Page 43 of Redeeming Melodies

She patted my hand absently, already focused on something beyond the window. The mother who'd taught me strength, who'd believed in me when no one else did, was lost somewhere I couldn't follow.

"Mom?" My voice cracked, something inside me breaking. "I don't know what to do anymore." The words spilled out, raw and desperate. "There's this feeling I can't shake, this person who makes everything I thought I knew about myself feel different. And I'm scared, Mom. Scared of what it means."

She continued staring out the window, and I nearly laughed at myself. Here I was, pouring my heart out to someone who didn't even know who I was anymore.

But then her hand tightened on mine, so suddenly it made my breath catch. Her eyes, clear and present for just a moment, found mine. "Follow what feels right, baby. That's all I ever wanted for you."

My heart stopped. "Mom?"

"Such a good boy," she murmured, her gaze already drifting. "Always trying so hard to be what everyone else wanted."

Tears burned behind my eyes. Even lost in her fog, she still saw right through me. Still knew exactly what to say to the scared kid inside the sheriff's uniform.

"But what if I'm wrong?" The question emerged broken, barely a whisper. "What if this isn't who I'm supposed to be?"

Her free hand reached up, touching my cheek with that familiar gentleness that used to chase away childhood monsters. "Love is never wrong, Jake."

My name on her lips felt like a miracle and a knife wound all at once. I covered her hand with mine, holding onto this moment of clarity like it might slip away any second.

"Even if it's not what people expect?"

"Especially then." Her smile, for just this moment, was pure Mom - the one who'd bandaged my scraped knees and held me through teenage heartbreaks. "You deserve to be happy, my sweet boy."

Then, like a candle flickering out, the fog rolled back in. She blinked at me, polite confusion replacing that brief recognition. "Is it time for bingo?"

But her words echoed in my chest, unlocking something I'd kept chained so tight I hadn't even known it was there. Love is never wrong. Such simple words, but they felt like permission. Like absolution.

I stood on shaky legs, bending to kiss her forehead one last time. She smiled vaguely, already lost again in whatever distant world held her mind. But for that one precious moment, she'd been my mom again. Had known exactly what her son needed to hear.

At the door, I turned back. She was humming to herself now, probably wouldn't even remember I'd been here. But I'd remember. Would carry her words like armor against my own doubts.

"I love you, Mom," I whispered.

She didn't respond, but maybe she didn't need to. She'd given me enough - one last gift of motherly wisdom when I needed it most.

Walking out of Pine Grove, my vision blurred but my steps steady, I felt something shift inside me. Mom had always seen the truth of me, even when I couldn't see it myself. Maybe it was time I started looking through her eyes.

The morning sun hit my face, and somewhere in the distance, a Porsche engine roared down Main Street. I smiled through my tears, remembering her words.

Follow what feels right.

My closet had never felt moreinadequate than it did tonight. A sea of practical shirts - mostly various shades of blue and brown - stared back at me, none of them quite right for... for what? It was just another town gathering. The kind I'd been to hundreds of times.

Then why had I tried on three different shirts already?

"This is ridiculous," I muttered, running a hand through my still-damp hair. But I found myself reaching for the dark blue button-down anyway - the one Nina had insisted I buy last Christmas, claiming it "brought out my eyes" or some shit.

My reflection looked foreign somehow. The shirt fit better than my usual choices, highlighting shoulders built from years of physical work. I'd actually made an effort with my hair, and the jeans were my newest pair, still dark with minimal wear at the knees.

The drive to the ranch gave me too much time to think. My truck's headlights caught the sign at the entrance - "Welcome to Rolling Hill Ranch" written in warm wood tones. Caleb and Liam had transformed the place, strings of lights creating a warm glow that spread across the yard like fallen stars.

Music drifted through the evening air - something country but modern, probably Liam's choice. The barn doors stood wide open, more lights twinkling inside, and the paddock had been cleared for dancing. Everything looked like a scene from some small-town movie, perfect in its simplicity.

I parked between Nina's ancient car and Mrs. Henderson's pristine Buick, trying to ignore how my eyes automatically searched for a certain black sports car. Professional habit, that's all. Just the sheriff keeping track of newcomers in his town.

Right.

The gravel crunched under my boots as I approached the party. Familiar faces everywhere - Sarah from the diner chatting with old man Jenkins, Marge taking photos for the local paper, Tommy Morrison helping set up food tables with his grandfather. My town. My people.

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