“What’s going on, Stryder? Is everything okay?” So goddamn sweet. It’s why Colby loved her.
It’s why I’m in love with her.
I shake my head, running my hands through my hair, deflated. “I have to get out of my house.” Ryan comes up next to me and rubs my back, favoring my vulnerability over my drunken idiocy. “I can’t fucking live there anymore.”
“Our dad is a tyrant,” Shane adds. “Fucking hates Stryder.”
And there is the truth I’ve been trying to avoid.
A look passes between Rory and Ryan, unsaid words being sent back and forth. “Uh, you can sleep on my couch if you like,” Rory offers, sending my brain into a tailspin. “It’s really small, but you’re welcome to stay there.”
Staying at Rory’s place never even crossed my mind and the mere thought of it has my heart pounding at a rapid pace.
Stepping in, Ryan says, “He can stay with me. I have the pull-out mattress in my couch and a little bit more extra space than you do.” I knew Ryan had a little bit more space, so that’s closer to what I was thinking.
Staying with Rory wouldn’t work. I would want to spend every night in her bed, making love to her, burying myself so deep inside of her, trying to make her forget Colby ever existed.
Holding my hands up, I say, “Just direct me which way to go. Anywhere but my dad’s house.” Standing from the stool, I pull the keys from my pocket and hold them up between the girls. “Someone is going to have to drive my mom’s car though.”
Smirking, Rory snags the keys and says, “I’ll do it.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
STRYDER
Oh.
Fuck.
I can barely lift my head.
Hell, I can barely lift my body.
Strewn out across a very unfamiliar mattress with a bar pressing into my stomach, shirt nowhere to be found, I check all my limbs to make sure they have feeling.
Toes and fingers are wiggling, so I’m not dead.
Slowly, I open my left eye and peer over the space in which I’m lying.
Purple couch. Colorful pillows. White entertainment center. I know this place.
But from where?
“Good morning.” Smooth, sexy voice.
Ryan.
Rolling to my side, carefully, the sheet falling across my bare chest, I spot Ryan, sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing a light pink camisole and tiny matching shorts.
No bra.
There’s no denying it; she’s hot as fuck. I might be in love with her best friend, but I can admit Ryan is gorgeous.
Her bright blonde hair is wild with waves, sticking out on all ends, her face devoid of makeup showcasing her natural beauty, and her little hands are wrapped around a cup of coffee I so desperately want to steal from her.
“Hey,” I croak out, my voice deep and rough. I nod at her coffee cup. “Can I have a sip?”
She hands me the cup, and I take a giant gulp, willing the caffeine to wake me up. Five nights in a fucking row of blackout drinking is finally catching up to me. I feel like a dead carcass on the side of the road.
Eyeing Ryan from over the cup of coffee, I say, “Do you always wear those kind of pajamas?”
Smiling, she shakes her head and stands from the edge of the bed, heading to the kitchen, her small ass swaying from side to side, the shorts she’s wearing slung low on her hips, revealing a small patch of her tan skin. “Just be happy I’m wearing something. Usually there are no clothes involved when I go to bed.”
That doesn’t surprise me. Ryan is free-spirited. Optional clothing sounds like a motto she’d live by.
Sitting tall, I prop my legs up and drape my arms over my knees, coffee in hand. “Does that mean we’re going to have naked sleepovers?” When I say the words, they don’t come out right. I wince and try to recover. “I mean, you sleep in your room, I sleep here, we’re naked but not touching.”
Smooth.
I need more fucking coffee.
She pours a cup of coffee from the kitchen and says, “Naked but not touching. Never heard that offer before.”
“It’s what all the hipsters are doing. Orgasms by staring at each other.”
Smiling as she walks toward me, cup halfway to her mouth, she says, “I don’t want to witness that. Some people’s O-faces are horrendous.”
“Have some real woof-bags while banging?” I ask, chuckling to myself, thinking back to some memorable O-faces I’ve seen in the past.
She shakes her head and sits on the bed. “Yeah . . . unfortunately.”
I’m about to ask her who—maybe I would know them—when the door opens up a crack and Rory sticks her head through, looking innocent and concerned.
Whispering, she asks, “Is everyone awake?”
“Yup,” Ryan calls out, moving away from me and toward the door.
Rory walks into the apartment freshly showered and looking like a goddamn angel floating across the room in her white T-shirt and simple jeans. She’s not overtly sexy like Ryan is, because she has a more girl-next-door charm and a smile that would make any man weak in the knees, myself included. Is there a time in the day when she doesn’t look so gorgeous?
When she takes me in, her eyes quickly flash over my bare torso, eating me up for a beat too long. I fucking love it. Her gaze warms me to my core and shamelessly, I lean back on the bed giving her a better view, coffee still in hand. Stare all you want, Rory. Get an eyeful.
“Good morning, Stryder.” She takes a seat across from me, placing her purse on her lap and looking shy but also concerned.
“What’s up, Rory?” I tip my coffee cup in her direction then take a sip.
“How are you feeling?”
I shrug. “Fine. What about you?”
It’s obvious I’m trying to act like nothing happened, like I wasn’t embarrassingly drunk off my ass last night or like these two girls I’ve spent no more than a few outings with didn’t have to rescue me. I think anyone else would take the same approach.
“Fine?” Her brow creases, calling me out on my bullshit with a little scrunch of her nose. “You were really drunk last night, Stryder.”
Yup, and right about now, I’m starting to really feel the effects of it.
Head pounding.
Stomach rolling.
A light sweat breaking out on my skin.
The truth is, I’m not doing fine at all, but I’ll be damned if I don’t at least try to act like everything is fan-fucking-tastic in my life.
“I had a few drinks. Nothing to worry about.”
Ryan steps up, pushing her hair out of her face as she sits next to Rory. “You also had ‘a few drinks’ last weekend when we were at that party. I had to practically carry you into my apartment.”
“That was me making sure you got your workout in for the day.” I plaster a huge smile on my face but neither of them accepts it. Given their contemplative expressions, I know they can see right through me.
Exchanging glances, they telepathically tell each other something only to turn back to me, a warning in their eyes. Here we go . . .
“Stryder, I’m worried. It seems like you’re drinking a lot. Your brother mentioned it when we were getting you in the car last night,” Rory says.
Sipping my coffee, I keep my face expressionless. “Nothing you two need to worry about.” I set my coffee on the side table and stand from the bed, thankful my jeans from last night are still on. Stretching my arms above my head, brain pounding, I say, “I should get going. My mom is probably wondering where I took her car and why I left her with mine.” I look down the hallway and gesture with my thumb. “Bathroom down the hall?”
“You know where it is, Stryder.” Ryan rolls her eyes. “And you’re not going to use it until you tell us what’s going on.”
“Nothing is going on. But I’ll tell you this, if I don’t use your bathroom soon, I’m going to be peeing all over your floor, and I’m pretty sure you won’t like that.” Taking off without another word, I m
ake it to the bathroom and relieve myself, eyes closed, my mind spinning.
Shit, I don’t feel good.
They are right to be concerned.
Hell, I’m concerned.
I know I’m plunging headfirst without a parachute into a downward spiral. Every day I wake up full of self-loathing. Every day I go to a job I hate, a job I never thought I’d ever have. And every day, I go home to a father who won’t spare me a glance because I’m so repulsive to him, a failure not worth his time anymore.
And it’s not even my fucking fault.
I know it’s not.
It can’t be.
I did everything I had to. I might have fucked around a little, but I still pulled good grades, did all the extracurricular activities needed, and I was damn good at flying and landing the glider. Right up there with Colby, who was top of most classes.
From day one, I noticed some of the officers sneering at me, and it wasn't until the final year I had a clue why. Of course, by then, it was too late. Excellent grades had been obtained. Hours had been accumulated skydiving. Glider experience had been executed. Every fucking drill mastered. But it wasn't fucking enough. Turns out, my dad was an asshole. Not exactly new news . . . Or rather, my father had believed that fucking other men's wives when they were serving overseas was perfectly acceptable. Yeah. Great example. It's the only thing I can think of that could have guaranteed my non-acceptance into flight school. And he’s the one who can't look at me.
And now I pay the consequences for his actions. They shamed him by shaming me. They used me as a fucking pawn in their political game and the life I thought I would have, the life I never knew I actually wanted, is no longer available.
And that’s a painful realization to have to swallow.
That I’ve missed my mark.
And sure, I could reapply to flight school. Every year, I have a shot, but every year I don’t make it my chances of not getting in increase tenfold. So if I didn’t get in while attending the Academy, there is a slim chance in hell I’ll get in next year.
I’m a fucking officer in the US Air Force. Air Fields Command Officer. Big fucking whoop. I ensure the safe takeoff and landing of aircraft. It’s goddamn torture.
I flush, zip up, and wash my hands, sparing a look in the mirror. I don’t need to take in my appearance. I know what I’ll see. It’s the face of a bitter and disappointed man with nothing but a memory of gliding through the sky to live on.
I dry my hands, the softness of the hanging towel doing nothing for my bitter mood. And when I open the bathroom door, I come face to face with a very concerned Rory.
It’s the same look me she gave me when we were in the locker room of the private airport where we went skydiving. At the time, she was Colby’s, and she was concerned for his friend . . . the friend he was worried about.
Now, I wonder where she stands. Is she still concerned because I’m Colby’s friend, or because she believes we’re friends?
Does she feel a sense of responsibility to make sure I’m okay?
“Can we talk?” she asks carefully.
I press my arms against the doorframe, my chest stretching past the threshold, my grip strong, my muscles rippling. I’m fascinated as I watch Rory quickly glance up and down my abdomen, taking in my six-pack and then traveling up to my well-defined pecs. At least I haven’t let my body go. I might be weak emotionally, but I won’t allow my physical strength to fail me too.
She is not very subtle when it comes to checking me out.
And I really don’t mind. It gives me a sense of pride that she can see me as something more than Colby’s friend, as a man. Although, I don’t like the guilty look on her face. She still loves Colby . . .
“I’m all ears.”
She takes a quick look around and then says, “Can we sit in the living room?”
I shrug and head out to the living room where I strip the blankets from the pullout mattress and fold it up, replacing the cushions so there’s a place to sit. I gesture for her to sit just as Ryan comes into the room, wearing something a little less revealing.
Did Rory tell her to put something else on? If so, what the hell does that mean?
Taking my coffee in hand again, I sit on the end of the couch and take a sip, waiting for Rory to do her thing. The concerned talk she gives everyone because that’s the type of kind and caring person she is.
Lifting her eyes to mine, the green cutting right through my brick and mortar façade, she says, “Your dad is a dick.”
Well . . . I wasn’t expecting for her to say that.
I wasn’t expecting it so much that it pulls a laugh from the pit of my stomach, a laugh I haven’t heard in months.
“I’m serious, Stryder. He is.”
Still chuckling, I say, “Well, I’m not going to argue with you on that. He is a dick. I’m just surprised you started this conversation with that.”
“Well, isn’t that where all this stems from? Your dad? I can’t imagine what it must feel like to have to live with him on a daily basis.”
“It’s fun,” I say sarcastically while taking a sip of my coffee.
“I’m sure.” Taking a deep breath, she gives Ryan a quick glance, and Ryan nods. “That’s why we’re going to help you out until you find an affordable place here. You can bounce back and forth between Ryan’s place and mine. No offense,” Rory chuckles, “but neither of us thinks we could live with you full-time. So we’re going to switch back and forth. When you’re at my place, you’ll have it to yourself, because I’ll stay with my parents on those days. And when you’re here, you’ll have the couch.”
“Nah, that’s okay.” I shake my head, even though my veins are burning, yearning to know what it would be like to sleep in Rory’s bed. “You girls don’t have to do that. I’ll figure it out.”
Ryan crosses her arms over her chest, ready to lay into me. I can easily tell who’s the good cop and who’s the bad cop in their friendship. “Oh, you’ll figure it out?” Ryan sarcastically gives me a thumbs-up—fucking sassy woman. “Just like you’ve been figuring it out recently, head stuck in a bottle of scotch? That seems smart.”
“Seems to be working.” I smirk, causing both women to growl with anger.
Okay, maybe I underestimated them.
“Stryder, we’re serious.” Rory pins me, those eyes splitting me in half, opening my wounds back up. “From the looks of it, you’re hurting and need help. We care about you, Stryder, and there has to be a reason you called us.”
“I called Ryan, not you, Rory,” I respond, ruffling my hair, looking around for my shirt. I’m not in the mood for this conversation, especially with Rory. I can see in her eyes that she feels bad for me, and I fucking hate that. Out of everyone in this fucking world, she’s the last person I want sympathy from.
I don’t want her to see me as the pathetic loser I feel like. I want her to see me as confident, like I’m on top of my game, but I’m not there. Not even close.
Finding my shirt on the floor next to the couch, I pull it over my head and gather my things, stuffing my phone and wallet in my pockets. “I have to go.”
“Why did you call?” Ryan asks, stopping me on my path out the front door. Her hand presses against my chest. “Why did you call me?”
“Let me by, Ryan.”
She shakes her head. Persistent. “Why did you call?”
“Because I was drunk off my ass.”
Shaking her head again, she nudges me backward. “That’s not why you called. Why did you need our help, Stryder?”
Gritting my teeth together, I see Rory stand to the side, keeping her distance but letting me know she’s still very much involved in this conversation despite the small jab I made at her. “Ryan . . .”
“Just answer the damn question, Stryder.”
“Christ.” I throw my arms in the air and turn away from them both, my hand on my forehead. “Maybe because I have no one else I could call. Maybe because I don’t have any friends left here. Maybe
because my family wants nothing to do with me. I’m fucking alone with nothing to live for right now.” I shake my head, the humiliation of the truth choking me, turning my embarrassment into pure mortification. Rory must think I’m such a fucking loser. “You two are the only ones I know who are still in the Springs. Okay?”
Silence falls behind me.
What I wouldn’t give to see their faces right now, to see what they’re thinking.
No, scratch that. I’m almost positive I know what they’re thinking, and if I wasn’t so damn desperate to get out of my parents’ house, I would walk out of this apartment, knowing—and hating—that they both feel sorry for me.
But I can’t.
I need out.
I need the chance to at least catch my breath for a second without the harsh reality beating down on me every day that I am a massive disappointment to my father. Every Sheppard really.
So I wait.
I wait until a small hand presses against my back and without turning around, I know it’s Rory. Her signature female scent floats around me, wrapping me in a proverbial hug.
“Then let us help you. We can work out a schedule, Stryder. Just let us help you get out of your dad’s house for now and then we’ll go from there.”
I fucking hate that I have to rely on them, that this is what my life has come to. I should be taking care of Rory, but she has to take care of me.
As an Air Force Academy graduate, my job is to protect and serve. Right now, I’m itching for another drink, because to rely on two practically strangers for a fucking place to sleep is degrading. Such a fuck-up. Where has the boy who was voted most likely to succeed gone?
“Okay.” The word falls out of my mouth strained and rough.
I hate this.
I hate myself.
I need this.
I need Rory.
I don’t want to need anybody.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
RORY
“What’s he doing?”
“Can you get him under control please?”
The Duets Page 26