Page 100 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It’s exactly the same thing. They’re my niece and nephew.”
“Oh fuck.” Bronx steps into the circle holding a phone.
“Hello?” Wheeler’s voice echoes in the RV.
“Levi’s having a mental breakdown,” Bronx says. “Soon to be daddy issues.”
I take the opportunity and storm out of the RV, the door thudding shut behind me.
Outside, the air hits warmer. But the anger doesn’t stick.
What sticks is the look on my brother’s face. The weight in it.
He’s not just stressed, he’s scared.
For a moment, I forget why I even stormed out.
Then I spot Jade beside the RV, leaning against the side with a paper map spread across the metal wall. A Stetson is perched low, casting a shadow over her face, but her eyes are focused and intent on the map as she traces a route.
My boots hit the ground hard, the gravel crunching beneath each stomp.
I’m taking the lead.
My muscles are tight, and the patience I had left is hanging by a thread.
“So, where exactly are you taking us?” My voice is sharper than I intend, and not sharp enough.
I don’t want her to think she’s winning. But when she glances up from the map with a little smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth, I know she does.
“The rodeo.” She taps the map. “We’re taking the scenic route. Didn’t really think I had to spell it out for you.”
“We’re not on vacation. We’re on a tight schedule, and we have deadlines to meet.”
I glance at the open road, empty and endless, then at her finger, planted dead center on the map.
We’re lost.
“You’re headin’ the wrong way.” Irritation creeps into my tone.
“Says who?”
“We’re not here for sightseeing. We’ve got a rodeo to get to, booths to set up.”
She doesn’t flinch, not one bit.
Instead, she just shrugs, like I am the crazy one. She folds up the map and tucks it in her back pocket.
Who the hell uses maps these days?
I get it; the area has shoddy cell phone reception, but if she’d kept us on track, we wouldn’t need an ancient paper map.
“This isn’t my first rodeo.” She slides aviator-style sunglasses over her eyes and struts past me, slow and deliberate.
She drives me fucking insane.
“But I am sorry,” she calls over her shoulder, her voice laced with sarcasm. “I didn’t realize we were in such a hurry. Should we skip all the beautiful country and take the quickest, most boring route instead?”
