Page 29 of Firefly Embers

Even though she stood opposite me, I felt each ‌of her words hit like a punch. She had clearly been building up for an emotional release, and whatever had set her off this evening acted as the catalyst.

The one thing family knew how to do better than anyone else? Hurt you.

I steeled my spine in preparation for a screaming match. It wouldn’t have been our first and probably wouldn’t be our last.

I knew that at her core, Izzy didn’t mean the hateful words that were spewing from her mouth unchecked. The alcohol had taken away her filter, and she was using me as her verbal punching bag. If that’s what she needed, I’d take every hit and jab ten times over to spare her the pain of feeling things so deeply.

Deep down, I knew her contempt for me wasn’t the reason she had started that fight at Jack’s, but if she needed to hash this out, I was here and ready to take it.

“You’ve got it all. The job, the free rent, the freedom, Dad’s attention, the guy, everything I’ve ever wanted. Meanwhile, I’ve had to work for every single ounce of everything I’ve got. I threw myself into the rodeo, hoping he would see me. I moved out in hopes that he would visit. I even settled down with a respectable guy in hopes that he would finally see me as more than just the wild child with a wayward heart. But no, I’m still here, fighting through my daddy issues while you get everything handed to you.”

The fact that she thought I’d had everything handed to me led me to believe I’d sheltered my sister more than I probably should have.

I’d spent the last fifteen years making sure she had the ability to chase her dreams, no matter how far-fetched they seemed. What I’d done instead was make it seem as if she needed to work harder, train longer, and do better to be respected and loved by the men in her life.

What she failed to remember were all the times I’d spent late nights reading bedtime stories to the twins, hoping they would fall asleep quickly so I could log onto my online community college and work on my degree. The time I skipped partying with my friends for my twenty-first birthday because Benny had come home from school with a stomach bug, when Dad had to be on duty. She didn’t see that I was the one moving money around accounts to make sure the lights stayed on, the water ran hot, and the kids’ sports fees were paid for because our dad worked so much, he’d forget.

If anyone should have been angry, it should have been me. But Izzy was right. This wasn’t about me, and nothing I could say tonight would change the way she felt—especially as the tequila worked its way through her system.

She didn’t bother waiting for a response. She knew there was nothing that I could have said to make all the pain she was feeling go away. Turning toward the stairs leading up to her room, she stopped and said softly over her shoulder, “I’m sorry.”

I knew she meant it more for the fact that she had just verbally assaulted me, throwing around years of harbored anger, but there was a tinge of sadness that laced the words, and I knew there was a double meaning behind the sentiment. Nodding, I watched her back as she retreated, making sure she got herself up the stairs without incident.

Content that Izzy could fend for herself for the night, I grabbed a weathered quilt from the hall closet and padded my way over to the sofa. I lay down on the lumpy cushions, trying my best to get comfortable.

Finally, finding a suitable spot, I looked up at the ceiling, the idea of Izzy’s sleeping form snuggled up in her bed above me, floating across my vision.

Closing my eyes, I softly whispered, “Yo también lo siento.” I’m sorry, too.

I let the cool dampness of years of pent-up sadness lull me off to sleep, the trickle of tears a soft reminder that sometimes life isn’t pretty, but it’s sure as hell worth the pain.

WADE

The weathered edges of the worn business card felt soft against my fingers as I flipped it through them for the hundredth time.

I woke up this morning to find the card slipped between my door and its frame. Someone must have shoved it in there after I’d gone to bed. I had my suspicions as to who the culprit might be, but it didn’t matter. The sentiment was still the same—do better.

I’d turned the card over in my palm enough times so that I could read the embossed letters with my eyes closed: Ember Ridge Recovery Center.

I hadn’t looked into the facility further than what was written on this now-worn piece of cardstock, but the phrases “healing” and “PTSD” had me itching with unease.

I didn’t have PTSD; what I had was anger at anything and everything for the shitty hand life had dealt me in the last year.

PTSD was for soldiers returning from war. I didn’t have flashbacks that took me out of reality and into a war zone. I wasn’t hypervigilant about my surroundings. I was just fucking angry and rightfully so.

I slipped the card into the back pocket of my Wranglers, resigning myself to the fact that this was either Stella’s or Max’s way of saying they cared. I knew I needed to get a grip, especially for Charlie’s sake.

It had been over a month since I’d spent any time with my niece, and that hurt. She wasn’t going to be little for long, and did I really want all of her memories from her childhood to be of an angry version of me? She already had a dead dad and enough trauma to last a lifetime; she didn’t need me adding to it.

Pushing down the thoughts and focusing back on my work, I trudged into the office attached to the barn. It was a pathetic excuse for an office, but I wasn’t in there often enough to care.

The only things housed there were my training logs, notes on riders, boarding information, and a couple of belt buckles from my rodeo days I’d half-ass attempted to decorate with to appease Ray, who had said the room was boring and sad.

I thumbed through a folder on ‌top of my desk, checking that each of the horses being boarded for the week was accounted for and that their riders were set for training.

Instead of the trainees having to load and haul their horses to and from the facility each time they had lessons, we offered to board them in our stables for an additional fee. Most of them took the opportunity and left them in our care.

We could take a maximum of ten horses at a time, and that included the four we kept around for ourselves. Anything more than that, and it was more than Max and I could handle on our own.