Page 199 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
“Okay.” He tilts his head, his eyes flickering with something that looks a whole helluva lot like pity. “Maybe we can have a conversation when you’re not insane.”
“I’m insane?” I take a step forward, too close. “You upheaved our entire family.”
“This isn’t even about me. It’s about you.” He moves closer, his eyes never leaving mine. “Let’s be real. You have a choice with Jade.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“You could fight for her, but you choose to walk away.”
I shake my head sharply, the anger simmering under the surface. I won’t let him have the satisfaction of breaking me.
“You chose to treat her like shit for all these years.” His words land like a slap.
But it’s not just the words, it’s the quiet finality in his tone that gets under my skin.
“You don’t have a fucking clue.” My hands shake now, my chest tight with the weight of everything unsaid.
“And now, even with me tearing down the only wall keeping you two apart, you’re completely screwed by your own selfishactions.” He points at me. “Don’t try to rewrite that and push that on me. You didn’t fight for Jade, and that’s on you.”
I charge at him.
I tackle him hard, shoulder-to-shoulder. The shock of the hit ripples through my body. Then we hit the ground. Gravel scrapes my elbows, but I don’t care.
He grunts. “For fucks sake, Hart.”
“I thought I was doing the right thing. Staying away, protecting her.”
We roll through the dirt, wrestling for control, grappling, and throwing punches like we’ve done since we were kids. But mine is laced with unresolved pain.
Our hands lock together, fingers slipping and grasping. Each of us is trying to push the other off balance. Every sharp rock under me seems to jab straight into my spine.
“Protecting her? Or protecting yourself?”
My elbow slams him.
His knee drives into my side.
I swing at him, wide and angry. I barely miss his jaw, but my fist keeps going, hitting empty air where he was.
“Look, you wanna fight? Fine. We’ll fight all night if you need to, but don’t sit here rotting and wondering if you even remember her laugh.”
When did he get so sappy?
“I remember her damn laugh.”
“You need to face the mess. Stop running.” His accusation hits me worse than a punch to the gut.
We grunt and curse.
A solid punch lands. Another.
“I ain’t fucking running.”
I pin him down, knees on his arms, and he stares up at me with a look of pity and heartbreak. I don’t know which one I want to destroy more.
“Keep lying to yourself. Maybe one day you’ll believe it.” He kicks me off with a huff.
I hit the ground, pain flaring in my side.
