Page 10 of The Upside of Falling
He moves around the table unapologetically after sinking two stripes with his first hit, setting up his next shot. When he misses, he doesn’t say a word, doesn’t acknowledge our turn. Instead, he fades into the shadows of the deck, pool stick gripped powerfully between his hands and propped on the deck, waiting for his next turn.
“We might actually have a competitive team to play against this go around, huh, Rory?”
“We just might, Ryan.” Stepping up, I eye the position of each ball on the table trying to determine my best shot. There’s a lay up in the corner pocket, but I don’t choose that one. I go for the ball right across from Colby, a more difficult shot, but one I want to take.
Hunkering down, pressing my hand to the green felt of the table, stick resting on the bridge of my thumb, I glance at Colby, catching him in the act of checking me out, and instead of diverting his gaze right away, his eyes linger on mine. But what shocks me is what I perceive in his expression. He looks . . . wounded, which on Colby seems almost devastating.Why? Why so wounded?Somehow I feel his pain is calling out to me.
What’s behind those dark pupils? A bruised and battered soul?
I know one thing: I want to figure it out.
Focusing on the ball in front of me, I send my stick forward, smacking the cue ball into the solid green ball, bouncing it off the pocket, missing.
Oops.
Rounding the table, Ryan slaps me on the ass as I walk by, telling me I’ll get the next one, while Stryder starts searching for his shot. From the looks of it, I might have some time before my next turn so I make my way to Colby where he’s standing at attention, like he’s about to be dressed down by a superior.
I bump him with my shoulder, the solid rock of his side not giving an inch. “I thought you said you don’t play pool much.”
“I don’t.”
“Yeah, could have fooled me.” Even though he doesn’t give me a response, I press on. “You finished your beer, do you want another one?”
“I’m good.” Can I get more than two words out of this man? I can freakin’ try.
“How do you know rich Tom?”
Not even glancing in my direction, he says, “I don’t.”
Hmm, okay, thought that response was going to be a little longer.
Think of something he’s interested in, something that could get him to talk a little bit more. The only thing I know about him is that he goes to the Air Force Academy. I know nothing about the Air Force besides . . .
“Basic training must have been a real bitch your first year, huh? Did you throw up?”
I take that moment to look up at him and once again, I catch a small tug at the corner of his lips when he answers. “No.”
One word, but I earned a smirk. I’m going to call it a victory.
* * *
Ihate to admit it, but we were massacred. Once Colby got his turn back, he sunk the rest of the balls, drained the eight ball, and then tossed his pool stick at Stryder, only to retreat into the house, leaving the game abruptly.
Sighing, Stryder scratches the back of his head, apology written all over his face. “I’m sorry, ladies. Colby is in a different headspace than the rest of us.”
“Is he okay?” Ryan asks, looking toward the house, Colby’s retreating back disappearing into a sea of partygoers.
“Yeah, just has a hard time loosening up. He’s a good guy, even though he seems like a total dick. I swear, he’s just not great in social settings.”
I get that more than anyone.
“Think he would curl up and die if I go talk to him?” I ask Stryder.
Chuckling, he shrugs his shoulders. “Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he did at this point.”
“Do you mind?” I ask Ryan, who eagerly shakes her head, probably wanting some time alone with Stryder. Giving her a hug, I whisper in her ear, “Be good,” and then take off toward the house.
Stopping off in the kitchen, I snag a bag of pretzel sticks and two water bottles, and work my way around the grand room, searching for Colby. When I don’t see him at first, I panic that maybe he left the party.
