Redneck Romeo (Rough Riders #15)(104)

“Casper hammered away at me. And I f*cking hated I stood there and let him do it. I was at the lowest point of my life—other than when Luke died—and he went out of his way to make it worse. To make me doubt everything I thought I knew about myself and who I was.”


“Did he tell you to leave?” Tell asked.


“Nope. He suggested no one would notice if I did go. Especially not you guys.”


“Fuck.”


“And after that conversation, nothin’ could’ve made me stay in Sundance. Nothin’.”


Silence fell between them.


Finally Brandt said, “It doesn’t matter.”


“That’s where you’re wrong. It mattered to me. It changed me in a f*ckin’ instant. I had to face the fact that so much of my identity for twenty-seven years was based on havin’ the McKay last name. If I wasn’t a McKay, who was I? Up until that point my life was predetermined. Grow up, get married, be part of the McKay ranch. I knew that life was no longer an option for me.”


“Why didn’t you come to us? Talk to us?” Tell asked.


“Probably because that’s what Casper expected me to do.”


“Did you talk to Mom about it?”


“I couldn’t make myself ask her. Afraid to know either way, I guess. But within a month of my conversation with Casper, within a month of bein’ gone from here, I felt freed. I didn’t have the fear I’d turn into a raging * for no reason. I stopped letting Casper’s influence be an excuse for everything shitty I did in my life. For fightin’, for drinkin’, for usin’ and discarding women.”


“Do you believe it? That he’s not…?” Brandt asked.


“He offered to take me in for a paternity test, which also went a long way in convincing me that I wasn’t his kid. It’s a moot point to me now whether or not we share DNA. Whatever definition I needed about who I am I found on my own.” He released an embarrassed laugh. “I swear I haven’t become some philosophical hippie-type, yammering on about finding myself. But I had to go.”


“Jesus, Dalton. I don’t even know what the f*ck to say to this.”


Dalton looked at Tell. “Which is why I didn’t share this shit with you guys.”


“It’s also why you didn’t wanna come back here, isn’t it?” Brandt asked.


“Yeah.”


“What are we supposed to do with this?”


Dalton leaned forward. “I’m asking for one thing. I don’t want you to bring this up with him. Period.”


Tell shook his head. “The mean motherf*cker can’t—won’t—speak so it’s the perfect time to give him a piece of my mind about the absolute f*cking wrongness of what he done to you. ’Cause he can’t say shit back and he’ll have to sit there and take it like we did for so many years.”


“Damn straight,” Brandt agreed.


“To what end? He’s in the hospital. You really gonna be able to forgive yourselves if by layin’ into him he has another stroke or something? No sir. I won’t have that on my conscience or yours. So promise me you’ll leave it be. Both of you. You’ll never bring it up with him.”


“Dalton, be reasonable—”


“Promise me,” he bit off.


“Fine, f*ck, I promise,” Tell snapped.


Dalton looked at Brandt. “You too. I need your word.”


“You’ve got it.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “So nothin’ changes.”


“With Casper? If I had a quarter for every time I hoped he’d change, I’d be a rich man. The whole freakin’ point of this conversation was to clear the air between us.”


“Has it?”


“Other than the smoke comin’ outta your ears? As far as I’m concerned? Yes. The topic is done. Now can we talk about something else?”


They tried. But by the thirty-minute mark Dalton knew it was a lost cause. Although it was still early, they called it a night.


Brandt texted Jessie to let her know he was on his way home, but he had things to do in the barn so not to wait up.


He’d managed to keep it together at the bar. But the instant he stepped into the barn, stripped off his shirt and slipped on boxing gloves, every bit of rage exploded.


He didn’t think. He just started hitting.


He didn’t f*cking care if Dalton was Casper’s kid. Dalton was his f*cking brother. And the fact Dalton had been hurting for three long goddamn years, with no support from either of his brothers, with him believing they thought the worst of him, that they were no different in their opinions than their dad, just kicked his rage, sorrow and sadness to another level.


And he kept hitting the bag harder.


No wonder Dalton had left. It was a wonder he’d opted to return.


Fuck, f*ck, f*ck.


He punched until he couldn’t punch any more.


Once Brandt had stopped moving he felt the chill in the air. His lungs burned. His face was wet. Sweat for sure. Maybe some tears. His arms ached. As did his shoulders and his jaw. But not as much as his heart ached. The weight of it had him clinging to the heavy bag.