Unbreak My Heart (Rough Riders Legacy Book 1)

by Lorelei James

  What to say to that? My birth had forced him to keep a residence in Wyoming. So he couldn’t cut ties with his family.

  “I’m a shitty dad, Boone, I know that. I’ve always known that. I took one look at you when you were a baby and I felt sorry for you. You had a fucked-up mom and dad. I suggested adoption because you deserved better than you were gonna get, but your mom… She had visions of us bein’ a family. Which I promptly crushed when I accepted jobs for logging hauls in Canada and didn’t return to Wyoming until you were seven months old.

  “At first I sent money because I promised I’d support you. But I heard she’d started doing drugs again, so I stopped paying and let her take me to court. At least with wage garnishment there’d be a paper trail of the support I’d paid instead of it going up in smoke.” He sipped his beer. “During that time she left you with her sister for a few months…”

  I frowned. “I don’t remember that.”

  “That’s because you were only two or something. One promise I had her make from the start was she was never, ever, under any circumstances to leave you with my parents.”

  “Did she ask why?”

  “Not that I remember, but I wouldn’t have told her the real reason even if she had. As far as I know, she didn’t take you over there.”

  “But you didn’t keep Chet and Remy from getting to know me. So I’ll just ask this straight out; do you think they were abused?”

  He didn’t answer immediately. “My gut feeling is no. They were born so close together and they’ve always been inseparable, so it would’ve been harder for him to get one of them alone. I was the rule follower. Especially when it came to positions of authority, so I didn’t ever question any of the stuff he did to me. I just did it or let him do it.”

  “Do you have any idea whether your brothers knew what was going on?”

  “Nope. They had their own room, I had mine. They wouldn’t have thought anything of Dad taking me out to the garage, because he always did.”

  The sick feeling returned.

  “I definitely think they’d be shocked if I told them now.” He stared at a spot across the room. “But there’s always that part of me that isn’t sure if they’d believe me, so…”

  “What about your mother? How much of this did she know?”

  “No idea. Could be when she found out, she stopped it. Could be she knew from the start and ignored it. Could be she’d sacrificed me, knowing he had those…tendencies and then he wouldn’t go out into the community to pick a random kid and end up in jail.”

  “Did she treat you differently after your dad stopped…?”

  He shook his head. “When I looked back at some of this stuff and tried to, I don’t know, break it down, it becomes obvious. She was always about pleasing her husband. Everything she did was for him. I overheard her talking one time, about how she hadn’t wanted more kids after me, that’s why there’s a gap between me’n Chet. Makes me think she knew what he was doing to me. And after an accidental second pregnancy she got knocked up again a third time with Remy—to protect them both.”

  “She should’ve been protecting you.”

  “Well, she didn’t. I was already soiled goods so why not let him continue doing what he would be compelled to do anyway. And this is gonna sound sick as fuck, but she…she has the look, the body and the build of a prepubescent boy.”

  My head was spinning with all of this.

  “If your next question is whether I plan to talk to my father or confront him or whatever, the answer is no.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s in a nursing home in poor health. I haven’t seen him or Mom in years. And with all that born-again stuff…”

  “That’s ten kinds of fucked up, Dad.”

  “Yep. It’s also why it’d be pointless to address now.” He closed his eyes. “I’ve seen the scenario a hundred times. I ask Dad why he did it, if he’s even sorry he did it, and he doesn’t answer. Instead Mom jumps in and reminds me that was a long time ago, he’s asked God for forgiveness. Dad’s accepted his past as a sinner and found redemption. He’s been on a righteous path for years, so my issue with the past is just that; my issue. And maybe I should get right with God so I can move on too.”

  The odd thing was I saw that scene exactly as he’d depicted it, so I understood. Because in some ways…it was the same type of situation between him and me. Not the abuse, but the opposite; the complete detachment.

  “Besides, as soon as you graduated I left Wyoming for Nebraska and I haven’t been back. Haven’t seen my brothers since you graduated from boot camp. Being away from there…it’s been good for me. I don’t see how going back would do anything but set me back. My counselor—”

  “Wait. You’re seeing a counselor?”

  He blushed. “Weird, huh? But yeah. I met this woman and I really liked her. It was embarrassing to admit I didn’t know how to be with her, because I hadn’t done any of the normal…ah, dating stuff since I started driving trucks. She told me to deal with my issues because I’d been living half a life.” He looked at me again. “That’s when all this came crashing down. I checked into an addiction clinic in Omaha. Official diagnosis was exhaustion. My addiction was to work.”

  “When did that happen?” I demanded.

  “Three years ago. It’s taken me a while to come to terms with all of this, son. And I…hope you understand why I couldn’t make the trip to see you when you were in Wyoming.”

  “I get it.”

  “There is another part to this. I’m gonna hit the can first.” He stood and lumbered away from the table.

  I took my phone out to see if Sierra had tried to contact me. Two text messages sent an hour ago.

  SM: At least I have a third row seat to witness the wedding of the year – eye roll. Mom is acting strangely calm, so I’m assuming she popped valium before she arrived in her limo.

  SM: What is up with all the pastel-colored golf shirts? And plaid shorts? Do these dudes’ wives purposely dress them like that in some kind of ugliest outfit contest? Anyway, four geezers were checking out my ass and I wished you were here, going all growly, sexy caveman on them, letting them know who that ass really belongs to. My everything belongs to you. I miss you and I hope things are going well. Call me NO MATTER WHAT TIME YOU GET DONE. I need to hear your voice, Boone. Love you.

  I shoved my phone back in my pocket and closed my eyes. I knew it defined selfish, but I wanted her here, waiting in the room for me. I’d need her. I don’t think she grasped how much I needed her.

  I wondered how long it’d take Dad to get back into the swing of conversation after this break.

  He launched in immediately after he returned to the table. “I already told you I was a shitty father. Not that it’s news to you. What probably is news though is that it was intentional.”

  “Why?”

  He was back to label-picking. “I didn’t trust myself to be around you, Boone. My dad was a sexual abuser. I had no way of knowing whether that…trait, tendency, whatever the fuck you wanna call it, had been passed on to me. Back then, I didn’t know half the stuff I do now, but a lot of this bad shit is learned behavior. It’s a pattern. It’s passed down. That sucks. I don’t have any idea whether my dad was abused or who did it to him. To be honest I don’t give a fuck. ‘I didn’t know any better’ is never a valid argument. But one thing I did know?”

  He looked at me with the most haunted eyes I’ve ever seen.

  “Whatever fucked-up cycle of abuse I’d been born into would stop with me. I’d never do to you what my dad did to me. Never. And to ensure that didn’t happen, I stayed away as much as I could.”

  My last sip of beer threatened to come back up. With all of the implications of what I’d learned in the last hour about my family? That hadn’t crossed my mind. I never would’ve seen my dad as the perverted fucker who liked little boys.

  Did you ever in your wildest imaginings believe your grandfather was a pedophile in an incestuous situation with
your father?

  No.

  “Maybe this is the beer talking or maybe it’s just that we’ve come this goddamned far in being able to talk about it. I can honestly say I never had any pull that direction. Ever. But I’ll also admit I never put myself in a situation where it’d become an issue.”

  “Including spending time raising your son.”

  “Including that.”

  I counted to ten before I responded. “So while you fought with your demons, trying to keep me safe from sexual abuse, my mother abused me and neglected me. Starved me. Tried her best to turn me into a feral animal. And that was somehow fucking better? Than you stepping up to the plate and saying, ‘I’ve gotta draw boundaries but here’s how we can do it’?”

  “I know that now. I didn’t know that then. Back when your mom wanted you to live with me fulltime because she was pregnant, I couldn’t do it. That makes me a shitty parent on a whole different level since I chose to leave you in what I knew was a bad situation.”

  “Yeah, you did. While I’m sorry that your past scarred you, now mine does too. That could’ve been prevented.”

  His eyes took on a hard glint. “Or you could be in therapy for the rest of your life after all the sick shit I did to you because I hadn’t dealt with any of what had been done to me.”

  Jesus, fuck, this was so messed up.

  “I did eventually bring you to live with me.”

  “Why did you bother? I mean, you were never home. Chet and Remy ended up looking after me. You just went on, business as usual. Things didn’t change a whole lot for me. Except I didn’t have my brother and sister underfoot—so I spent even more time alone. I still never had enough to eat. You never gave me money for anything. I had to get a fucking job at age thirteen. A job I had to walk four miles to. What lesson was the hardship supposed to teach me?”

  “It got the job done, didn’t it? You’re no worse for the wear. Look at all you’ve accomplished.”

  I tuned him out. Fuck, I was tired of hearing that response. I was no “worse for the wear” now. I’d gone without then. That’s what burned my ass. I was a child. I didn’t have clothes that fit; I didn’t have enough food or school supplies or gym shoes. Now if I needed that stuff I could get in my car that I paid for myself and buy what I needed, with the money I earned. But being a thirteen-year-old boy, without transportation, without money, without supervision…no wonder I stole a dirt bike and drove into town. Straight to the grocery store in Moorcroft, where I sat in the aisle and filled my hungry belly until the deputy came and hauled me away.

  Had my dad come and picked me up and paid for the food I’d consumed?

  No. Chet and Remy had.

  Besides admitting I didn’t know how to read at age nine, that’d been the most humiliating thing that had ever happened to me. The next day, my uncles took me to the local farm discount store where I ended up with jeans, gym shoes, work boots, T-shirts, socks, underwear and winter gear. I’d hated that they’d had to buy it for me even when I’d been so grateful to have it. That’s when my uncles had started dragging me along to their jobsites after school and on weekends. “Keeping me out of trouble” they claimed, but mostly to make sure I wasn’t starving and alone.

  “Boone?”

  I looked back at my father and didn’t block the resentment from my eyes. Maybe he didn’t need it, but he’d brought it up so he could just fucking deal with it. “What?”

  “What were you thinking about just now?”

  “All of this. You, me, the big reveal. Me thinking back and trying like hell to find one decent father-son memory.” I leaned forward. “And I can’t. Not one. You weren’t a bad father; you weren’t a father to me at all. You were this random guy who showed up sometimes. Your neglect and shirking your parental duties don’t earn you the right to be proud of my accomplishments. I had no choice but to make it on my own. And it wasn’t the lessons in hardship you ‘taught’ me that got me there.”

  “I told you I was a shitty dad.”

  “You didn’t try not to be. The casual way you’re admitting lousy parenting is almost a point of pride with you. Maybe that attitude deserves an additional conversation with your counselor. I believe they call that a self-fulfilling prophecy?”

  That startled him.

  I guzzled my remaining beer. Six beers. In roughly an hour and a half. And that didn’t seem like nearly enough.

  “I didn’t want things to end this way. But I guess it’s better than you being disgusted.”

  “I am disgusted by what I’ve heard. But I’m not disgusted by you. Jesus. You were a kid and didn’t have any control over the situation.”

  “I…didn’t know how you’d react. Because I don’t really know you, do I?”

  I shook my head.

  “Is there a chance we might change that someday?”

  “Someday. But not today.”

  Hurt flashed in his eyes.

  “That answer is not because of anything you’ve shared with me tonight. If anything, you coming to me with this makes me hopeful that your counselor can help you get a clearer perspective on me.”

  “What about you? Does any of the family…cycle concern you?”

  “That if I have kids I’ll want to touch them inappropriately? Hell no. I’m one hundred percent sure of that right now. But knowing this about you, will have me looking at the past with a different…lens, maybe.”

  The waitress brought another round. I might as well drink the damn thing since I wouldn’t be driving anywhere tonight.

  And maybe if I had help easing into slumber I wouldn’t notice that gnawing need in my gut to have Sierra close—because that’s the only time I felt whole.

  Ugh. I did not want to watch my mother feed her new husband cake.

  I turned away and heard laughter, which probably meant someone had a face full of frosting. I checked my messages and saw one had just come in from Boone.

  B-Dub: Hey. Back n room. Too many beers. Going to bed.

  I texted back:

  Me: Are you okay?

  B-Dub: No

  My stomach pitched.

  Me: Time for a call?

  B-Dub: I want to talk in person, k? Tomorrow.

  Me: You can wait?

  B-Dub: No choice. Drank eight beers or I’d be n my car on my way home to u.

  Before I responded, he texted back:

  B-Dub: LUV U – nite…

  Fuck this texting shit.

  If he couldn’t come to me, I’d go to him.

  I left the reception—I doubted anyone noticed. I had to wait for the valet to bring my car around. As soon as I cleared the gated area I hit “start route” for the motel in Flagstaff.

  Three hours later I stood in front of Boone’s hotel room door. I knocked loudly in case he’d fallen asleep and made sure he could see me through the peephole.

  The security lock slid on the inside.

  Boone opened the door wearing just his boxer briefs. He crushed me against his chest before I said a word.

  My purse fell to the floor when I wrapped myself around him, touching as much of him as possible.

  At some point we realized we stood in an open doorway.

  Boone shut the door, locked it and sagged against it. “You came. I didn’t ask you to.”

  I curled my hands around his face. “You didn’t need to ask me.”

  He closed his eyes. “God. Sierra. I’m so fucking glad you’re here.” He hauled me against him, burying his face in my neck. “Can we just stay like this for a while?”

  “Let’s try this over here.” I threaded my fingers through his.

  Ten steps later we’d reached the king-sized bed. The bedding was a wreck. I kicked off my shoes, yanked the dress over my head and tossed all the pillows back onto the mattress. Then I situated myself in the middle and held my hand out to him.

  It took Boone some time to settle in.

  I ran my hands through his hair, down his shoulders and arms, trying to soothe those ragged ed
ges because I knew my touch did that for him. It didn’t surprise me that his breathing slowed and he fell asleep. I closed my eyes, relieved that I’d brought him some peace. Even momentarily.

  Later, Boone’s soft kisses peppered my jaw as he pulled me from a light sleep. He whispered, “Be right back,” as if he expected me to leave.

  Silly man.

  The toilet flushed. Water ran. He crawled back in bed, snuggling his body behind mine. He rubbed his cool, damp face across my shoulder and his cold hand skated up the outside of my thigh.

  “I thought maybe I’d dreamed you.” He kissed the nape of my neck. “Thank you for coming. How was the wedding?”

  “Boring. With a side of pompous. Everyone got gift bags. Like they were attending the freakin’ Oscars or something. It was ridiculous. I did sneak a shot of the ceremony with my cell phone and sent the pic to my dad with the caption—‘Freedom from Alimony!’”

  I felt Boone smile against the nape of my neck. “Did Gavin see the humor?”

  “Is it mean to say he always laughs at my mom?”

  “No. Better laughing than crying or screaming.”

  “Thankfully those days are in the past. For both of us.”

  He started to move his hands all over me. More out of reflex than anything else. He pressed his lips into the back of my head.

  Stalling.

  Prompt him? Or let this play out on its own timeframe?

  My concern for him won out. “What happened?”

  “I don’t even know where to start. Probably because I didn’t know what to expect with him. I haven’t talked to you about it because it seemed stupid to speculate. That doesn’t mean I didn’t. I’d half-convinced myself he’d been born again and wanted to share his personal journey to salvation. I had awesome zingers worked up for that possibility.”

  I snickered.

  “I’d also prepared myself for the apology portion of the twelve-step program. Where he admits how he wronged me, swears he’s given his life over to a higher power and accepted the change, needing me to offer him my forgiveness. The last two possibilities were either he would tell me he was gay, he’d been in a serious secret relationship for a few years and couldn’t live the lie anymore. Or, he’d met the love of his life, decided to give up driving truck so he could marry this woman with four young kids that he planned to adopt and he’d be a stay-at-home dad.” He rubbed his mouth across the top of my ear and his fingers dug into my hips. “I wasn’t even fucking close to any of those scenarios.”