Page 2 of Take My Hand

CARTER

There’s something to be said about the satisfaction of a job well done.

The feeling of accomplishment sinks into my bones as I pack up my equipment backstage, carefully storing away the different lenses and triple checking that I have all of my memory cards.

My ex-boyfriend and business partner, Daniel, always made it sound impossible for it to be a one-person job. Now that we’ve broken up and I’m on my own, I’m starting to think that it was just another way to try to keep me under his thumb. Another way for him to control me.

Because I’m sure if I was doing such a shitty job shooting Whisper Me Nothings shows on my own, they wouldn’t have asked me to travel with them for their summer festival shows over the next few months after their US tour wrapped up back in April.

Originally, Daniel and I were hired together to shoot content for all three artists on the tour. We got the gig through his connection to one of the tour’s headliners, Boone Maxwell. But when an altercation broke out between Daniel and a few of the guys after they saw us in one of our fights, he was fired.

Or I’m sure if you ask him, he’ll maintain that he quit.

In retrospect, it wasn’t even one of our worst fights. I had forgotten to upload the files from our memory cards from the previous show and didn’t realize it until it was close to showtime. So, without any space on the cards, Daniel got pissed and snapped.

I can still feel his hot breath against my face, his words cruel and belittling, but I took it.

Because that was how I got through it. Sit there, shut up, take it, and wait for him to get over it.

Eventually he would, and if I was lucky, we’d have a few good moments before I did something else wrong and we repeated it again.

The pattern was bad; I know that. It’s easier to see that now, especially since I haven’t talked to him in almost three months. The longest we’ve gone without communicating since we were teenagers.

But I loved him, and when my money, business opportunities, and general confidence were all intertwined with him, it was hard to picture a life without him.

That is until he left the tour. I followed him after the fight to try to talk him out of leaving, fully convinced that if I went to Boone and the Whisper Me Nothings guys and asked for them to rethink their decision, they would.

But Daniel wouldn’t hear a word of it. He noticed that I stayed there after the fight with them, even though I tried to tell him I was just in shock and needed a moment.

He also didn’t miss how Hayden intervened. And apparently the way he looked at me. And the way I looked at him.

In Daniel’s mind, I had betrayed him. And I had embarrassed him. In reality, he was the one who was yelling at me and caused the whole scene to begin with.

But I was the one to forget to clear the memory cards…

No. It’s not my fault. Not my blame to shoulder. Not anymore.

When Daniel left, I wasn’t sure if I could do it all myself. Photograph backstage, the shows, edit the content, handle the money and contracts. And I almost let my fear and doubt get in the way of it.

But going home sounded even scarier because I didn’t really have a home anymore. We had an apartment together and I sure as hell knew he wasn’t going to let me back in.

So I stayed on for the rest of the tour, shooting the shows by myself, and once that wrapped, Arun, Whisper Me Nothings manager, approached me to travel with them for their summer shows they have on the books.

This schedule is nicer. The shows are a lot more spread out, with down time in between each of them, so when I travel for them, it’s only for a couple days rather than months on the road. And no tour buses this time since it’s a sporadic schedule at various festivals scattered across the country.

The sun is high in the sky still for it being later in the evening, the Kansas City air heavy, causing my hair to stick to the back of my neck. I lift it off, some of the short strands slipping through my fingers and latching back on.

People scramble by, hurrying to switch the stage set up for the next artist to go on. No one is paying me much attention as I huddle off to the side, zipping up my bag and pulling my sunglasses out of my backpack.

That is, until a loud voice cuts through the chaos, calling out my name. I look over my shoulder, spotting Scar, one of my best friends.

We met on tour and just clicked. It’s all thanks to Walker, her boyfriend and Whisper Me Nothings drummer, for opening her up and bringing her out of her shell over the course of our time on the road.

Happiness looks damn good on her and as she walks toward me, tucked into the embrace of her partner, she’s glowing with it.

“I couldn’t find you during the set!” Scar pulls me in for a brief hug. Even though it’s the beginning of June, an oversized leather jacket hangs from her shoulders.

It must belong to Walker, because it swallows her entire frame. Fresh off his set under the beaming sun, his shirt clings to him like a second skin, and clearly, he has no use for it right now.

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