I wanted to focus on the scenery, but I couldn’t. I could only think about Bea—her hands, her chest on my back, her head leaning on my shoulder, her legs bracketing mine, and her laugh.
I’d once told Bea I didn’t believe in miracles. But this moment might’ve changed my mind. In a flash of spontaneity, I was living out a fantasy I thought I'd only witness in dreams.
Bea and I. Together. Here.
I took a deep breath, letting it all sink in. We watched in reverent silence. When the sun hovered a few inches from the horizon, Bea whispered over my shoulder, “Thank you.”
“I didn’t answer your question…from earlier.”
She picked her cheek up off the back of my shoulder and put her chin there, shifting to listen. Puffs of warm, calm breath bathed my neck. The entire ten minutes we’d been up here, she hadn’t made an effort to put space between us. Her arms still gripped me like she might plop into the grass at any second.
The way she was snuggling told me she wasn’t afraid, just eating this up.
I was too.
Every line I’d practiced during the morning feed sounded hollow to me now. “I—I am lonely, Bea.” I took a deep breath. “When you go through life all by yourself, you just start thinkin’ there must be something wrong with you. No one wants to put up with me and all my baggage and they’ve got their own problems to deal with. Now, it’s easier for me to keep people at a distance than let them in.”
She whispered. “What baggage?”
I shrugged. “I wouldn’t know where to start in answerin’ that.”
“Your mom?”
“She’s got a lot to do with it, yeah.”
“You don’t trust easily, do you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
I weaved my hands into Windy Foot’s mane. “Because people only see what they can take. It’s easier to be alone than to have other people constantly use you and not care.”
“Is that why you said you don’t ever want to be romantically involved with anyone?”
Her question reminded me of her fingers gently scraping my abs. Yes, I wanted a woman to love—what man didn’t? “There’s more, but yeah, that’s the gist of it. Working hard…is what I’m good for.”
She shook her head. “No, Tag, those are lies you’re believing. You have so much to offer someone.”
That’s what she thought, of course. She had no idea that my life was riddled with anxiety attacks and nightmares and so many intrusive thoughts I’d filleddozensof journals with. She had no idea that I coped by grabbing handfuls of dirt or hay and smelling them just to remind myself I was still alive. Because some days I existed in a different dimension, like the walking dead or something. I would not invite anyone into my misery.
Especially her.
I swallowed against the lump in my throat. “I’m happy with the ranch.”
“The ranch can’t hold you at night.”
A pang shot through my chest but I denied it. “No one has ever held me at night. Not sure why I’d suddenly need that.”
Her voice was gentle, wavering. “Come on, Tag. You know what you’re saying isn’t real. Everyone needs someone to hold them on bad days, no matter how ugly they think they are. We all need a special person to know and understand us—baggage included.”
We fell silent and squinted up at the sky. The light had morphed from orange to white, the baby blue mingling with the clouds.
Her voice was quiet. “You need to know something, Tag.”
I looked over my shoulder to find her face only inches away. She scooted closer, her hips sliding into the back of mine as she squeezed, her face lifting.
“I’m not afraid.”