Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Now
Raine
G etting up each morning and accomplishing the farm chores is like riding a bike for me. The memories from my childhood are still fresh of what all I need to do. However, today has been a different story.
I’m covered in chicken poop. I have dirt all over my dress. A fresh bump is throbbing on my forehead, and mud is caked on my knees from where I tripped over Buck, the goat, who yet again escaped the fence.
I also smell, thanks to Buck peeing on my boots when I wasn’t looking. When I did notice, he spat at me and lifted his upper lip, clearly happy with himself. I’m very close to turning him into dinner.
I’m kidding of course… kind of.
I shoo Buck away, shaking my head as he spits and kicks his legs as he runs off. I wipe the sweat from my brows before bending over to pick up a bag of chicken feed. I heave it over my shoulder, and as I take a step backward, my leg hits something furry, causing me to lose my grip on the bag and sending my body plummeting toward the ground .
The chicken feed rains down all around me as I try to regain my focus. Before I have a moment to scold Daisy for knocking me over, the sound of scattering feet fills the air. I turn and see the chickens running at me with their wings flapping and beaks ready to peck their breakfast.
“Ah! No! Shoo!” I swat away the tiny dinosaurs and wince at the throbbing ache in my backside. I thrust myself up from the hard ground and rub against the bruise I know is already forming. How did my grandparents do this every day?
And without complaining?
I hear a husky laugh and see Ryland walking through the gate with the biggest smirk across his face. I feel heat rise up my neck and settle into my cheeks. I exhale loudly, annoyed that he caught my morning of epic failure.
“You’re here early,” I state and bend over to try to save the rest of the feed.
“Yeah. I decided I’d like a head start on that master bedroom today. Totally glad I did.” His smirk deepens as he makes his way over to me. “Are you alright?”
He wipes away the dirt and feed dust from me, his thumb doing a circle around the bump on my forehead, making me hiss in pain. “Those chickens really came at you,” he says, fighting against a grin.
“Yeah, like the raptors in Jurassic Park . I won’t be able to watch the movie without traumatic flashbacks now.”
He chuckles and I shove against his shoulder, fighting against a grin myself.
“Do you remember the first time we met?” he says, dusting my shoulders. As soon as the chickens hear the sound of the seeds hitting the ground, they’re quick to peck around our feet.
“Nope. I have completely blocked that embarrassing moment from my memories,” I lie and shoo the chickens away.
“You were terrified of that tiny rooster.”
Ryland doubles over, laughing at the memory. His laughter is contagious, and I can’t help but join in. I remember that day very clearly—the look on Ryland’s face when I slammed into him, what he was wearing, the way his eyes did something to me that I had never felt before. How do they still have that effect on me fourteen years later?
I busy myself to avoid looking at him. I bend down, removing one of the hens who managed to get herself inside of the feed bag and I roll the top down so it doesn’t happen again. “I remember that you, too, were scared of Lucy.”
“And I owe so much to that tiny rooster. I had never been so happy to be covered in eggs,” he adds. I can hear the sound of his hands running through his beard. “Would you like some help?”
Before I can argue, he takes the bag from my hands and carries it over to the feeder. I dare a look at him, trying not to notice the shape of his biceps or how they grow as he pours the chicken feed into each feeder. I stand and watch as he rubs his hands against his pants and removes his hat to wipe his arm across his forehead.
I catch the gleam of light that reflects off his sweat-damp hair, sticking up every which way. He places his hat back on backward , a faded-black snapback, and I watch as it slides into place over the red mark it left behind across his forehead. I stare at it as he looks at me with lowered lashes, a sheepish look taking over his face.
“I can see that your chore skills are the same,” he points out, the barest hint of a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. I swallow hard, a lick of heat dripping down my spine.
“I’m just a little rusty this morning,” I proclaim before walking into the coop, mainly to get away from his stare but also to grab my empty baskets. I can’t ignore what his stare does to my insides. I really like the way Ryland looks at me, especially when he thinks I’m not paying attention. There’s a softness he tries to hide. A special look that I've realized is only for me.
As I walk out of the coop with a basket of eggs, I almost run into him. Again. Just like the first day we met. It’s like a weird sense of nostalgia. Ryland reaches up and steadies me with his hand on my upper arm, keeping me from hitting him. A knowing look washes over his face.
It’s short-lived once we stand there for a moment, our eyes searching each other for the truths we’re too scared to reveal out loud—or even to ourselves. He clears his throat, taking a step away from me, before adding, “You have chicken poop in your hair.”
Way to ruin the moment, Ryland.
I reach up and touch my hair, gasping as I feel the stickiness. I blow out a frustrated breath, ready to give up for the day. The farm is out to get me. And so is my heart.
“I better get cleaned up,” I say and limp my way over to the barn and open the door for the sheep to come out and graze the field for their breakfast. Daisy takes off, switching from pup to working dog in an instant. I should have done that first this morning so Daisy would have been out of my way. “Buck escaped the fence again.”
“That goat lives to torment,” Ryland says from behind me.
“No kidding ,” I say and peek over my shoulder to see if he got my cringy goat pun.
“Zane has rubbed off on you.” He chuckles.
I make my way back to the coop and return all the baskets to their normal spots before I head back to the farmhouse with Ryland by my side. “I desperately need a shower,” I say, more to myself.
Ryland’s nose scrunches as he nods in agreement. I swat at him playfully, and he makes sure to bump his shoulder into mine. I’ve missed this. Our playful banter while working on the farm together. Being back here with him, it feels almost like I left all the best parts of myself with Ryland. I didn’t realize how much of myself I left behind when I moved away. Or how much would be left with him .
He didn’t give you much of a choice back then , my subconscious reminds me.
Since being back in Covewood, I’ve realized I would have been better off moving forward with my life. Rather than staring at my old wounds, doing nothing to help them heal. However, it was easier to ignore the wounds and keep my distance.
Mamaw is probably in heaven right now, watching everything unfold, standing next to Ryland’s grandparents, everyone rubbing their hands together with glee. The image makes me smile.
We make our way up the porch steps, and I stop dead in my tracks as I notice a blue hummingbird feeder hanging from the porch post closest to the table. My mouth drops slightly, and I walk toward it just as a hummingbird lands for a drink. I watch the small, majestic bird fly toward us and swarm around our heads for a second before it’s gone again.
“You put this here?” I ask, pointing to the feeder and looking at Ryland.
He smiles shyly. “I remembered hummingbirds were Johanna’s favorite, and I thought you might like to see them while you’re out here working.”
It’s the little things that tug my heartstrings. Gestures or words that are so simple. A hug right when you need it, picking a bouquet of wildflowers, hanging a hummingbird feeder.
Witnessing the man that Ryland has become these past few weeks…the way he cares for the people around him, the father he has grown into, the fact that even though we broke each other's hearts he’s still here for me…it has reawakened my heart for him.
I’ve been trying to ignore it ever since I ran into him at the hospital, but as each day goes by, I’m falling back into my old feelings for him. Maybe they never left to begin with.
“Ry, thank you,” I whisper, unsure of where to begin with how much his gesture means to me. My eyes travel back to the feeder and then to the vase of freshly picked wildflowers that’s sitting on the table next to my laptop, until they find their way back to Ryland’s golden irises.
“I don’t think I told you this, but when I was eleven, Mamaw was diagnosed with breast cancer. I remember her sitting out here on the swing and watching the hummingbirds that would come visit her feeders. I asked her that day if she was scared, and she had this radiant smile on her face. She told me that she was at first, but then God sent her a sign of peace, and she knew He was going to take care of her.”
“What was the sign of peace?” he asked.
“A hummingbird had flown and stopped right in front of her face, and it looked into her eyes for a few seconds before flying off. She said, at that moment, she just knew she was going to be okay and that she would be healed. And a few days later, she found out that she was cancer free. The doctors were amazed and had no explanation for how it could have just vanished. She had no doubt that Jesus touched her and took away the cancer.”
I exhale as a flood of emotions washes over me all at once. In typical Ryland fashion, he senses my heartache and takes a step toward me and laces his callused fingers with my own.
“I felt that peace too,” I add, the slightest quiver moving my lips. “The day before she had the heart attack, I was sitting at the beach, and I prayed over her. Right when I was done praying, I saw a dolphin in the ocean. In that moment, I just knew she was going to be okay.”
Ryland wipes away a tear with the pad of his thumb.
“I felt peace again when you prayed in the hospital chapel. But—” My words lodge in my throat. Ryland’s hand trails down my neck, squeezes against my shoulder, and pulls me in for a hug.
“I don’t understand. Why would God give me peace only to take her away?” I cry, releasing the words I’ve been hanging on to for weeks, and bury my face into his chest .
He runs his fingers through my hair, and they get tangled in the mess. I remember how disgusting I am and push myself away softly and wipe away the wetness on my cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m a mess all the way around today.”
“Your messes never bother me, Rainbow,” He says, the nickname squeezing against my heart in the same way his fingers squeeze against my own. “Maybe God gave you peace because she was okay. That she was already with him and she was safe, no longer in any pain. She returned home but not in the way we were asking for.”
I nod in reply. If I try to speak, I’m scared my words will tumble out and not make any sense. Words that have been locked behind a cracking dam for too long.
He continues, “A wise teenager once told me”—he smirks, lifting the heaviness just a little bit—“that our time on Earth is limited. Your Mamaw won the lottery, and we should celebrate, not be sad. That same lottery is promised to us, and because of that, we’ll see them again. Carry that truth with you, and I promise you, you’ll get through this.”
I tug him closer and wrap my arms around him. As I bury my face in his shoulder, all I can think about is how much I need him. I need his arms around me, need him to hold me and whisper that it’ll be okay.
I pull back to look up at his handsome face. I can feel the tension build between us. Our bodies are pressed together so that I can feel our heart beats pumping quickly, signaling a growing need for each other. Ryland’s eyes bounce between my own before they land on my mouth, and my mind begins to scream at me to lean toward him.
And oh, do I want to feel the softness of his lips on mine and feel the warmth of his skin against my own. Our souls seem to create a force of gravity when they’re close, clinging to one another without any effort. How has it always felt like this?
How did Ryland let this go? And more importantly, how did I run and leave this behind ?
I can feel the broken pieces of us laying on the ground, shatters of what we used to have together. I can’t force myself to forget what it feels like when sweet, tender love turns rancid. However, I know in order to put the pieces back together, I have to face my demons. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to move on without confronting Ryland.
My hands trail up Ryland’s spine, a strong column bound with lean muscle. His body is conditioned by work, hardened and cut by days spent under the sun and lifting heavy equipment. I pull him closer, not caring that I might stink and am covered in filth.
There is something about being held by the right person that is enough to cure anything. However, before I can give in to my temptations, there is something that Ryland and I need to discuss. His expression softens, as if he can read my thoughts, and he steps back, giving us both some space.
“I, uh…should get to that shower,” I say, an uneasy feeling splashing around inside my stomach.
“Alright,” he replies, taking another step back and slipping his hands into the front of his jeans. “I’ll get to work on the fence before starting on the bedroom.”
I give him a small smile before making my way inside and taking a long shower.
The sun is starting to set later in the day as we reach mid-spring and I’m grateful for it. Ryland, however, takes it as an opportunity to work longer hours. The fence is fixed, trapping an angry goat behind it who has been looking at me like he’s plotting his revenge. Ryland also knocked out the wall to a small utility closet in the hallway in order to expand the master bedroom closet, making it into a walk-in—something my Mamaw requested that is now another reminder that she isn’t here to enjoy the improvements on the old home.
Today, he has the closet formed with new drywall. I enter the room with a fresh glass of fruit-infused water and I stop in my tracks as I peek around the corner and witness Ryland’s bare back. He still has his hat on backward, and I selfishly enjoy the view.
Sensing me, he turns around, and his lips tip up in a smirk that says I caught you gawking . And then he does something that practically makes my knees weaken… he winks.
Ryland steps over his tools and makes his way to me. He slides his hand over the glass that I’m holding, his fingers lingering for a moment, before he pulls the glass to his lips. I stare at his throat, watching his Adam's apple bob as he swallows, and then he grimaces.
“What’s this?”
“Strawberry-and-lemon-infused water.” I shrug, looking anywhere but at his shirtless torso.
“Fruit doesn’t belong in water,” he says and pulls the glass back to his mouth and guzzles the rest. He wipes his lips, my eyes following the movement, before he adds, “But thanks.”
It just became ten degrees hotter in this room. What’s the matter with me? Olivia must be rubbing off on me because the song “ Hot in Herre ” by Nelly pops into my mind, which only intensifies this moment.
“You got a lot done today,” I say, making sure I keep my eyes on the space and not on Ryland.
“Yeah, it wasn’t hard to do. I need you to pick out some shades of paint for the bedroom, the master bathroom, and also the living room and kitchen. Maybe Thursday morning, we can go to Lowes and get them together?”
“Yeah, okay,” I say and toss a thumb over my shoulder. “I’m going back to work on the porch. I’ll let you finish up here.”
Before he can reply, I’m out the door and practically taking two stairs at a time to put some space between us. My hormones have taken on a mind of their own, and being around Ryland shirtless is not helping. He’s not mine to ogle , I have to remind myself.
But he could be , my subconscious tosses back at me.
It's as if my heart and brain are at war with one another. One wants me to admit that I still have feelings for Ryland and that we could have it all, while the other keeps me aware that we have issues to discuss and the fact that I have a whole other life we haven’t mentioned in weeks.
I reach the porch, drinking a sip of my water to help cool me off, and almost spit it out as I see my mother making her way up the stairs to the porch. She clutches the railing and sucks in a sharp breath of air, as if I caught her off guard. She sure did me.
“Mom,” I state, the name feeling stale in my mouth.
I’ve done a great job at avoiding her for the last few weeks, not to mention the years I’ve lived in Rockdale. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that my time to confront her was coming. Even so, I don’t feel ready to face her. I may never be. Because no matter how much time has passed, the pain still throbs inside my chest as a constant reminder of her neglect.
Whoever first said that time heals all wounds was full of crap. My wounds are still very much a part of me. I’ve come to realize that all I did was cover the trauma with scar tissue to help lessen the pain, but it was never gone.
Knowing that Ryland is upstairs brings me a little sense of comfort.
“I’m sorry to just show up here without an invite. I, uh… I don’t have your number to call, and I—'' She takes a shaky breath, and as much as I don't want to do this, my heart is overwhelmed with compassion.
She studies me before she continues. Her once dark and lifeless eyes now appear lighter and vivacious. They take me in from my head to my toes, and the expression softens on her face. She takes the last few steps until she’s facing me. I notice her hand twitching, as if wanting to reach out to me, but I flinch involuntarily, and her smile falters a bit.
“I know I’m probably the last person you want to see,” she admits, looking down at her feet, and I want to tell her that she’s wrong. She’s second to last. Davis is the last person I would want to see, but thankfully he’s not an issue since he no longer lives in Covewood or is welcomed here.
“Want to have a seat?” I ask, my voice sounding unfamiliar, and I point toward the table.
She nods, her eyes lifting to mine for just a second before returning to the ground. She takes a seat, and I follow her, sitting down across from her. I move my laptop and items for work to the side, trying to keep my hands busy, and my eyes focus on something other than her.
Bile is rising into the back of my throat, and panic is itching its way up my spine. I smooth my skirt over my lap and place my hands under my legs to keep them from shaking. My leg starts to bounce uncontrollably, and I remove my hands from under my legs and begin picking at the skin on my thumb.
Calm down, Raine.
I say a silent prayer for strength to get through this.
“I won’t stay long. I know you’re busy,” she tells me, and I bravely look at her.
She’s wearing a flowy pink shirt with a white cardigan over her shoulders and arms. She has on a pair of white jeans and black flats. Her light-blonde hair hangs down, touching her shoulders, smoothed down by heat. Around her neck is a pearl necklace that she’s twisting around with her fingers—a nervous tic, I assume.
I take a deep breath, attempting to calm the raging storm inside of me, and as I release the air, a hummingbird begins to swarm above us. It hovers over the feeder for a moment before buzzing in a circle and stopping beside us. It lasts for maybe a second, but it feels like time slows down.
I feel it right then, a sensation of warmth washing over me from my head and landing into my toes. The pressure in my lungs releases, and I suck in a full breath of air. My leg stops bouncing, and I steady my hands as the feeling of calm travels through every nerve in my body.
It's peace , just like my Mamaw experienced, and I know in my heart that it’s a sign from her. Her way of communicating from heaven that she wants my mother and me to mend our relationship. That I need to forgive her in order to let go. Not just for me, but for my mother as well.
The hummingbird flies away. My attention returns to Mom, who is watching me with tears in her eyes. She brings a shaky hand to her mouth before wiping away the wetness on her cheeks. She points to where the hummingbird was and opens her mouth to speak, but she takes a second to regain herself.
“She told you the story?” I give her a small smile, tears blurring my vision.
She nods her head before wiping her face again. “Yeah, a few months before she passed, actually. We’ve been working on repairing our relationship. Raine, I don’t even know where to start with how sorry I am for everything.”
There they are. Words that I desperately need to hear. It’s like rubbing an ointment over an open wound. It’s not healed yet, but it helps with the healing process. There’s still a part of me that wants to be angry with her. A little voice that whispers that she doesn’t deserve my forgiveness. But I ignore those negative thoughts because I know they’re from the enemy.
“I have no excuse for my choices in the past. That version of me feels like a complete stranger. Finding God completely changes you into someone new.” She shrugs her shoulders, rubbing her hands together. It brings me a sense of comfort knowing she has found a relationship with God.
She continues, “But even though I’ve asked him for forgiveness, it has been hard to forgive myself, especially since I haven’t been brave enough to confront you. I want so badly for us to have a relationship—one that I should’ve given you when you were growing up. I can’t change the past, but oh, if I could… The things I would wipe clean and do over. But it’s out of my control, and I have to learn to walk with this guilt for the rest of my life.”
I never sat down and tried to understand her side of the situation or took the time to learn the reasons why she chose alcohol over most things in her life, including me. I hang on to this truth as I let her continue, hoping that it calms my heart for what lies ahead for us and our relationship.
In order to move forward, we have to talk. I have to face my fears, push past my insecurities and discomforts, and try my best to look past the pain. With both my mother and with Ryland.
I place my hand onto the wooden table, and I silently pray. I pray for strength, I pray for guidance, and I pray for God to mend the brokenness between us. Because I know I can’t heal on my own, but I can with His help.
“I just…there’s a lot to discuss, and we don’t have to get into it today, especially since I kind of barged in on you. I can see you have work to do.” She waves a hand toward my laptop. “I did want to ask if you would like to come over for dinner this weekend? I’d love to have the chance to explain some things and answer any questions you may have. I don’t want to avoid you any longer. I’ve let my shame and guilt stand in the way of trying to connect with my one and only daughter. I know your Mamaw and your father would want me to try.”
Her voice quivers, revealing the emotion she’s trying to keep at bay, and I move my hand to hers, and as soon as our skin touches, sympathy fills my heart. “I’d like that. Very much,” I admit, more to myself than to her.
She flips her hand over so she can squeeze mine. Relief washes over her face as she looks at our joined hands and releases a shaky breath. It's a good feeling, knowing that she cares enough to try to fix our relationship. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.
A cough breaks into the silence, pulling our attention toward the doorway. Ryland stands completely still, mid-stride, eyes wide as he looks between my mother and me. Thankfully he has his shirt back on. His lips part as his eyes pierce into mine, a question reflecting within their hazel color.
“Ryland. It’s good to see you,” Mom says, releasing her hold on me and giving him a slight wave. “I better be off.”
She gathers herself and stands. Ryland and I don’t move a muscle. She nods, her head bouncing between the two of us, before she nods a second time and walks to the stairs.
I blink away the haze before standing up. “Wait,” I shout and rush to her. She turns, eyes large with surprise, and stops on the bottom step. “Let me put my number into your phone.”
She smiles and pulls her phone from her pocket and hands it to me. I type my number into her contacts before giving it back to her. Her smile widens, and I see the twitch of her arm, as if she wants to reach out and give me a hug, but she pulls back. I’m relieved, not yet ready for that step, but I’m willing to work on getting there.
Ryland and I stand on the porch while my mother gets into her vehicle and leaves. It’s not until the dust from the driveway begins to settle that I finally turn and look at him. He raises a brow, shock still written on his handsome face.
“What just happened?” he asks.
“She apologized and asked if I wanted to come to dinner this weekend to talk things over.”
His body remains tense, eyes glued to the driveway, his jaw twitching in discomfort. I tug at his hand and bring his attention back to me. When he looks down and studies me for a moment, his body relaxes.
“Are you okay with doing that?”
I nod, smirking as he deepens his frown. “Yeah. I think I should work on things while I’m here.”
“Yeah?” He weaves his fingers around my own, tugging me an inch closer to him.
“Yeah. But can we wait on our talk, though?” One issue is enough for the day. I’m already feeling drained and ready to take a nap. Sometimes you need to rest in order to help the healing process. Plus, I’m not ready to pop this comfort bubble Ryland and I seem to be in. Not yet anyway.
“Yeah, okay. Whenever you’re ready.”