Page 102 of The Downside of Love
“Where has he been the last year?” I shout, trying to knock Stryder out of the fog he’s in. “Where were all the texts and the phone calls? He should have known what you were going through, that it would have been harder for you to reach out. He should have seen your heartache, and yet he did nothing.”
“He was going through his own damn pain of losing you, Rory,” Stryder snaps, pulling his arm away and taking a few more steps toward the door. “We were both going through the same pain . . . losing something we so desperately wanted. I could have been there for him, and he could have been there for me, but we weren’t. I’m not going to hold that against him, but what I’ll never forgive myself for is falling for you because . . .” He pauses and looks to the ceiling as if gathering strength. Directing his attention to me, he looks me dead in the eyes and says, “Loving you has been my greatest sin, and I’m fucking ashamed.”No. No. He can’t think that. We’re not a sin. We’re not.
He tosses his bag over his shoulder and opens the door.
“We are not a sin,” I shout. “Our love is not a fucking sin. It’s beautiful and raw and everything I’ve ever wanted. You came into my life and gave me something I didn’t think I needed at the time. You gave me someone to care for, someone to love, and you showed me there is life outside of my brother. Don’t you dare say what we have is a sin, because in my eyes, it’s the greatest blessing that’s ever come into my life.You’rethe greatest blessing in my life.”
Stepping outside, he keeps his body turned away from me as he says, “I might have been a blessing, but I’m sure as hell not the love of your life. I was just a Band-Aid to your broken heart.”
Not even giving me one last glance, he runs down the stairs and out of my life. Tears spill down my face as I close the door and collapse to the floor, my heart breaking. I can barely breathe through the pain ripping through me.
I’m sure as hell not the love of your life.
How can he think that? The man is everything to me. Why won’t he believe me?
Because he’s been told all his life that he’s not good enough. That he’ll never amount to anything.
And that’s when it hits me.
Stryder can’t hear words of praise . . . words of love.
No matter how much I love Stryder, he’ll never believe it’s enough.
Ever.
* * *
There is a light knock on my door. My eyes are puffy, practically closed shut from crying so much, and I have a pounding thumping through my head that won’t go away even after a dose of Ibuprofen.
Rolling to my side, sheets and comforter up to my chin, I say, “Door’s open.” The scratchiness to my voice just adds to the somber mood of my empty apartment.
Well, not entirely empty, but it feels empty without him. Without his broad shoulders and toned frame walking around the small space. Without him sweeping me into his arms every chance he gets, tossing me on the bed only to hover over me with that gorgeous smile, laughing and joking around with me.
I squeeze my eyes shut as more tears fall while the door opens and closes. Soft footsteps fall across the battered and peeling hardwood floors. My back is to the door, so when I feel a dip in the mattress and the signature smell of pancakes, I know exactly who it is.
“Did you flirt for bacon?” I sniff out.
“I flirted so damn hard just for you, babe,” Ryan says, getting under the covers with me.
I turn around, giving her an unfiltered look at my sorrow. Her face softens when she takes me in, wiping a tear from my cheek. She pulls me into her side, pushing the pancakes toward the nightstand and snuggling me close. Her hand passes over my head, smoothing down my erratic hair. More tears prickle my eyes as I’m reminded all over again why I’m here.
“I’m so sorry, Rory.”
“I just don’t get it.” I sniff. “I don’t understand why he can’t believe he’s good enough. No matter what I said or confessed, he wasn’t going to listen to it. He had it set in his head that he wasn’t good enough, and that I needed something different.”
“He’s hurt, Rory. He’s been programmed to believe he will never be good enough for anything. The way his dad talks to him . . . the way he’s talked to him his entire life. Why would Stryder believe he’s good enough when that’s what he’s been fed since he can remember?”
“But shouldn’t I be different? Shouldn’t the love we have for each other trump all of that?”
“Not necessarily.” Ryan smooths her hand over my hair. “He met up with Colby?” I nod. “And I’m assuming that didn’t go well.”
“You could say that. Something happened at the bar, but Stryder wouldn’t give me any details. He came home with a black eye and started packing.” I pause and think about our conversation. “And he asked me about Colby’s letters, how many times I’ve read them.”
“He found the letters?”
I nod while sitting up, letting the covers fall past my shoulders. I push my hair back and take a deep breath. “I don’t know why I haven’t thrown them away yet. I loved Colby, and I hated hurting him when we broke up. But it was the right thing to do. I read over them not long after he left, needing to reassure myself that my pain was understandable but wouldn’t last forever. I only read his more recent letters once. But not for me. For him. To show him . . . courtesy. Even though he never knew. Stryder must believe they mean more to me, and he’s been stewing over it instead of asking me about them.” I take a deep, shaky breath, wishing he’d just asked me about them rather than holding them over me, ready to use when he felt threatened.Shit. Why?“I guess, if I found letters from one of Stryder’s old girlfriends, I wouldn’t be feeling too hot either.” I let out a long, frustrated breath and open a take-out box of pancakes. Not even caring about the calorie intake, I smear the butter all over and then drench the pancakes in syrup. Perfect.
Ryan follows right along with me.
