Page 61 of Eight Second Hearts

“Spit it out,” Tripp growls. “Explain yourself before I force it out of you.”

This time, my tension isn’t because I’m witnessing something I shouldn’t. It’s because in his anger, in this feral tone, Tripp Savage sounds exactly like the man inside this house. Anger passed down as anger.

“I. . . can’t,” Darla whispers.

“You can’t? Or you won’t?” Tripp asks. “You have a lot of nerve?—”

Darla shoots up from her seat, her anxiety forgotten in the face of her own anger. “I have a lot of nerve? Me? If anyone has the nerve here, it’s you,brother,” she hisses. “You don’t know what it’s like spending every day with him, every waking moment?—”

“I know exactly what it’s like!” Tripp snarls, taking a step closer to his sister. “I was under his thumb from birth! When you were off playing dress up with your friends, I was trapped in this fucking house, trapped with that monster!”

“And now it’s my turn?” she yells back. “Now it’s my turn to suffer? Is that what you’re saying?” She crosses her arms. “Say it, Tripp. Come on. Tell me that I deserve every bit of this. Tell me that I deserve everything my mother got.” When Tripp doesn’t respond, she shakes her head. “What’s the matter? Now you can’t be so cruel?”

“That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it,” Tripp says, and his anger is a little diminished. “You know there’s no one else?—”

“Yeah, so I must shoulder the burden while you spend three quarters of the year hiding out in the circuits. I get it,” she spits. She points at the front door. “This house is a fucking prison of his making, you won’t lend me the fucking key! So yes, I tried to sell it. Anything to escape this hellhole!”

“There are other people who rely on this place,” Tripp declares. “It isn’t always about you!”

“It’s never about me!” she shouts. “Not once in my life. Not when Mom brought me here. Not when I had the nerve to be born a girl rather than another precious bull rider like you. You have the nerve to stand here and tell me to suck it up. The absolute fucking audacity, Tripp Savage.” She tips up her chin. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re no better than he is.” She looks at me. “I hope you know what you’re getting into hanging out with the Crimson Three. They’ll rip your heart out and call it legacy.” She shoots them all a look. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a mess to clean up.”

She storms inside the house, the door slamming shut behind her. I stare after her, after the woman that Tripp called his half-sister, and. . . I don’t blame her. I don’t blame her one bit. That woman is trapped in a cage with the monster who made her, and Tripp is unconsciously making her pay for his time in her place. I get it, but that doesn’t make it right.

None of this seems right.

Tripp jerks his baseball cap off his head and runs a hand down his face. “I need a fucking drink.” He leaps down the stairs and climbs in his truck. We don’t even have time to move before he’s got it started and in gear. He guns it, leaving black marks on the concrete as he speeds away.

Chapter 38

Beau

“Well, that went well,” I say to lighten the mood. No one laughs. Pity.

“Did you expect us to be welcomed back with open arms?” Ram asks, shaking his head. “I knew Darla wouldn’t be happy to see us. Let alone Fred.”

“Has he always been such an. . .” Indie begins and trails off.

“An asshole?” I supply helpfully. “Bigot? Racist pig?” I shrug. “Yeah. He has. It’s a wonder Tripp came out half decent, and that’s giving Tripp more credit than he deserves.”

“Why not just hire a service to come take care of him?” she asks, gesturing to the house. “An expert would know how best to?—”

“You don’t think we tried that?” Ram asks her. “We’ve hired every service this side of the mountains. No one will work with him anymore. They last for a month, tops, before they let us know our contract has been cancelled.”

“Oh,” she says.

I watch my Indie bird stare after Tripp where his truck barrels down the concrete driveway before turning onto themain road far in the distance. I can hear the sound of the diesel engine roaring as he puts the gas pedal on the floor.

“Don’t worry, little outsider,” I reassure her. “He’s just going to the Rusty Spur. He’ll be too drunk to feel his pain soon.”

“He makes a habit out of that, doesn’t he?” she murmurs, glancing up at me.

I shrug. “Sometimes the demons are louder. Alcohol does a pretty good job of drowning them out for a little while, I gather.” I lean down. “If you survived half the things he did as a kid, you’d understand why it’s a miracle he’s even still with us, Indie bird.”

She blinks. “Yeah, but it’s still his responsibility to break those generational chains. He has to be the one to heal, or at least, try not to take it out on those he cares about.”

Her eyes trail to the house and I realize she means Darla. Oh, she has no idea.

“Unfortunately, Darla and Tripp don’t exactly care for each other.” When she looks at me, I grin. “As you well witnessed.”

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