Page 207 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
My walls crash.
My guard splinters.
And my defense crumbles.
He swallows hard, his eyes fixed on mine, his voice trembling as if he might shatter at any second. This big, strong man who throws hay bales like they’re weightless. Who fist-fights for fun?
“I wasn’t brave enough to face all of it. My family, your family, the town—what loving you meant. I thought if we do this, I’ll ruin you, hurt you, and I couldn’t bear the thought.”
I’ve never heard him so brutally honest.
He stares at the ground, fists clenching at his side.
“But more than that, I couldn’t work up the courage to even try.” His voice trembles.
He runs a hand down his face, dragging his fingers through his hair, as if trying to hold himself together.
But his whole body shakes.
“So I bolted. I bolted because I’m weak. Because I’m selfish. Because I was too afraid to be the man you deserved.”
He takes a step toward me, then stops short, eyes glossy with tears.
“The only way I could think to keep you away was to make you always hate me.”
He lets out a sharp, broken laugh that dies instantly.
“So I kept pushing you away and making sure that you continued to despise me.” His voice cracks.
He presses a palm to his chest like it physically hurts him, then his gaze flicks to me.
“I had to keep the guilt of what I did to you fresh in my head so that you wouldn’t be hurt by me again. Because all I’ve ever wanted was you.”
He drops to his knees, as if his legs can no longer hold him. And I’m there. I’m across from him, feeling every emotion to my core and recognizing them.
Knowing them.
Having lived them.
My hands are on his trembling arms. He’s never exposed this kind of weakness. His body slumps like the weight of the world is crushing him.
He trembles, and his fists clench the dirt at his knees. Tears streak down his face, cutting clean lines through the dust.
This man, who always seemed unshakable, who rode through storms without flinching, is kneeling here, sobbing like a boy. Every shred of his pride, every piece of armor, is gone, and allthat’s left is fear, guilt, and love spilling out in ragged gasps that make my own heart ache.
And when he looks at me, his eyes are unmasked and desperate, almost unrecognizable.
“It was me.” He says it so broken this time. “I left because I loved you so much it made me sick, and all I could see were the ways I would fail you. And I did fail you. I failed you the second I walked away. And I’ll hate myself for that for the rest of my life. I’m so sorry, Jade.”
My pain spills out the moment my arms find their way around him. All the pain I’ve been harbouring. The bitterness, the blame. The nights I hated him and the mornings I missed him. It all crashes through me at once.
And still, I hold him tighter.
It’s not gentle.
It’s not graceful.
It’s desperate.
