I chuckle and flip open the pizza box, handing Gramps a slice. “I know. My mentor, Mike, has been helping me in that area. I want to be the one they can’t possibly turn down.”
“Smart. Very smart.” He takes a bite of his pizza and groans. “So good.”
I keep in the smile that wants to peek past my lips. It’s not THAT great, but I go with it. Gramps likes what he likes.
“How’s Stryder?”
I wipe my mouth with a napkin. “Not doing great, but I don’t blame him. I don’t know what I would do if I was in his position.”
“His father must not have taken the news well.”
“Yeah, you could say that. The tension at the house is stronger than ever.”
After I graduated from high school and started my freshman year at the Air Force Academy, I confessed to Gramps what had been happening with Ted. To say he didn’t take it well was an understatement. I think he’s aged greatly since finding out, distraught he never saw the signs, that I never told him. I explained to him my worries, and by the time I was old enough, it was more mental abuse than anything. I matched Ted in height and outweighed him in muscle by at least ten pounds, and he didn’t test my strength, which was smart on his end. But Gramps still took it very hard, and I think it’s one of the reasons he’s in the nursing home now. Shortly after my confession, he sold his house, invested 80 percent of it in my name, and then deposited the rest into my bank account to live off while I was at the academy, promising me he had enough between his savings and his Social Security checks to afford a good nursing home. I never had to ask my mom and Ted for anything. I have no idea how the invested portion is doing, because that’s for the future, but I’ve barely touched the rest. I’ve only used it when I absolutely needed to. The man is a saint.
Even though Gramps thinks he wasn’t there for me, he has no idea how much of a savior he was during that time in my life.
He’s silent for a second and asks, “Have you told your mother?”
I shake my head. “No. She doesn’t deserve to know.”
“Still not inviting her to graduation?”
“No. She hasn’t been in my life for four years, so why would I start now?” I pat Gramps on the back. “You’re all I need . . .” My voice trails off as I look out the window, my mind immediately going to Rory.
Gramps must notice because he asks, “What’s the forlorn look on your face?”
“Hmm?”
“You spaced out.” I take a bite of my pizza, trying to ignore my grandpa’s gaze, studying, reading me. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“This pizza is really good. I really like the onion.”
“Colby,” he draws out. “What’s going on?”
Sighing, I toss my pizza on the box, wipe my hands, and slouch in my chair. “Gramps, it happened to me.”
“Uh-oh.” Slowly, he turns in his seat, understanding flashing in his eyes. “You met someone.” I nod, causing him to laugh. “Let me guess, she’s the one?”
“I don’t know about the one, but she sure as hell is someone I want to get to know better.”
“What’s the problem?”
I flip my napkin to the pizza box. “Flight school. She shouldn’t have to wait for me.” I asked her to write, but told her she didn’t have to wait. Even when you find a man who can give you what you need? I’m not that man.
“Did she say that?”
I think back to our conversation and the words we spoke to each other. There weren’t many. It was more about the look she gave me. The scared, I don’t think I can do this look. So I took the lead and let her off the hook.
“Not really, but the way she looked so scared . . . I knew it wasn’t in the cards for us.”
Gramps shakes his head, tsking at me. “You didn’t give her a chance to try?”
“I don’t think she would, Gramps.” Despite how much she pushed for us, I don’t think she would.
“Do you like her, Colby?”
I nod my head, pinching my brows with my fingers, willing the simmering headache to stop. “I do.”
“Well then, you never know until you give it a shot. You have the next few weeks off, maybe make it impossible for her to say no to you.”
“And how do you expect me to do that?”
Gramps laughs, his chuckle followed by a deep cough. Pressing his hand against his chest, he says, “Boy, you’re a handsome fella with Brooks blood running through your veins. Put your mind to it and you can make it happen.”
“It’s not that easy.”
He scoffs. “In this day and age, with the technology you have at your disposal, it’s easier than it will ever be.” When I told him Rory had written actual letters to me, he’d been very impressed with my girl. But . . . well, it wasn’t enough. He nods at me.
“Pull out your phone, and I’ll show you how it’s done.”
“What? No way.”
He wiggles his old, arthritis-riddled fingers at me. “Hand me the damn thing. I’m old, listen to what I have to say.”
Sighing, a smile playing at my lips, I unlock my phone and hand it over to him. He studies it for a second and says, “For God’s sake, I can’t see a thing. Open up a text message and type out exactly what I say.”
“Gramps, we parted on good terms. I don’t want to mess around with her.”
“Good terms means you can communicate with her. Listen to me, damn it. I know what I’m doing. Now open a text and get ready to type.”
Letting out a heavy breath, I wait for the mastermind to do his work. This ought to be good.
Chapter Seventeen
RORY
I stare at the text from Colby, reading it over and over in my head, trying to understand it, trying to determine if he’s drunk or if he’s incredibly awkward and unsure how to talk to girls.
I’m leaning toward drunk . . .
I read it one more time.
Colby: Roses are red, planes are grey, please accept this emoji bouquet.
At the tail end of his text is every flower emoji available. I mean, it would be a very pretty and colorful bouquet, but still, I think he’s drunk.
After we parted ways on Friday, I expected him to go back to the quiet and reserved Colby, the one I wrote letters to—because I promised—but the one I’d possibly never receive much from in return. I sobbed all the way home, and there were moments when I wanted to call him and tell him I’d been wrong. That I did want to try. That I cared about him too much not to. But I didn’t call, because that small amount of time with him—being held by him, talking with him so easily—was wonderful. Addictive. He is addictive. Even in the quiet moments, I felt at peace. I didn’t want to have momentary tastes of that sort of ease, only for it to be taken away . . .
This text, though. Boy, is it something.
I tuck my legs under me, adjusting my seat on my parents’ couch and stare at my phone. I asked Ryan what I should do, sending her a screenshot of the text, but she hasn’t gotten back to me. I feel like I should reply. It’s been over two hours; is that too late to respond? Would he be more drunk now?
Before I can find out, another text from him comes in. Afraid of what it might say, I squint as I read the text message.
Colby: Sorry about that last text message. My Gramps was trying to show me what it’s like to be “a man” and win a girl back. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. Hope I didn’t bother you.
A small smile slips over my lips as my heart starts to beat rapidly in my chest. He was talking to his grandpa about me? Trying to win a girl back. What does that mean?
Not able to resist, even though I probably should, I text him back.
Rory: That was your gramps? Wow, I might just be in love with him. I’ve never received such a beautiful bouquet of flowers before.
His text back is immediate.
Colby: Technically, I sent you the bouquet, so . . .
I chuckle, loving this playful side of him, a side I’m sure he doesn’t give to a lot
of people. Especially since he has to set a good example at the Air Force Academy, being a leader. I feel honored. Privileged.
Rory: Taking credit for your grandpa’s sweet moves. You heathen.
Colby: Always. How have you been?
I shut my eyes and lean back on my couch. See, this is why I shouldn’t have texted him back. Because right now, all I can think about is getting lost in his arms—in the way he makes me feel so alive—but there is a barrier between us that prevents me from following that desire.
“Are you okay?” my mom asks, sitting across from me. Bryan and my dad are in the basement watching hockey, our bellies are full from some homemade chili and cornbread, and our house is content. Quiet.
“Yeah,” I sigh, checking my phone again, reading his message one more time.
“Doesn’t seem like it. Is there something on your mind?”
Sitting up, I set my phone down and say, “So, I met this guy a few weeks back.” My mom’s face lights up, and she positively gushes from the news. “Don’t get weird on me.”
She shakes her head, hands still on her lap. “I won’t, I won’t.” She takes a calming breath. “Just give me a second.” She stares at her hands for a few beats, as if she truly needs to gather herself. “Do you have a picture of him?”
Rolling my eyes, I shake my head. “No, I don’t have a picture of him.”
“Rats.” She snaps her finger in disappointment. “Tell me about him, at least. What’s his name? What does he look like? Is he sweet?”
Surrendering to my mom’s badgering, I answer, “His name is Colby. He’s very sweet, very protective, the kind of guy who I know would never intentionally hurt me. Really loyal with a strong work ethic and integrity.” I think back to our time at Garden of the Gods. “He’s incredibly handsome, Mom. He has these dark, smoldering eyes that capture you the minute you make eye contact, almost like you can’t look away.”
“Oh, the eyes are the window to the soul.”
Isn’t that the absolute truth when it comes to Colby? “And he’s tall, broad, built. Very strong, but not like bodybuilder strong.”
“A pushups guy.” My mom nods her head.
“Totally. And he’s . . .” I have the urge to groan in frustration from the loss. “He’s beautiful with his words, Mom.”
“Oh honey, he sounds lovely. What’s the problem?”
“He’s a senior cadet at the Air Force Academy.”
She claps her hands together. “Oh, a military man, how exciting.”
“Not so much. He was recently accepted into flight school, which means he could be leaving soon, once he graduates.”
“What’s the problem?”
Did she not just hear me? “Mom, he could be leaving.”
“So? That doesn’t mean anything.” Coming over to my side of the couch, she sits down and takes my hand in hers, getting ready to unleash her opinion. “I’ve seen boys come in and out of your life, good and bad ones. But I’ve never seen you talk about them like you just talked about—”
“Colby,” I answer, and her smile grows.
“Colby.” She tests his name on her tongue. “I’ve never seen you light up like you did when you were talking about him, which means to me that you truly care about him.”
“I do,” I admit. “I really do. I like him, Mom.”
“Then why are you holding back? I’m assuming that’s what the issue is, right?”
“Yeah. He told me on Friday about his acceptance to flight school. It was a blow I wasn’t ready to take. I was caught off guard and before I could say anything, he gave me an out. I took it.”
“Oh, honey.” My mom shakes her head. “Poor Colby. How did he take it?”
I look at my phone. “He asked me to continue to send him letters and now . . . now he’s texting me.”
“Because he doesn’t want to let go.”
“Neither do I.”
My mom pulls me into a hug as a tear slips down my cheek. “Then don’t let him go.”
“I don’t see how it’s going to work out. He’s headed for a different life.”
Pulling away, my mom takes my face in her hands, her thumbs rubbing away my tears. “You know, honey, sometimes we need to take a chance in life to see if the feelings we harbor in our heart will bring us true happiness. You will never know if what you feel for this man is real until you give it a chance. But you will regret the missed opportunity if you don’t go for it.” She presses a kiss against my forehead. “Trust your heart on this one, and the rest will work out.” Standing, she straightens her khaki pants and says, “Now, I’ll be in the kitchen making some pie. Would you like apple or blueberry?”
Wiping another tear away, I say, “Apple all the way, Mom.”
“That’s my girl.” She points at my phone. “Chin up and text him back. At least see if he’ll send you a picture for your old hen of a mother.”
I chuckle and shoo her away toward the kitchen with my hand. Turning back to my phone, I reread his last text message.
Colby: Always. How have you been?
Taking a deep breath, I decide to jump in head first, letting my heart lead the way.
Rory: I’ve been missing you.
I bite my bottom lip as I press send, my stomach fluttering with nerves as the little dots dance around, his reply seconds away.
Colby: I think you just made my heart leap in my chest.
Rory: Does that mean you’ve missed me, too?
Colby: Missed doesn’t describe what I’ve been feeling.
Rory: I don’t think I can stay away.
Colby: I know I sure as hell can’t. I tried, one day, and failed.
Rory: So what do we do now?
Colby: Meet me. Somewhere, anywhere, tell me when and where. I’ll be there. I have the next two and a half weeks off. I’m all yours.
Rory: Don’t tease me, Colby.
Colby: Never . . . meet me, Rory.
Biting the side of my cheek, I shift my weight and tuck my legs under my bottom, holding my phone in front of me. The way he demands to meet him—not leaving it as a question—makes me giddy inside, because with Colby I know it’s not an alpha move. It’s out of desperation, and to me, that’s sexy. I still recall my reaction when he told me in his text messages that he desperately wanted to meet me. I feel the same thrill here.
I might be crazy for putting my heart first and my mind second when it comes to this man, but I know if I don’t, my mom was right, I might very well regret it for the rest of my life. I have never felt this way about another man.
I text him back, a giant smile on my face the entire time.
Rory: My place, tomorrow night at six. Address to follow.
His response is immediate.
Colby: I’ll be there.
Chapter Eighteen
COLBY
The steps to Rory’s apartment creak under my six-foot-two frame, bending and stretching beneath me. The narrow walls bow and crack, showing off the age of the building with its chipped paint and dented surface. It’s not pretty, but I’m sure Rory has made it perfect.
With a single flower in hand, I make my way to the second floor, eating up the steps two at a time, feeling nervous, but more than anything, excited.
After a long lecture from Gramps telling me to pull my head out of my ass, I sent his lame poem to Rory. When she didn’t respond right away, I regretted everything I’d ever done in life. Then my phone dinged, and it started a conversation, a conversation I’d craved. And even though I didn’t want to, I had to hand it to Gramps. He knew how to win a girl back with a corny poem. He says it works every time . . . at least it did with Grandma whenever she was mad at him.
I stuck that advice in my back pocket in case I ever needed it.
When I reach the top of the stairs, I knock on the only door on the landing. The building is less than stellar and not a place I’d want her living. In my mind, she deserves more than an entryway door barely hanging off the hinges and walls that seem to crumbl
e when you look at them.
Footsteps pad across the floor and the door opens, revealing a very bubbly and energetic Rory. I don’t even get a chance to say hi before she’s pulling me into her apartment and wrapping her arms around my waist. I return the embrace, my arms encasing her tightly as I press my cheek to the top of her head. God, I needed this. Needed to hold her. After a moment, I take in her studio apartment. The focal point is her large bed decorated in red and orange floral bedding with giant pillows and fluffy blankets. To the left there is a small kitchenette and two-person dining table, decorated in bright turquoise and yellow. To the right, there is a tan loveseat covered in colorful pillows facing a matching entertainment center. It’s homey, bright, and so Rory.
I like it a lot.
Rubbing her back, I say, “Hey there.”
Pushing off my chest slightly, she looks up at me and smiles that gorgeous smile. “You’re here.”
I nod. “I’m here.” I give her the single rose—feeling a little dumb—but when she takes it, her eyes light up.
“Thank you. This is so sweet.” Standing on her toes, she presses a light kiss across my cheek and takes off toward her kitchen, bouncing away in leggings and another one of those comfy sweaters of hers. This one is mint green. It highlights her beautiful eyes and makes her figure look fucking incredible.
I shut the door behind me and make my way into the apartment while I watch her take out a glass, fill it with water and put the single rose inside. Once she sets it on the table, she turns toward me and takes my hand in hers, directing me to the loveseat. She pushes some pillows to the side and sits down, pulling me down with her.
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