Fuck, I wanted to kiss her. I. Wanted. To. Kiss. Ryan.
Fucking hell.
The way she held on to me. The way she leaned in toward me. The way I didn’t want any space between us.
What the fuck did I almost do?
And what the fuck do I do now?
Chapter One Hundred Three
SAGE
“Why the long face?” Rowdy asks, popping open a beer and sitting next to me on the couch.
“I don’t have a long face.”
He takes a sip of his beer, licking his lips once he takes a drink. He points toward my face, waving his finger around. “Yeah, it’s long, all pouty and shit. What’s going on?”
“I’m not pouty.” I fold my arms over my chest and look at the TV where there is a home renovation show on.
“You’re sure as fuck pouty. And do you know how I know, besides the look on your face? Your trusty notebook is nowhere to be seen. Give it up, Sage. I know you too damn well to know when you’re pouting.”
“I’m not pouting,” I shoot back, my voice growing with anger.
Rowdy’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline in shock as he sits up on the couch and turns his body completely toward me.
“Whoa, okay this is serious if you’re going to raise your voice.” He leans over to the coffee table, picks up the remote, and turns off the TV. “I’m listening.”
“Who says I want to talk?” I go to stand when he snags my hand and pulls me back down on the couch.
“You walk away, I follow you. Save us both the time and energy and spill the beans, because neither one of us is going to bed until you do.”
I really hate how persistent Rowdy can be at times. He doesn’t let me get away with anything, and it’s annoying. He’s constantly pushing me to talk, to do more, to open up. What if I’m okay with where I am? What if I want to keep everything to myself? Shouldn’t I have that right?
Not around Rowdy.
“Better get on with it. I have an early day tomorrow, and I’m going to be a cranky motherfucker if you make me stay up too late.”
I lean against the back of the sofa and let out a deep sigh. “You’re really annoying.”
“Yup. Now get on with it. What’s going on?”
Not a single soul knows what I’ve been thinking, what’s been eating me alive for the past few weeks, what I can’t seem to get out of my head no matter how hard I try. But it’s finally catching up to me.
If I don’t tell someone, I might lose my mind. I need help, someone else’s opinion on the matter, someone who isn’t involved . . .
“Have you ever felt like”—I swallow hard, so beyond nervous—“um, just to clarify, does this stay between us?”
“Of course.” He rolls his eyes. “What do you think I’m going to do? Gossip about what you tell me at the water cooler tomorrow morning? I like you, Sage, but I have better things to do with my life.”
“You don’t have to be insensitive.”
The joking expression in his features quickly falls flat. “I didn’t mean to be insensitive, Sage, but I think at this point you should know when you talk to me, it stays between us.”
“I know, but I’m just nervous.”
“Talk, and maybe it will make you less nervous.” He nudges me with my finger and then motions with his hand. “Have you ever felt like . . .”
Every bone in my body is telling me not to say a damn thing, but my heart is screaming from the rooftops to get this off my chest, to stop suffocating in my own grief and finally share what’s been plaguing me.
On a deep breath, I say, “Have you ever felt like you were living in a relationship made for someone else?”
His brow creases, his eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?”
I wipe my sweaty hands across my pant legs, trying to soak up my nerves. “It’s hard to explain, but I feel like I’m in this amazing relationship with Colby, engaged to him, ready to get married, and yet, I don’t feel like I’m the person who should be living through this. I almost feel like a placeholder, rather than the person actually getting married.”
“Why do you feel that way? Is it Colby?”
“Sort of, but it’s me too. I just . . . I don’t know. I feel like maybe we might not be with the people we’re meant to be with. And don’t get me wrong, I love him and think he’s one of the best men I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing, but we’re awkward together. When I talk to him on the phone, it’s almost like we don’t know what to talk about, or that we’re just walking through the steps of a conversation rather than actually talking.”
Rowdy sets his beer on the coffee table and shifts in his seat, running his strong hand over his square jaw. “Does he know you feel this way?”
“No.” I shake my head vigorously. “I haven’t said anything, but I also think maybe he knows things are weird between us. They’ve been weird for a while.”
“What do you mean by weird?”
“Like . . . tension filled. And I’ve been thinking”—I glance at him—“about what you said at the cake shop.”
“Sage,” he sighs. “I was just being a dick. I didn’t mean any of that.”
“Don’t lie to me, Rowdy. You meant some of it, didn’t you? Because it’s true. We are boring.” I compose myself and take a deep breath. “I think we’re too similar. Our personalities are the same, organized and slightly rigid at times. We’re not the type of people who step out of our comfort zones or are willing to try something new unless forced to. We know what we like and we stick with that.”
“You’re not the yin to his yang.”
“Yes, exactly.” I let out a long sigh, relieved that Rowdy gets it. “Do you think that’s a problem? Do you think that’s something that will hurt us later on in life? Like we’re going to fall down a path that leads us to not being happy anymore because we’re not being challenged?” Please be honest with me, Rowdy. I need to know the truth.
“I don’t know, Sage. I wish I had an answer for you, but I really think you have to think about what you want in life first. Are you okay with being content with what you have? Or do you think you’re going to want more? Colby is my boy, you know that, and he’s one of the best guys I know. He’s been through hell and back—”
“And that’s another thing. He won’t tell me about his past. When I ask, he either gets mad or blows me off completely.”
That stuns Rowdy, his expression one of concern and surprise. “Really?”
“Yes. I feel like everyone knows but me. Does he not trust me?”
“I don’t know.” Rowdy scratches the side of his jaw, looking at his lap.
“It’s concerning, isn’t it?” I bite the side of my cheek, hating that I think I know the answer already. “Do you know what I think about from time to time?”
“What’s that?”
I rest my head against the back of the couch cushion and stare at the ceiling, not able to look Rowdy in the eyes. “I think that Colby isn’t supposed to be mine, but Ryan’s instead.”
“What?”
“Have you seen them together? They’re . . . ugh, they’re perfect. She pushes him to do different things. He jokes and teases her. When I said I felt like I was sitting in someone else’s spot, I meant it. I think Ryan is supposed to be in my position, the one engaged to Colby.” And it hurts to say that. It’s taken me a bit to actually accept this realization. Many late nights, staying up, contemplating my situation. And even though Colby is the perfect man, the type of man I would love to keep, I know deep down, I’m not the woman he’s supposed to be with.
Rowdy grabs my hand and tugs on it until I shift my head to the side, looking at him. I’ve never seen him look so serious. Almost as if he hates what he’s about to say. “If he wanted Ryan, he would have chosen her. But he chose you, Sage.”
Tears well in my eyes and I nervously roll my teeth over my bottom lip. “What if I want him to choose someone else?”
Chapter One Hundred Four
COLBY
I hang up the phone and chuck it at the cluster of pillows on my bed. “Fuck!” I shout, pulling on the back of my neck, frustration vibrating off me.
There has never been a point in my career where I’ve wanted to be anything other than a fighter pilot. I’ve never regretted my decision to enter the military lifestyle . . . until now.
She’s gone—again—and there’s nothing I can do about it.
I can’t go after her. I can’t take time off to solve this. I can’t for one second take a deep breath and try to work out the confusing emotions rolling through me.
I have to stay focused. I have to remain focused on the mission. I have to go to work in an hour and fly a fucking machine that costs over $150 million, and the last thing I want to do—last thing I should do—is jump into the cockpit. Not when my mind is shit. Not when all I can think about is the look in Ryan’s eyes when I was carefully holding her cheek in my hand, my grip on her waist, so close.
So fucking close.
Fuck.
I hop in the shower and quickly rinse off from the four-mile run I ran this morning, trying to clear my mind. It did shit for me. All it did was make me think even more. I don’t want to think. I want to forget, I want to go back in time when things were easier, when I didn’t feel this weight of pressure on my chest, when I didn’t have this foreboding feeling that I’m not with the right goddamn person.
I spend the next few minutes drying off and getting dressed for work, the TV playing in the background, filling the empty silence. It isn’t until I pick up my phone to go to work that I realized I got a text.
From Sage.
Sage: Just making sure you’re still picking me up tonight. I can get an Uber if need be.
Holy.
Fuck.
I completely forgot Sage was coming into town tonight. I sink onto my bed, my head in my hand, guilt swarming me, coating me in a sheen of sweat and resentment.
How could I possibly forget that she was coming to visit tonight? She’s the girl I decided to spend the rest of my life with, and I fucking forgot she was coming to visit me, to visit our wedding venue, to spend much-needed time with me. And here I am, trying desperately to get in touch with someone else . . . the one person I truly don’t think I can live without in my life.
And what does that fucking say about me?
I press my palms into my eyes, trying to rub out the pain and the disdain. I need to get my shit together. Sage is coming tonight. I can’t be a fucking mess around her, not again. I need to focus on us even if my mind, my heart, is focused on making sure someone else is okay.
Taking a deep breath, I blink a few times and stare at my phone where I begin typing.
Colby: I’ll be there to pick you up. Send me your flight info. If anything changes and our debrief goes long, I’ll let you know.
I press send and stand from my bed, grabbing my duffle-bag and heading out the door. This is going to be one fucking long flight today.
* * *
I stretch out, the sheets on my bed riding across my bare torso, the sun barely peeking through the cracks of my curtains. My neck is sore, my shoulders tense, and my knees are fucking aching today. It happens every once in a while. Being one of the taller pilots, I occasionally cramp from being stuffed in the cockpit for long hours. And then having to drive to Denver and back yesterday in my small-ass rental car, my body is beat. Thank God, I have the day off today.
We didn’t get back to my room until really late last night, so once our heads hit the bed, we were both out in minutes. We didn’t talk much on the drive. Sage was actually more silent than usual and what we did talk about wasn’t anything life-changing. She told me about a new cookie recipe she’s been trying to perfect. Cherry white-chocolate cookies. She brought me some, which I dove into on the way to the Springs. They were fucking good.
I told her about Stryder and Rory and their new house, going into detail about things I normally don’t talk about like fucking curtains and shit like that.
I think it threw her off, because she gave me an odd look at one point. I don’t blame her, describing a houndstooth pattern doesn’t scream something I’d normally talk about. But fuck I was nervous, and scared I would talk about something else like my visit with Ryan.
And I wanted to avoid that at all costs.
Reaching across the mattress I feel for Sage but come up empty-handed. I peek an eye open and notice she’s not in bed. Turning toward the window, the sun temporarily blinding me, I catch a figure in the corner, sitting in a chair, knees pulled into her chest. I scrub the sleep out of my eye and sit up, the blanket and sheets sliding down, pooling at my waist.
I catch Sage give me a quick once-over before returning her eyes back to mine.
“Good morning,” I say in a gravelly voice. “How long have you been up?”
“An hour.”
I blink a few more times. “An hour? Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“You looked really tired. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“I was tired.” I stand from the bed my knees feeling sore as fuck as I make my way to the coffee maker and make a pot. “Coffee?” I ask. She nods so I grab another mug.
Silence fills the room as the coffee brews, the air around us feeling awkward and uncomfortable, the feeling of a conversation on the horizon. We have today and tomorrow to figure things out, to clear things up. But I want this, don’t I? For us to work?
I pour us both a cup, I put a splash of milk in hers—at least I know how she takes her coffee—and walk it to her, taking a seat in the chair opposite hers.
She blows on the hot liquid and then takes a sip, a droop in her shoulders, a sorrowful look on her face.
“Colby?” I look up from my mug, tears in her eyes. Fuck. “I think we need to talk.”
Trying not to freak the fuck out, as if she heard something, I nod.
“What’s up, Sage. Is everything okay?”
She shakes her head, the first tear rolling down her cheek, so I set my coffee on the table between us and scoot my chair closer so I’m holding her hand, rubbing the back of her knuckles. More tears stream down her face.
Fuck, this isn’t good. No good conversation starts with we need to talk, followed by tears.
“What’s going on?”
She takes a few deep breaths and weakly says, “Do you love me?”
“What? Of course I love you.”
“Do you see a future with me?”
“Yes,” I drag out. “Why?” Is she having second thoughts?
She doesn’t answer me. Instead she looks away, her lip trembling, her hand shaking.
“Sage, what’s going on?”
She wipes away the tears and sets her coffee mug down as well. After catching her breath, she turns back toward me and says, “Do you think you’re the yin to my yang?”
Okay, now I’m really confused. What the hell is she talking about?
“Uh . . . sure?” Not the best response, but I really don’t know what else to say. I feel like the conversation is being pieced and sewn together by another one she might have had.
“Do you know what I’m talking about?”
Answering honestly, I say, “I really don’t. But I want to understand, so lay it out for me.”
“I think we’re both introverts. We like things a certain way and we stay within ourselves, never really jumping out of our comfort zone.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“It is when you need your person to challenge you. And I’m not only talking about me. You’re the same way. You need someone in your life who’s going to bring you to the next level, someone who will tug you out of the mud when you’re stuck in your routine, someone who is going to make you
uncomfortable but in the best way possible.”
I search between her eyes, my throat growing tighter with each passing breath. “Do you not want to be that person?”
She takes my hands in hers, gripping tightly. “It’s not that I don’t want to be that person, Colby, it’s that I can’t be that person. I don’t have it in me. I don’t have that personality.” She scoots closer, eyes set on mine, watery and full of sorrow. “I love you so much, Colby, and I couldn’t imagine my life without ever meeting you, but if I look toward the future, I don’t think I can give you what you need so you can be the best version of yourself.”
I want to deny it, and I want to tell her she’s wrong, but deep down, I know she’s right. I think it’s one of the reasons why we’ve been struggling recently.
Bowing my head, I let out a deep sigh. “Fuck.”
“I’m sorry, Colby.”
“Don’t be sorry. I know you’re right.”
“You do?”
“Yeah.” I peer up at her. “It’s been weird between us lately.”
“Really weird, and I think it’s because we both knew we weren’t meant to be with each other.”
God, this conversation is all too familiar. It reminds me of the conversation I had with Rory in the bowling alley, when I was trying to understand her relationship with Stryder. Back then, I thought I knew what love was, the connection of two hearts, but I was wrong. Rory taught me it’s so much more than that. It’s about the hard times, the ugly times, the raw times.
When I look at Sage, I don’t see anything like that. There’s no hard or ugly or raw between us. Our love for each other never ran deep enough. It only scratched the surface, neither one of us trying to move into a deeper understanding of each other, neither one of us giving it up either.
And then it hits me. Our entire relationship has been about comfort. For me, it was to have someone to come home to—someone to support me through the unpredictability of my job—and Sage was the perfect person for that. She understood, she never complained, and she was there for me with open arms.
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