You’re afraid.
Did it matter? Did any of it matter?
His life had changed that day fifteen years ago, and his world had shattered. And it had broken again when he’d learned the truth about his father. Every room in that house had felt packed full of lies and unanswered questions.
The wedding pictures on the wall had felt like photographs from a play, and when he’d started to get older and his face had begun to take the shape of his dad’s, he’d wondered what that meant. Who that man had actually been.
A man who’d bought a plane ticket in a moment of insanity?
A man who had a secret life.
Secret plans to leave.
A man who had changed his mind when his wife had decided to go on that trip with him, after all.
Everything had felt wrong and uncertain. And hope had felt like something with teeth.
Contentment had felt like the calm before a plane crash.
Loving a person felt like the edge of disaster.
He’d cared about nothing. For a long time. And then there was her. And she had always been an exception. And he let her get too close. He’d let this all go too far. But no more. It had to end.
He’d ended it. And she was gone.
It was why he left the rodeo in the first place, and he should’ve just left it as it was. He never should’ve let her come for Thanksgiving.
Holidays were a bitch.
This whole holiday season had ruined years of rules. Years of them.
It had to be done. It had to end. And thankfully, it was.
Because she was gone.
And he had a feeling it was for good this time.
And he knew that it was for the best.
* * *
CALLIE SLUNG HER duffel bag off her shoulder and set it down on the porch, looking up at the front door, feeling... She didn’t know. Not like a failure. She hadn’t failed at anything. It was just that it was time now, to have a real conversation with her father. Be ready for the answer to not be what she wanted. But she was going to have to put herself out there. And she was going to have to tell the truth.
All of it.
She breathed in deep, then knocked on the door. It was her father who answered.
“Hey there,” he said, taking a step back and letting her in. “Didn’t expect to see you.”
“Yeah. I know. Are... Boone and Kit and...everyone still here?”
“No. They all went home. Right after Christmas.”
“Of course. I... Yeah. I’ll come in, then.”
She followed her dad into the kitchen. He pulled out a stool at the island. “Have a seat.”
“Is Mom here?”
“No,” he said, moving to the fridge. “Off getting her nails done.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Well, spit it out,” he said, getting a cheesecake out of the fridge and setting it on the counter in front of her.
“What’s this?”
“Your feelings,” he said. “If necessary.”
And then she just started to cry. Absolutely burst into tears. And she couldn’t remember the last time she’d done that. Ever. She didn’t do tears. Other than the times that Jake had kissed her, and they just kind of escaped. But even then they’d both been too wrapped up in what they were doing to really talk about it. And she didn’t even know if he’d noticed.
“Do I need to get my shotgun?” he asked.
“No,” she said, reaching out and putting her hand on her dad’s wrist. “But I do have to tell you some things. Jake and I didn’t get married because we were in love.”
Her dad sighed, and sat in the stool next to her. “I see. Well, I suppose this is about the time I tell you I knew that.”
“You... You knew?”
“Yes, I knew. I knew you didn’t just decide to get married after never showing any interest in it. And I knew it wasn’t like he was that old-fashioned of a guy. Though it was a nice story that you told.”
“Oh.”
“I think he’s the kind of old-fashioned guy who would’ve done what he wanted, sneaked around, then asked my permission to marry you when he was good and ready. Not that I have any experience with that.”
She winced. “I don’t need to know about your and Mom’s personal life.”
“Well, I don’t need to know about yours, either, but I think I got the hint of a bit more than I cared to while you were here. I know it’s not that you’re just friends with him.”
She slumped down on the stool, picked up a fork and dug into the cheesecake. “No. We were supposed to be. But no, it didn’t end up that way. But that’s not the point. When everything went to hell yesterday, I realized something. I realized that I had to let that cover go. And I had to tell you why I did it. Because I needed the trust fund money because I wanted to enter the rodeo. And we had some honesty between us, Dad. And you told me you were going to try to be brave. So it’s my turn. I have to be brave. And I have to tell you that I spent a lot of years trying to be one of the boys because I thought then I could be approved of.”
“I never disapproved of you.”
“I get that now. But I shut down and I tried to protect myself, and I tried to make my life as simple a thing as possible. I did all that to keep from getting hurt. Because I’ve always been afraid that I wasn’t really the daughter that you wanted. So I just didn’t try to be one.”
Her father looked broken then, his face contorting. “Callie. You are a blessing. You always have been. What your mother and I went through was a terrible thing. And I know it must be hard for you, because you don’t remember that time. You weren’t even here for it. It affected each and every one of us, because we were there. Because we remember Sophie. But you don’t. And I’m sorry for all the ways that loss has hurt you, too. But in a way... I don’t want Sophie to ever be forgotten. I want her impression on the world to last. So of course I always wanted you to know about her.”
“I understand that,” she said. “I do. But so much of it was me just being afraid. I thought I needed to be tough and perfect, and then when I had my accident and you didn’t want me to compete anymore...it confirmed it. And I understand now. I don’t need to just be one thing. I have to be myself. I care an awful lot about saddle bronc, I really do. I want to do it. But I care about other things, too. And more important than the rodeo is my relationship with you and Mom. It’s coming to some kind of understanding. More important than the rodeo is that we tell the truth. That we get to know each other.”