Page 45 of The Upside of Falling
“Ask me anything,” I answer, kissing the top of her head again, as if I’ve been doing it for years.
Pushing up on my chest, her eyes lock with mine. “When we first met, you were short and terse with me. Were you trying to scare me away?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m not much of a scaring type, unless I have to shake some sense into my cadets. I was trying to keep you at a distance. Good job I did, huh?”
She smiles softly. “I’m just persistent. I think you had no choice.”She has no clue. I just have no idea why she persisted.
“I really didn’t.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Starving,” I answer, my stomach growling appropriately.
When she sits up, I instantly mourn the loss of her heat, of her soft body fitting so perfectly over mine. “Want to help me in the kitchen? Make some dinner?”
“Would love to.”
Standing, she holds her hand out to me and without a second thought, I take it, reveling in the invitation to once again be close to her. It makes me realize how much I’ve missed something as simple as handholding. Cuddling.Touch.Touch that’s not meant to hurt . . .
* * *
“So you’re not much of a cook, huh?”
I shake my head, looking over all the ingredients, feeling intimidated. I didn’t spend much time in the kitchen. I wasn’t allowed, because I was mostly locked in my room doing homework or secretly working on my planes, anything to stay away from Ted and keep him happy.
“No.” I rub the back of my neck. “Not from my doing though. Was never given an opportunity to learn.”
She twists her lips to the side, a pinch in her brow, an unhappy look on her face. “Your parents never took you into the kitchen to learn?”
I shake my head, my voice falling soft, sounding just as vulnerable as I feel. “No. By the time I was old enough, my dad was sick and my mom wasn’t the most”—I pause, searching for a good way to put it—“she wasn’t the type of mom who cared about her son.”
“What?” Rory’s expression is downright upset as she moves toward me. “What do you mean?”
I shake my head, not wanting to get into it. “I feel like that’s too heavy of a conversation for now. Don’t want to scare you away right off the bat with my baggage.”
“You could never scare me away.”
“You say that now.” I nod at the ingredients. “What are we making?”
She presses her hand against my chest, a concerned look on her face. “I’m serious, Colby. I want to know everything about you, even your baggage.”
And this is why I had such a hard fucking time staying away from her, because her heart is so big and welcoming. After my dad died, life changed drastically. I not only had to quickly mourn the loss of my father, but I was torn away from my grandpa when our visits were stretched further and further apart. I lived in a cold household, the antithesis of the loving and warmth I’d known prior to my dad getting sick. But it was as if once my dad died, my family, as I knew it, died too.
I was never held when I was upset, I was never loved when I missed my dad, and I sure as hell was never indulged when all I wanted was to spend a day with my grandpa.
I became cold and distant and focused. I wanted out, to never have to step foot in that household again, and once I graduated and went to the academy, I put my things in storage and took off without a goodbye.
I don’t regret a thing.
But being with Rory now reminds me how much I’ve missed out on human touch, on having someone feel compassion for you. And you never know how much you need it in your life until it reappears and consumes you.
“Thank you,” I say softly, not wanting to elaborate anymore.
After a few bouts of silence, understanding falls over her and she moves past the heavy conversation, clapping her hands together and peering over the ingredients. “Well, since you’re a newbie, I’ll be easy on you. Want to make some spaghetti and meatballs?”
“Homemade meatballs?”
“The only way to eat them is if they’re homemade.”
