Page 75 of The Life We Left Behind

TRACE

“Will you sit down!” Booker snapped, and I glanced across the kitchen at him washing the dishes as I peered out the window for what felt like the twentieth time.

“I’m just keeping an eye out for them.”

I’d been a nightmare all morning. I knew I had. Booker was not normally a man who could tolerate fussing, and I’d barged into his house at 4 a.m. and started cleaning like a madman. I couldn’t sleep, and I’d somehow got it into my head that this first impression of Booker’s ranch was crucial in making sure that Cade liked me. Looking back, I had no idea how I’d come to that conclusion. He was a nine-year-old boy. I doubted his standards for cleanliness ran that high.

Even Val was done with me and was curled up in her bed with her tail over her face in some kind of protest.

Now that I’d run out of cleaning to do—which was bound to happen when I had seven hours to kill, and Booker was apparently a closet neat freak—I’d spent the majority of the time pacing around the house and driving my brother mad.

“I swear to God if you don’t sit down, Trace, I’m going to tie you to a chair and leave you out in the paddock. It can be a fun bonding experience for me and Cade while he tries to find you.”

“You wouldn’t!”

My brothers had done it to me once when I was younger, so I knew the threat was real.

He squinted in annoyance. “Try me.” His corresponding glare was enough to make me move away from the window.

“Wow, just wow. You realize all of this aggression comes from our terrible upbringing, right? You weren’t hugged enough as a child.”

“I was never hugged as a child,” he scoffed. “Neither were you.”

I sagged down into one of the chairs at the kitchen table with a sigh. “That’s really sad, isn’t it?”

Booker hummed noncommittally, and I knew I was getting too close to feelings-territory for him to be comfortable. Yet he did drop the dishcloth and come to join me at the table, sitting down with a sigh.

“You’re allowed five minutes of spiraling. And yes, I’m going to time you,” he said, looking at his wristwatch and raising an eyebrow in challenge.

“What if I can’t do this? I don’t know how to be a good dad. I don’t even know what it looks like. How am I supposed to bond with a kid who’s thought I’m an absolute deadbeat for his entire life?”

My head dropped down into my hands, and I finally let the doubts weigh down on me. I’d already lost nine years with him. I’d missed everything, and there was no getting that back. No making up for not being there when he’d needed me. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t known Delaney was pregnant when she left. I should have done more. I should have tried to find her.

I should have…the list was endless, and as it flowed through my head I felt myself starting to spiral.

I was just one guy. How could I make this right?

Val came over and sat beside me with a soft whine, pushing herself against my legs. She would have been a good therapist. If she could pull Booker out of a black mood, she could help anybody.

Booker’s hand clasped my shoulder, and then he cleared his throat uncomfortably. “You don’t need to have had a good dad to be an amazing one,” he said, pausing until I finally looked up to meet his gaze. “You’re a good man, Trace. That’s all you need to be able to do this. Just be yourself.”

My gaze moved back to the window again as Booker leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his massive chest. It would only take a single glance at the two of us to know who worked in an office all day and who ran a ranch. Booker was a bear of a man, but he cared just as fiercely. He just didn’t like people to know that he did.

“What happened when you spoke with Mom and Dad?” I asked, finally ready to deal with whatever hell still lived at that house I’d sworn to never return to.

“Dad was shouting at her when I walked in. I’ve never seen him like that. Caring, that is. The robot was gone, and the man I remember from when we were little was back. He was pissed. Mom, she didn’t say anything. Just sat there looking at him like he was an inconvenience, as usual. You know the look.”

I did. We all did. It had featured nearly every day of our childhood. Nothing had ever been good enough for Regina Farrington.

How did I not see this coming?

“She didn’t even defend herself when I confronted her. She shrugged it off, and then decided she needed to refresh her manicure. Walked out without even looking back.”

Now that was a surprise. And definitely not like our mother. She never backed down. She never retreated. She had a way of manipulating any situation so that she was the victim, or she was just doing it for the family. I’d never once seen her walk away before everyone else was thoroughly put back in their place.

“Dad…I don’t think he’s doing well with this. He said it’s time for them to divorce.”

I scoffed. “He’d never divorce her, and she’d never allow it. They’ll have brushed it all under the carpet of denial by lunchtime, and I’ll just be one more son they don’t talk to anymore.”

---