Page 5 of Pink and Country

“What about Ry?” Riley was my long-term manager. The one who discovered my band at eighteen.

“I’ll deal with him. I’m sure he’ll understand. Don’t worry.”

I tousled my hair with both hands, my phone now on speaker while I cleaned the mess I made in the living room.

“Fine. I trust you, June. You better be right about this. Never let Carla near me ever again. I can’t promise I won’t lose it next time. And if I wasn’t clear enough before, she’s fired.” We agreed to talk later, the hair on my body standing on end, the unmistakable sign I needed to walk away before having one of my episodes.

I strode back to the kitchen and kicked a chair off balance. Lava boiled inside my veins.

I needed a release. Anything. Something to calm my nerves. Or someone. Damn it.

My hand dragged along my jawline. My scruff felt weird under the pads of my fingers. I never kept it that long, but now I used my scrubby face as a shield to hide from the rest of the world.

I changed into my workout gear, and with red boxing gloves on, I unwound on the punching bag hanging in the small gym inside my penthouse. With its high ceilings, straight lines, honey-colored hardwood floors, I loved everything about this place, especially the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city of Nashville. My own bachelor pad. Sweat pearled on my forehead, and I pushed my hair away from my face with the side of my arm. Punching the sucker for one hour straight did nothing to ease my angst.

Riled and restless, I packed my guitar and a few things into the trunk, tossed a duffle bag filled with clothes on the backseat, and climbed into my SUV.

The tires screeched as I exited the parking garage in a hurry.

I listened to June’s advice and left town, our heated conversation replaying in my head on a loop, and headed toward the mountains.

I gave myself a pep talk. Get your shit together, Carter. Use this time to work on your next album. With the train wreck my life had become, I hadn’t got an album out in almost two years—before Savannah. It was long overdue to give in to my creative side. My fans were adamant about it. Time to go back on the road. Time to bring back the music in my life. No more wasting my time in a dead-end relationship based on lies and pretenses. Savannah hardened my already icy heart; she destroyed my mojo. Fucking Carla.

* * *

Jack and Dahlia had already arrived, waiting for me on the front porch, when I parked my twenty-two-inch chrome wheels, tinted-windows black SUV in front of the three-story log cabin at the end of the road. Located atop the mountain, it offered the perfect view of the valley and the sunset at night. I owned a few luxury log cabins in the neighborhood and rented them to travelers and locals craving some peace of mind. No other spot beat the mountains to evade your everyday life and forget about everything making you tick.

This one cabin, though, I kept as mine.

Nobody except close friends or family were welcome here.

Its location gave me some much-needed privacy, and no picture hunters could take snaps of me when I hung around the deck over the steep mountainside.

Perfect spot.

When I bought the top of the mountain lots, I had a gate installed down the road and a fence put around the perimeter to keep bears or other animals out—and of course, stalkers, let’s be real.

Two smaller cabins sat in the gated part of the mountain. I only rented them through agencies that did thorough background checks on everyone, never risking my security.

“Carrrrter.” Jack ran my way and jumped into my arms as soon as I climbed out of my truck.

I held on tight to him and twirled him around. The long drive had defused my anger. Thanks to the wide-open countryside scenery, some old classic rock music, and peppermint tea.

“Hey, buddy. It’s been too long, I’ve missed you.” I ruffled his short dark hair and put him back on his feet. With my hand flat and raised, I pretended to measure him to my body. “You’re almost a man now. You’ve grown at least two inches since the last time I saw you.” The boy giggled, and Dahlia mouthed a “thank you” from where she stood, her arms crossed over her chest, wearing ripped dark denims and a red flannel jacket. “I could use some help. Show me those muscles of yours.” Jack flexed his arms, and I handed him my guitar case with a grin. “Be careful. You’re the only one I trust it with.” I bent at the knees, leveling our faces, and whispered, “Don’t tell your mama, she’ll be jealous.” My voice rose back up, and Jack snickered. “Put it in my studio.”

The boy’s eyes sparkled. Jack knew how much the guitar meant to me. I gifted him a kid-size replica last summer for his fifth birthday. He wouldn’t treat diamonds any better. And the kid had natural talent. It flowed in his veins. He shared the same genuine passion for music Dahlia and I did at his age.

Dahlia inched closer and grabbed a bag from my trunk. She rose to the tips of her toes to drop a kiss on my cheek. Our eyes met, and we exchanged more in our gazes than any words could ever do.

“I’ve missed you, Carter.” My arms wrapped around her, and I pulled her closer. She felt skinnier than usual under my touch. My hands framed her face, and I leaned back to look at her. A lone tear rolled down her cheek, and I wiped it off with the pad of my thumb.

“I’ve missed you too. So damn much. I’m sorry I ghosted you. I had to.”

Dahlia lowered her gaze, her hands stuffed in her jeans pockets. “I know. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, but I’ll make up for it.”

Dahlia squeezed my forearm, and her lips curled up.