I don’t say a word. I head for the door, ready to find her and the damn horse.
“Tristan?” my father calls.
“Yeah?”
“Remember that one time your mother and I told you that you couldn’t ride that dirt bike?”
I blink quickly, shaking my head as I look at him. “What? No.”
“You were maybe fourteen. Your mother and I were adamant that you were not to get on or ride that damn bike. What did you do?”
I’m pretty sure I know the answer to that.
Dad tells me before I can respond. “You rode it. Broke your freaking arm too. You didn’t die. You survived and rode the fucking thing until I finally broke it. Maybe keep that in mind before you go yellin’ at my grandbaby and I have to kick your ass for making her cry.”
The anger deflates just a little. “She did almost die.”
“People die, son.”
“I’m well aware of it.”
Pop stands, looking me straight in the eye. “I know you are. I am too. I lost the woman of my dreams, and I’m still standing.”
“You don’t get it.”
He scoffs. “The hell I don’t. I have four damn kids. A boy who thought he was invincible. Climbing all over, riding broncs, doing all kinds of dumb shit with his dumb friends. I have daughters, three of them who are trying to kill me, if I could guess based on the idiot choices they’ve made too. But you go on and do whatever you’re going to do. Tell her she can’t ride. Tell her she can’t do anything because you’re afraid. What a way to live,” he says and then sits back down. “Sure ain’t no life worth living, if you ask me. Not that anyone did, but I’m just saying.”
He’s just saying. “How’d you do it?” I ask, hoping maybe my father holds the answers to how I can possibly live with this fucking crippling fear of loss.
How did he survive losing my momma?
Not that he didn’t have a hell of a lot more time than I had with Emmy Jo. Our time was short. She didn’t get to see her baby grow up or even choose whether she wanted to have another. My father didn’t have to raise the four of us on his own and worry without the help of a spouse.
I do.
Every decision I make affects the outcome of Sadie’s life and my own.
“I had someone to lean on,” he answers honestly. “I had your mother, who was strong enough to handle it all.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have that.”
“You could,” he says with a brow raised.
My eyes narrow just slightly. Does he know something? “What are you talking about?”
He shrugs and grabs the remote. “Just that…you could have it, but you don’t.”
I did have it.
I had the chance of it, at least.
“It’s not that simple.”
Pop scoffs. “You think life is supposed to be easy, son? It’s not. It’s complicated and messy and damn right scary. I haven’t slept soundly in thirty-six years. The day you were born was the last time I had ignorance as to what real fear felt like.”
“Well, Pop, that’s great, but I never almost died. Mom didn’t die until you had built a beautiful life together.”
My father’s eyes narrow. “And you think that makes a damn difference? You think because you’ve experienced pain and fear that you can just shove everyone in a box? Your daughter loves to ride. She loves that stupid horse, and you can’t put her in a bubble. The people you love need to live, Tristan, and so do you.”
