Page 108 of Saving the Rain
“That storm is supposed to hit soon,” he mutters at me, in the Colton Wilder fashion I’m all too familiar with. “Why are you hanging about down in Crimson Ridge? The safest place for you is to be on the ranch.”
He gives it to me sternly, but I also hear the unspoken question there. My dad knows me well enough to understand that this is something big if it warrants an international phone call.
“Yeah,uhh, about that.” I clear my throat. “Promise I only needed to put in this call. As soon as I get off the phone to you, I’ll be heading straight back while the roads are still passable.”
“Good. You don’t need to be messing around or taking unnecessary chances.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t be.” Normally, I’d have something smart to say in reply. The old version of Kayce Wilder would be rolling his eyes and doing the whole ‘yeah, Dad, tell me something I don’t know’ routine. But tonight, I’m just sitting here with my knee bouncing and trying to figure out how on earth to spit out what I gotta say.
On the way down here, I had it all planned out. Now that he’s on the other end of the phone line, I feel clammed up, like I don’t know how to pry that shell open.
I hear him close a door with a soft click, then begin making himself a coffee in the background. Pretty sure it’s around four in the morning over there right now.
“Do I need to do this by guesswork or what?” He chuckles, still sounding sleepy, but it’s kind of a relief to hear that he’s not pissed off even though I’ve woken him up. “Does it begin with the letter A? One word or two? Movie or a book?”
“God... stop...” I shake my head and tilt the air vent on the heater. “That sense of humor of yours hasn’t improved while being away.”
“Alright. So hit me with it.” A faucet runs briefly before cutting off, followed by the sound of rummaging around in cupboards, a chink of ceramic, drawers rolling open and then closed.
Sucking in a deep breath, my thoughts are spinning as fast as aroulette wheel. Clattering and whirring, they’re in there somewhere, but the thought I actually need has gotta land in place before I can get the words out.
“Kayce, you know I’m not one to jump to worst-case scenarios. But right now, you’re beginning to freak me the fuck out. What’s wrong?” My dad’s voice firms up. Somehow, hearing him admit that—hearing the concern front and center in his tone—snaps my focus in place. Just like all the times I’ve been in the bucking chute, ready to compete and dialed in every ounce of attention on the horse beneath me.
It drops me out of my head, and I just start talking.
I tell himeverything.
My knee. The fact I’m no longer going to be in rodeo anymore. How I’ll maybe need surgery, but that wouldn’t fix anything, and actually might be more invasive than healing naturally and continuing with regular rehab.
That somehow flows into telling him about Mom. About her latest overdose. About the money I gave her. Not all the grimy details of my childhood, but enough that I touch on the reason for so many of my shitty decisions in recent years. Stuff I should have told him before now, but honestly, never knew where to begin. So I just avoided doing so.
The kind of man Colton Wilder is, he listens. My dad just fucking listens, and it’s the most cathartic thing ever to let this all finally fly free into the night.
It’s like I’ve got a second wind. Hardly pausing for breath, I launch into the next part. I step off the ledge and plunge headfirst. First, starting by telling him about kissing that random guy way back on New Year’s Eve, then continuing through to realizing I’m attracted to men. Finally, with a thud, I crash land on the scariest admission of all.
I tell him about Raine.
The waterfall of words keeps on pouring. All my confessions about these monumental goddamn things in my life, laying out all the worries that have been eating away at me.
By the time I’ve unloaded so much more than I ever imagined I would tell him, I feel like I could float out the roof of this truck like afeather on the breeze. At the same time, I’m also unsure where we go to from here.
My dad and I don’t exactly have heart-to-hearts.
“Sorry. I kinda just trauma dumped twenty years worth of father-son chats on you in the space of twenty minutes.” I grimace.
Dad clears his throat with a slight cough. “Give me a second. I’m gonna drink this coffee first. Then I’ve got something I need to say, ok?”
I shift my weight. “Sure.” As I sit there in the ensuing silence, chewing the inside of my cheek, I can’t help but blurt a little more. “And yeah, I’m well aware, I should probably come with a sign stamped across my forehead that reads,Hi, I’m a complete fucking mess; nice to meet you.”
His deep, rumbling voice chases away any of those self-deprecating thoughts. “Kayce... when you were younger, I backed off when I should have been trying to find you. It’s a burden I’ll always bear, because I deserve to carry the weight of that decision around. A forever reminder of doing you wrong. I hope you know just how sorry I am.”
Christ, the way my entire chest squeezes at the sincerity of his words. “I don’t want that for either of us, Dad.” I shake my head. “Nah, fuck that. Please don’t feel like you did anything but the best you could.”
“Son, I might’ve only been a dumb teenager at the time, but I shoulda known better. Or at least shouldn’t have let your mother so easily make it seem like everything was fine over the years, when it wasn’t.”
Emotion pricks the back of my eyes. “She’s good at manipulating things to her favor. That’s not your fault.”
“I truly am sorry.” He exhales the sort of weary sigh that comes with years of his own awful experiences, the way he suffered, compounding with the shit I’ve been through.