Page 85 of We Redeemed the Rain

The sincerity in her chocolate eyes answered my unspoken question.

Dammit.

That’s how she’d felt all this time? That I outgrew her? The notion was absurd. I could never outgrow what we had. Not in a hundred years. Not in athousand. For all the crap relationships in my life, it’d be pretty ballsy to admit I outgrew her. As if something or someone was there to replace her.

“Does it matter anymore? After all this time?”

She thought for a moment. “To young Bea it matters.” She tapped my knee with a playful smile. “Come on, Tag. Did Scribbs outgrow Strings?”

Bea was keeping the question light, but I’d be an idiot not to seeher need to understand why I obliterated something so wonderful and good.

Writing that final letter was like ripping off and destroying a part of my soul.

And I bled for a long time.

I reached up to lift my hat, forgetting I’d hung it on the porch railing—ran my hand through my hair instead. I silently cussed my cowardice. The reason I stopped writing her—and writing at all—was on the list I wouldn’t grant her access to.

When alternative answers failed to surface, I found myself stammering words I’d never intended to say, “Yeah…yeah, I guess I outgrew you. A—a little.”

She nodded like she understood, but she averted her gaze, hiding her true reaction. Then she shrugged, her voice soft. “Well, I didn’t outgrow you. So if you want to write me letters, I’ll give you my new address.”

Tight muscles in my throat strangled my attempt at laughing. Her forced, breathy chuckle died off too.

After a few quiet moments, she whispered, “Jeez. How long did we talk?”

I tipped my watch. “Hours. It’s after eleven.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“You need to head to bed. Tomorrow is rodeo day.”

“Yep. It’s a couple hours drive, one night. You going?”

Her gaze snapped to mine, quickly searching my face. “Do you want me to?”

Our eye contact was full, prolonged. I forced myself not to look at her mouth. I imagined going without her, and I didn’t like the way it looked in my head.

The word came like an overflow. I couldn’t hold it in if I tried.

“Yes.”

Her brows lifted.

“Come with me.”

My heart thumped a new rhythm as I watched the relief spreadover her face. She overflowed, too—an excited smile suppressed with a bite against her lower lip. “What time do we leave?”

TWENTY-FIVE

Dear Strings,

I’ve put a lot of thought into your last question. In theory, I’d love to talk on the phone, send a picture, and know your real name. You’re not alone in considering those things. I’ve considered the same many times. But I think there are more reasons we shouldn’t, than reasons we should.

Don’t be mad at me, Strings. But, I think we should leave things the way they are right now.

Did you pick out a song for your spring recital yet? How was Peter’s last appointment? I’m sorry you had a fall out with Rachel. I hated reading what happened. Did you decide to talk to her, or just let it be?

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