by Meghan Quinn
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 nothing 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 Twelve
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 patie
nt 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 fear 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.”
“Yeah, more fun for everyone,” I answer, sarcastically.
“Exactly.” She laughs and then asks, “Are you feeling a little better?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. I’m glad. What are you going to do now?”
“Go to Crave, grab a giant-ass burger, and eat my feelings. What about you?”
I can sense the roll in her eyes when she says, “Eat your feelings. You’re ridiculous. I have work tonight, and then Donovan and I are going out after.”
“Don. How is the old fart?” I turn the car on and put the phone on speaker.
“Oh my God.” She laughs. “Did I tell you what happened when I jokingly called him Don in front of his friends the other day?”
“No. What happened?”
For the record, I don’t like the guy. Not only is he all wrong for Ryan, but it sounds like he has no sense of humor either. Fucking stiff suit with his head up his ass. I desperately wish Ryan would break up with him and go back to looking for the right guy instead of the wrong, but to hell if I’m going to tell her that. Something felt very wrong in my life when Ryan took herself out of it. I’d been an asshole, sure, but there is no way I’d risk that sort of loss again. It was . . . crippling.
“I was drunk, of course. He was showing off in front of his friends playing poker and when he won, I clapped him on the back and said, ‘Bravo, Don. Bravo.’”
I snort.
Straight-up snort.
“Oh shit. What did he do?”
“Turned bright red and gave me the eye. That night he told me what was acceptable to call him in public and what wasn’t. Because he was being a douche, I kept calling him Don for the rest of the night and the next morning.”
“Sounds about right.” I laugh. “Fuck, I wish I’d been a fly on the wall to see his reaction when you were in rare form.”
“What does that mean?”
“You know exactly what that means. You can get into these moods that are hilarious and irritating simultaneously. When it’s not directed at me, it’s fucking fun to witness.”
“How dare you imply I’m a loose cannon.”
“You are, but it’s why I love you.” The moment the words fall from my lips, my eyes widen and my heart skips a beat. Shit. “Like a friend,” I awkwardly add quickly. “It’s why I love you like a friend.”
She’s silent.
I’m silent.
My confession washes over us like a wet blanket, killing the banter and playful mood in an instant. Even though we are miles apart, the tension escalates, making it uncomfortable to stay on the phone.
“Uh, I should probably get going,” she finally says, cracking the tense brick resting between us.
Sounds about right after what I said, but . . .
Don’t go.
Sorry I made things weird.
I don’t know why I said that.
All things I should have said, instead of, “Yeah, me too.”
“Sorry about Bent, but I’m glad he’s okay.”
“Thanks for talking me through it.”
“Any time, Colby.” The way she says my name—the ways it rolls off her tongue with such ease—comforts me, reminds me of the many reasons I keep this woman close. She’s like my right arm. A necessity in my life. She’s why I can breathe with ease right now. And that is one of the reasons I love her.
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As a friend.
My very necessary and one-of-a-kind friend.
“Bye, Ryan.”
“Bye.”
“Hey you.”
“Hey,” Sage says, smiling at the phone. “Is this a good time to FaceTime?”
Dinner already downed, there’s cold water next to me on a nightstand, and my book next to me in bed. This is the perfect time.
“Yeah, not doing anything. How was your day?” I prop my head in my hand and lean back on my pillow, getting comfortable. Sage is sitting at the dining room table of her house, eating what looks to be a bowl of pasta and red sauce, hair braided, and face freshly washed.
“It was good. I fitted a little girl for her first pair of glasses today and she was super excited. She picked bright pink with a leopard print on the inside. I could never pull it off, but she was sassy and owned it.”
“That’s a bold set of glasses.” And my mind immediately flashes to Ryan, who I could see wearing them with her trademark sass.
Sage takes a small bite of her pasta. “It was.”
“Who are you talking to?” Rowdy asks, coming into the dining area. He bends at the waist and squats next to Sage, arm draped over the back of her chair for balance. “Are you naked?” he asks the minute he sees me.
I roll my eyes. “No.”
“Looks like it. I can almost see your nipples.” Sage giggles, and it’s cute. Rowdy elbows her. “Right, if he lowers the phone just a little we’d get a good show. Come on, Daddy, show us the good stuff.”
“Don’t fucking call me Daddy.”
“Oh, only Sage is allowed to call you that?” He turns toward her. “I thought you said I could call him that too.”
Sage’s eyes widen. “I never said I call him Daddy.”
Ignoring her, Rowdy comes back to me. “She went on and on the other night about how she calls you Daddy while you two get it on.”
“I did not.” She swats Rowdy, who laughs. “I really didn’t tell him that.” She looks concerned as she talks to me, as if I would get mad.
“Ah, don’t’ be so serious.” Rowdy nudges her. “Remember what I told you; don’t get your titties in a twist. Relax.”
