Page 48 of The Downside of Love
“Yeah?”
He nods. “Yeah.”
And in that moment, that simple gesture of breaking his norm, I feel I’m being given a small glimpse into his soul. It might not be a conversation, or an intro to his past and the ghosts that haunt him, but it’s something, and that something is monumental in my book. I’m beginning to really like this guy. His genuine thoughtfulness, his humor, and yes, even his cockiness. Stryder Sheppard is a good, good man.
Chapter Fifteen
STRYDER
Ican’t get to Rory’s apartment fast enough. Military life gives you zero wiggle room in terms of days off, especially if you want to take care of your friend. So every morning this week, I’ve had to leave Rory to go to a job I fucking hate, only to rush home to her and spend the rest of the evening making sure she has everything she needs.
Technically, I know she’s better now and can do things on her own, but fuck. The image of her crippled over in the car, face a ghostly white, I can’t get it out of my head. Her body felt lifeless as I carried her into the hospital, begging anyone to help me, watching her being rolled away, not able to do anything but wait . . . and fucking wait.
It was one of the scariest moments of my life. The only reason I got through it all was because I had Rory’s mom on the phone with me constantly, keeping me sane, giving me strength, holding me together.
When we got back to the apartment Sunday night, I told Ryan, who met us there, that I would be staying longer with Rory to make sure she was okay. Ryan agreed it was a good idea—especially since Rory wasn’t good at resting—but we made her promise she wouldn’t do much,andshe had to report back to us about the binge-watching she did on TV. So far, she’s done a good job, but from her texts today, she’s starting to get antsy, especially since she’s been cooped up in the apartment all week.
I hope my surprise will cheer her up.Hope.
Taking the stairs two at a time, I soon open the door to the apartment to find Rory lying on her stomach on the bed, head propped up by her hands, iPad in front of her. She turns toward the door just as I close it, a huge smile on her face.
“Hey there.”
“Hey you.” I set down my cover on the hook she specifically hung for that purpose and turn toward her, hands in my pockets. “How are you feeling?”
She pauses her show and rolls off the bed. Wearing leggings and a graphic T-shirt that says “Glitter Face,” she walks toward me and reaches around my waist, pulling me into a hug, just like every other day I come home.Home.And fuck if I don’t live for these moments when she’s wrapped around me. “I’m fine. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
“Every time I ask,” I say tipping her chin up, wishing I could lean down and kiss her gorgeous lips. Releasing her, I walk to the kitchen and start pulling out chicken and some veggies.
“How’s baked chicken for dinner? I got some asparagus and cauliflower to go with it, and some purple potatoes.” They are her favorite. Not because she thinks they taste any different, but because they are “prettier.” Her words, not mine.
“Don’t you think I should make dinner?”
I shut the fridge door and shake my head. “No.”
“I’m not bedridden, Stryder. I can do things.”
After pre-heating the oven, I grab a knife from the drawer, as well as the cutting board, and start chopping up the cauliflower. I love the stuff but prepping it is such a bitch. “I know you can do things, Rory, but let me do something for you. You’re always doing everything for everyone else. Maybe the appendix rupture is a little reminder that you need to let people help you.”
Coming to my side, she hops up on the counter and crosses one leg over the other. “You act like it was a heart attack.”
“Felt like one,” I mutter.
“What?”
I cut up a few pieces and pop them on a tray to roast. “I just think you should slow down a bit, relax, take a load off.”
“I’m not that kind of person. I always want to be doing something.” She says this as she starts popping the bottoms off the asparagus and setting the spears on the tray.
I point the knife at her. “That doesn’t look like relaxing.”
“It is.” She smiles. “Popping the legs off asparagus is extremely relaxing.”
“They’re not legs.”
“How do you know? Have you taken asparagus anatomy classes?” I don’t answer her. “Didn’t think so.”
Shaking my head, I say, “So are you antsy to get out of this apartment?”
