Page 123 of Take My Hand

“Have you talked to Nikolai at all?”

“Nope, not since he landed. But I don’t think he has any cell service on his hike. Arun said he had to log onto his personal account to share the statement from the band's page.”

I must’ve missed that in the text thread. The four of us were supposed to repost it this morning. Walker and I both did, with Nikolai’s being delayed and now I know why.

Reid had deleted all of his social media about a year ago, but Arun had told him to get his account back up and running to share it out today.

So far, I don’t think he’s listened.

“Well, what are you going to do with all of your free time now? Finally get some of that house in order?” Walker teases me. Although my bathroom and kitchen are completely done, I donated all the art pieces from my living and dining room. There are a few paint swatches on the walls in both rooms and I still need to decide which one to pick.

I also bought a new couch that got delivered the other day but has just been sitting in my garage still wrapped in the packaging. I’ll have to get one of the guys over here to help me move it because there’s no way I’m trying to maneuver the giant piece around with just me and Carter.

“Probably. I’m sure I can figure out something to occupy my time,” I say as I walk downstairs, the new hardwood floors cool beneath my feet, all traces of red paint and dented panels gone from when Carter bashed my bass into it. The memory clings to the forefront of my mind as I lean against the open doorway to her studio and see a happier Carter in front of me. She’s hunched over her tripod, fiddling with the settings on the back of her camera while a new white backdrop is hung up in the space. Piles of dirt and various potted plants decorate the space and she herself is covered in dirt from the waist down with streaks of it going up her forearms. Little flowers and fake butterflies are clipped into her hair and onto her white tank.

She’s never looked more beautiful to me than watching her work and completely in the zone as she is right now.

And as I watch her set up her next shot, all thoughts of my career ending today, disappointed fans, and my uncertain future fade away.

Because there is one certainty in my life, and that’s Carter O’Connor.

And as she moves around in front of the camera, clicker in hand, and poses amongst the flowers and greenery, shooting her eyes to mine at the last second before the shutter clicks and smiles at me, I know everything’s going to be okay.

EPILOUGE: CARTER

“It’s incredible, Dad. They’re going to use the photos for the entire spread.” I can barely contain my excitement as I relay the email I received last night from the creative director on the shoot I worked on a couple weeks ago. The photos were for an emerging pop artist who had her debut album reach number one and is already nominated for a Grammy. Harper’s Bazaar is doing a cover story on her and they hired me to do the shoot.

“I’m so proud of you, kiddo,” my dad says, mirroring my joy with his own. “When can I buy it?”

“Not for a month or so, but as soon as I know, I’ll tell you.” I tuck my phone between my ear and shoulder as I type in the garage code to Hayden’s house, arms weighed down with grocery bags.

As the door glides up and I step inside, a small wooden secretary desk sits in the middle of one of the empty bays. That definitely wasn’t here yesterday.

The door to the house swings open and Hayden comes jogging through, dressed in black shorts and black shorts only. It’s the middle of January, but he’s completely unbothered by the winter chill in the air as he runs across the floor barefooted.

“I’m back at Hayden’s; I’ll call you later, okay? Love you,” I say to my dad as Hayden approaches and relieves me of the grocery bags.

I would never tell him, but it was kind of nice doing the grocery shopping on my own without him trying to add a bunch of random things to the cart that wasn’t on my carefully crafted list.

“Love you too. Say hi to Hayden for me,” my dad says before hanging up.

“My dad says hi,” I tell Hayden, leaning in for a quick kiss before turning my attention back to the piece in front of me.

It’s quite ugly honestly. The wood is chipped in places, the finish a few different shades in different areas likely from flippers trying to stain it in various colors. The legs look like they could fold underneath it at any moment and the back panel has a crack running through it.

“Tell him your big news?” he asks.

“Yes, he’s so excited.”

“He should be very proud of you.” Hayden smiles at me and plants a kiss on the top of my forehead. We spent all night last night celebrating and my body aches at the memory of it. He edged me for two straight hours until I was bleary-eyed and beside myself begging him for relief. By the knowing gleam in Hayden’s eye, he knows exactly where my mind drifted off to.

“So…” I clear my throat and turn my attention back to the furniture piece. “Where’d this come from?”

Hayden shifts on his feet, suddenly looking nervous. He glances down to the bags in his hand and quickly deposits them on a workbench over the corner.

“I uh, I got it for you,” he says, returning to my side.

I frown at the pitiful little thing. “For what purpose, exactly?” I ask, drawing out the last syllable.

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