“Have You Ever Seen the Rain?” by Creedence Clearwater Revival.
It’s a cappella. Just their voices weaving through the crowded space.
Clara is too focused to look at him.
But I do.
As warm coffee trickles down my fingers, I stare, mesmerized and transfixed, watching, listening, branding the rich sound of his voice into my marrow.
Songs have lungs. They breathe.
And right now, this one is alive.
Haunting lyrics roll through the café like a tide, swelling and receding. The quiet hum of chatter fades, replaced by the raw, unfiltered harmony of their voices.
Chase sings like the words mean something. Like they cost him something. His eyes close, his fingers twitch against his jeans. There’s something unspoken, something that lingers like smoke from a long-dead fire. I nearly choke on it. Cinders in my lungs, ashes at my feet.
Clara’s voice strengthens.
She starts off hesitant, a delicate rose waiting for the moment she’ll collapse under the storm. But Chase keeps her steady, and by the second verse, her nerves dissolve.
She sings.
Her talent shines.
And Chase…
God, he’s perfection. I knew he would be.
Pivoting in my seat, I look across the room at my brother. He feels me staring, waiting, knowing. Our eyes lock. Mine are blanketed in tears. Emotion bubbles to the surface, a deluge, pressing against my ribs as hot tears streak down my cheeks.
Because I hear it.
I hear everything Chase isn’t saying.
It’s in the way his voice dips and rises, how he eases into the song like he belongs there, like music is stitched into his bones.
My brother pulls away, rubbing a hand down his face.
He knows it too.
Knows that Chase was made for this.
Even after the last note fades, it clings like the scent of fresh rain. For a moment, everything is still. The calm before the downpour.
A round of applause crashes over us.
A boom of thunder.
Clara’s lips part slightly, stunned, as if she forgot they weren’t alone, didn’t realize the entire room had been hanging on her every note.
Chase steps back and ducks his head. Lets the rain fall where it belongs.
I swallow hard, gripping my coffee cup, my fingers sticky from the spill.
If there was any shred of doubt before…there isn’t now.
Chasebelongsin the storm.
