Fuck if that didn’t hurt.
Taking a second to look around, I say, “I believe he’s over there.” I point to the stands. “Want to come say hi with me?”
“Might as well, we can hit up the Scotch after, unless you and Gramps have plans?”
I shake my head. Stryder knows about Rory. Even though things with Stryder are still strained, he knows what happened. He knows I wouldn’t have plans anymore, unless they were with Gramps.
“Nah. Gramps has to get back to the nursing home after this. It was a special trip he made for me that the nurses helped out with. He can’t be out for long.”
Understanding, Stryder follows me past excited graduates and up the stadium steps where we find Gramps in a wheelchair, blanket across his lap despite the nice weather and a huge, watery smile on his face.
And for a second, I forget about the broken heart shattered within my chest. I forget about the anger brewing. I forget about the hatred I have for my shitty luck. Instead, I focus on the look of pure pride on my grandpa’s face. For me.
“Come here,” he says with a strangled voice.
Feeling his emotion, I lean down so he can grip me by the neck and pull me into a hug. His strength is marginal compared to what it used to be, but his love is forever strong. I would be nothing without him.
“I’m so damn proud of you,” he whispers into my ear, keeping his grip firmly in place, not letting me up. “You are everything I ever dreamed for in a grandson and so much more.”
Fuck.
My emotions are so fucking erratic at this point, and I don’t know how my body is going to respond next.
“You should be damn proud of yourself.”
When I lift away, only a few inches, I whisper. “Thank you, Gramps.”
Keeping my head in place, he aligns his forehead with mine, an intent expression. “Become a pilot, feel those clouds, and if the rest is meant to be, then it’s meant to be. But just because you’re flying doesn’t mean you can give up.”
After I left Rory’s apartment, fucking shattered, I called Gramps. The next day I was at the nursing home, licking my wounds, trying to gain perspective. Gramps told me to try to push it to the side and finish out the school year. Figure Rory out later.
“She will come around, Colby. She will. Just keep writing.”
I nod, my voice too tight to speak any words.
Just keep writing.
It was the only thing Gramps and I could think to do that would keep me connected to her, to let her know that even though I might be far away, she’s still close in my heart.
“Thanks, Gramps.”
After another long hug, the nurse who has been so great to Gramps, Janice, takes a few pics for us, some of Gramps and me, some with Stryder, and some of all three of us together. Gramps holds his phone close to his chest, so goddamn proud. And he’s proud of us both. I didn’t miss the tear that fell from Stryder’s eyes when Gramps held him as close as he had held me. When my lifeline whispered words of wisdom and pride into my best friend’s heart and mind. “You still have an impressive future ahead of you, Stryder. You graduated from the United States Air Force Academy, so hold your head high. Be the incredible man I know you’re meant to be. I’m so proud of you both.”
“I’ll show everyone back at the home these pictures. Thank you for the most special day of my life.” He gives me one last hug, wishes Stryder good luck with a handshake, and then takes off with Janice down a ramp, leaving Stryder and me by ourselves.
With a clap to my back, he says, “Ready to get wasted?”
“More than you know.”
* * *
Dear Rory,
I remember what the day before I met you felt like.
It felt like every other day of my life. Like I was on autopilot, going through the motions, but never really taking in how blue the sky was, the whip of the wind off the Rockies, or the feel of the sun beating down on me, even on a crisp winter’s day.
My senses were turned off, not experiencing, but functioning enough to get me through my days.
I liked it that way, being desensitized from the world. It worked for me, because when I took the time to actually feel, it’s when I got hurt the most. So I blocked everything out.
That was until you came around.
Do you know what day I remember more vividly than any other day in my life? More than the day my dad died? More than the day Ted destroyed my prized possession? More than the day I graduated, my Gramps by my side, pride beaming from his eyes?
It’s the day I met you.
More specifically, the moment I saw you.
It was like the world stopped spinning, the party around me faded into the background, and someone above turned on every sensor in my body.
I swear I could smell your lavender scent from where I stood. I could hear your laugh, and only your laugh. I could taste your sweetness on my tongue from feet away. I could tell your touch was something that would wake my bones, lift me to a new level I wasn’t ready for.
And yet, I let myself indulge. I gave myself a few minutes with you, soaking in every piece of you, and that last piece connected with the puzzle of my life making me whole.
You might not believe it, you might think that we are done, but I know we are far from over. There is so much more to be written about our love story, and to hell if I’m going to let you believe otherwise.
I want you to know I love you, more than life itself, and one day, Rory, one day I’ll make you mine again. Until that day, I will write.
I will continue to write you until there is no more ink in my proverbial pen, because my love for you is endless.
All I ask from you is that you read these letters and keep them close to your heart.
I love you with everything in me, and there will never be a day that goes by when I’m in that cockpit that I don’t think about you. There will never be a night that passes by that I won’t wish you were in my arms. And there will never be a moment I breathe without wishing we were sharing the same air, rather than living miles apart.
I love you, Rory.
Colby
P.S. The attached picture is of Stryder and me at graduation. I wish you could have been there.
Chapter Thirty-Three
COLBY
A year and a half later . . .
My feet sink into the wet grass, the dreary Colorado day an abnormality amid the normally sunny days.
But today is different.
I keep my eyes pinned to the ground, unable to take in the sea of black surrounding me, or the dress blues poised and ready to salute.
Someone is speaking, but the words float by me, never truly connecting as I think about the phone call I received five days ago . . .
“Is this Colby Brooks?”
“Yes,” I spoke, out of breath from trying to find my phone in my locker.
“This is Janice from Mountain View Nursing Home. I have some bad news. Your grandfather passed away in his sleep last night.”
I didn’t hear anything else as I sank to the floor of the squadron locker room, the phone slipping from my hand, my body turning completely numb. He can’t be gone. He’s the only person I have left. He can’t be gone.
And any feeling has yet to come back to me.
Standing on either side of me, my boys from my squadron—Bent, Colt, and Rowdy—offer their support. Not saying a word, but being there for me, like we’re there for each other in the sky, watching out for one another, covering each other’s six.
Bent, my best friend in the squadron, the guy who has taken me under his wing and taught me everything he knows, squeezes my shoulder as the honor guard starts to fold the flag that was draped across my grandpa’s coffin.
Motionless, I feel a part of my life being taken away from me with each fold. A man I relied on for moral support and for love, taken away from me, stolen from my life, just like every other thing I’ve ever cherished.
My dad.
My plane.
Gramps.
All fucking ripped from my grasp, leaving me a bitter, empty man.
I don’t live a life. My life is flying. My life revolves around my F-22 and controlling the powerful machine, eating up the feeling of the controls being pushed and pulled by my tired and worn-out forearms.
The sound of gravel under polished shoes sounds out as a man in uniform who I don’t know walks toward me, holding a folded flag in the shape of a triangle. When he reaches me, he hands me the flag, then salutes me with his white-gloved hands, and finally turns on a dime marching away as guns fire off.
One.
Two.
Three.
Three shots in unison into the air, all hitting me directly in the heart, resounding and impacting with each blast.
And then in the distance, the sound of “Taps” fills the sullen air, electrifying the atmosphere with unspoken bereavement.
Looking up for what seems like the first time, I scan the crowd standing across from me. Black suit coats and dresses, intermingled dress blues, and a quiet appreciation for my grandpa, a man who wasn’t perfect, but he was damn near close in my eyes.
Scanning the faces, I notice some from the nursing home. Janice stands to the left, a handkerchief in her hand, blotting her eyes, an elderly woman next to her in a wheelchair, tissue clutched to her chest. To the right, I spot an old neighbor from before my grandpa moved to the nursing home.
Across the way, I find a familiar pair of eyes staring straight at me, and my stomach does a flip.
Stryder.
Fuck, I haven’t talked to him since the night we got wasted in the pool house. Since graduation. Since he went off the next day, leaving me a note wishing me luck with flight school, and that was it. The only reason I knew he was alive was because of Hardie and Joey, who both called me yesterday and today to check in on me, regretful they couldn’t get time off to come to the funeral.
But he’s here now, hands folded in front of him, in his dress blues, looking sharp. Older, bulkier than I remember, as if he’s spent the last year and a half in a gym rather than the bar where I assumed he’d been. It’s where Hardie and Joey said he was hanging out whenever they saw him right after graduation.
Always wasted, always making an ass out of himself.
And I fucking hated that I couldn’t be there for him. He needed my help. Hell, he needed someone to guide him, but from the looks of it, he might just have found a way out of his downward spiral.
The rest of the ceremony goes by in a blur and when it ends, Bent leans over and says, “Want me to drive you to the reception, Flyer?”
Flyer. The call sign I was given once I was paired to an F-22, just like Bent, Rowdy, and Colt. Usually call signs are given after a long, drawn-out process, but the guys said mine was the easiest to figure out. Just like Gramps always said, I was born to fly. And just like Gramps, they saw the same thing in me; my love of being in the air gave me my name.
Clearing my throat, my voice sounding weak, I say, “I’m going to go say hi to someone real quick. Meet you guys at the car.”
They nod and all pat me on the back before leaving. With my grandpa’s flag in hand, I walk to Stryder who hasn’t moved, standing stoic, waiting for me. Part of me hates the fact that he couldn’t walk to me. Couldn’t come to me to offer condolences. But, I guess I don’t know the man in front of me anymore. When I reach him, he waits a beat before pulling me into a hug and clasping me on the back.
And that one gesture, the familiarity of someone from my past, someone who mattered to me, brings me to my damn knees.
“I’m so sorry, man,” Stryder says gruffly. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”
At that moment, his apology not only strikes me as singular for what happened to Gramps, but as an attempt to bridge the gap the has been between us.
And for that brief second, for the first time in over a year, I feel.
I feel the loss of a friend.
I feel the loss of a brother.
I feel the loss of a great man.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my words stretched thin. “Thank you for coming today.”
Pulling away, Stryder adjusts his hat and says, “He was my hero as well. Even though you two were obviously closer, I still looked up to Gramps and tried to do right by him.”
“And are you?” I ask, unsure of where Stryder stands.
He nods. “I am. He would hopefully be proud.”
“Good.” Looking toward the guys waiting for me, I say, “I’m heading to the reception where they’re going to pass Gramps’s medals to me for safe keeping. Would you like to come? It’s at the funeral home.”
Stryder pulls on the back of his neck, looking pained. “Fuck, I wish I could, but I have to get into work. I barely got this time off.”
“I understand.” I bite on my bottom lip. “I’m on town on TDY. Could we get a drink? Catch up?”
Looking behind me, his eyes not trained on mine, he answers, “Yeah. I think we should.”
“Okay, I’ll text you. Same number?”
“Same number.” Pulling me into a hug one last time, he walks away, a stiffness in his shoulders.
Saying goodbye to a few more people, I make my way to Bent’s rental car where all three guys are leaning against the door, arms crossed. When they spot me, they stand to attention.
Bent is the first to speak. “Fellow classmate from the academy?”
I nod. “That was Stryder.” They know about Stryder, how he was the one who took me in over breaks, my best friend, and the one guy who should be flying next to me but isn’t.
Turning their head to look at them, they nod. “Seems like he’s doing well,” Bent says.
“Fucking bullshit he didn’t get into flight school,” Rowdy says.
Chiming in, Colt adds, “Hell, looks like he’s doing just fine. I would be if I had that girl holding my hand too.”
Girl?
Turning toward where Stryder departed, I spot him amongst the sea of black, standing out, his white hat like an arrow pointing directly at him. By his side, holding his hand, dressed in a black dress, her hair curled and hanging loosely over her shoulders, is the one person I can’t seem to expel from my heart, no matter how hard I try.
What.
The.
Fuck.
My eyes narrow in on their connection, their clasped hands . . . their body language, trying to read what it means. Maybe they’re friends.
But as I try to convince myself of that logic, Stryder walks her back to her little light blue VW bug and protectively caresses her jaw, her head moving into his touch as if they’ve been this intimate for years.
This can’t be right. I must be fucking delusional. There is no way Stryder and Rory are together. They would never do that to me.
He would never do that to me.
My best fucking friend would never betray me like that.
And yet, he leans forward and I watch, the wet air around us stilling, my vision tunneling as Stryder gently presses a kiss to Rory’s lips.
Eyes closed, she savors it.
Fucking . . . savors it.
What the actual fuck? How could they do that?
I can feel my life spiraling out of control, my heart hardening into stone, turning black in an instant, any last hope of winning Rory back stolen right from under me, leaving me dangerously breathless.
How long?
How fucking long has this been going on?
This is why she hasn’t written me back.
This is why he hasn’t answered me.
This is why I never should have gone to that goddamn party, because even two years later, that decision still haunts me to this day. It’s eaten me alive with remorse.
“Let loose, have some fun.” Those were the words straight from Stryder’s mouth.
And when I did, when I took my eyes off my goals, I was thrust into a world of hurt where nothing good came from it beside a brief moment with a woman so goddamn heartb
reaking that I could barely stand on my own two feet when I was around her.
Lesson fucking learned.
As I peel my eyes away from the scene in front of me, I remember something Gramps told me when he was trying to convince me to pursue Rory, to let myself feel. “The upside to falling for someone is never being alone.”
And yet, here I am, head over heels for a woman who is my now with my former best friend, and I feel more alone than ever. Head over heels for a woman who threw my heart away. She promised me we’d always be together. Yet, when she kicked me out of her apartment that day, she truly shut the door on me, on us, on the future I’d been sure would still come true. But by the looks of things? She had spoken the truth. I wasn’t worth it. We weren’t worth it. But it didn’t take her long to find who fucking would be worth it.
There may be an upside to falling, but there sure as hell is a downside to love . . .
Part Two
The Downside of Love
Prologue
This isn’t a story about a love triangle. There is no triangle involved.
This isn’t a story about an accidental pregnancy. Although having a baby with her . . . I would.
This isn’t a story about lies and deception, even though at times I’ve lied to myself.
No, this is my story.
A story about sacrifice.
A story about a man who fell in love with the wrong girl.
A story I wish I never had to tell.
This is a story about the true meaning of the downside of love.
* * *
STRYDER
My feet sink into the wet grass, the dreary Colorado day fitting the mood of all gathered. Today we bury one of the best men I’ve ever known, and I want to be anywhere but here. But I’m here for another man. For the man who deserves more in life than he’s been given. For the man who achieved every one of his dreams.
The Duets Page 23