I stand, shaking my head, my heart beating a mile a minute. “I . . . I don’t have feelings for Colby. He’s a good friend. That’s all.”
“Okay, lie all you want, but I know how you feel. It’s in your eyes. The tortured and pained look you get whenever you’re around them. Yeah, you want him and yet, you’re helping them get married.”
“Because they’re my friends.”
“Bullshit. You feel guilty, because you like Colby and you’re overcompensating.”
I sharpen my glare, my hands curling into fists at my sides, his words too powerful . . . and so fucking true. “Fuck you, Rowdy. You have no idea what you’re talking about. And instead of being a dick, why don’t you—”
“They don’t belong together, and we both know it.” He shrugs, not giving two shits about the words he’s spoken or the way he’s acted. I’ve never seen him like this before. “It’s time they realize it.”
Tossing his napkin on the table, he takes off toward the back of the bakery where the bathrooms are. Having no time to focus on Rowdy’s assessment, I hurry out to the parking lot where Sage is in her car, about to pull away. Quickly, I run to the passenger side and hop in.
“Oh my God.” Sage holds her chest. “You scared me.”
“I’m sorry.” I take a deep breath and try to even the tone into my voice, make it sound less hysterical than what it feels. “Are you okay, Sage?”
Hands gripping tightly to the steering wheel, she shakes her head, disconcerted and concerned. “He”—she swallows hard—“he just confirmed the exact fears I’ve been having.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We’re boring.”
I sigh heavily. “You’re not boring, Sage. Rowdy was just being an ass, probably still salty he didn’t get to go on TDY with Bent and Colby.”
That is a true thing, as both Rowdy and Colt were mad they weren’t selected.
But Sage doesn’t buy it. “No, he’s telling the truth. He’s always told me the truth, ever since we started hanging out more. He wouldn’t lie about that.”
“That’s one person’s opinion—”
“It’s what I’ve been thinking lately too.” Sage shakes her head. “We were so connected at the beginning of our relationship; at least I thought we were. We talked about the Air Force and our lives, and we connected on small things like food and movies. We became comfortable with each other and . . . complacent.”
“Which is good. You’re supposed to be comfortable with the person you’re going to marry. There is nothing wrong with that.”
“We’re awkward on the phone,” Sage continues. “We talk every night, but it feels strained.”
“Because you left on a bad note. While you have your fight hanging over your heads, it’s going to be awkward for a bit until you get to see him in person.” I press my hands against hers and force her to look at me. “Sage, you’re getting wedding jitters and that’s completely understandable, but just remember”—I take a moment to catch my breath—“he chose you to spend the rest of his life with. That’s not a decision he takes lightly. Once you get to see him again and you go out there and look at the venue, everything is going to feel like it’s back to normal. Trust me. It will be okay.”
The grip Sage has on the steering wheel and the tense set in her shoulders starts to loosen. She bows her head forward, shaking it slowly back and forth. “I’m such a mess right now. You must think I’m crazy.”
“No.” I chuckle. “I just think you’re a stressed-out bride.”
* * *
Colby: Sage told me you calmed her down yesterday. Thank you.
Ryan: Hey what are maids of honor for?
Colby: Hiding booze in bouquets?
Ryan: OMG! I can’t believe you remembered my little secret.
Colby: It was the least classiest thing I’ve ever seen at a wedding, but also the smartest.
Ryan: Don’t think I won’t be doing it at yours. I’ll be sure to pack an extra bottle for the bride. She’s going to need it getting married to you.
Colby: Was that supposed to be a dig at me?
Ryan: Yeah, was it not clear enough? She needs all the booze in order to get through her wedding.
Colby: Get her drunk and you’re dead.
Ryan: Don’t want her passing out before you can consummate the marriage?
Colby: Why does it always lead to sex for you?
Ryan: No idea. Maybe I need to see someone.
Colby: Might be a good idea.
Ryan: How’s the Springs? Does it miss me?
Colby: I don’t know if Colorado Springs misses you, but I sure as hell do. I’ve been jealous of what you and Sage have been up to.
Ryan: My company is highly sought after. Between Sage and Donovan I’m a busy girl.
Colby: You’re still dating him, huh?
Ryan: Yeah.
Colby: How’s that going for you?
Ryan: Are we really going to talk about this?
Colby: Trying to be a friend.
Ryan: Through your texts I can feel the steam coming off you. We don’t have to talk about him. I know you don’t like Donovan. I’d rather not get in another fight.
Colby: Me neither, so I’m going to pretend you’re not dating the douchiest guy in Las Vegas.
Ryan: How is that not saying anything?
Colby: It’s not, just had to get it off my chest. I’m better now. Want to hear about the mission we had to accomplish today?
Ryan: Oh I just love it when you talk plane to me.
Colby: *wiggles eyebrows* Knew you did.
* * *
“Hey Dad, how are you?”
I put the call on speakerphone, set it down on my bathroom counter, and scoot closer on my toilet as I stare at myself in the mirror.
Living in this tiny efficiency apartment has taught me something very valuable: you can often find creative ways to use the items at your disposal. This lesson has come in handy especially when I’m trying to do my makeup in a poorly lit bathroom. If I sit backward on the toilet and straddle it just right, I get just enough light to avoid shadows on my face while doing my makeup.
It’s all about the angle.
“Boo bear, how are you?”
“Good, getting ready to go out.”
“On a date?” My dad sounds surprised. I haven’t told him about Donovan yet, but it’s probably about time. I feel comfortable enough sharing this information with my dad knowing Donovan and I have grown a little more serious in our relationship.
We have our off moments, but for the most part, we are pretty seamless together.
“Yeah, I have a date.”
“Really?” He drags out the word, letting me know he’s curious and wants more information.
“Yes, Dad, I have a date. And before you start asking a ton of questions, I’ll just tell you right now. He’s a restaurateur, he’s handsome, likes hockey, and treats me well.”
“What kind of cologne does he wear?”
I’m applying mascara when I stop and laugh. “What? What does that have anything to do with him as a person?”
“You can learn a lot about a person through the type of perfume or cologne they wear. Is it woodsy or more on the minty side?”
“Uh, I don’t know. He smells like a man.” I have no idea how to describe men’s cologne. There is a signature scent when it comes to a man and trying to describe that is impossible. Just smells like man.
“Ah, smells like a man. That is like opening up a textbook to his soul.”
I pause. “Are you drunk, Dad?”
The sweet sound of his laughter booms through the phone, reminding me of all the days I spent by his side, sharing some of the best memories with him, just the two of us. “No, but it’s a hell of a lot of fun messing around with you. All I need from you is a full name, address, phone number, and a picture so I can find out more about him. Can’t have this guy hurting my little girl’s heart.”
“Don’t worry, Dad, he won’t.” There is nothin
g to worry about. My heart simply beats to keep me alive these days.
“He better not, as he’s lucky to have you on his arm.” And for some reason, I can’t agree with my dad. I know I’m dating up with Donovan. He’s handsome, rich, and smooth. I’m a wannabe next to him, posing as someone I’ve always wanted to be . . . trying to be on the right side of perfect.
I briefly shut my eyes, letting that realization soak in. I’m trying to be on the right side again, especially when it comes to Donovan. It’s why I’m carefully brushing mascara over my eyelashes after spending an hour styling my hair, making sure it’s sexy curly with plenty of volume, defined waves, and straight ends. But he appreciates the effort. He basically demands the effort. I don’t mind putting in the time to look nice for him, just the way he likes me.
“You’re sweet, Dad, but is there a reason why you were calling?”
“Can’t a dad just catch up with his daughter?”
“Yes, but I also have to take off soon.”
“Fine, fine, fine,” he grumbles, the deep set of his voice like a warm blanket comforting me. “I wanted to call and see when you planned on visiting me. I will pay for the ticket, so just book it. I need to see my girl. It’s been too long.”
“I knew that’s why you were calling.” And thank God he did. I need to see my girl. I doubt he has any idea how much I’ve needed to hear those words. Somehow I don’t feel so . . . alone, knowing my dad still treasures me. His love is probably what has sustained me all these years . . .
“Well, how about next weekend? Can you take four days off? Come see your old man, your friends? I ran into Rory the other day, and she’s wondering when you were going to visit as well.”
Damn it, Rory. I have no doubt in my mind she was a big influencer on this entire visit idea. Probably egging my dad on to encourage me to come out. I miss her too, though. Terribly. And right now, with all these mixed feelings roaring inside me, I feel like I need her now more than ever.
I can get the time off. Maybe this is just what I need. A little breather from all the turmoil swirling around me.
“Next weekend? I think I can make that happen.”
“Really?” The excitement in my dad’s voice is endearing.
“Yeah. I’ll look at flights tomorrow and text you.”
“Sounds great. I can’t wait to see you. Your mom will be thrilled too.”
And just like that, my excitement dims from the thought of having to see my mom. She’s such a bloodsucker, taking all the fun out of everything, reminding me how she never approves of anything I ever do. Everything I am. I may be older now, but she can still cut me straight to the core. She has that way about her, backhanded compliments now. She’s not as forceful with her words like she was when I was younger. Now she’ll say stupid shit like, “That’s a nice shirt, but why would you choose that color?”
Infuriating shit that makes you want to scream.
Maybe she won’t be around. Maybe she’ll be visiting my grandparents in Estes Park.
“You sure Mom is going to be around?” I ask. “Maybe she has to visit Grandma and Grandpa.”
“Ryan,” my dad drags out. “Your mom—”
“Is mean and vindictive, and please, for the love of God, tell her to visit her parents.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
Groaning. I grab my phone and go to my tiny closet where I dig around for a pair of black heels. “I know you can’t, but I wish you would.”
“It will be fine, I promise.”
He says that now . . .
Chapter One Hundred
COLBY
I sit in my rental car, my hands shaking, my palms sweating, my heart still racing a mile a minute, even after an hour of debrief and reassurance from Bent that everything is okay.
But that was close.
Too fucking close.
I knew taking on this job wouldn’t be easy, that there was a chance every time I stepped into the cockpit that something could go wrong, but it’s mostly a distant thought in the back of your head, something you never truly think will happen until you’re in the air and you see one of your best friends almost fly into a fucking mountain.
He was able to pull up at the last minute, barely turning out of a heavy downdraft from the strong mountain waves pushing through our mission today.
I’ve never felt anything like it, the sheer force of the wind manipulating our heavy pieces of machinery. It’s why we’re here—to be able to train in such conditions—but holy fuck was that scary.
I can still hear his voice in the com, telling me he couldn’t pull up, that the downdraft was too strong. I could hear the fucking beeping, the siren signaling that Bent was headed right for the fucking rocks . . . until at the last minute he was able to narrowly escape without a scratch. He seemed confident and unshaken after we touched ground, but hell if I’m not taking the brunt of his incident on my shoulders.
I drag my hand down my face, shaky and emotional. Too fucking emotional. Bent has been flying a few years more than I have, so he’s been through something like this before, where you can’t do anything but hope and pray because nature and physics have taken over. But for me, this was my first time. Fuck. So fucking shaken.
From my pocket, I pull out my phone and dial Sage.
I rest my head against the seat, eyes closed, listening carefully to the ring, trying to ease the pain in my chest. After the fifth ring when she doesn’t pick up and it goes to voicemail, I debate calling her again, when I realize she’s probably with a patient since it’s only three o-clock.
So I dial the next number I know will pick up.
Her voice filters through after the second ring.
“Hey, what’s up?”
My throat is tight, the words strangled as they try to make it out. “Hey.”
It’s all I can say, all I can slip past my repressed voice box, as the weight of losing Bent settles over me.
“Colby? Is everything okay?”
I shake my head, even though she can’t see me.
Breathe, just fucking breathe.
“Colby, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”
Taking a few more calming breaths, I finally say, “Bad day in the sky. Almost lost Bent.”
There, I said it. I got it out just before a wave of fear encompasses me, sending me into a downward spiral of unease and distress.
“Oh my God, is he okay?”
“Yeah,” I breathe out, hand to forehead, trying to compose myself. “He’s good.”
“But you’re not.”
“No.”
“Oh Colby, I’m so sorry. I can totally see why that would shake you, almost losing a friend. God, that must have been . . . there’s no word for it, is there?”
My body starts to relax, my ability to speak coming back. She gets me. “I’m just . . . I just . . . fuck, for a brief moment, I thought he was gone.” I thought I’d lost another person close to me. “The wind was too strong coming off the mountains, it took control of his plane . . . I can see it so vividly, his jet heading straight for the rocks.”
“Colby . . .” Her voice is soft, concerned. “I can’t even imagine. That must have been so terrifying.”
“Going into this profession, I knew the risks, I knew what came with flying at Mach speeds in all different conditions, but when you’re in the cockpit, you feel fearless, like nothing can ever touch you. Invincible.” I squeeze my brows together with my hand. “But today was a good reminder we aren’t invincible, that every time we fly, something could happen to us.”
Ryan is silent, and I’m almost convinced I lost her when she says, “I never thought about it like that. That something could actually happen to you. In my head, you’re flying and training and everything is fine.”
“We are, but accidents happen in training. Anything could happen.”
“I know I should be consoling you, but hell if I’m not scared now. Are you scared to fly?”
“No, I’ve never felt f
ear when flying. I think the fear sets in with the idea that despite our training and practice, sometimes things are out of our hands. The fear of the unknown. I think is what’s shaking me right now.”
“The unknown . . . If you think about it too much, it will eat you alive, believe me, I’ve been there before. You can’t let the unknown get to you, because it will become crippling.”
She’s right. I’ve heard many stories about fighter pilots who’ve given up their wings because the pressure became too strong; the fear overtook them. When you’re in the air, in that cockpit, you can’t think of the outside factors in your life, the people you love. You have to focus on the mission and the mission alone.
Feeling more calm, I say, “Thank you for picking up.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know. I’m just grateful.” I take a deep breath. “Fuck, I normally would have made this call to Gramps, and he would have told me to get my head out of my ass and fly.” We both chuckle. “When it came to flying, he never sugarcoated things.”
“I wish I met him. I’m jealous I never did.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, thinking about the man who practically raised me, the one who was there for me when everything else in my world was crumbling around me. He was the one who got me into planes, and the one who encouraged me to chase my dreams. I’m where I am today because of his love and encouragement.
“He would have fucking liked you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I chuckle. “A spitfire always pushing my buttons? He would have liked you a lot.”
And then it hits me: would he have liked Sage?
I think so. She’s quiet, loves planes, and knows how to make one hell of a cookie. Gramps would have appreciated that.
But would he have thought she was good for me? Deep down, I think he would have questioned my choice, but in the end, I want to believe he would have been happy for me.
The question I have for myself though is why would he have questioned my relationship with Sage?
“I don’t always push your buttons,” Ryan answers, pulling me from my thoughts. “Just when you’re being a grump. It’s more fun that way.”
The Duets Page 80