Page 18 of The Downside of Love
I roll my eyes at that one. From all the stories I’ve heard about Stryder’s dad, “chatting” wouldn’t cause him to relent. What did Stryder say about him at Thanksgiving?“My father is single-minded when it comes to my future. I’ll only be a true Sheppard once I become a fighter pilot. So, that’s what I’ll do.”God, no wonder Stryder is so miserable.
But instead of arguing with my mother, I say, “Yeah, maybe.” Sitting up, I flip through my mail. “Maybe Ryan can at least help him out for a bit.”
“Didn’t they have a fling?” my mom asks, always ready for some gossip.
“No, Stryder never made a move on her. Even when he was drunk. I don’t know. It’s weird. I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t make a move on Ryan.”
“Maybe . . . he’s gay,” she whispers.
Cue the giant eye-roll. “You don’t have to whisper the word ‘gay,’ Mom. And he’s not gay.” No, that man is not gay. How many nights did we see him with yet another hookup?
Ugh, why so much junk mail? Such a waste of trees.
“Well, you never know.” My fingers fall on a familiar envelope as my mom continues to say, “The most attractive men are usually gay. Look at Bradley Cooper, he’s beyond attractive.”
My heart falls in my chest, the familiar feel of the paper beneath my fingers. Not even paying attention, I say, “Bradley Cooper isn’t gay.”
“Are you sure? Because that’s what your dad said.”
“Because he doesn’t want you lusting after other men.” When I take in the return address, my stomach flips. “Hey Mom. I have to go.”
“Oh okay, honey. Call me if you need anything. I’ll be having a little chat with your father.”
I hang up without saying bye, tossing the phone to the side.
Holding the envelope up, I examine the familiar handwriting, sharp and precise, written in black, crisp ink. There are a few under my bed in a shoebox just like it, opened and read once. Only once.
But they’ve been read, because not long ago, his letters were what I eagerly waited for. Yearned for. Answered just as eagerly.
But these letters? I can’t return, can’t respond to them. To do so would give him false sense of hope. And that would be thoughtless and cruel, something he doesn’t deserve. Ever.
I flip the envelope over in my hands, pressing my fingers along the seal, the seal that his tongue ran across, the same tongue that was dragged up and down my body.
I wonder when he’ll stop writing.
I wonder when he’ll stop caring.
I wonder when he’ll understand that what happened between us is truly over.
And even though I know I should never open this letter, that I should have tucked them away somewhere to never be read, I can’t.
I still give them my full attention, because despite my resolve to keep him at a distance, I want to know about his life. To know he’s content.
Is he safe?
Is flight school all he imagined? Or more?
Has he met anyone?
In all honesty, I wouldn’t care if he did, because he deserves someone by his side to care about him the way I once did. To love him as passionately as I did.
I will always love him. That feeling will never go away. He’s too big of a presence in my life to be forgotten. I loved our time together, even if it was brief.
Scooting back on my bed, I take a deep breath and tear open the envelope, pulling out the airplane-themed letterhead, taking my time unfolding it.
Eyes shut for a brief moment, I allow myself to sink into the comfort of my bed and then open my eyes and read.
Dear Rory,
