to do, like locating his backbone before he just said yes to whatever she wanted to keep from letting her—and everyone else—down.
It was like that. The reason he didn’t want them in the circus any more? He didn’t want any one hurt. Any kind of hurt. But physical hurt—which could kill—had to trump emotional hurt. The emotional hurt just made you feel like you were dying.
They would acclimate to life off the road and outside the circus, he reminded himself yet again. And if they couldn’t, he’d help them find new homes. Somewhere he could stop worrying about them. Somewhere someone else would have to take responsibility when luck turned and those death-defying feats could no longer defy.
Since the second his father had died, that responsibility had passed to him, and even when he hadn’t actively been with the circus, he’d felt it. Oh, he’d ignored the hell out of it, but now that he could no longer do that he felt the weight of every life in his hands. And it was about damned time he used those hands to shield them.
He was a man now, not a boy to be shushed and ignored.
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