Page 43 of The Downside of Love
“I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”
I sigh. “You don’t have to worry about me, Rory.”
“Stop saying that.” She grows angry and steps closer. “If I want to care or worry about you, I can. You’re important to me, Stryder, whether you want to believe it or not. I’m not going anywhere, so I think it’s time you accept the fact that there is someone in this world who truly wants to make sure you’re okay.” Stepping in even closer, closing the space between us, I feel the heat of her body infuse mine. She presses her hand into my pinched brow,and God,her beautiful scent . . . “This anger you carry with you every day, I want to see it dissipate. I want to see the Stryder I first met. Outgoing and charming, the guy who wouldn’t take no for an answer, the guy who thrived off having a good time, living in the moment. He’s deep inside you, I know he is. I wish you would let him out.”
Growing serious, I step away, letting her hand fall to her side. “Pretty sure he died the day his dreams did.”
“Why?”
“Why?” I ask incredulously.
“Yes, why did he die?”
“Because . . .” I don’t know what to say, how to answer her question.
“Because why? You didn’t get what you wanted? Newsflash, Stryder, we don’t always get what we want, and sometimes we have to deal with what life has handed us.”
I shake my head, running my hand through my hair. “There’s more to it than you know.”
“Then tell me.” Her voice swells with disappointment.
I know I’m going to piss her off, but since I’m not in the mood to talk, I say, “It’s not a story I want to get into with you.”
With that, I push past her and settle myself on my air mattress, letting self-hatred consume me.
Rory might think she wants my darkness, but she has no clue how deep-rooted it is. She doesn’t know how much of my life it has consumed or how I have no clue how to beat it. How to find freedom.
Chapter Thirteen
STRYDER
About seven months ago . . .
I sit in my car, staring at the five missed calls on my phone. Defeat in my shoulders, the world around me moving in slow motion, the feeling of living out a nightmare present in the forefront of my mind.
I can’t fucking believe it.
I didn’t make it.
Out of one thousand cadets, I didn’t fucking make it.
I rub my hand over my face and sink farther into my seat, the dark, stone-faced house I grew up in in front of me, looming over me, waiting for the announcement of my failure.
My dad knew today was the day. He knew I was supposed to find out, and it’s the reason why he’s called my phone five times and why I’ve ignored every call.
What am I going to say?
How am I supposed to break the news to the man that’s been busting my ass every day since I can remember, driving it into my head who I’m supposed to be? How am I supposed to walk into that house, look my father in the eyes, and tell him I failed to capture the dream I never thought I wanted? That instead of joining my friends in the sky, I’ve been grounded.
I can’t fucking do it.
The porch light turns on and the door opens.Shit.Slowly I watch my father’s silhouette come into view, strong and powerful, his force strong. I’ve felt it before, a powerful strike from his anger. It wasn’t often and nothing like Colby experienced, but I still have the knowledge of what it feels like to have my father’s fist connect furiously with my face.
And for some reason, my guess is I might feel it again tonight.Even though I could fight back. Even though my failure will justify his reproof. . . in his eyes.
Blowing out a heavy breath, I turn off my car, pocket my keys, and make my way to my father, who stands with his chest puffed, hands on his hips.
I can’t hide the bow of my head, the slouch in my shoulders, the heavy footsteps that pound against the paved sidewalk leading to my childhood home.
