear that you’re only with me out of pity.”
Oh my heart, this poor tortured man. Having to live with such demons on a recurrent basis, it burns me. Colby shouldn't measure himself against his stepdad's relentless and brutal lies. “Colby.” I lift his head and press a light kiss across his lips. “You know that’s not true, right?”
He doesn’t say anything. Instead, his eyes drift to the side in his inability to speak his truth.
“Look at me.” I force him to make eye contact. “Colby, it was a dream.”
“I know, but . . . it also stirred up some truth. We never really talked about it, Rory. Are you willing to wait for me? Are you willing to put up with my schedule?”
A few weeks ago, I don’t know what I would have said, but now, this deep into being with Colby, I have no doubt in my mind.
Without skipping a beat, I say, “Of course. There is no doubt in my mind because you’re worth it to me, Colby. I . . .” I pause and bite my bottom lip.
“You what?” He searches me, as if he’s on the edge of his seat waiting for me to answer.
Oh God. My stomach flips upside down, performing unwanted somersaults, pushing an unsteady feeling through me.
Casting my gaze down, I play with his sand T, but he doesn’t let me stare for long. He lifts my chin, looking for the truth, searching for those words I’m so terrified to say. What if he doesn’t feel the same way?
It’s so soon.
It’s too soon.
But it’s consuming me, begging, pleading, scratching to be released.
My lungs feel full and heavy as my heart beats a mile a minute. There’s a light shake in my hands, and I’m trembling and nervous for what I’m about to do, what I’m about to say.
The Duets Page 18