I didn’t think I’d ever be able to thank them enough for how they loved me. But it was because of their dedication I had thetools and medication I needed to make it through the day. My panic attacks became less frequent, and I could breathe for the first time in years.
Until last night. Until the stress of life came by and hit me so hard that I wanted to hit something back.
After meeting with Charles, I hadn’t returned to the ranch. At least, not right away. Even though what happened hadn’t been my fault, my mind made it feel like it was. My chest grew tight, and my pulse skyrocketed as I sat in the parking lot of Al’s Liquor until they opened. Then, it’d been a mad dash toward the whiskey and a slow drive through the backroads until I got home.
But the impending conversation cast a looming shadow overhead, leaving me nauseous beyond compare. When I heard the stampede of hooves and spurs filter in from the barn, my palms were sweaty. I’d just reached for the bottle and poured myself a shot of courage when Dad walked into his office.
His face fell when he saw my own, collapsing into a leather armchair with a “What’s the damage?” on his lips.
It hit me at that moment just how tired he looked. Deep wrinkles looked set in stone on his sun-kissed face. His hair, which had once been a deep brown, was peppered and worn. He’d groaned as he sat down, exhausted from a hard day running around in the arena after men who were easily half his age.
And my heart hurt.
It absolutely fucking broke because I loved this man more than I’d loved anyone else in my life. Growing up, I’d tell my friends that my dad was invincible, and there were days I still thought that. But the truth was that he wasn’t.
Our family had been forced to come to terms with his mortality after the first doctor showed concerns for his heart. There had been many conversations about what life would look like when he was gone. Dad even laid out specific instructions onwhat he wanted to happen after he died, swearing he’d haunt us if we deviated from his plans. It was morbid and horrifying at first, but then we realized he had his own fears to manage.
I reckoned if I was in his position, I’d do the same thing.
This had been different, though. When Dad was out working, riding, or joking around with us in the kitchen, it was easy to forget his fragility. It’d been months since we had a reminder, and this one caught me off guard.
I’d tried to keep the shake from my voice as I told him everything Charles and I had discussed, focusing on the facts and our next steps. The papers in front of me were streaked with yellow highlighter marks and illegible notes from the hours I’d spent combing through each transaction.
Despite what had happened, I trusted Charles when it came to his contacts. Maybe that meant I was a fool, but his face showed genuine shock over our findings. He was as dedicated as I was to getting to the bottom of this.
So, Dad and I called the agency Charles had recommended to request a formal audit of his investment portfolio. I think it’d broken his own heart a bit to do it—he didn’t want to believe a man he considered one of his best friends was capable of mismanaging his funds.
Dad looked exhausted when we returned to the house. He hardly spoke during dinner, only responding when someone prodded him for an answer. Even then, it was snappy. With his meatloaf mostly untouched, he’d shuffled to his bedroom and left us sitting in the wake of his silence.
Cleo and Lennox jumped on me, pushing me to tell them what was wrong, but I couldn’t. Instead, I grabbed the bottle and stumbled outside. I’d felt the panic rising all day, but it couldn’t be ignored anymore.
My clothes felt wrong against my skin, and the fabric was tooitchy and tight. I felt like I was being suffocated. There was a scream rising from deep in my chest and tears that threatened to fall.
I let them.
I fell apart in the silence of the darkness and let out my frustrations with each swing of Dad’s rusted axe. I cried for my dad, for the lost money, for his own heartbreak, and for my own. I cried for the guilt I felt at the heart of it all. Even if it wasn’t my fault, I still believed it was.
And even though I was trying like hell not to think about it, I couldn’t help but see Lincoln’s crestfallen face when I walked back to the house with Dad last night.
What I needed was a distraction, and I had plenty of that to go around. Dad and I had taken Saturday off to recoup. By the time Sunday rolled around, we were ready to tackle the day.
“Where do you want these, sugar?”Dad asked, peeking around the heavy boxes he held with trembling hands.
“Dad!” I rushed from behind my desk and lifted two from his grip. “I told you to bring them down one at a time, not three. These weigh a ton.”
He huffed, following me to the corner behind his desk where I’d set the others. “Don’t see what the fuss is, Josie. They’re just boxes. I can carry’em just fine.”
I turned around, placing my hands on my hips. “I agreed to let you help on the condition you wouldn’t overexert yourself.”
“I’m not?—”
“The beads of sweat trailing down your face say otherwise, and don’t think I didn’t notice how you were shaking earlier. How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”
Dad shifted on his feet, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Allyou girls are too much like your mother,” he grumbled. “Stubborn, headstrong, and a pain in my ass.”
I cocked my head to the side. “You just described yourself, old man. Try again.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He wiped his forehead, leaning against the wall. “I guess I am a little tired.”
