Page 50 of Huckleberry Hill
“Good sister.”
“It’s just weird, you know? One minute, you’re going along and there’s a plan for your life. And then you hit a brick wall. It all changes. Why does it do that? Why does life change without your permission?”
“It’s designed that way.”
“What’s happened in your life that hasn’t gone your way?” I asked. “Anything?”
“Several things, actually.”
“Like what?”
“Ah, misery loves company, is that it?” he teased.
“Something like that.”
He paused for a moment and then he said, “When I was sixteen, I found out the man who I thought was my father wasn’t.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.” He fiddled with the beer label. “My stepdad was a good man. And he never treated me like I wasn’t his. But when he died . . .”
“Oh, Declan,” I murmured.
“Yeah.” He sighed. “Mom came clean. Told me my real father was actually a well-known bull rider on the circuit. She never told him about me. She was a buckle bunny. That was a shocker, too. Finding out my mom was a rodeo groupie.”
“And your stepfather . . .”
“He was a biker, actually.” He grinned. “I thought I was going to patch into his club when I turned eighteen, but I liked riding horses more than a motorcycle, so . . . I chose the rodeo circuit.”
“Have you met your biological father? Do you have a relationship with him now that you’re an adult?”
“We’ve met. He’s not a family guy. He said as much when we met and he wasn’t at all angry at my mom for letting him off the hook. And for all intents and purposes, my stepdad—the man who raised me—I consider him my father.”
“That’s a lot of baggage to saddle a sixteen-year-old with,” I murmured. “How’d you handle it?”
“I didn’t.” His laugh was sardonic. “I became a menace. Drinking and fighting . . . and other things.”
“Women?” I guessed.
He inclined his head. “Yeah. There was some carousing going on. I’ll leave it at that.”
“It’s left,” I said. “So, how did you snap out of it?”
“My manager. He wanted to sign me, but he didn’t want a troublemaker. He saw potential in me. He told me that if I didn’t want to wind up exactly like my father—my biological father—with a kid I’d never met and no family—that I needed to get my shit together. His words got through my thick head. So I got my shit together.”
“His loss, you know,” I said quietly. “Your dad. For not wanting to be a part of your life, even now.”
He shrugged. “I’m okay.”
“How can you just let all that go?”
“I don’t know. I guess I realized that parents are human first. And we’re all just a bunch of teenagers in grown up bodies. And some of us know how to communicate our emotions better than others.”
“That’s actually very . . . emotionally mature.”
“It’s not like I got there overnight. Like I said, I fought and drank my way through it first. And when that was no longer working, I guess I had to figure stuff out.”
“And your mom?”
