Page 352 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
It all slams back to me—Hart’s confession, me defending my daddy, my hero, and his dirty little secret.
I can’t find the rational woman I pride myself on being. The one who would tell me this isn’t the time nor the place. The one who locks my emotions away so I can make wise decisions. She’s nowhere to be seen.
I rise to my feet.
“You need to leave.” It comes out flat, but sharp.
“Jade?” Hope reaches for me, but I step away from her.
My daddy blinks. “I just want to know if he’s—”
“I said leave.”
Mr. Wilde stands up slowly, and his eyes lock on my father’s. One year ago, they’d already be at each other’s throats. They’d ultimately get kicked out. It wouldn’t be a new game. It was the same fucking game on repeat.
Dean and Levi are already on their feet. Their shoulders squared like they don’t know what this is yet, but sensing it might go bad.
My daddy looks from him to me. “Sweetheart—”
“Don’t call me that.” My words are cold. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t lie to me all these years—to everyone.”
“It’s complicated—”
“You shoved Hart’s father off a goddamn loft!” The words come out louder than I mean them to.
My voice cracks on the last word, breaking somewhere between anger and heartbreak.
I hear the rustle of everyone.
The soft gasps.
“That’s right. At the fair, after the big game that Hart won, Mr. Wilde was rushed to the hospital after falling off the loft. Where Mr. Wilde almost died. Daddy did that. On purpose.”
I want to add that he ruined Hart’s career. Hart hurt his knee in that game because he was so distracted. But that’s not mine to share.
“Daddy?” Hope is beside me. “Is that true?”
Our daddy’s eyes flicker from Hope to Mr. Wilde and back again.
He lets his head fall with a soft nod.
Silence reigns so quickly and so hard that it’s almost suffocating.
“I don’t know what to do here,” Dean says. “I’ve never hit an old man before.”
“There will be no hitting.” His father steps forward. “We were different men back then.”
My gaze swings to him. “You’re standing up for him? He nearly killed you.”
“And what a guilt that would’ve been to carry.” Mr. Wilde’s voice holds no anger, just the kind of sorrow that makes everyone else fall still.
Except me.
“That doesn’t excuse him.”
He runs a hand over his mouth, then lets it fall, heavy at his side. “I forgave him.”
The room remains silent. Even the machines in the hallway seem quieter for a second.
