Page 86 of Courageous Hearts

There’s no turning away from this storm.

Bo spins again, their voice rising as they all but yell not to bring a cloud around to rain on their parade. They growl that they’ll beat their drum. They say to get ready. They’re beautiful and alive, and when their hands fling down at their sides, foot stomping into the soft, malleable grass as they finish singing, it’s there again.

That kick in my chest. That song.

Courage, dear heart.

Striding up to Bo, I spin them in my arms. They’re panting, chest heaving, and as I stare into those eyes of endless sea, of endless horizon, I ready myself to sum up this feeling—this big fucking feeling—in three little words. I lick my lips. Part them, the words ready to spill from the tip of my tongue…

And then the skies open up above us.

Bo jolts, looking up as the rain descends swiftly and without mercy. They bark a laugh, face spreading into a grin, and as the sudden storm drenches us both, Bo crashes their mouth into mine.

My words are lost to the moment, to the feel of Bo’s infectious enthusiasm sweeping me out to sea. I kiss them back, pouring my feelings into it, telling them with my lips and my tongue and my hands gripping tightly all those things I know to be true.

That I love them. That I’ve fallen, ever hopelessly and without repair. That I pray they’ll be there to fill that new crack inside my chest.

Bo’s hands fist the front of my shirt as if they know. As if they get it. But when a loud peal of thunder roars overhead, the pair of us break apart, looking up at the angry black sky.

“We should go,” Bo shouts over the sound of the wind and rain.

I nod, my hair plastered to my forehead, my entire body soaking wet. Bo is right. We need to get inside.

Even so, I open my mouth, the urge to say something strong. But a flash in our periphery, followed seconds later by another booming crash, has us hurtling into action.

Hand in hand, we run.

Chapter 26

Bo

Jameson and I are drenched when we fling ourselves into my Aunt Sara’s cabin, the pair of us laughing uncontrollably. We stand there for a moment, soaking the rug, looking at each other in disbelief.

“Are y’all all right?” Sara asks, popping into the room and taking in our bedraggled state. She turns right back around. “I’ll grab towels.”

Jameson and I bust into laughter again, the absurdity of the last half hour catching up to us. I feel giddy in an exhausted sort of way, as if the tension, emotions, and catharsis of this day have drained out of me. A necessary pressure release, but tiring all the same.

“You all right?” Jameson asks when my laughter dies down.

I nod. And it’s true. I am.

Something about this evening—about revisiting my past in a place I haven’t been in years—was healing in a way I never expected it to be. I had so many bad memories from here. So many things I was running from.

And I kind of forgot about the good.

There was more than the frogs. There was the Shaws and their old projector movies. There was Country Cones, the tiny ice cream shop on Main Street that served the best homemade chocolate-dipped cones. There were the endless dirt roads perfect for riding bikes on and the fresh breeze on a nice summer’s day.

There was Will, who accepted me with open arms in a way my own brother and father couldn’t. And there was Aunt Sara, who taught me it’s never too late to gain new family.

There was good here. Is good here.

And I think I have Jameson to thank for helping me to remember that.

“Y’all are a mess,” Sara says affectionately as she comes back into the room, towels in hand. She passes them off to us, tsking lightly.

“Sorry about the rug,” Jameson replies, doing his best to wipe off some of the water dripping from his body. I do the same.

“Oh, don’t worry ’bout that,” my aunt says. “Have a good time, rainstorm aside?”

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