Rhett shakes his head. “Turns out Rage didn’t kill him by stomping on him. Dawson broke his neck in the fall.”
“Oh, God.”
“For two months after Dawson’s passing, I tried to get on a horse to compete, but each time, I couldn’t. I’d break down into a sweat and I’d be crippled with severe anxiety attacks. Eventually, I stepped away because I was wasting everybody’s time.”
I don’t even know what to say.
For a few miles, we drive in silence, the weight of his confession hangs heavy around us.
I’m so in shock, I’m at a loss for words.
The air in the truck is still, and other than the tires grinding against the road, only our breathing fills the space.
I study Rhett’s profile with a heavy heart. I want to unbuckle my seat belt and take him in my arms, but I can’t.
Poor guy.
I’m sure you lose a part of your soul when you watch someone close to you die right in front of your eyes.
“Despite the fact you stepped away, I’m sure your parents must be so proud of you,” I say with a warm smile.
“My parents died in an accident on a stormy night when I was eleven. I was at a sleepover at Jenkins’ house, which spared my life.”
I bring a hand to my heart. “Oh, God, Rhett.”
“Yeah.” He nods. “I’m an orphan and I don’t have any siblings. It was the same for Dawson?—”
“What about your grandparents and aunts? Couldn’t they take you in?”
“Mom was abandoned at the door of a church by her mother a month after her birth. Dad was adopted right after his birth. He was from Texas. Mom was from Kansas. She bounced around in different foster homes her whole life until she came of age. She got the short end of the stick, aka, the crappy adoption system. Like Dawson. Dad was lucky enough to end up with aloving adoptive family, but his parents died a couple years apart. So, at twenty, he was an orphan again.”
This story is breaking my heart. “If your mom was from Kansas and your dad was born in Texas, how did they meet?”
“My parents met in Wyoming. Dad’s parents had moved there when Dad was seven. Mom ended up there because she was looking for a better life. I was born in Wyoming. My parents moved to Texas a couple years after my birth as things were booming up here.”
“Two orphans finding love. That’s beautiful.”
“It is. The fact they were orphans made them stronger. My parents were like oak trees—sturdy, reliable, and they adapted well to whatever life threw at them. I still find it hard to believe they’re gone.”
“Were you adopted when they passed away?”
“I was, which is why I’m an orphan twice over.”
I frown. “I don’t understand.”
“My adoptive ma died a couple years ago. It was sudden. Stupid drunk driver.” His nostrils flare. “I was so blessed to have her.”
Dear God.
“Ma, Jocelyn McClad, was fifty years old when she adopted me. I never met Pa—Osmond McClad. He passed away of a heart attack a year before Ma adopted me. Emmylou used to belong to Pa.” He purses his lips. “As I neared my teen years, I was no longer the cute baby or toddler every childless parent was clamoring over. With each passing week, my undesirability grew. Ma was my teacher and knew my parents well. Her and Pa were never able to have a child of their own. Without her, I would’ve ended up bouncing from one foster home to another. Like Mom and Dawson.”
Bless that woman.
“Out of respect for my folks who were taken too soon, Ma never changed my last name. I’m still a Sullivan.”
He’s lucky he had his ma to watch over him.
What a poignant story.
