by Meghan Quinn
“This is where you keep all your valuables, isn’t it?”
I lean against the wall, letting her take everything in. It should feel weird having someone in my very personal space, seeing a part of me few know about it. Yet with Ryan, it feels . . . right. “Yup. Things that are precious to me, that I don’t want to move around with, I keep in here. When I retire from the Air Force and buy a home, I’ll unload this storage unit and give everything a proper place, but until then, I visit the unit every once in a while, fly the planes, and look through the memories of the two most important men of my life.”
“Your dad and your grandpa.”
“Yup.”
She nods and turns her attention back to the boxes, reading the labels.
Dad’s belongings.
Gramps’s medals.
Toy planes.
Pictures.
It’s all here. Everything that morphed me into the man I am today fits perfectly in this tiny storage unit.
“What’s this?” Ryan asks, lifting a blanket to look underneath.
I help her, removing the entire thing. “This is my first ever model airplane. My dad bought it for me. Up until he gave me this, I only had the little plastic models that I painstakingly put together, but this was my first ever remote-control airplane. It’s an Eaglet 50.”
“Red and white. I like the colors.” Her fingers drag over the wingspan, her gentle touch and appreciation for the hard work it took to put together putting a smile on my soul. “So you’ve flown this?”
I nod. “Many times. When my dad was still alive too, I flew it for him a couple times.” I run my hand over the wings as well. “There was a brief break where I couldn’t fly her, but now she’s up and running again.”
“A brief break? Why?”
Memories easily come back to life, one of the worst moments I’ve ever experienced flooding my mind. “My stepdad snapped the wings over his knee on my birthday. He was on a rampage and found my planes. Made it his mission to destroy everything I ever loved.”
“Oh my God, I can’t believe he did that.”
I press my thumb against the wing where the split happened. “I can believe it. I’m just surprised it took him that long to not only find my plane but break it.”
“Wasn’t your birthday the day your dad died as well?” When I glance her way, she blushes. “Sorry, Rory shared a lot when you two were dating. I hope that’s okay.”
Not caring, I shrug. “Makes it easier on me. I don’t have to tell you everything and relive it again.”
“Are you over it all?” she asks, a tilt to her head and a hopeful look in her eyes.
“Am I over what my stepdad did to me? The neglect from my mom?” I push my hand through my hair and let out a long breath of air, releasing the demons starting to build inside me again. “I don’t think I’ll ever get over it. What they did is a part of me, an imprint I can’t wash away, but what I can do is not let it dictate my life. I learned that a few years back. If I keep dwelling on the past, there is no way I can move forward into my future. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah, it makes a lot of sense.” She goes back to running her finger along my plane, deep in thought before saying, “Can we take the old girl for a spin?”
I light up. “I was planning on it. It’s why I brought you here, actually.”
“Yeah? To fly planes?”
“Yup.” I take the plane to the back of the car where I pull out a little jug of gasoline. “Hey, in the box below the shelf, there’s a tool box and a remote control, want to grab those?”
“Sure.” She bounces around, collecting the items and then follows me to the open parking lot, where I start checking the engine and filling the plane up with gas.
She watches over me, handing me things when I ask, showing interest by asking questions about what I’m doing.
It reminds me of when Gramps used to take me to the airfield to fly planes. Back then it was me asking question after question, wanting to know every little thing about flying. And just like Gramps, I take my time explaining things to her, watching how her mind starts to understand and she starts using the correct terms. And when she gets the terms correct, she fist-pumps the air, extremely excited that she’s talking the “lingo” with me. Her words, not mine.
“Okay, are you ready?”
She rubs her hands together. “I am so ready. Do I get to take her off?”
“Uh, no.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because I’m not about to let someone who’s never flown an RC plane before take off, or land for that matter, so don’t even ask. Crashing this guy is not an option.”
“Who says I’m going to crash it?”
I point to my chest. “Me.”
“Oh come on, give a girl a chance.”
I shake my head. “Maybe when we’re back in Vegas and we’re flying a less important plane, like the one I just finished building.”
“I’m going to hold you to that, Brooks.”
Hell, I’ll let her crash any one of my planes in Vegas if that means I get to hang out with her more.
I really think this was exactly what we needed—a refresher—something to remind her why we’re such good friends. The ease we have when it comes to conversation, the fun without really trying. And all the joking and teasing? Fuck, this feels good.
Maybe this isn’t just what we needed, but what I needed. The last few weeks have been painful. Being away from home, away from Ryan, from Sage, dealing with Bent’s mood, living in a hotel room and with reassignment looming, it catches up to you. Every once in a while, you need to take a break from it all.
This is my break.
“What are you waiting for? Get that girl up in the sky. My grabby hands are getting excited.” She comes after me with her fingers, but I scoot away before she can reach me.
“Okay, it’s going to be loud for a second, but once she’s up in the air, it’s going to be a lot of fun.”
“I’m so freaking ready.”
“I’m ready for my own too.”
I pull up to Ryan’s childhood home and take in the simple craftsman style two-story, evergreens in the front with a mix of rocks and boulders. A mailbox in the shape of the house at the end of the driveway, their name on the side.
It’s a beautiful home.
A home you would think lived a picture-perfect family on the inside, but from what Ryan has mentioned before I know it’s not true, I’m not the only one with a shitty childhood. I peer into the windows and wonder what happened behind those walls?
I bring my attention back to Ryan and say, “Maybe for Christmas I’ll get you your own plane. You can even pick the colors.”
“Yeah? That would be exciting. I think I would go for a mosaic look, something unique and different.”
“You can bet there won’t be another mosaic-covered plane out there.”
“Always looking to be original, that’s me.” She leans against the side of the door and takes off her seatbelt. “Thank you for today. I had such a good time, Colby.”
“Thanks for coming along and dealing with the nerdy side of me.”
“It’s not nerdy. It’s cute.” She looks away and bites on her bottom lip. I can see she wants to say something, that there is a confession of some sort dancing across the tip of her tongue, wanting to be unleashed, but before I can ask her what it is, what she’s hiding from me, she says, “Well, I should get going. My dad hates eating late.”
“Okay, yeah.” I pull on the back of my neck as she exits the car. I decide to do the same and walk to her side.
When she shuts the door and turns toward me, she clutches her purse close to her side and shifts on her feet, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“Are you really breaking up with Donovan?” I don’t know why I ask it, but I feel that in order to sleep better tonight, I need to know the answer. I need it confirmed.
“Yes. I am. You were right, he’s not the guy for me.” Her lashes li
ft and her eyes fix on mine, blue and brilliant, and for a brief moment I have the urge to ask her who the guy for her really is. I’m tempted to figure out who this mystery man would be, the type of guy she’s looking for, but I hold back.
“Go ahead and gloat.” She turns away, but I pull her back to me, clutching her small chin between my forefinger and thumb.
Her mouth falls, her lip trembles, and her eyes widen as I take a step forward. “I don’t want to gloat, Ryan.” I take another step forward, invading her space. “I didn’t want to be right about Donovan. As a matter of fact, I wanted nothing more than to be proven wrong about him, but unfortunately for him, you are way out of his league.”
She tries to shake her head but I hold her still. “You are.”
She blinks rapidly, her eyes filling with tears. I feel this strong pull to comfort her, to not let her go, to keep her safe in my arms at all times.
And that realization hits me hard.
I stroke my thumb over her jawline, her head pressing into my touch. Closely, I observe the way her eyes flutter shut with each pass of my thumb, the way her neck moves when she swallows, and the slight part of her lips every time my thumb nears them.
She’s beautiful—stunning—and even more so without all the makeup she’s wearing. She doesn’t need it. She has the kind of natural beauty that brings a man to his knees to beg for her attention.
“Colby,” she whispers, pressing her hand against my chest. I lower my other hand to her hip, where I slowly caress the soft fabric of her jacket.
The cool night casts a dark blanket over our heads, and tiny sparkles of stars, partially obstructed by the clouds, shine above us as the street lamps come on for the night. A cool breeze starts to drift in, and I feel something deep within me I haven’t felt in a really long time.
I can’t pinpoint what it is or where it’s coming from but one thing is for sure, it’s the type of moment—connection—that makes me fucking happy. Being with Ryan.
My thumb moves closer to her mouth where I pull on her bottom lip briefly.
The air stills around us as her hand grips my sweater tightly.
My hand glides to the small of her back.
Our breaths mix as I keep my eyes trained on hers, and our chests both rise and fall together.
A blink of her eyes, a flutter of her lashes.
Another step closer.
A press to the small of her back.
She stands on her toes.
Her other hand rounds the back of my neck.
My mind goes blank, as all I can think about is the warmth of this woman, the way she makes me feel, the joy she brings me with a simple smile.
I think . . .
Fuck. I think—
Ring. Ring.
My phone blares in my pocket, scaring the shit out of the both of us. Ryan pushes off me, both hands in her hair, a look of disbelief in her eyes.
Unsure of what to do, of what was about to happen, I pull my phone out of my pocket and whisper a slew of curse words under my breath when I see Sage’s name flash across the screen.
I answer it and say, “Hey, can I call you back in a second?”
“Of course, is everything okay?”
“Yeah, just saying bye to Ryan.”
“Ryan is in Colorado Springs?”
“For the weekend, yeah.”
“Oh . . . fun. Tell her I said hi. Give me a call when you can.”
“Okay. Love you.”
“Love you,” she says back, the term of endearment sounding slightly strangled.
When I hang up, Ryan is already halfway to her door, so I jog to catch up to her, pulling on her arm to get her to stop when I reach her.
“Hey.”
Keeping her gaze anywhere but on mine, she says, “Thanks for everything, Colby. Bye.”
She tries to pull away, but I stop her. “Hey, come here. Give me a hug at least.”
“I can’t.” She rips her arm from my grasp. “I just can’t.”
“Ryan,” I call out as she walks away. “Fucking talk to me. Don’t keep running away.”
“I have to run away, Colby, because if I don’t, I don’t know what will happen.”
Arms stretched wide, I ask, “What the hell does that mean?”
Backing away, she shakes her head and makes it to her front porch where she quickly says, “Good night, Colby.”
And just like that, she’s gone.
Fuck.
I grip the back of my head, the fine and short strands of my hair being tugged and pulled on as I make my way to the car, my mind whirling, my heart spiraling, my control slipping.
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 Fifteen
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.”
