“This was her favorite,” Cassie whispered.
Nash merely nodded, his grip firm, his eyes never leaving hers.
The tape rolled on.Jolene.
Cassie’s lips twitched despite herself.She could see them plain as day—her mama two rooms away, belting the words at the top of her lungs; her daddy in his chair, shaking his head and muttering—Take note, Fiddlebean—that’s your mama’s way of remindin’ me she coulda done better.
“She used to sing this when she was mad at Daddy,” Cassie murmured.“And they’d always end up kissin’ halfway through.”
Then—Wild Mountain Thyme.
In her mind it was her mother’s version—the way she made it swell and sigh on the fiddle, bending notes, letting phrases linger before carrying them forward.Slow and unhurried, half hymn, half lullaby.
She mouthed along beneath her breath, catching only fragments before emotion stole the rest away.
Rank Strangerplayed next.Not her mama’s favorite, but her daddy’s.Every Sunday evening after supper, he’d sit on the porch swing, a cigarette forgotten between his fingers while Mama played it on her fiddle just for him.
Rocky Topfilled the room and Cassie smiled tremulously.Mama’s laughter echoed, bright and ringing, as she danced Cassie in dizzy circles while Daddy and Connor clapped along in the background.
The tape stuttered, then—You Are My Sunshine.
The shift hit like a wave, pulling her back to bedtime—her mama’s voice low in the dark, a work-roughened hand smoothing her hair as the melody carried her to sleep.For a moment, it was so vivid Cassie could almost feel her presence, smell the mix of cigarette smoke and dishwater that always clung to her…
The song cut off abruptly.
“Okay, Cas…if you’re hearin’ this, it means you’re sad.”
Cassie’s eyes snapped to Nash—he looked just as startled.
Connor.
His voice was younger than she remembered, carrying that rough edge of eighteen—half man, half boy, trying too hard to sound grown.
“I made you this ’cause Mama always said music helps when it hurts.Figured you might be needin’ that now.”
A pause.The faint scrape of him shifting in his seat.
“Just be glad I ain’t singin’ along.’Cuz what did Mama always say I sounded like—”
Cassie’s lips curved, the answer slipping out of her, soft and broken:
“—a bullfrog with its throat tore out.”
Another pause, his voice softening.“That’s it.Love you, kid.”
The tape whirred on, reels spinning into silence.Outside, the storm continued—rain hammering, wind howling.
Cassie’s head began to shake, small at first, then harder, as if she could push all the feelings away.Her lips parted, a whisper scraping free.
“I miss—”
Her voice cracked.
She tried again, the words breaking apart.“I miss…them.”
Heat blurred her vision.Tears spilled fast, faster than she could wipe them away.A sob ripped free, startling her into another, then another, until her whole body gave out.
Nash caught her as she folded, dragging her into his lap.His arms locked around her; she buried her face in his chest, sobs tearing through her until she could barely breathe...
