Page 61 of The Upside of Falling
He nods his head, looking down at the floor. “I’m glad. You guys were made for each other.”
“Is everything okay, Stryder?” I know Colby said Stryder didn’t make it into flight school, and I’m wondering if that has anything to do with it. He seems weary.
“Yeah. I’m good.” But he doesn’t look like he’s good.
“I’m here for you if you ever need to talk, Stryder.” I press my hand against his shoulder.
His eyes land on my hand where they linger for a second before pulling away, a hint of pain in his expression. Looking back into the pool house, he says, “Have a good Christmas, Rory and take care of my boy.” With a wink, he heads toward the main house, his powerful body making its way down the sidewalk.
Confused, I turn back to the room where Colby is washing his hands. When he makes eye contact with me, he motions with his finger for me to come closer. Pushing other thoughts to the side, I shut the door and move across the room and into Colby’s arms. He brings me onto the bed where we lie down, facing each other. He links our hands together and props up his head with his other hand.
“Thank you for today.”
“Of course. I’m glad you let me spend it with you.”
His brow creases. “Why wouldn’t I let you spend it with me?”
I bring his hand to my mouth and kiss his knuckles. “Stryder said you like to spend this day alone, reading your book.”
He looks off to somewhere behind me. “Did he say anything else?”
I shake my head. “No, just that it’s not your favorite day.” I want so badly for him to open up to me, just give me a little more of him. “Can I ask you what happened?”
Sighing, he lies flat on his back, looking at the ceiling, his gaze pensive, and his body stiff beside me. I can see the tension starting to pulse inside him, the way his biceps flex, the clench in his jaw, the way he’s turning away from me.
I don’t want that. I don’t want him to turtle in on himself and then ask me to leave. I don’t want to push too hard, too soon.
“You know what? Never mind.” I wrap my arm around his waist getting close again. “You don’t have to say anything, let’s just—”
“My dad died on my birthday.”
I still.
Oh God. How awful.
Caught off guard by his willingness to open up, it takes me a moment to piece together what he just said.
His dad died . . .on his birthday.
“Oh Colby, I’m so sorry.”
He doesn’t move; he doesn’t even flinch when I press a kiss to his jaw.
“He had mantel-cell lymphoma, he was doing bad for a while, but I never expected for him to pass away on my birthday . . . or to find out that for six months, my mom had been cheating on my dad with his doctor.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, my heart bleeding for the little boy who lost his father; the little boy who had to deal with such hardship.And betrayal.
“He moved in a week later. I had one week to mourn. My mom got rid ofallmy dad’s stuff, throwing it into the trash, and moved Ted in immediately.”
“Ted. Is that . . . is that the guy you talked about in your letters?”
“Yes.”
It’s one word, but it holds the weight of the world—the anxiety, the hurt and the pain Colby has experienced is confirmed with that one small word.
“He was awful. He ruled with an iron fist, literally. Never missed an opportunity to abuse me, mentally and physically.”
“He hurt you?” I ask, tears welling in my eyes, my inability to get any closer to Colby frustrating me. “What did your mom do?”
