The Downside of Love (The Blue Line Duet Book 2)

by Meghan Quinn

  “I mean . . . do I?”

  Chuckling, he says, “You might judge me.”

  Well, now I’m seriously intrigued.

  “I won’t.”

  Exhaling, he says, “I went to Amy’s Donuts.”

  Okay, that gives me pause. Out of all the things I thought Stryder might say, I never thought he’d say Amy’s Donuts, the iconic donut shop in Colorado Springs, known best for their crazy toppings and sugar-filled, coma-inducing donuts.

  “Amy’s Donuts?” I ask, wanting to make sure I heard him clearly.

  “Yeah, down south. Growing up, once I had my license, it was my go-to place to escape the wrath of my father. Being the dick he was, we weren’t allowed to have any kind of sweets in the house, and were raised on a strict diet, so once I got my license, the first place I went to was Amy’s Donuts and got the Fruity Pebble donut. I sat in the corner with my donut, milk in hand, and enjoyed the fuck out of that thing. I ordered two more after that, mentally giving my dad a giant middle finger. It turned into my little sanctuary. I would go there whenever my dad pushed me over the edge.”

  “And that’s where you went today?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did my mom push you over the edge?”

  He chuckles, his voice growing soft. “No. Your mom is really nice.” He lets out a long breath. “I feel like a dick for even saying this, but you deserve to understand. I guess I was envious of your relationship with your mom. It’s so loving, giving each other hugs and all that bullshit. Hell, I can’t remember the last time I was hugged, especially by a family member. It just isn’t the way my family works. It made me feel . . . empty, so I took off, ate some donuts.” He chuckles. “I guess it’s better than getting lost in a bottle.”

  Not hugged?

  My heart squeezes from the thought.

  Colby and Stryder are so similar, it’s no wonder they connected so quickly. But at least because Colby has his grandpa’s love, he knows what it’s like to have affection bestowed upon him. Stryder, on the other hand, from what it seems, has never really been shown any kind of affection.

  Before I can stop myself, my heart propelling me forward, I hop out of my bed and walk over to Stryder’s little corner. Hands behind his head, he looks up at me, his blue eyes shimmering in the moonlight.

  He gives me a once-over and then says, “What are you doing?”

  Swallowing hard, I ask, “Can you stand please?”

  “Stand?” His eyebrow quirks up.

  I twist the hem of my shirt in my hand and nod. “Please.”

  Seeming skeptical, he moves his blanket to the side and stands in front of me, his tall, broad frame towering over my small, petite frame. Wearing a T-shirt and shorts, his hair disheveled already, hands at his sides, he says, “You’re not going to kick me in the shin for not bringing back donuts, are you?”

  Not answering him, I step forward and wrap my arms around his waist, resting my cheek on his chest. His body tenses, his breath catches in his lungs, and his arms hang stiffly to the side. He doesn’t say anything. And when I squeeze him, he becomes even more like a rigid board.

  “Wh-what are you doing, Rory?”

  Holding back the emotion starting to rise up my throat, I say, “I can’t stand the fact that you don’t remember the last hug you had. That just about kills me, Stryder.”

  “I didn’t say it to get a hug.” His voice is gruff, raw.

  I glance at him, the scruff on his jaw new and different than the usual freshly shaven man I’ve come to know. “I know you didn’t, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still want to do something about it.”

  His strong jaw works back and forth, debating his next move, and instead of waiting to see what he’s going to do, I lower my head back to his chest and hold him.

  I don’t care if he doesn’t hug me back or if from the outside this looks incredibly awkward. All I care about it making sure Stryder realizes he’s valued in my eyes, that he isn’t a castaway in someone else’s mind.

  Slowly, I can feel him start to relax against my hold, his back muscles easing, his breath filling his lungs and unexpectedly, he tentatively wraps his arms around me, encasing me in his warm embrace. He doesn’t squeeze me tight but holds me protectively, as if he breathes wrong, I’ll disappear.

  He has nothing to worry about; I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be damned if he feels alone anymore. If anything, he will at least have me in his corner, cheering him on. And he deserves more than just me, but being there for him feels so incredibly right.

  Chapter Twelve

  STRYDER

  Two weeks.

  It’s been two weeks of bouncing back and forth between Rory and Ryan’s houses, mainly staying at Ryan’s but going to Rory’s on the weekends. It almost feels like they have custody of me, constantly talking to each other about who’s taking me when.

  If I wasn’t so relieved I didn’t have to be at my parents’ house, I might actually feel bad. But I don’t.

  I’m grateful.

  And I make sure I show that. I clean, I cook—mainly for Ryan, who in fact is a genuine hot mess, but I like it—and I always put the toilet seat down. I’m a gentleman, if anything.

  I think Ryan likes having “custody”—as they call it—more because I cook for both of us. I’m not much of a cook, but I did find a recipe on the Internet for enchiladas, and that’s been a real winner. I’ve made them three times now and one would think I’d be getting tired of them, but they’re that damn good.

  When I’m with Rory, the roles are reversed. She loves cooking, and when I offer to make her dinner, she shakes her head and offers me a chance to help, but that’s about it. I think it’s because she truly enjoys caring for people. I love watching the joy in her face when I take the first bite of her meal, like she is more excited to see my reaction than actually eat the food.

  It’s fucking adorable.

  Everything about her is adorable.

  If anything has become clearer over these past two weeks about my feelings is that I’m not just infatuated with Rory. I’m in fucking love with her. Truly in love.

  I’ve fallen so hard for her, it hurts.

  Every morning, I can smell her on me, even when I’m not staying with her. I can still feel her arms wrapped around me, her spur-of-the-moment hug before bed implanted within me, as if her arms branded my skin and left her mark for eternity. And maybe they did. And she may never know.

  She caught me off guard at first. I wasn’t sure what the hell she was doing, but when I figured it out, fuck, I wanted nothing more than to scoop her up, take her to her bed, and cuddle the fuck out of her. I desperately wanted to bury my head in her hair and take her in until I slowly fell asleep to her fresh honey scent.

  But I didn’t. Instead, I barely held her, just enough to get a feeling for what it would be like if she was mine, just a test, a teaser of what my life could be like. Her softness against my hard. I wanted more but I was scared. I was scared the moment I was experiencing was all in my head; that in fact I was dreaming Rory was wrapped around me. I didn’t want to scare her or wake up from the blissful reverie I thought I was having.

  It wasn’t a dream though.

  And the next day, when I packed up to go to Ryan’s house, before I left, she snagged my arm and once again pressed her warm body against mine, infusing her soul into mine. How did she know? How could she know that someone denied touch for so much of his life yearned for it? I have no idea how she knew, but I thanked God she did.

  I held on to that feeling for the entire week, remembering what it was like to be the one she offered her arms to, and when I went back to her place that following Friday, I held my breath, waiting and praying that when she opened the door to her apartment, I would be greeted the same.

  I was.

  And I fell. I fell so fucking hard for her.

  Now she’s all I think about, more now than before. I count down the minutes until I get to see her again, until I get to hear her soft and peacef
ul voice. I count down the minutes until I’m privy to that beautiful smile and addictive laugh. Even work is tolerable, especially on Fridays, knowing it’s no longer the only thing in my life. I now enjoy Ryan’s quirkiness throughout the weeknights, waiting impatiently until Friday when I get to go home. When I eat dinner with Rory and ask her about her day.

  But with each passing moment I spend with her, I can’t help but feel fucking guilty.

  There is an unspoken rule between military brothers: we will throw down for each other and self-sacrifice. Colby is my boy, the one person I relied on to be there for me through the hell we were enduring, the pressure of the Academy, and I was his person too. We were each other’s rocks.

  He is the reason I stepped aside, the reason why even though it pained me every time to see him with Rory, I never said anything, because he was happy. He was finding his peace and I wanted that for him, despite the white-hot jealousy that roared through me.

  He is the reason why I won’t allow myself to give in to my feelings. Even though we haven’t spoken since graduation, I still feel a sense of loyalty to him. Rory is his girl, the one that changed his life, made him step outside his comfort zone, and I know for a fact there is no way he’s over her. He can’t be.

  If he has an ounce of the type of feelings I have for her, I know I wouldn’t be over her. Even when Colby and Rory were dating, I tried to shake the nagging feelings in the back of my mind, but I couldn’t. They’d taken up permanent residence, stayed firmly planted, until they resurfaced and grew to an insurmountable affection.

  There is no hope for me.

  Knocking on the door, I wait impatiently for the sound of her feet to pad across the floor only to be greeted by a giant smile and an even better hug.

  After waiting a few breathless seconds, Rory opens the door, freshly showered, wet hair dancing over her shoulders, wearing a vintage-looking Star Wars shirt and black shorts. “Hey.” She smiles. “You know you can use the key I gave you.”

  I walk into the apartment, and once she shuts the door, she comes to me, and without hesitation, pulls me into a hug. Reciprocating, my eyes flutter shut, my senses invaded by her bubbly personality, my mind turning into a puddle of affection for this woman.

  Swallowing hard, I say, “I didn’t want to walk in on something.” I wince, as if she would be doing something weird. “You know, privacy and shit.”

  She playfully gives me a squeeze and then backs away, walking toward the kitchen, her shorts riding up in the back, showcasing her toned legs. What I wouldn’t give to feel them wrapped around my waist, her body writhing against mine, her mouth open and pressed across my lips.

  “You text me when you’re on your way, then you don’t have to worry about walking in on anything.” Rolling her eyes, she holds up a glass. “Want some apple juice? I just got a big carton, because I was craving some.”

  “Craving apple juice?” I walk over to my little corner where my bed is neatly tucked and drop my bag, tossing my cap along with it and my jacket, leaving me in my sand tee and pants after I unlace my boots.

  She shrugs. “I get these weird cravings every once in a while, and it’s always drinks. Is that weird?”

  “Depends. What kind of drinks?”

  “Juices.” She hands me a cup even though I didn’t mention wanting one. “I usually drink water and tea, so when I get in these moods, I can drink a whole gallon by myself.”

  Taking a sip of the sugary drink, I chuckle. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who craves juice.”

  She wiggles her eyebrows at me. “Glad I could be your first.” Bringing the cup to her lips, she takes a long pull from the glass and then exhales in pleasure. “Oh yeah, that’s good stuff right there.”

  I shake my head at how ridiculous she is. Juice. Who fucking knew? Hell, I’ll get her juice every day if it makes her this playful and entertaining.

  “How was your day?” I ask, taking another sip of my apple juice. I mean, it tastes good, but not eye-closing good.

  “It was good, busy with the Special Olympics event happening tomorrow.” She leans over and places her hand on mine, sincerity in her eyes. “If I forget to say it tomorrow, thank you again for all your help gathering volunteers. You seriously saved me.”

  “It was nothing.” I shrug it off, even though I begged and pleaded with a lot of the people at work and instructors at the Academy to show up with not only tons of volunteers but a color guard and the Academy’s acapella group to sing the national anthem.

  “Nothing?” Rory raises her eyebrows at me. “Stryder, you have the entire opening ceremonies planned out. It’s going to be so amazing tomorrow with all those cadets high-fiving the athletes as they parade around the track. I can’t even imagine what their reactions are going to be. And what you did with Blake . . .” Her voice trails off.

  Okay, I might have pulled a lot of strings, but fuck, it’s for Rory. So when I thought Blake dropping off some of the guys to parachute onto the field would be good, I made it happen.

  “You really made this so special.”

  “Hey, anything for your brother.” I smile and look into my cup, feeling fucking shy as hell. When have I ever been shy in front of a woman before? It’s what she does to me though. Every time. Brings me to my knees.

  Silent for a second, the sound of my phone ringing breaks up the quiet. “I’m going to make you one hell of a dinner tomorrow,” Rory says as I stand to get my phone.

  “Now, that, I’ll accept.”

  I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out my phone, the name flashing on the screen causing my stomach to flip.

  Hardie.

  Fuck.

  I press the green button and say, “Hang on a second.”

  “Yup,” his voice says before I put it on mute.

  Going to the table, I set my glass of apple juice down and say, “I’m going to take this outside if that’s okay?”

  “Oh sure. I can leave if you want me to.”

  I shake my head. “Nah, I’m good.” I eye some pots on the stove, the smell of spaghetti sauce filling the air. “Eat without me, I’ll be back.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I’d rather eat dinner with her, but knowing this phone call will probably be long, I nod. “Go ahead.”

  I make my way down the stairs of the apartment and onto the street where I take a seat on the curb, the summer light still making the quiet streets easy to see.

  Taking a deep breath, I unmute the phone and hold it to my ear. “Hey, man. How’s it going?”

  “Fan-fucking-tastic,” Hardie’s voice beams. “What about yourself?”

  Not wanting to lead Hardie on, I say, “Good. You know how the Springs is during the summer months.”

  “Tourist hell. Are you surviving?”

  “Barely. Traffic is a bitch.” What kind of old man am I, complaining about the traffic? Next thing I’ll start talking about the weather.

  “Always has been.” He chuckles. “So tell me about life. What have you been up to?”

  It’s the same conversation we have every time he calls. Hardie asks how I’m doing, I tell him about my stupid-as-shit job, and then he raves about flight school, leaving me in a shitty mood.

  I prepare myself for it.

  “Just working at the base still. The guys there are pretty cool, some total douche nuggets thinking they’re back in BMT, talking down to the scrubs. I think they missed the memo: we’re not in the Academy anymore.”

  “We have them in flight school too. Total idiots. I have a guy in my house that struts around, thrusting his chest out like a goddamn peacock, acting like he owns the damn place. The fucker sucks at his landings though, so even though he likes to pretend he’s the shit, we all know he’s an idiot with the inability to land smoothly. I think he’s a few shitty landings from being demoted.”

  “One can only hope, huh?” I answer, feeling numb.

  I was fucking smooth as hell with my landings.

  One of the best.


  “Yeah. Ugh, man, you would have fucking loved the missions we had to complete today . . .”

  Hardie’s voice rings out over the phone, excitement bouncing off him as he tells me all about flight school, each experience like a fucking rusty knife straight to my stomach. Feeling like I owe it to Hardie to be responsive and engaged, I listen, adding my two cents here and there even though my stomach is churning, anger building inside me.

  Heat creeps up my neck, a sweat breaking over my upper lip as I feel my frustration start to tip over. My veins boil with jealousy. Fury takes over, hitting me over and over again like a ton of bricks. It’s where I should be.

  After what seems like forever, Hardie finally says, “Have you heard from Colby?”

  “Uh, no, have you?”

  “Yeah, he called me yesterday.” My heart stops and for a split second, I think that maybe they know, that someone told them I’ve been staying with Rory. I haven’t done anything, but still it doesn’t look good on my end, rooming with my best friend’s ex-girlfriend.

  “What, uh, what did he say?”

  “We just talked about flight school, how he was doing. He asked about you.”

  Why does this feel like some kind of weird breakup, Hardie the middleman trying to be the peacemaker?

  “Did you tell him I’m living the life over here in the Springs, eating up all the Amy’s Donuts my little heart desires?” I joke.

  “Something like that. I told him about your drinking.”

  For fuck’s sake. It’s not like it was super serious . . . sort of.

  “Jesus Christ, Hardie. Why would you do that?”

  “I don’t know. I was worried.”

  “Well, you don’t need to worry. I haven’t had a drink in three weeks.”

  “You haven’t?”

  “No,” I grit out, really annoyed now. It’s one thing for Hardie to know about what’s going on in my personal life, but I don’t want everyone to know, especially Colby. And that pisses me off. He has no idea why I had to cut ties with him. In the past, he would have been the only one who had any idea of what was lurking below my let’s get the fun on Stryder. Now? Fuck. I miss him, but I can’t talk to him. And why, if he knows about the drinking, hasn’t he called me?