“Why is he hitting himself?”
“He’s so loud, Mommy.”
“Ma’am, we’re going to need you to leave, the customers are getting scared.”
I count to ten before addressing who I can only imagine is the store manager behind me. Eyes squeeze shut, deep breath in, deep breath out.
Hand still on Bryan who’s cradled in the corner by the lawn furniture in the department store, I turn my head to the man behind me holding a walkie talkie. “Hi, my name is Rory and this is my brother Bryan.”
“We’re going to need you to leave.”
I nod, keeping my calm. It’s not the first time I’ve had to deal with ignorant human beings. Unfortunately. “I can understand your concern for your store and customers, but please have an open heart when I tell you my brother has autism and is currently having a moment I need to help him work through. I would love to get him out of your store as quickly as possible but it’s not as easy as it seems. I need him to feel safe and comfortable first and having you raise your voice in our direction is not helping.”
The man’s face begins to soften and deep down I hope that not only does he feel like shit for being so harsh, but that he also learns a lesson. As a stranger, you never know who you’re talking to or their background, so you should always approach with sensitivity. This man didn’t get the memo.
“If you don’t mind helping me, could you clear out some of the onlookers so I can talk to my brother privately? That would be incredibly helpful.”
“Uh, sure.” He looks down at Bryan who is rocking back and forth, his ears covered. “Can I get you anything else?”
“Just traffic control. Thank you.”
Turning back to Bryan, I squat down to his level and lightly rub my thumb over his knee cap, a spot that I know soothes him.
Mom and dad are out on a date and I offered to watch Bryan. Being ambitious, I thought it would be fun to pick up a new ball for our bounce game and some frozen pizza.
Apparently, that was a bad idea.
Then again, the way I see it, you never know until you try. It’s a setback but not a game changer, especially since Bryan is easily starting to calm down this go around.
“Hey bud, are you feeling better? I have my headphones in my purse, do you want to listen to some CCR?” He nods, still rocking but not as violently. “Okay, let me grab them.”
Keeping my thumb on his knee, continuing to rub his skin soothingly, I maneuver my purse down my shoulder and dig my hand through the contents easily connecting with my phone and the earphones. One-handed, I plug in the earphones, untangle them, and open up my Spotify app, going to Bryan’s list I have downloaded specifically for moments like this.
“Would you like me to put the earphones on for you?”
He nods.
Carefully, I remove my hand from his knee, hold my breath to see if he will regress but when he waits patiently, I quickly pick up the headphones and drape them over his ears, CCR already playing.
Letting out a long breath, I watch as Bryan starts to relax, his knees unfold, and his hands clutch onto my phone. He’s coming out of it.
I drop to my butt, cradle my head in my hand for a second to catch my breath. Sweat pools on my back, my adrenaline starting to fade. Christ.
Just another normal day for me.
Despite all of the stares, the whispers, the judgement, I still love my brother with everything in me. He brings me joy with his smile and his goofy personality. He might be difficult at times and he might put me in situations where all I want to do is crawl under a blanket and hide from the world, but he’s my big brother and I would do anything for him.
Anything.
I give him a few minutes before I attempt to get him off the ground. Thankfully, he follows with ease, head kept down as we make our way out of the store. The manager apologizes profusely as we walk away and because I’m more about teaching others about autism, I’m not a dick and blow him off. I educate him instead, hoping that in the future, he shows more compassion.
My parents will not be hearing about this. No way in hell. This will be my little secret with Bryan because I don’t want my parents to limit the alone time I have with him. I handled his meltdown and now we’re moving on.
I’ll be ordering pizza for dinner instead, might have been the smarter choice in the long run, but hey, I’m proud of us for trying. I’m proud of us for getting through that together.
This is why I’m here. For Bryan. I might have sacrificed a lot for him but I wouldn’t change my decisions. Bryan needs me, if anything, that was confirmed today.
* * *
“Hey Mom,” I say into the phone that’s pressed between my shoulder and cheek as I open the door to my apartment.
“Honey, how are you?”
“Doing all right.” I shut the door behind me, plop my mail on my bed, and set down my bag. Exhausted from a long day of classes and massage clients, I lay down next to the mail, body spread out, letting my muscles scream and yell at me for the overuse.
Working.
It’s what I’ve been doing to occupy my time. I’ve been picking up extra appointments and classes whenever I get a chance. I’m not desperate for the money, but I am trying to keep my mind off things.
It’s been about two months since I said goodbye to Colby, since I said goodbye to the possibility of a long-term relationship with him. I realized I wasn’t cut out for that if it meant years of separation. I wasn’t wrong when I told him I never should have pursued him. I should have left him alone. I had loved him. How could I not? He is an incredible man, valiant, a warrior who deserves to reach every dream he ever wanted. I hated the look of agony I saw in his eyes when I said that his future was filled with so much promise, but to stay with me, he'd only achieve average. It broke my heart when he thought it was about worth, that I didn't see worth in us.
No, because I loved him, I had to ensure he accomplished everything he had risen above so much to achieve.
I know I did the right thing. I have missed him . . . so much at times. It makes me wonder if part of the reason I loved him so much was because he needed me. Like Bryan. Like my parents.
I like to be needed. Was that why I couldn't bear to be separated? Because I couldn't love him and care for him daily, and to me, that wasn't enough?
Maybe. What I am convinced of though is that I acted selfishly when I pursued him knowing that he might be accepted into flight school and we’d be apart. Now? I'm proud of myself for setting him free, because I know that Colby is exactly where he needs to be, in the cockpit, flying among the clouds.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t think about him, crave him at times, it’s the reason I still keep busy, because I don’t ever want to have enough downtime to regret my actions.
It’s why I’ve picked up more responsibilities as a volunteer with Special Olympics. Always stay busy, that’s my motto.
“I’m exhausted. I had four massage clients and four workout classes, the first starting at five-thirty.”
“Rory, that seems like a lot. I don’t want you to make yourself sick. Too much could be hurtful to your health.”
Inwardly I roll my eyes. “My health is completely fine, Mom.”
“If you’re not careful, you could pass out from exhaustion, keel over without warning. Maybe bleed internally from too much stress.”
I rub my forehead with my spare hand, telling myself to count to ten before I lash out on my mom. It’s not her fault she’s been overly worried since I broke up with Colby. She was devastated, and told me I was making a huge mistake, but she didn’t know all the details. She didn’t know that I was staying behind for them, for Bryan. If she’d known that, she’d have forced me to leave.
And I can’t. I can’t ever leave. Not because I’m stubborn and scared, but because I truly believe Bryan needs me, that I’m the one person who can help soothe him, and I don’t think he’ll understand why I’m not there for him.
It’s a sacrifice I’m makin
g, but one I would make a thousand times over.
“Mom, I’m fine, and before you ask, yes, I’m taking my vitamins, I’m eating regularly, and I’m consuming copious amounts of water.”
“Is your pee clear?”
“Yes, Mother,” I drag out on a long sigh.
I think I might have to reconsider this whole staying with my parents thing when Stryder is in my apartment. My mom is going to be a helicopter mom, constantly overseeing everything I do.
“Your annoyed voice isn’t doing anything for me,” my mom teases.
“Well, your nagging is doing nothing for me either, so looks like we’re even.”
She chuckles. I know it’s all in love, the nagging, but at twenty-one, I’m over it.
“So what’s on your mind? You asked if we could talk.”
“Yeah, so do you remember Colby’s friend, Stryder?”
“Hmm . . .” She pauses. “Was he the tall one with striking blue eyes? A bit of a cutie from what I remember.”
Well, that’s one way to describe him. It would be creepy if my mom thought he was hot, I guess. Which, he is. Incredibly.
“Yes.”
“How’s he doing? He’s the one that didn’t get into flight school, isn’t he?”
“Yes, that’s him.”
"Poor kid. Is he doing okay?"
“Ehh, not so much. Not to get into too much detail, but his dad is making his life miserable at home. I saw him last night, completely drunk and in a dark place. He asked for help, to get him out of his house. Ryan and I talked about it and offered up our places.”
There is silence and I wince, knowing what’s probably going through my mom’s head.
“Do you think that’s a good idea? This is Colby’s best friend, right?”
“Yes. But it’s nothing romantic or anything. He just . . .” I sigh. “He really needs help, Mom. Given we both have small apartments, we thought we would trade back and forth, and that way we have some time to ourselves too. So he’ll stay with Ryan for a few days, and then he’ll stay at my place. On those nights, I was wondering if it was okay if I stayed with you guys?”
More silence.
Uh-oh.
I think I’m in for a lecture.
“Rory,” she finally says. “You know I love your helping heart and your passionate soul, but I really don’t think that’s a good idea. Not just for you, but for Bryan. It took us a while to get him used to you not living with us anymore. I don’t want to confuse him.”
And that makes me feel like a giant ass. She’s right, Bryan would be confused and I don’t want that. Even if I can’t see another way to make this work for Stryder, I can’t put that on my parents. I stayed—finished things with Colby—to care for Bryan.
“That makes so much sense.” I’m a little embarrassed I didn’t even think about it that way.
“I love that you want to help him out, honey, but I really think you should let him figure this out on his own. Offering your apartment isn’t the solution. Maybe he needs to have a long chat with his dad.”
I roll my eyes at that one. From all the stories I’ve heard about Stryder’s dad, “chatting” wouldn’t cause him to relent. What did Stryder say about him at Thanksgiving? “My father is single-minded when it comes to my future. I’ll only be a true Sheppard once I become a fighter pilot. So, that’s what I’ll do.” God, no wonder Stryder is so miserable.
But instead of arguing with my mother, I say, “Yeah, maybe.” Sitting up, I flip through my mail. “Maybe Ryan can at least help him out for a bit.”
“Didn’t they have a fling?” my mom asks, always ready for some gossip.
“No, Stryder never made a move on her. Even when he was drunk. I don’t know. It’s weird. I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t make a move on Ryan.”
“Maybe . . . he’s gay,” she whispers.
Cue the giant eye-roll. “You don’t have to whisper the word ‘gay,’ Mom. And he’s not gay.” No, that man is not gay. How many nights did we see him with yet another hookup?
Ugh, why so much junk mail? Such a waste of trees.
“Well, you never know.” My fingers fall on a familiar envelope as my mom continues to say, “The most attractive men are usually gay. Look at Bradley Cooper, he’s beyond attractive.”
My heart falls in my chest, the familiar feel of the paper beneath my fingers. Not even paying attention, I say, “Bradley Cooper isn’t gay.”
“Are you sure? Because that’s what your dad said.”
“Because he doesn’t want you lusting after other men.” When I take in the return address, my stomach flips. “Hey Mom. I have to go.”
“Oh okay, honey. Call me if you need anything. I’ll be having a little chat with your father.”
I hang up without saying bye, tossing the phone to the side.
Holding the envelope up, I examine the familiar handwriting, sharp and precise, written in black, crisp ink. There are a few under my bed in a shoebox just like it, opened and read once. Only once.
But they’ve been read, because not long ago, his letters were what I eagerly waited for. Yearned for. Answered just as eagerly.
But these letters? I can’t return, can’t respond to them. To do so would give him false sense of hope. And that would be thoughtless and cruel, something he doesn’t deserve. Ever.
I flip the envelope over in my hands, pressing my fingers along the seal, the seal that his tongue ran across, the same tongue that was dragged up and down my body.
I wonder when he’ll stop writing.
I wonder when he’ll stop caring.
I wonder when he’ll understand that what happened between us is truly over.
And even though I know I should never open this letter, that I should have tucked them away somewhere to never be read, I can’t.
I still give them my full attention, because despite my resolve to keep him at a distance, I want to know about his life. To know he’s content.
Is he safe?
Is flight school all he imagined? Or more?
Has he met anyone?
In all honesty, I wouldn’t care if he did, because he deserves someone by his side to care about him the way I once did. To love him as passionately as I did.
I will always love him. That feeling will never go away. He’s too big of a presence in my life to be forgotten. I loved our time together, even if it was brief.
Scooting back on my bed, I take a deep breath and tear open the envelope, pulling out the airplane-themed letterhead, taking my time unfolding it.
Eyes shut for a brief moment, I allow myself to sink into the comfort of my bed and then open my eyes and read.
Dear Rory,
A month into flight school and I’m starting to get the hang of things. I’m not the slowest to adjust, but I’m not at the top either, where I want to be. I didn’t think flying a T-53 at the Academy and moving to a T-6 was going to be a huge adjustment, but it is. The plane is bigger, more powerful and for some reason, I feel shaky in the sky. Not the usual cool and calm airman.
I don’t know, I have a lot on my brain.
When I graduated, I expected to stay in touch with my friends more. Hardie and Joey are at a different base, Stryder hasn’t spoken to me since graduation (I worry about him), and I have yet to hear from you.
If it wasn’t for the guys here I’m dorming with, I might feel more lost.
But we’re all in this together.
I would have thought it would be competitive, but it’s not. Everyone is supportive. Besides the few ribs here and there, we get along, just like at the Academy, and I think it’s because we’re in this for a greater good. It’s not just for us, but for our country.
Fuck, that sounded corny above, but honestly, I don’t know what to say to you right now. I’m frustrated and mad at you, when I know I shouldn’t be. I wish you would answer me, at least let me know that you’re okay. I worry about you. I’m sure that won’t change your mind though, knowing I’m desperate to know how yo
u are.
You’re set in your ways, and I know from the time we were together that when you set your mind to something, you won’t be deterred.
And oddly, I have to respect that, even though it’s killing me now.
Just know, even though you don’t respond, I still love you and think about you every damn day.
Colby
My arm falls to the side, still clutching the letter, as tears prick the corners of my eyes, ready to spill over in grief.
I hate that I’m hurting him by not writing back, but I know deep down it’s for the best.
We need a clean break. It’s the only way it will work. For him. He deserves more than average. He deserves the world. And I’m not part of that world.
I must hold strong.
Leaning over, I pull the shoebox from under my bed and place the letter on top of the other ones I’ve kept, not giving it another glance. Please, Colby. Please keep looking to the skies. Please understand I did this so you will succeed. Please.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
STRYDER
Eight years ago . . .
“What the hell are you wearing?”
I stop in my tracks and look at my jeans and plain gray T-shirt. Looking back at my dad, I say, “Uh, clothes. What are you wearing?”
My dad is decked out in his dress blues, hair shaved closely to his head, his speckled gray hair barely visible in his flattop.
“The ALO is going to be here in ten minutes,” he barks.
ALO . . . oh, Christ.
Admission Liaison Officer.
Dad has been chomping at the bit to have one come to the house to prepare me for my “road to the Air Force,” a road I don’t even want to fucking take.
But it’s “in my blood.” Every Sheppard man joins the Air Force.
From the ripe age of ten, we are prepped and molded into airmen, forced to recite the traditions, to know every aircraft ever flown, to show the same respect and loyalty that would be dragged out of us while serving.
We are hand-fed everything that deals with the Air Force.
The Duets Page 27
