Page 6 of Pink and Country

Dahlia, our friend Stud, and I once had a band together. Carter Hills Band. Dahlia hated the fame, so after she found out she was pregnant with Jack, she walked away from it. Then everything went to shit, and she secluded herself here in Green Mountain and stayed out of the public eye. For good.

Lost in my troubled, fake, only-for-the-press relationship with Savannah Prince, I let Dahlia and Jack down for half a year. I refused to involve them in the nasty turmoil my life had turned into. It was mine to fix. I promised myself it’d never happen again.

Was Dahlia’s weight loss related to my messy existence? It wouldn’t be the first time she worried about me and my antics. Damn it.

Dahlia stepped back, breaking our embrace, as Jack came trotting in our direction.

“Done. Your guitar is safe in your music room.”

“Thanks, bud. I knew you were the man for the job.” We fist-bumped, and I handed Jack another bag. “This is precious stuff too. Are you up for the challenge?”

“Yes, sir,” he said, giving me a salute. A flicker of emotion tickled my spine. The small gesture reminded me so much of my big brother when we were younger. I chased the memory away.

“Hey, Dah, where’s your car?”

“It’s at the mechanic’s. Nick dropped us off an hour ago. ”

“I could’ve picked you two up, you know that, right?

She flicked her hands as she added, “No worries. Nick had errands to run anyway. It’s not like we live hours from here either.” True. They lived a few miles from my cabin.

“When is he picking you up?”

“In two or three days. Haven’t decided yet. Did I forget to tell you we were staying with you? Is it all right?”

My throat thickened. I inhaled through my mouth to calm the conflicting emotions bubbling deep inside me. I rolled my shoulders back and breathed out. “Oh, yes, it’s perfect.”

I opened the truck’s back door and swung the duffel bag over my shoulder, draped my arm around Dahlia, and we followed Jack into the house.

“Hope you’re hungry, Carter. I’ve cooked dinner. We could eat early and get Jack to bed and spend some one-on-one time together. We’re long overdue.” Dahlia glanced at me with an arched brow and a small curve of her lips. My heart swelled at the sight. God, I’ve missed her .

“I’m starving, and there’s nothing I’d like more than some alone time with you, Dah.” I winked and kissed her forehead before grabbing the bag from her hand and bringing all my stuff to my room upstairs. The master bedroom occupied the entire third floor. It was decorated simply with a king-size recycled barn-wood bed with nightstands on either side, a dark charcoal bedspread, and a walk-in closet. A large black and white picture of my first solo show—the one Dahlia herself took and gifted to me—was hung above the bed. On the second floor, Jack had his own room with a guitar shaped handcrafted bed I ordered for him after he outgrew his crib, next to a bathroom, and three guest rooms—one Dahlia used every time she spent the night—down the hall. Toys and clothes filled his closet because my home was his too.

I showered while Dahlia and Jack busied themselves downstairs in the kitchen. The smell of white wine sauce pasta with fresh herbs invaded my nostrils as I grabbed a clean towel under the sink to dry myself off. Dressed in low-cut denims and a long-sleeved black shirt that hugged my ripped chest and defined arms, I jogged downstairs. I raked a hand through my damp hair, not in the mood to spend half an hour taming the wild strands, my shaggy look another side effect of my after-Savannah-Prince era.

“Ohmygod, Carter. Your hair,” Dahlia teased with a tentative smile. “It’s a good look on you. Kind of. Never mind, I like it.” For a second, I forgot I’d had a beanie on earlier, and she hadn’t seen my longer locks yet. Dark brown and wavy, it arrived almost to my earlobes these days.

I shrugged, half-smiling. “Let’s just say grooming hasn’t been a top priority lately. And it’s easier to stay under the radar when I look like this.” I shoved the carrot stick Dahlia offered me in my mouth.

Dahlia had always said I looked like a boy-man with my tousled hair. Like I knew she would, she ran her fingers through it, and loads of memories from our past resurfaced.

I shivered. Not sure if it was due to the mid-January crisp air—or Dahlia’s familiar touch.

“I’ll light up the fireplace.” I left the kitchen, the tingles in my body messing with my composure, and beelined toward the side door. With a pile of wood in my arms, I shut the door with a kick.

The winter, this year, had been colder than usual.

The fire crackled as I contemplated the scenery from the bay windows in the den. A sense of calm washed over me. The sky, a pale shade of gray, threatened us with an imminent snowfall. A breeze lifted fallen leaves from the ground and twirled them around. From where I stood, I saw the snowy mountain peaks in the distance. I rubbed my scruffy jaw. Home. Green Mountain was home. I blew out a shuddering breath. Maybe I should move here full time. Sure, I’d miss Nashville, but here, I felt calmer.

Happier.

Jack joined me and slid his tiny palm in mine. We stayed still for a fat minute, our gazes glued to the mountains afar. Some of the tension in my back vanished. I closed my eyes, more tingles rising inside me.

* * *

After I sang Jack one of my songs, at his request, Dahlia tucked him in bed while I attacked the dishes. Other than the den and my music studio, the kitchen had always been one of my favorite rooms in the cabin. It had state-of-the-art sunset bronze-finished appliances, a large wood butcher island, and a panoramic window overlooking the valley. Like every other room here, it had hardwood floors, wooden walls, and twelve-foot-tall wood-planked ceilings. The kitchen cabinets were painted a soft shade of cream just like the L-shaped couch in the living room, the rug in the den, and the brick of the fireplace. A few teal accent items like pillows, vases, and paintings—the ones Dahlia insisted I needed—were scattered here and there. The cabin was a bigger replica of the two smaller ones down the road. It was a mix of rustic and farmhouse chic. Thanks to my best friend, it looked like a house and not just a bachelor pad with no personality.

A smile stretched my lips at the thought of being here with two of my most favorite persons in the world. The ones who mattered.