The Duets

by Quinn, Meghan

  Words after words after words rush through my mind. I can see my mom’s face, the constant sneer, and I can’t hold back the pain.

  You know I love you, but . . .

  Why? Why is there a but?

  How on earth has this all come to the forefront of my mind right now? And why the fuck can I not stop crying? I am not that girl too. Weak. Emotional.

  “Come here.” Colby sits on the bed, his back to the wall, and pulls me onto his lap, wrapping his arms around me and hugging my tightly. The tears escape, falling rapidly on my sleeve, years upon years of pent-up hatred for myself pouring out of me. It hurts. It hurts so much. Why was there always a but? Why?

  Family Feud plays in the background, cheers and laughter filling the silence between Colby and me as he gently rubs my back and presses his chin to the top of my head.

  He doesn’t ask any questions.

  He doesn’t say anything.

  He doesn’t pressure me to explain.

  Instead, he acts like the man I know him for—protective. He holds me close to his heart, letting me purge my sorrow.

  * * *

  “Are you okay?” he asks, after what seems like an hour. His voice feels warm, rolling over my body, reminding me that there is more to life than the little cocoon he has me in.

  There is nothing more I want to do than keep myself buried in his strong arms, but I realize not only does this position seem mildly inappropriate, but Colby has a barbecue to put on tonight, and I’m sure he needs to get back to his place to prepare.

  Wiping away any stray tears, I nod my head as I slowly back off his lap and lean against the wall next to him, feeling slightly embarrassed.

  I need to say something to clear the air, but the only thing I can think of is an apology.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, pulling on the ends of my sleeves, keeping my eyes cast down.

  “Don’t be sorry.”

  “You must think I’m stupid.”

  “I don’t hang out with stupid people, so don’t insult me by saying something like that.” He turns my head so I’m forced to look him in the eyes. God. Now my eyes are so puffy, and I can barely see through them. And he wants me to look at him? “I meant what I said, Ryan. You are beautiful, just like this. There is no need to hide behind your hand or a pillow, or behind all that makeup you wear. This girl right here with the red nose, puffy eyes, and the light splattering of freckles on her cheeks, she’s gorgeous.”

  I try to shake my head but the grip he has on my chin prevents me. “Why are you doing this? Why are you here?”

  The pad of his large thumbs runs across my jaw before saying, “I came here to bring you soup and Gatorade, to check up on you. And why am I doing this? Because I care about you, and it’s about time someone told you the damn truth. This girl right here, the one I’m staring at, she’s beautiful, she’s stunning . . . she’s on the left side of perfect, and it’s about time you accept that. I’ve known you for a long time, Ryan, and I’ve always seen you hide behind new clothes, new hairstyles, and tons and tons of makeup. This is the first time I’m seeing the real you, and you’re fucking beautiful.”

  My lip trembles, my heart beats wildly in my chest—palpitating, skipping, pounding—shooting a wave of nerves and anxiety through my veins.

  You’re fucking beautiful.

  Words I never associate with myself, especially when I look in the mirror.

  Words I’ve heard before, but never have they impacted me before, like they are in this minute.

  Words I’ve strived to be for so many years that I’ve convinced myself I would never achieve them.

  Words I’ve projected on the outside but never truly felt on the inside until right now.

  “Colby . . .” My voice catches.

  “Shh.” He pulls me into another hug and kisses the top of my head.

  I snuggle into him, press my face against his chest, and wrap my arms around his waist, allowing myself to close my eyes and just feel as I drift off into a deep slumber that takes over every muscle and bone in my body. I should thank him for coming. I should thank him for saying such lovely things. I should explain why I cannot believe what he’s saying. I try desperately to ignore the first time I was called ugly by a classmate, to let the hateful words fall from my head temporarily. Can I? I want to. But those words, and the many, many after them plague me. I should communicate this with Colby, so he knows why I’m such a basket case.

  But I can’t. I’m too sick and too emotionally drained to say anything. All I want to do is sleep.

  * * *

  “Hey, I have to go.” A strong hand cups my cheek, a deep voice wakening me from my deep slumber.

  Lazily, my eyes start to open as I take I my surroundings. I’m lying on my bed, my blanket up to my waist. A hot bowl of steaming soup is on my nightstand along with a bottle of Gatorade. Staring at me with warm eyes, in a squatted position is Colby.

  “Oh, yeah. What time is it?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Can you sit up for me?”

  I cough a few times, covering my mouth with my sleeve as I nod and sit up. Colby helps me adjust my pillow, his touch gentle.

  Once settled, he grips my knee and asks, “How are you feeling?”

  “Emotionally drained.” I chuckle.

  “I’m not sorry about that.”

  Shaking my head, I catch the darkness outside the window. Night has fallen, the moon casting light on the parking lot below my apartment.

  My eyes dart to Colby. “Did you miss your barbecue?”

  “I’m a little late, but I told everyone I was checking up on you. They understood and told me to tell you they hope you feel better.”

  “Colby, you should have left a while ago.”

  He shakes his head. “Nah, caught up on some Family Feud and made sure my best friend was going to be okay.”

  Fuck. My heart turns into a pile of mush, the feeling of his thumb stroking my knee just about doing me in.

  “I’m fine, but thank you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I nod. “Yeah, I’m going to take a nice long hot shower, put on some new PJs, and snuggle up with some more Steve Harvey.”

  “All-day marathon.” Colby winks and smiles. “But eat this soup first, please. It’s hot and ready for you, and hopefully it helps.” He hands me the bowl and gives it a quick stir. “It’s my favorite thing to eat when I’m not feeling well.”

  Do not cry. Do not cry.

  If you cry, he’ll never leave, and you need him to leave because . . . because you are feeling way too many things right now and might do something stupid.

  “Thank you. It smells really good.”

  “All right.” He stands and smooths his flight suit down. “Will you call me tomorrow to let me know how you’re feeling? I want to plan our day to get that tattoo.”

  “When I’m feeling better.”

  “When you’re better.” He stands there, not moving, just staring at me. “Are you sure you’re okay, with . . . everything?”

  I nod. “I’m good,” I say, attempting to reassure him. “I just . . .” I bite my bottom lip and look away. “You kind of ripped off a Band-Aid that’s been holding my heart together for several years. I wasn’t ready for it.”

  “And now . . .”

  “Now I feel raw, but the good kind, the healing kind.”

  “Good.” He squats down again and takes my cheek in his giant hand. “Because this is the girl I want to see more, this honest and true girl. She has so much to offer this crazy world, so don’t hide her behind layers of clothes and makeup. Let her shine, because fuck, Ryan, she’s one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen.”

  Leaning forward, his powerful body sucking all the air between us, he gently presses his lips against my forehead, forcing my eyes shut and my heart to plummet into a spiral of realization.

  In this moment, with Colby eating up my space, his protective instincts seeping into me, it hits me.

  I love him.

>   Leah was so fucking right. Colby is a once-in-a-lifetime guy. And there are no other men out there like him. Which means I am absolutely screwed.

  Because not only do I love Colby Brooks, but I’m desperately and hopelessly in love with this man.

  Chapter Eighty-Seven

  COLBY

  “Are you ready for this?” I grip Ryan’s shoulders from behind and massage them playfully as we walk toward her tattoo chair.

  “I swear to God, Colby, if you tattoo something stupid on my body, this friendship is over.”

  “Nah, you could never cut me off; you’re too dependent on me.”

  For a moment, something flashes through her eyes, but before I can catch it she smiles and sits in the chair.

  Ever since I visited her at her apartment to check on her, she’s changed. She’s been a little distant, a little short with me, and I can’t help wonder if it was from what I said to her. Some text messages have gone unanswered, and when I’ve asked her to hang out, she’s been busy. This is the first day in two weeks I’ve actually been able to see her.

  It wasn’t until she came walking up to me wearing barely any makeup and shorts with a red plain T-shirt that I realized it wasn’t what I said, because she’s taken what I said to heart.

  And I meant every word of it.

  When Ryan first opened her door the day she was sick, I was stunned speechless. With a crusty nose and red cheeks, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her more beautiful. Her face was fresh and clean, not covered or hiding anything. It was like I was seeing her for the first time, and I was instantly enamored with my best friend. She’s gorgeous.

  Hell, I always thought she was hot, but her natural beauty, shit, it’s a rare type of beauty. And it made me feel guilty for a second, thinking of Ryan as that beautiful, but I knew, even though my eyes were caught off guard, my heart still belonged to another person.

  And once I saw Ryan’s reaction, I knew that not only was I there to make sure she was doing okay—being single and sick sucks—but I was there to make sure she understood her worth.

  From the look of it today, I did my job. But I’m hoping today speaks more than any words I could ever use with her. I hope today provides a permanent reminder that she is absolutely incredible just as she already is.

  “Are you ready?” the tattoo artist asks as he applies the stencil to her left wrist.

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Keep your eyes on me. No peeking.”

  “I know, I know.” She rolls her eyes and then speaks to the tattoo artist, her head tilted back. “If that stencil is a penis, please, for the love of God, change it to something else.”

  “It’s not a penis,” I answer exasperated.

  For the next half hour, Ryan and I play catch-up for the past two weeks. She tells me about some douche Leah keeps trying to set her up with, and I remind Ryan that she’s better than that and to look for the right man, not the wrong one.

  I tell her about work, our latest missions and my TDY that’s coming up. I was put on temporary deployment with Bent to Colorado Springs where we will be joining pilots from Luke to go over aerial maneuver exercises. Occasionally, we have these TDYs, and our one mission is to perfect our trade in a different environment and with other pilots, making us more adaptable outside of our normal four-plane formation.

  Stryder and Rory are excited to hang out, and I can’t lie, I’m excited about seeing them as well.

  “Just about done,” the tattoo artist says as Ryan winces once again.

  “I still can’t believe you convinced me to do this, and that you’re waiting to get yours. How is that fair?”

  I shrug. “It isn’t, but hey, you were the one who lost the bet.”

  She points her finger at me, narrowing her eyes. “But we’re still getting ice cream after this like you promised?”

  “Yes, we’re getting ice cream.”

  “That’s all that matters.”

  The buzzing of the tattoo gun ceases as the artist says, “All right, all done. Do you want to see it?”

  “Yes.” Ryan goes to look at it when I move my body, blocking her view.

  I turn toward the tattoo artist and say, “Can you give us a minute?”

  “Sure.”

  Taking off, he gives Ryan and me some privacy, at least what we can get in this busy tattoo parlor.

  “Before you look at your tattoo, I want to remind you of a conversation we had a while back.”

  “Okay,” she drags out skeptically.

  “You once told me there are two sides of perfect. The left and the right. The right side being the side society deems perfect, the side you’ve committed your life to achieving.” She nods, her eyes starting to well with tears. “And then there is the left side, your favorite side, the side that accepts your flaws and shortcomings, the most beautiful side of perfect. The side you wish you could live on.” She nods again, a tear falling down her cheek. I wipe it away, leaving my hand cupping her to catch any other stray tears. “Well, this tattoo is a commitment, a reminder that no matter what goes on in that pretty little head of yours, you should always live on the left side.”

  I bring her wrist into view and allow her eyes to focus on the pretty cursive I picked out for her tattoo, the writing simply stating: left side.

  “Never forget where you belong, Ryan.”

  Her other hand goes to her mouth as more tears fall from her eyes, understanding of the symbol on her body hitting her immediately, and before I can say anything else, she flings her body into mine and wraps her arms around my waist, holding me tightly.

  Letting out a pent-up sigh, I bring her in even closer and rest my chin on the top of her head, relieved that she likes it.

  That she gets it.

  When she pulls away, she says, “Thank you, Colby. This means everything to me.”

  I squeeze her hand. “It means a lot to me too, Ryan.”

  * * *

  Sitting on a half brick wall, ice cream cones in hand, feet dangling, we stare at the sand-covered mountains, a comfortable silence between us.

  We became a bit of a sideshow at the tattoo parlor with Ryan crying and me holding her until she stopped. We actually had to move to the side so someone else could occupy the chair, but once she was good, she apologized—not necessary—and the tattoo artist went through aftercare.

  Once in the car on our way to get ice cream, Ryan thanked me again, her eyes trained on me the entire time. It felt good to do something for her that was so meaningful, that will hopefully make a good impact on her life. She means a lot to me, and even though Stryder and Bent have been my boys for the past eight years, somehow Ryan has slipped herself into the best friend position. Besides Sage, she’s the first person I text when something happens, the first person I go to when I want to hang out, and the first person I rely on when I want advice about my relationship.

  And she’s the first person I want to tell this to.

  “How’s your ice cream?”

  “So good.” She leans to the side, her hand propped up on the brick, her hair blowing in the wind. “Sprinkles was a clutch decision.”

  “You realize this is what kids get when they get a shot from the doctor.”

  “Well aware.” She winks. “Technically I got a shot, an adult one. There were needles involved.”

  I chuckle. “Do I get ice cream once I get mine?”

  “Will you need ice cream once you get yours?”

  I take a long lick of my cone and nod. “Yeah. I’m going to need ice cream.”

  Humor curves her lips as she studies me. “You know, I was thinking, do you think people are going to think I’m stupid?”

  “Stupid for what?”

  She holds up her wrist. “I have left side tattooed on my left wrist. Do you think they’ll assume I can’t tell my left from my right?”

  “Doesn’t matter. You know what it means. People can assume anything they want, but don’t let it devalue the meaning on your skin. You know what it sta
nds for, so live by it.”

  Her lips curve again, as she looks down and shakes her head. “Never in my life did I think Colby Brooks would be such a poetic motherfucker, but here you are, digging yourself into my heart one word at a time.”

  “Better be.” I wiggle my eyebrows. “That’s what best friends are for, right?” I nudge her leg with mine.

  “Yeah,” she sighs, “that’s what they’re for.”

  “Which reminds me, I have something to tell you.”

  “Oh yeah? Have you told anyone else?”

  “Not a single soul.”

  She straightens up and turns to face me on the wall. “Okay, so this is serious.” She takes a lick of her ice cream. “What’s going on?”

  Lowering my cone, I scrub the back of my neck, feeling nervous as shit for some reason, but this is Ryan, I can tell her anything. Hell, I told her about how I prematurely came the other night, embarrassing the ever-living fuck out of myself. I can tell her this.

  “I’m uh”—a smile crosses my face. Fuck it—“I’m going to ask Sage to marry me.”

  Cars pass by in the distance as Ryan sits on the wall next to me, blankly staring, her eyes blinking every few seconds, before she shakes her head and clears her throat. “Uh, what?”

  “I’m going to propose to Sage. She’s the one, Ryan. She’s the one.” I pause, letting that sink in. “I really want to make it special, so that’s why I’m telling you. I have the ring. I just need the idea. I have a few but I don’t know if they’re lame or not.”

  “Wow, I . . . uh, I didn’t know you were that serious.”

  “We are. She gets me, she understands the lifestyle, and she makes me happy.”

  Ryan swallows hard and nods. “That’s . . . I mean, that’s important. Wow.” She rests the hand holding her cone on her leg and sits back, stunned. “I’m a little shocked.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I mean, it’s great,” she replies, pressing her hand to my leg. “It’s really great.” Her eyes start to water. “I’m sorry.” She waves her hand in front of her face. “I’m really happy for you.”