Page 113 of We Redeemed the Rain

Loud, shuddering inhales filled the quiet semi as he sat on the edge of the mattress. After a long moment, his voice rasped, “I’m—I’m gonna find you some coffee.”

We worked the rest of the rodeo pretending we hadn’t held each other.

THIRTY-THREE

Bea

Astorm pulled me from sleep. Rain beat against my window and thunder occasionally rattled it. Light flashed through the blinds. I stared at the overhead fan, my thoughts whirring like the blades.

Waking or sleeping, my thoughts were of Tag. He was the rhythm in my heart and mind. My feelings were real, strong, and pervasive. Three nights ago, we held each other in the semi then carried on as if nothing had happened.

But, for me, my entire life was changing.

One day, the walls around him would fall—leaving us bare, raw, and unashamed. I yearned for that moment and yearned for him.

Deep in my spirit, I couldn’t help but feel likehewas why I was here. Why else would the universe bring me to the barnyard when his boot fell? Or bring me back years later?

I wasmeantto love him.

And I did. I did so much I could scarcely breathe.

I tossed and turned as the thunder faded into the distance. But I couldn’t go back to sleep. The feelings ravaging my heart brought up emotions I couldn’t express without…

Without music.

For the first time in ages, my fingers itched for Glory.

I imagined my fingers scaling her neck and remembered the hum of vibrations pressing into my chest. The sweet relief my heart knew when it played, unhindered, a new tune. One created on the fly.

My emotions the only director.

My whim the only writer.

I was bursting with a new song. A melody for Tag wreaked havoc in my chest.

I couldn’t draw a breath. The need to play pressed into my rib cage until I was almost gasping for release. Joy and excitement filled me even as the tears dripped from my chin. Before I’d even made a solid plan, my bare feet slipped out of the sheets and onto the cool hardwood floor. My hands relished in the feel of the glossy black case, sliding to the buckles in the darkness. They clicked simultaneously and the lid lifted. The wood and metallic smell filled my senses.

Glory.

A small part of me felt goofy for the giddy excitement running through my veins. It was like seeing an old friend—one you worried you’d never see again.

The strings squeaked as I slipped my fingers around her neck and lifted the other half of my soul out of the velvet. Like someone who’d completely lost their mind, I hugged her. Wrapped my arms around the instrument and sniffled.

Where would I play? I didn’t want to wake Tag.

I thought for a few long moments before deciding to sneak onto the porch. I’d go pickless—just fingers. It wouldn’t be loud.

A few moments later, the humid night curled around me. My silk pajamas caught the damp air and clung to my skin and the seat of my pants soaked in water from the porch swing. But I didn’t care. My heart thumped with wild need.

When I laid Glory across my lap, I took a long, deep, cleansing breath. My hands positioning on and over the strings caused relieved tears to blind my eyes yet again.

This was home.

Ac majorchord was all it took. All it took for me to relax into theporch swing, the chains popping quietly as my heel moved the bench in a gentle, starting rhythm.

What I played had no name. No real tune. No belonging or meaning to anyone but myself. But it was an echo of my heart. Of the rising and swelling of my soul. Of things I couldn’t verbalize and would never be able to put a sensible name to.

Of Tag.

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