Page 339 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
I lick my lips and press them together. “My dad didn’t just fall off the loft the night of the game.” The words hurt, but not as much as the memory.
Not as much as the punch to my stomach every time I relive that night.
I take a deep breath and push the air out until my lungs hurt.
“Your father pushed my Pa off that loft.” The words come out quiet, measured, and deadly clear.
“No. He didn’t.”
“Yes. He did.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I was there, Jade. That was the night I was going to tell my dad about us. After we made love under the bleachers.”
Her jaw ticks. No softness. No caring.
“I was determined. Fucking stupid. So cocky.” I grunt. “Your dad was so angry, and they were arguing. At first, I didn’t even pay attention to their words because they were always arguing. And then the fists came out, and honestly, that was nothing new. Then they were talking about us. Your dad threatened to shoot me if he ever saw me on his property again. A life for a life. I didn’t get it then, but he was referring to your aunt.”
Her lips part, but nothing.
“My pa crashed down and hit a toolbox on the way.” Each word cracks and shatters me.
I’ve never told a soul.
No one.
“The crunch, it was so loud. Deafening.”
It plays in my head now.
“His body just broke and twisted beneath that metal. Then he hit the ground.” I close my eyes.
That thud I heard over and over in my sleep for years. Hell, sometimes I still hear it. I still wake up in cold sweats, like I’m that young teen still.
I open my eyes, but hers are so cold.
“It happened so quickly, and I saw darkness. Your life. My life. My dad’s life. And this fear pulsed inside of me, making it clear I couldn’t be with you, and I couldn’t tell you why. I couldn’t tell you at all.”
“No.” She steps back, shaking her head. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not.” But it fucking hurts that she thinks I would.
“Bullshit, Hart.” It’s a sharp, disbelieving bark. “Where was the police report? Why wasn’t my daddy arrested? There’s no paper trail to back this up, and if my daddy pushed yours, there would’ve been repercussions.”
She’s right. I’d always wondered the same thing. Her questions align with mine, but I’m having trouble getting past one thing.
“You think I made it up?” I ask.
“My daddy would never do something like that.”
“I wish that were true, Jade. I really do.”
“You’re a liar. He would never do that.”
“I’m sure it was an accident on your daddy’s part. Maybe he tripped or—”
“You’re sure?” She crosses her arms. “You think he’d do it on purpose?”
