Page 2 of Bad Decisions & Back Roads

“We’ll skip school and take that vacation day you wanted.”

“To do what?”His gaze flicked over me again—half skeptical, half like he couldn’t quite place me.Like I didn’t fit whatever box he’d already built for me.

“Fishing down at the lake.”I turned to leave, like that settled it.

Behind me he called out, “They call parents when you don’t show up at school.”

“I’ll handle it.”

That got his attention.I could feel it.“How, exactly, will you pull that off?”

I glanced back over my shoulder.“I work in the main office after school.Filing, phones… attendance.”

Now he was interested.There it was—a spark.

“Why would I want to go fishing with you?”He pushed to a stand, dusting off his jeans.

I started walking again.“You make bad decisions.I’m offering you a better bad decision.”

Silence.

Fifty-fifty he’d show.I was curious to know more about the angry oldest son of the Hurst family.

I paused long enough to toss over my shoulder, “Bring your own pole.I’m not sharing.”

I stopped once more to glance at him.“Park on the road.Bring your own bait too.I won’t touch worms for you, Hurst.”

* * *

Eighteen months later…

TIMOTHY

I torefrom the car I’d left crooked on the roadside and sprinted into the downpour, rain needling my skin and mud sucking at my boots.I pushed toward the tree that split Hurst land from McClary.

Four generations of hatred were carved into the dirt and barbed wire.As a Hurst, I wasn’t allowed to cross it.Cows that wandered over weren’t returned.They were taken like prisoners of war.That was the kind of grudge we still carried.It had outlived the men who started it.

Lightning split the sky, and for a second the fence flashed silver ahead of me.

I didn’t slow.

I ran from the memory of my hand—out of control, reckless—hurling a knife toward my younger brother’s feet like I’d lost my damned mind.I could still see it flying.Still hear the thud as it buried itself in the dirt inches from Josh’s foot.

I should’ve taken the knife out of the dirt myself.I should’ve acted like the older brother.

But I didn’t.

Josh picked it up.And dropped it.The tip cut his leg, causing it to bleed.

“Idiot,” I rasped into the wind, although the word gutted me the second it left my mouth.The idiot was me, not Josh.

The fence loomed closer.

I ran harder, as if I could outrun the memories.

My youngest brother was two weeks in the ground after I’d handed him off like he wasn’t mine to protect.I had trusted the reckless eight-year-old to the wrong person—Josh again—and walked away.Josh was a good kid, but we all knew Brian was wild.My decision condemned Josh to carry the guilt of our brother’s drowning, which should’ve been mine and mine alone.All of it was my fault.My fault.

I hadn’t been there when it mattered.