Page 343 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
That fight is part of a larger battle now, just a few feet away, and people are yelling through the singing and dancing.
The metal clinks with each rung I lift.
Click. Click. Click.
Every sound deepens the dread of the ascent until it’s eight or ten feet up, enough to reach the banner about as high as the loft that almost killed my dad.
Dean steps closer, nudging me with his elbow. “It didn’t click.”
I press my hands to the ladder’s sides. The cold metal is sharp, like it’s warning me off.
“It clicked.” My foot finds the first rung, and I pull myself up.
“No, man, it didn’t.”
“You’re drunk. It clicked. It’s fine.”
I start my unsteady climb.
58: ALL COMES TUMBLING DOWN
JADE
––––––––
WHAT HAVEI done?
I can’t answer my own question yet. Not when the world feels like it’s closing in on me and the burning inside me is too loud to ignore.
I move with purpose—run.
I can’t stay here.
I slip past volunteers and handlers without making eye contact. I find a quiet corner near a pen where I know horses are tied.
Animals don’t judge.
They don’t ask questions.
They just are.
I press my palm to a horse’s shoulder and breathe in the smells of sweat, hay, and leather.
Familiar.
Grounding.
And in that moment, I finally let a few hot tears fall.
Not loud.
Not broken.
Just real.
Watching him walk away nearly brought me to my knees right there, where anyone could see. That’s not me, but that’s the effect he has on me.
But I couldn’t chase him. I couldn’t entertain the idea that my daddy would hurt a human with such anger, but I know when it came to a Wilde all those years ago—hell, last year—he could. He would. I know he’s capable. I’ve seen his anger.
