Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
He didn’t look my way, just stayed quiet and focused on the rutted road.
“Boyd,” I prompted, setting my hand on his thigh. The muscle clenched beneath my fingers, and I tried to move my hand away, but he grabbed it, pressed it back in place. He didn’t let go.
“I’m not talking about this in the truck. They’ve been gone for a long time. It won’t change in the next few minutes.”
That was true, so I gave him the room he seemed to really want and stayed silent. Within five minutes, he pulled over and parked. Where he stopped looked like where we’d been since we turned off the main road and the next half mile in front of us. We were close to the mountains, but still in the rolling grassland. Pines dotted the craggy rocks in the distance, but it was a golden grassy carpet that surrounded us.
“We’re here. Come on.”
He opened his door and hopped down. I watched as he came around the front in my direction. I got out, and he pushed my door shut behind me. With his big hand, he stroked my hair. “I’ll tell you now because I want to leave it here by the truck. I want our time at the spot to be special, not tainted with what I did.”
I licked my lips, suddenly nervous. If I’d read him wrong all along, I was out in the middle of nowhere. “Please don’t tell me you’re an ax murderer or serial killer or something.”
One pale brow winged up.
“My parents were killed in a car accident. A rock slide washed our truck off the road. They were killed instantly. I survived in the back seat.”
My heart ached for him trying to imagine what it had been like to survive something like that. I blinked back the instant tears.
“Then why—”
“I’m not like my brothers. I wasn’t then, and I’m not now. I wanted off the ranch and to hang with my friends at the fair.” He told me about a barfing contest and how he’d been late for the agreed upon pick up time. “If I’d shown up when I was supposed to, we’d have been ahead of the storm.”
I set my hand on his arm, squeezed. His muscle was like a rock without any give. So strong, but yet he revealed how fragile he was. How damaged.
“Boyd, it’s not your fault.”
“I’d been too eager to see Bobby Sweetin hurl.”
“You were twelve. That’s what boys that age like to do. They’re gross and a little selfish.”
“Not every middle schooler has their selfish actions kill their parents,” he countered.
“The rock slide killed them. When you finally showed up, were they mad?”
He looked into the distance, as if not seeing the mountains, but into the past. “No. They were standing by the front of the car talking with friends of theirs.”
“So they were fine staying at the fair longer. Maybe if you’d shown up on time, they’d have remained and chatted anyway.”
Frowning, he remained quiet.
“You’ll have to tell me about them sometime. They’d be proud of you, knowing all you’ve accomplished. They’d be honored that you cared for them so much you took on this burden of their deaths. But they wouldn’t want you to carry that.”
His gaze dropped to mine.
“Would they?” I asked.
He hesitated, then shook his head. There was nothing more to say about the topic for now. He’d been living with it for so long, he’d need to think. To process.
“Where’s this special spot you were telling me about?”
Relief washed over his face. His muscles relaxed, and the corner of his mouth tipped up. “I’ll grab the blankets and the food from the back. You grab those toys of yours.”
Just like that, the easygoing Boyd was back. But I’d seen a side of him he probably hadn’t even shown his brothers. That meant things were deep. Real deep.
I opened the cab door and leaned in, grabbed the plug and lube he’d pulled from my bedside drawer. Speaking of deep. I clenched my bottom in anticipation of what was to come.
BOYD
After grabbing the blanket and basket, I raised the tailgate back into place. Talking about my parents stirred shit up. Anger. Shame. Guilt. It never went away, but after all this time, I’d gotten pretty damned good at pushing it down and covering it up with wit and cockiness. Unfortunately, Audrey had seen right through all of that from the very beginning.
It’s not your fault.
She’d said exactly what I thought was a lie. She’d also put doubt in my mind. Had I been living with the guilt of a twelve-year-old? Had I been seeing it from a kid’s perspective all this time? I’d waited for my rodeo buddies often enough. People showed up late for shit all the time. Yet no one had been killed in a car accident right after.