Page 210 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
HART
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THREE DETERMINED STRIDES.
That’s how long it takes me to cross the bus and throw my arms around my brother.
Levi freezes under me, his hand stopping mid-motion, leaving the flipper idle in the pan.
“Should I be scared?”
I’ve got him trapped in a sideways bear hug.
“I told her,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “I told Jade everything.”
It feels like a dream I could snap awake from at any moment. But I know it’s true. I know it to my core. And I haven’t felt this relieved in what feels like a lifetime. I fell apart with her, like a child.
Or as Wheeler would say, like a man who knows how to regulate his emotions. I hate it when he talks shit like that, but I understand it now. Putting everything out in the open healed me.
Almost everything.
Normally, I’d revel in that negative nagging and let it overpower and anger me, but not today.
Not ever.
Some things are worth protecting. And her respect for her father is one of them.
“You did? When? Congrats.” He manages a small pat on my arm, the only thing he can do with his arms pinned at his sides.
“This morning. I told her everything. I got it all out, man. And I cried. Like, ugly cried. Snot and all. Everything.” I still don’t let him go. “And she forgave me.”
The spatula clatters on the stove. “Damn, man, let me hug you for real.”
I shift, and my brother’s arms wrap around me firmly. “I’m proud of you.”
“I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.”
He slaps my back. “It doesn’t matter how you got here, just that you reached your goal.”
“It matters to me, Levi. Thank you for not giving up on me when I’ve been such an asshole.”
“Grumpy asshole.”
I chuckle, remembering Jade saying it too.
“Yeah, grumpy asshole.”
The front door bangs open, and Dean stalks in, a toothbrush hanging from his mouth and a change of clothes under his arm.
“Are we hugging?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. Drops the clothes, clamps the toothbrush between his teeth, and charges like he’s joining a rugby scrum.
It’s not gentle. He clamps his arms around us. Muscles press into muscles. Solid, like braided rope pulling tight.
We stumble, boots hitting ankles and curses coming out of us. The idiot nearly knocks us all over.
“Dude—what—”
