Page 150 of We Redeemed the Rain

She sniffed and quietly asked a question that sent pain ravagingthrough my chest. “Was Tillie worth it?” When I didn’t immediately answer, she prodded me, giving my face a tiny shake. “Was she worth it?”

My voice was a painful rasp. “Yes.”

“And she’s a horse. You are asoul. One of the most beautiful souls I’ve ever met.”

I lifted my hand to her wrist, sweeping my thumb over the back of it.

“If you have ever wondered if you’re worth the pain, the time, the heartbreak…I’m telling you right now you are. It might take you a while to believe me. Even Tillie had to be convinced. But just like her, you have a joy-filled, meaningful life ahead of you. I know it. And you don’t have to do any of it alone.”

She looked into my eyes, lips quivering. Bea’s face was as tear-stained as mine.

She swallowed hard. “You were wrong about something else, too.” She pressed her lips together to hold her composure. “You have been loved. Even if no one else in the world has loved you, Tag, I havealwaysloved you.”

I choked down a building sob, pressing it back into my chest.

She swiped her thumb over my wet cheek and leaned her forehead to mine. “I love you.”

I love you.I wanted to say it back, but my throat was choked with feelings. My insides were chaos. I groped for stability, for an anchor, for something to keep me from slipping into the other reality that constantly pulled at me.

I pressed my lips to her forehead and took a deep, greedy breath of her scent. Once, twice, and again. My arms slipped around her body and pulled her against me. Her head hit my chest and she gripped me without a beat of hesitation.

I whispered over her hair, squeezing her tighter, my voice raw with tension. “Thank you, Bea. I want to believe.”

She didn’t respond, but when my hand found hers in the dark, she clasped it tight and didn’t let go. I raised her fingers to my lips and kissed them, wishing I was brave enough to say all the things I wanted to say.

But I wasn’t.

The only place I'd ever been brave was on paper. And once again, I heard it calling me. A soft whisper of longing in my chest dared me towrite it out.Dared me to examine the truth pulling my heart to pieces. Dared me to lay down the burden.

But for the moment, I just held her and hoped—prayed—she would somehow, in the way that she always had, hear what I couldn't say.

I focused on her head on my chest, her hair draping over my neck, and the way we breathed together. I made myself focus on the truck bed beneath me and wait for the breeze to caress us.

And I cried silent tears for a long time.

FORTY

Tag

Hours later, I strode out to the quiet barn.

I wanted to check on Tillie and the foal, but I knew they were fine. It was my excuse to escape the suffocating confines of my quiet bedroom, to escape the dreams I knew would find me there. So much brewed in me. Like a swelling storm, I felt my insides shifting, lifting—a growing surge of something. Good or bad I couldn’t tell.

My heart ached for paper. It was infuriating.

Maybe that was the real reason I came to the barn. Writing stopped helping me. A few years ago, I’d heard some psychology guru say talk therapy helped people like me. Since I didn’t have anyone to talk to, I spent weeks writing down my story. I thought maybe getting it “out” would help.

It didn’t.

I had the notion to start a fire and burn the damn thing.

An orange glow of a cigarette lit in the dark.

Cooper.

My voice was low. “What’re you doin’ up right now?”

“I could ask you the same question.” He leaned against the outside wall of the barn. The orange disappearedas he flicked ashes.

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