Page 85 of Courageous Hearts

“What is it?” I ask, looking at the nondescript gray building.

“A beef processin’ plant.”

“You’ve officially lost me,” I admit.

Bo chuckles, nodding a little before sobering. “Once a month, this older couple, Donovan and Marlene Shaw, would drive their truck back behind this buildin’ and project old movies onto the side.”

“Really?” I ask, looking at the processing plant again. I try to imagine it, an old film flickering across the flat, scuffed up exterior.

“Mhm,” Bo hums. “I’d sneak here, too. I don’t think they ever saw me, but I’d hide near the trees and watch those old movies.”

“Musicals?” I guess.

Bo grins, wide and lovely. “Yeah, musicals. I’d watch, and I’d sing along, and when they left, I’d dance.”

My heart skips a beat because that I can imagine clearly. A younger Bo, spreading their wings on this stretch of clipped grass hidden away between the back of a beef processing plant and a copse of old, tall trees.

“It was…” They blow out a breath, gaze lost. “It was the only place I felt safe. It was the only place I wasn’t afraid to be myself. And it hit me, when Will was yellin’ at my brother for his shortsightedness, that the only person truly standin’ in my way was me. It was like…” They shake their head. “Like all of a sudden, I knew—I knew—I couldn’t keep livin’ in that black-and-white world. I knew it’d kill me to only come here once a month and be free. Every time I went back into that cage, I bled out a li’l more. So that summer, I bought a rainbow t-shirt, and I went to Pride.”

“Oh, Bo,” I say, tucking them into my arms and pressing a kiss to their forehead.

“I think he saved me,” they say again.

“I think you saved yourself,” I counter. “You took that first step. When no one was on your side, you put on those rainbow colors and you went to find your people. How can you possibly think that not brave?”

“Jamie,” Bo says quietly, clutching my arms tight.

“Would you show me?” I ask, not wanting Bo to sink into those bad memories but to revel in the good. And I want to see it. I desperately want to glimpse a little piece of what shaped Bo into the person they are today.

“Show you?” they ask.

I nod, pressing a swift kiss to their cheek. “A song?”

Bo leans back, looking at me with slightly glassy eyes. But then they smile, biting their lower lip before nodding.

“Yeah?” I check.

They nod again, standing up and pulling me to my feet. Taking a few steps backwards, Bo shakes out their arms, as if preparing themself. They pause, in thought, but when they look up, catching sight of the storm clouds gathering overhead, another smile breaks out over their face.

At the first line of the song, I almost bark a laugh. They chose Barbra Streisand’s “Don’t Rain On My Parade.” It’s so fitting, so absolutely perfect, that I can do nothing but stand there and stare as Bo shows me what they’re made of.

Bo’s voice is husky as they start off, singing about simply having to fly. The a cappella is stark in this otherwise quiet, secret little spot of Bo’s, and it’s powerful, the performance more for Bo, I sense, than for me. They’re not even looking at me anymore. They’re facing the building, as if seeing this scene on screen, their body moving with their words.

It gains momentum before long, Bo’s voice flowing stronger and a little faster as they croon about needing to take a bite out of life. The pink skirt they changed into before we came out here flows out around their legs, the fabric billowing as they spin and then settling again at the top of their black combat boots. Their shirt, black and sleeveless, hits midway down their stomach, leaving a small strip of skin exposed, and their lean torso sways back and forth as they close their eyes, crying out that they simply have to march because their heart is a drummer.

And as I watch them—seeing the smile on their face, hearing the utter life breathed into every single word—I know, without doubt, without reservation, and without fear, that I am completely, 100 percent in love with this person.

It’s not any one thing. It’s everything. The reluctant smiles in the morning. Cooking together. Hearing them laugh. Feeling their lips on mine.

It’s the way they trust me. How they’ve opened their heart, even though I know that couldn’t have been easy for them to do.

It’s learning more, each and every day, about who Bo is and what they want for their future. It’s seeing myself as part of that picture.

It’s the way my hands are shaking. How my pulse is thrumming wildly throughout my body. How I feel it, deep inside, where my internal compass has stalled, no longer tugging, no longer urging, because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

I love Bo, despite any logic telling me it’s too soon or too fast or too impossible to know for certain. I just do. I love them wholly.

And it occurs to me, a passing thought in my otherwise occupied mind, that Bo has the very real capacity to hurt me. They could wound me gravely should they wish it. And yet there’s no stepping away or second-guessing.

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