Page 13 of Pink and Country

* * *

Jack ran toward me. I spun him around and pulled him close to my chest, the beat of our hearts blurring together. Jack had grown so much since the last time I saw him. With his dark hair, square jaw, and melted-steel irises, he was the spitting image of me at his age. Talented, he fed his creativity through music the same way I always did. However, Jack also had wit, a focused intelligence I envied, just like Jeff.

Jack’s presence brought back all the mixed feelings I experienced six years ago. The tightness in my chest and throat increased, and I pushed the memories away. No need to dig out the past. It wouldn’t do us any good.

My airways constricted, making my breathing shallow and difficult.

Calm down, Carter.

Tugging at the flimsy threads of my self-control, I kept my discomfort under wraps and faked a smile.

“Hey, bud, I have an idea. You know the song we’ve been working on over video chat? Let’s record it,” I suggested. Jack’s fingers squeezed mine in delight, and we made our way inside. The slight gesture lit my heart up like a Christmas tree. Moments like this one kept me going, they kept me alive. Thanks to them, I breathed easier.

* * *

Six years ago

After the show, Dahlia came to my trailer. With one glance, I knew she dreaded telling me something important. Dahlia had been my best friend since we were both in diapers. The two of us grew up together and knew everything about each other.

In high school, I developed a massive crush on her. Afraid she’d reject me, I never acted on my fondness toward her. As a teenage boy, I was clueless about love and how to tell my best friend I loved her. With all my heart. How could I have told her I wanted her to love me back? How could I have told her she meant the world to me and I couldn’t stop thinking about her? Days and nights. I spent my waking hours fantasizing about kissing her and holding her hand. Each time she smiled my way, my heart keeled over, and my breathing rattled.

Lost in my infatuation with her, I ignored the fact my big brother also loved Dahlia. Deeply. With everything he had.

One night, Dahlia was hanging out at our house—like most nights—and Jeff, without an ounce of hesitation, walked over to her and asked her to be his prom date. I was the one who’d exhorted him to grow some balls and ask the mysterious girl he had a crush on to the stupid dance. For a long time, I hated myself for pushing him toward her.

That night, Dahlia had jumped into his arms, like my brother had just offered her the world. Like she’d been wanting him to ask her out forever. Like her heart only became alive when he walked into a room.

The same way mine did every time my eyes landed on her.

Dahlia and Jeff spent more and more time together from that point and started dating a month later. They looked adorable together, and the sight of them, all loving and caring, broke my heart into a thousand pieces.

Even if I tried, I could never hold it against my brother. But, deep down, I always wished Dahlia would change her mind and choose me instead. My heart to hold, my arms to sink in, my lips to kiss, and my shoulder to cry on.

Heartbroken, I locked myself in my room all summer and put my pain on paper. I spent my days and nights writing down my feelings, using my guitar to fasten music around my words. Around my bleeding heart.

That summer, I wrote some of my best songs.

Having a broken heart woke up the songwriter in me. It inspired me to write about love. Loss. Fears. Lust.

Even though she dated Jeff, Dahlia never turned her back on me. We kept playing guitar together most nights—and on the weekend—in my garage.

Every single day, I fought the urge to kiss her.

Her smile killed me softly.

Her eyes pierced holes in my aching heart.

Her touch pulled me apart.

At fifteen, I had to nurse my first—and last—broken heart. The teenager in me knew nothing about love but knew the connection Dahlia and I shared meant something. No matter how much Dahlia loved Jeff, I’d always hoped our relationship wouldn’t suffer from it.

That summer, drowned in sorrow, I tied ropes and chains around my bleeding heart, firmed my shoulders, and kept moving. With a new resolve, I chased my dreams, worked harder, and made myself unavailable to love. The walls of ice around my heart grew thicker as time passed.

One month before the end of our second world tour, Dahlia came to my room in the middle of the night. She lay on her side, her eyes on me, and our fingers knitted, and whispered on the pillow, “Carter, I love you.”

All my restraints shattered as she spoke the words, and I crashed my lips on hers. I claimed her mouth as I’d always imagined I would someday. We gazed at each other with a lust we’d never allowed ourselves to express, and Dahlia rubbed her palm over my pounding heart. She brushed my lips with the tip of her fingers.

“Carter, what are we doing?”