by Meghan Quinn
“I’m taking Rory up for her first jump.”
Things are awkward. The tension in the room grows, as he goes through the motions of getting ready, the silence between us rare and abnormal. From the very first day we met, conversation has never been difficult. But over the last few months, this tension between us has been building and building, and it’s more than obvious that Stryder and I aren’t the same friends we used to be. Is it only because of what’s gone wrong in Stryder’s life?
“Cool,” he answers, keeping things short with me.
Sighing, not wanting to draw out this awkward conversation, I kiss Rory on the cheek and say, “I’m going to grab us some gear and talk to Blake about which plane we get to jump out of. I’ll be back soon, okay?”
She nods, a downward turn in her lips, and I know she’s probably just as upset about Stryder as I am.
“Are you nervous?”
“Terrified,” Rory answers as I strap her into her harness. Pausing, wanting to make sure she’s still good to do this, I’m about to ask her if she’s sure when she smiles, which as usual, sputters my heart in my chest. “Terrified and excited. Thank you for taking me. This literally is a dream come true.”
I give her harness one last tug. “I wanted to do something special with you, something we would always remember.”
“Believe me when I say I don’t think this is a day I will ever forget.” She bites her bottom lip and leans close to me. “And you packed the parachute properly?”
I laugh and bring my lips to her forehead, pressing a kiss to the crease in her brow. “I’ve folded a parachute so many times I could do it with my eyes closed. There is nothing to worry about, okay? I’ve got you, Rory, and I would never let anything happen to you.”
“I know.” She shakes her entire body. “I’m just nervous, that’s all. Nervous excited. I mean, I’m going to jump out of a plane. That’s crazy!”
“But you’re going to be strapped to me, so you have nothing to worry about. Promise.” Placing one last kiss on her lips, I secure her helmet and then lead her to the tarmac where the plane is waiting. Having already gone over all the training and safety precautions, we’re ready.
“Hey Stryder,” Blake calls out, pulling my attention. “Why don’t you head out with your boy Colby?”
Curtly, Stryder nods and walks up to us, and I take the opportunity to pull Stryder in by the neck for a side hug before pushing him away. “Just like old times, right?” I nudge his shoulder, winning a small smile from him. “Remember our first jump?”
“Ohhh, tell me about it,” Rory coos next to me, leaning in.
Stryder pushes his hand through his hair, a small smile playing at his lips, reminding me of the man I’ve lost. “We were scared shitless.” He levels with Rory, recalling how we almost peed our jumpsuits before flying out of the plane. “We both wanted to be on the Wings of Blue badly because it was badass, and only the elite at the academy were accepted. So we went balls to the wall, showed no fear, strapped our bodies up, and fucking jumped.” Looking to the sky, I recollect the feeling that pulsed through me at that moment, and wonder if he’s thinking the same. It feels like years ago, when we were just kids. “I’ve never been so enthralled and scared at the same time. For me, it was that moment that confirmed flying in the sky was what I wanted.” Fuck.
Clearing his throat, Stryder continues, “When we landed, we gathered ourselves, put on a show for the guys around us, and then went to the locker room where we, no joke”—we both chuckle, knowing what he’s going to say next—“held on to each other like an old married couple and shook in our damn jumpsuits, unable to comprehend what we’d just done.”
“You held on to each other?” Rory laughs as we both nod our heads.
“We hugged for a good couple of minutes, thanking the good Lord above that we were alive.”
“Minutes?”
Stryder nods. “Oh yeah, no shame in that bro-hug.” And just like that, I catch a glimpse of my best friend again, and I think for a second, maybe, just maybe, he’ll be okay. That he will get through this.
“And no one walked in on you two hugging it out?”
Winking, Stryder walks backward in front of us. “Now we never said that.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
RORY
This is crazy.
I’m crazy.
I’m about to jump out of an airplane and yet, the nerves I thought I’d feel when we took off—or when they opened the door and nothing separated me from the plane and the open air—are nowhere to be seen.
Instead I feel at peace.
How could I not with Colby strapped behind me, his arms wrapped around me, his voice whispering into my ear, soothing me?
“We’re up,” Colby says into my ear. We scoot forward, right next to Stryder, who’s jumping with us, camera in hand to take pictures.
The ground below us is scattered with hues of brown, broken up into geometric shapes. Civilization doesn’t make sense from the height we’re at, and it seems like it’s a little world we’re about to invade.
Moving to the opening, my pulse starting to quicken now, Stryder and Colby exchange a secret handshake and then grip the side of the plane . . . right before they bend back and throw their bodies out of the plane, taking me with them.
Despite the wind pummeling past us, I hear Colby and Stryder shout their excitement, but I can’t focus on anything else besides the intense euphoria consuming me.
Stryder and Colby have talked about what it’s like to fly through the sky—the freedom, the clarity you get, and the peace.
I feel like I’m catching a glimpse of that. For a split second, I’m in their shoes and feel what they feel.
To the side of us, Stryder does a few flips, looking like the weight he’s been wearing on his shoulders has been shelved as he lives in the moment.
Arms out to the side, Colby spins us but doesn’t do anything too rash—no acrobatic movements
like Stryder. He’s letting me enjoy the experience.
Letting me live it.
Feel it.
And there is nothing like this—floating through the sky, my man strapped to me, taking care of me, living in this experience with me. I don’t think I could have asked for a more perfect date. Or a more perfect man. He did this because he knew it was one of my dreams.
The ground looms closer, the view absolutely stunning with the Rocky Mountains to our west, the plains to the east, and my heart centered right under Colby’s, beating as one.
Shouting into my ear, he says, “I’m going to pull the ripcord. Hold on, Rory.”
And as soon as we stop falling, we’re lifted into the air, the navy blue parachute above us catching our fall, and sailing us peacefully down to the ground.
To the side, Stryder releases his parachute as well, sending him momentary up into the air only to glide down with us.
I take it all in: the views, the feel of Colby behind me, the knowledge that this man has given me so much more than I expected through his love. He’s given me experiences I never would have had without him. He’s helping me live my life, the life I’ve put on hold for so long.
And for that, I will always be grateful.
“I almost feel like we should all hug it out for minutes on end after that,” I joke once our feet hit the ground and we’re walking back to the hangar.
“I’ve got to give it to you, you handled your first jump way better than Stryder and I did,” Colby says, his parachute bundled up in his arms.
“She’s a fucking pro,” Stryder says once we reach the hangar, dropping his parachute to the ground.
“It was the absolute best moment of my life,” I say and then giggle, because well, because I just jumped out of a freakin’ plane. “Can I do it again one day?”
Stryder smiles and shakes his head, laughing at me, while Colby grabs me to him and kisses my forehead.
“Yes, Rory. We’ll do that again.”
And the happy dancing resumed.
I wonder what it was like for him taking me? I’ll have to ask him later. Wonder if it turned him on, because with the adrenaline rushing through me, I want to mount the man.
Colby grips Stryder’s shoulder and says, “I’m going to go talk with Blake for a second. Keep my girl company.” Stryder nods as Colby bends and places a soft kiss against my lips. “I’m proud of you, Rory.”
I watch him walk away, enjoying how his harness frames his tight ass, his wide shoulders stretch his jumpsuit, and with his aviators falling over his eyes so I can no longer see them, he’s appears devastatingly untouchable.
Lucky for me, I’m the one person who gets to touch him.
“I’ll take you to the locker so you can get changed. I’m assuming you’re not going to want to wear that jumpsuit all day.”
I do a little curtsey and say, “Despite how beautiful I look in it, I would love to get changed.”
After giving me a once-over, a smile plays at Stryder’s lips as he walks me toward the lockers.
I know I shouldn’t.
I am quite aware that I should keep to myself, not voice Colby’s concerns, but I can’t help myself. Stryder is my friend too, and I can only imagine how hurt and upset he is about flight school. I worry that Colby is right and he is spiraling, and that is too hard to accept with this normally vibrant man.
“So, how’s everything going?” I ask, awkwardly. I might want to find out how he is, but I never said I’d be good at it.
As he walks next to me, the swish of his suit and jangling of his harness shaking with each strong step he takes, he says, “Fine.”
Hmm . . . one-worded, curt answer. It reminds me of when I first met Colby. These men must all be cut from the same cloth. If they fail, they internalize. Is that something they learn in military training? Compartmentalize? I guess it makes sense. But Stryder was never like that before he missed out on flight school.
“Would you tell me if you weren’t okay?”
That makes him stumble for a second, pausing in his pursuit to get to the locker. Turning toward me, he tilts his head, an unreadable expression on his face. Lips pressed together, silence falls between us, my question hanging in the air.
Finally, he shakes his head. “I wouldn’t.”
And that stings.
Walking forward, I catch up to him and pull on his arm. “Why not? Am I not your friend?”
“Not that kind of friend,” he answers without skipping a beat.
“What does that mean?”
Acting as if he didn’t just hurt my feelings, he nods toward the door that leads to the lockers. “Come on, Rory.”
“No, I want to know what you mean by that.”
Without looking at me, he says, “I barely talk to Colby about what’s going on in my fucked-up head, so I’m sure as shit not going to tell you.”
For some reason, his tone, the way I can feel his anguish through his words, causes me to back off and lightly say, “You know you could talk to me if you needed someone to unleash on. Colby is worried about you.”
Stryder’s shoulders slouch as he sighs. “I know he is.”
“He’s worried you’re mad at him.”
Stryder throws his hands up in the air, and I can sense his hopelessness. “I’m not mad at Colby. I couldn’t ever be mad at him. I’m just . . . I’m fucking disappointed in myself.” And with that, Stryder walks through the door that leads to the locker room, me following closely behind.
Over the last few months, I’ve grown to know Stryder better. We’ve hung out, had a good time, laughed and joked. I consider him a friend, but I’ve never seen this side to him, and it breaks my heart.
When I reach my locker, I carefully study Stryder and watch him take off his harness and then jumpsuit, his movements jagged, almost angry. The harness clunks to the floor, echoing in the small space, making it sound hollow in here, just like the look in Stryder’s eyes.
“And fuck if I can’t get out of this fucking town,” Stryder says, punching the locker, scaring me.
Hand to my heart, my breathing kicked up a notch from the sudden burst of anger, I say, “What do you mean?”
“We got our assignments. I got Peterson. The last fucking place I wanted to be.”
I bite on my bottom lip, trying to understand what Stryder is saying.
“I’m the only one staying in this hellhole,” he adds. I would never call Colorado Springs a hellhole—it’s actually quite beautiful—but knowing a little bit of Stryder’s background, I can understand why he would want to get out of the Springs. No doubt he wants to be as far away from his dad as possible.
And then it hits me, what Stryder said.
He’s the only one staying in the Springs.
Which means, Colby has been assigned somewhere else. I knew this was going to happen, but the realization of it actually happening . . .
From my locker, my phone rings, pulling me out of my short reverie. It’s my mom’s ringtone. I open the locker with a lift from the handle and answer my phone.
She usually texts, not calls, so I’m worried.
“Hello?”
“Oh thank God,” my mom says in a panicked voice.
“Mom? What’s wrong?”
“It’s Bryan,” she answers, her voice tight, as if she’s been crying. “He’s having a meltdown at the Rockies Dugout Store on Nevada. I can’t get him to move and he’s hitting himself.” My mom pauses. “He has a bloody nose and there is blood everywhere.”
My protective-sister instincts kick in. I need to get to my brother. “I’ll be right there, Mom.”
I hang up and quickly start to take the jumpsuit off. Thankfully my normal clothes are on underneath. “I need you to find Colby,” I say, my heart rate skyrocketing. “I need to leave.”
Stryder pauses what he’s doing and comes up to me, his hands on my shoulders, bending to look at my eyes. “Hey, are you okay?”
“No, my brother needs me. Please, Stryder. Go find Colby.”
“Okay.” Sorrow is replaced by urgency. He sprints away and I’m left alone, trying to grab all my things and Colby’s as well.
I need to get to Bryan.
Nothing else matters right now.
My leg bounces up and down impatiently as I look out the window, willing the weekend traffic to take pity on us.
Come on, green means go, I scream in my head wishing teleportation had been invented by now.
“We’re almost there,” Colby says, his voice trying to soothe me.
It does nothing.
I need to make sure Bryan is okay.
“Are you okay?”
I shake my head. “No.” I stare at the window. “I just need to make sure he’s okay. I need to get to him.”
“I know. I’m trying, Rory.” He squeezes my hand and maneuvers around cars, trying to gain a little more speed, sailing down the road, making his best attempt to get me to Bryan.
All I can think about is how scared Bryan is, how he’s probably cowering in a corner, hitting himself because there is too much sensory stimuli. The onlookers, the judgers, the people who don’t understand why a thirty-year-old man would be wailing and hitting himself.
Not a lot of people get it.
Not a lot of people are educated about autism.
Not a lot of people have hearts kind enough to make them stop staring, to stop making assumptions, to look away instead.
Colby pulls into University Village where the Dugout Store is located, and before he can even park the car, I’m hopping out and rushing through the doors, running into racks of Rockies T-shirts and jerseys. Looking past the sea of purple, I spot my mom in the back looking stricken, the shop manager looking concerned, and then I hear him. Bryan’s soft cries hit me like a semi-trailer in the chest.
Calming myself, knowing he doesn’t like rash movements, I approach lightly despite my need to get to him as quickly as possible. When I finally see him, my stomach lurches from the sight of his bloody face, the red-stained shirt covering his ch
est.
Oh, Bryan.
When I reach him, I crouch down and sit cross-legged on the floor, gently placing my hand on his knee and speaking softly, barely above a whisper.
“Bryan. It’s Rory . . .”
It takes twenty minutes to calm him down, to let us help his nose stop bleeding, and to change him into a clean shirt thoughtfully given to us by the store manager. We apologized profusely and get Bryan back in the car, a baseball in hand, and a new shirt draped over his shoulders. My mom and I are worn out.
When my mom clicks the door shut to the car, I turn to her and ask, “Where’s Dad?”
“Called in for a few hours.” She presses her hand to her forehead, looking absolutely exhausted. “Thank you, honey. I don’t know what I would have done without you.” Turning to Colby, who has his arm wrapped around my waist, holding me close to his body, she says, “We couldn’t have done it without you either.”
And that’s the truth.
Colby sat next to me, carefully speaking to Bryan. At first, I didn’t want him to try to help, but once Bryan started responding to Colby, his deep voice and steady tone like my father’s, I leaned on Colby for help.
“Please, no need to thank me. I’m just glad I could be here for you too.” Glancing at the car, he asks, “Is he going to be okay?”
My mom nods. “He’ll be okay.”
“Do you want me to ride home with you?” I ask.
She shakes her head and pats my arm. “Go home, spend time with Colby. This is his last break before graduation. I got this.”
“Are you sure, Mom?”
She nods and leans over to press a kiss against my cheek. “I’m positive. Thank you both for your help.” She gives Colby a hug, and then gets in her car, giving us a little wave with her fingers.
And life goes on.
Because that’s what happens. We can’t sit and dwell, and we can’t take a break from our reality or the world. We have to keep moving forward, and we have to continue to keep life as normal as possible despite the unpredictability of each day.
