by Meghan Quinn
Finally he stops pacing and turns toward me, the sidewalk empty thankfully. “You fucking liked her and still shoved her on me. Why?”
“Because,” I keep my voice steady, “I saw the way you looked at her, the goddamn interest in your eyes. She wanted to know you, too. I thought she’d help you see there was more to life than flying.”
“You knew I didn’t want any distractions. If you fucking felt something for her, why did you have to throw her into my life? Why didn’t you just take her for yourself?”
“Because,” I swallow hard, the truth kicking me square in the nuts, “because she wasn’t looking at me. She was looking at you, and for the life of me, I couldn’t watch you ignore her. Not give her a chance. I liked her, man, but I wanted you to be happy. Thought that maybe, with you two together . . . I’d get to know her too. As a friend.”
He stands straight and stares at me blankly. “You’re fucking kidding me, right?” He steps forward, malice dripping from his every word. “You realize how broken I was when she broke up with me, right? You remember that? I could have saved myself the hassle of ever going through that pain if you’d just let me live my goddamn life and not interfered with it.”
“You needed someone, Colby. You were a fucking hermit.” I raise my voice. “She was the one to get you out of your shell.”
“And then you turn around and fuck her behind my back?” He matches my tone.
“It wasn’t like that. I didn’t run to her the first chance I got. I never wanted to betray you—”
“And yet you did,” he scoffs.
I let out a long breath. “I tried, man. I tried to keep my distance, and I did, but she needed help—”
“And that help should have come from me.” He takes another step closer. “I was the one she depended on. I was the one who was supposed to be there for her. I would have given up everything for her, and I tried to.”
“She knew you were giving up too much.”
“Don’t.” He shakes his head. “Don’t fucking talk for her.” Frustrated, he drives his hand through his hair and exhales loudly. “Fuck!” He spins around, hands on hips, and casts his eyes toward the ground. “I hate that you fucking know her, that you feel like you know her better than me. That you think you are the one for her.” He turns around again. “I’m still in love with her, and you, my best fucking friend, stepped in and took over.”
“I tried.” Drowned myself with bottles and bottles of scotch. “I tried so fucking hard to say no, to back away, but I couldn’t. I needed her, but don’t doubt for a second that I didn’t feel guilty every damn day.”
“Oh, thank fuck,” he says sarcastically, “because the guilt you suffered through is really going to make this better.”
“Colby,” I choke on my words. “I’m sorry.”
“Fuck you,” he spits. “Is that why you didn’t text or call me? Is that why you left without a goodbye or a good luck, because you were just waiting for the perfect time to swoop in and steal my girl?”
“No.”
“Were you planning my exit, counting down the minutes until I was gone?”
“No,” I repeat.
“Then what? Why couldn’t you pick up the phone?”
“Because I was so goddamn jealous,” I yell, fed up with this situation. “I couldn’t bear to talk to you, knowing you were living out my dream, a dream I’d never taste. And yeah, I might have been fucking jealous, but I was also so proud.”
“Bullshit. You can’t fucking stand there and tell me you were proud of me. The minute you found out you weren’t going to flight school was the minute you began turning your back on me. You could have called—”
“The phone goes both ways, Colby. You could have picked up the phone and called.”
“You left without saying goodbye. I had no one after graduation.”
“You had no one?” I raise a brow at him. “No one? Really? Because you had Gramps—” I start ticking people off my fingers “—and, Colby, I’m really sorry you lost him. But back then you had him, Hardie and Joey, and the guys you went to flight school with. Want to talk about having no one? Everyone fucking left town and I was stuck here, with my dad, living a goddamn pathetic life, watching everyone else take off into the sky while I was grounded. Want to talk about having no one? The only thing I fucking had was a bag full of self-loathing and a bottle of scotch.”
He’s silent for a second, and I think maybe he gets me, but then he shakes his head and points his finger at me. “You crossed an unspoken line. You knew she was mine.”
“Yeah, I know. But I loved her and stepped back. I tried to walk away—”
“Right.”
I think back to all my interactions with Rory, the restraint, donning the mask of indifference that hid my true feelings from her. I spent so much energy trying to hide my true self and in the end, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“I did.”
“You didn’t try hard enough.” He starts pacing again. “Fuck!” He stops, turns toward me, head tilted. “Did you . . . have you fucked her?”
I don’t say anything. I can’t say anything as my mind goes blank. No, I haven’t fucked her. I’ve made love to her, so many times I can’t even fucking count. Does she love me? Yeah, for some unknown reason, she does.
I'm content and full because you also breathe life into me.
My unspoken answer stretches between us, the silence speaking for itself.
His chest grows with each intake of air, his fists clench at his sides, and anger vibrates off him as he says, “You’re dead to me.”
“Colby.”
He steps up to me so we’re nose to nose. “Let’s lay down the facts real quick. I didn’t want her, but you forced her upon me. She was a distraction, someone I couldn’t forget, and someone I couldn’t help but love. And she loved me, but she chose her life here over me, breaking my goddamn heart. And then you stepped in and took my girl. A brother doesn’t do that. She was mine, Stryder, and the fact you pissed on that makes me believe you were never truly my brother.”
My throat tightens as he pushes me away.
“I thought we’d formed a bond that was fucking unbreakable, a bond that lasts a lifetime. But you threw that out the window. What the fuck did you think would happen when I found out? Did you think I’d shake your goddamned hand and wish you a lifetime of happiness? Or did you think you’d never see me again so you didn’t have to worry about it?” I feel ripped to shreds, and unlike when my father attacks me, Colby’s words are all true.
“Neither,” I admit honestly. “Every time I thought about telling you, I felt sick.”
Colby slow claps for me and starts to walk away. “Poor fucking Stryder. Can’t fly, so fucks his best friend’s girl. You’re not a brother. A true brother would never do what you did. You’re fucking dead to me.”
Fishing his keys from his pocket, he walks away from me without another word, leaving me in a wake of regret.
You’re not a brother. You’re fucking dead to me.
Chapter Twenty-Six
RORY
The slow creak of the steps echoing in the hall wakes me from my sleep.
Stryder is home. Finally.
I’ve been a nervous wreck ever since he went to meet with Colby. Despite our talk a month ago, he’s still been off, and ever since Hardie called to let him know about Gramps, he’s been cold and distant. When he told me about Colby wanting to meet with him, he was apprehensive. But deep in my bones, I knew he had to talk to Colby to truly give himself to me. I think it’s the thing that’s been holding him back from committing his entire soul to me.
The lock on the door turns and quietly Stryder steps in, not turning on any lights, just shuffling through the apartment, not bothering to take off his shoes. Sitting up in bed, I switch the nightstand light on and illuminate the small space, highlighting his sunken in features and the hard edge around his jaw.
His shoulders are slumped, his posture defeated, and his hair is a wi
ld mess from being twisted and pulled in all different directions. My stomach drops just from the sight of him. His conversation didn’t go well, that much is clear.
“Hey,” I say, trying to be as gentle as possible.
He goes to the closet where he rummages around. I’m about to ask him what he’s doing when he tosses his rucksack to the ground. It lands in the center of the room, crumpled and used, a harsh reminder of where it’s been and what it’s been through.
What it’s about to go through.
Heart seizing in my chest, I eye the bag on the floor, and then look at him, lip trembling. “Stryder, wh-what are you doing?”
He goes to the dresser and starts pulling clothes from the drawer, his movements swift, like if he stays in this apartment more than a few minutes he’ll turn to dust.
He works his way to the rucksack and shoves a pile of clothes inside, not even looking in my direction.
I hop out of bed and go to him, gripping the bag and ripping it from his hands. I toss it to the side and step into his space, forcing him to look at me.
His eyes are bloodshot, almost as if he’s been crying—one of them black and blue—and there is a feeling of dread rolling off him, like what he’s about to do is life changing. And it’s going to hurt.
“Stryder, what happened?” I gingerly touch his eye and he flinches, going back to the dresser.
I follow him, giving him zero space.
“Stop it.” I pull his hands from the drawer. “Talk to me. You promised you would talk to me, that you wouldn’t do this again. Don’t shut me out. What’s going on?”
With both his hands, he pulls on the back of his neck and looks toward the ceiling. I hate seeing him in so much pain. I hate that the two men who should support him most in his life cause this sort of reaction within him. I wish he’d let me comfort him. Love him.
“Tell me what happened.”
“What do you think happened?” Stryder snaps at me, sending me backward in shock. I’ve heard him angry before, I’ve heard him upset, but I’ve never heard that tone of voice before, so bitter and heated.
“I don’t know, that’s why you have to tell me,” I shoot back.
“There is no use hashing it out.” He shakes his head and then looks at me through those long eyelashes of his. His eyes water, and his face pales.
My world stands still as I wait for his next move, for what he’s going to say. Dread fills me.
He exhales sharply. “I . . .” He swallows hard. “We’re done, Rory.”
Like a semitrailer coming at me in full speed, my breath is knocked from my lungs. “Wh-why?” I stutter, feeling the walls around me start to crumble.
Anguish laces his eyes, directing his sharp movements as he goes to the bathroom. “Because you deserve someone who can give you everything. That’s not me.”
“That’s not true, Stryder. You’re everything I need.”
He pops out of the bathroom holding a few things in his hand and stuffs them in the bag. “You and I both know that’s not true. You know I’ve been holding back, that I can’t truly hand over my heart because of the guilt that’s eating me alive.” He bows his head. “So much goddamned guilt.”
“We can get through that, Stryder. Together, we can work through it.” I step up to him but he takes a step back.
Lifting his eyes to me, his head still tilted slightly down, his eyebrows framing the agony in his gaze, he says, “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” I answer, my voice breathy and strained.
“Those letters you keep under our bed, the ones from Colby. How many times have you read them?”
My face blanches as my stomach bottoms out on me. He knows about the letters? How? Has he read them? Embarrassment consumes me; my hands begin to fidget in front of me, Colby’s poetic words flashing through my mind. Does he think I still feel the same as Colby feels for me?
“How many times, Rory?” Stryder repeats, sounding so horribly defeated.
Lifting my chin, knowing I speak the truth, I say, “Once.”
“Once?”
I nod.
“But why keep them?” He drags his hand through his hair. “Do you still love him, Rory?”
“I love you, Stryder.” I step closer and place my hands on his chest, but again, he steps away, shaking his head. He gathers his bag and starts toward the door. “Stryder.” I pull on his arm as tears fall. “Don’t leave, please. We need to talk about this.”
“There is nothing to talk about, Rory. I can’t be the man you need. I think we both realize that.”
“Why can’t you? I don’t understand.” I’m grasping at anything, begging him to stop his run for the door.
“I betrayed my best friend, Rory. The one guy who’s been there for me through thick and thin when my family wouldn’t even look at me.”
“Where has he been the last year?” I shout, trying to knock Stryder out of the fog he’s in. “Where were all the texts and the phone calls? He should have known what you were going through, that it would have been harder for you to reach out. He should have seen your heartache, and yet he did nothing.”
“He was going through his own damn pain of losing you, Rory,” Stryder snaps, pulling his arm away and taking a few more steps toward the door. “We were both going through the same pain . . . losing something we so desperately wanted. I could have been there for him, and he could have been there for me, but we weren’t. I’m not going to hold that against him, but what I’ll never forgive myself for is falling for you because . . .” He pauses and looks to the ceiling as if gathering strength. Directing his attention to me, he looks me dead in the eyes and says, “Loving you has been my greatest sin, and I’m fucking ashamed.” No. No. He can’t think that. We’re not a sin. We’re not.
He tosses his bag over his shoulder and opens the door.
“We are not a sin,” I shout. “Our love is not a fucking sin. It’s beautiful and raw and everything I’ve ever wanted. You came into my life and gave me something I didn’t think I needed at the time. You gave me someone to care for, someone to love, and you showed me there is life outside of my brother. Don’t you dare say what we have is a sin, because in my eyes, it’s the greatest blessing that’s ever come into my life. You’re the greatest blessing in my life.”
Stepping outside, he keeps his body turned away from me as he says, “I might have been a blessing, but I’m sure as hell not the love of your life. I was just a Band-Aid to your broken heart.”
Not even giving me one last glance, he runs down the stairs and out of my life. Tears spill down my face as I close the door and collapse to the floor, my heart breaking. I can barely breathe through the pain ripping through me.
I’m sure as hell not the love of your life.
How can he think that? The man is everything to me. Why won’t he believe me?
Because he’s been told all his life that he’s not good enough. That he’ll never amount to anything.
And that’s when it hits me.
Stryder can’t hear words of praise . . . words of love.
No matter how much I love Stryder, he’ll never believe it’s enough.
Ever.
There is a light knock on my door. My eyes are puffy, practically closed shut from crying so much, and I have a pounding thumping through my head that won’t go away even after a dose of Ibuprofen.
Rolling to my side, sheets and comforter up to my chin, I say, “Door’s open.” The scratchiness to my voice just adds to the somber mood of my empty apartment.
Well, not entirely empty, but it feels empty without him. Without his broad shoulders and toned frame walking around the small space. Without him sweeping me into his arms every chance he gets, tossing me on the bed only to hover over me with that gorgeous smile, laughing and joking around with me.
I squeeze my eyes shut as more tears fall while the door opens and closes. Soft footsteps fall across the battered and peeling hardwood floors. My back is to the door, so when I fe
el a dip in the mattress and the signature smell of pancakes, I know exactly who it is.
“Did you flirt for bacon?” I sniff out.
“I flirted so damn hard just for you, babe,” Ryan says, getting under the covers with me.
I turn around, giving her an unfiltered look at my sorrow. Her face softens when she takes me in, wiping a tear from my cheek. She pulls me into her side, pushing the pancakes toward the nightstand and snuggling me close. Her hand passes over my head, smoothing down my erratic hair. More tears prickle my eyes as I’m reminded all over again why I’m here.
“I’m so sorry, Rory.”
“I just don’t get it.” I sniff. “I don’t understand why he can’t believe he’s good enough. No matter what I said or confessed, he wasn’t going to listen to it. He had it set in his head that he wasn’t good enough, and that I needed something different.”
“He’s hurt, Rory. He’s been programmed to believe he will never be good enough for anything. The way his dad talks to him . . . the way he’s talked to him his entire life. Why would Stryder believe he’s good enough when that’s what he’s been fed since he can remember?”
“But shouldn’t I be different? Shouldn’t the love we have for each other trump all of that?”
“Not necessarily.” Ryan smooths her hand over my hair. “He met up with Colby?” I nod. “And I’m assuming that didn’t go well.”
“You could say that. Something happened at the bar, but Stryder wouldn’t give me any details. He came home with a black eye and started packing.” I pause and think about our conversation. “And he asked me about Colby’s letters, how many times I’ve read them.”
“He found the letters?”
I nod while sitting up, letting the covers fall past my shoulders. I push my hair back and take a deep breath. “I don’t know why I haven’t thrown them away yet. I loved Colby, and I hated hurting him when we broke up. But it was the right thing to do. I read over them not long after he left, needing to reassure myself that my pain was understandable but wouldn’t last forever. I only read his more recent letters once. But not for me. For him. To show him . . . courtesy. Even though he never knew. Stryder must believe they mean more to me, and he’s been stewing over it instead of asking me about them.” I take a deep, shaky breath, wishing he’d just asked me about them rather than holding them over me, ready to use when he felt threatened. Shit. Why? “I guess, if I found letters from one of Stryder’s old girlfriends, I wouldn’t be feeling too hot either.” I let out a long, frustrated breath and open a take-out box of pancakes. Not even caring about the calorie intake, I smear the butter all over and then drench the pancakes in syrup. Perfect.