Page 25 of Take My Hand

By the set of her shoulders and the confidence written across her face, I know she means it.

I catch her eyes wandering down my chest and arms again. They trace the lines of ink covering my body, burning as much as the tattoo needle itself. When Walker whipped his shirt off due to the heat in here, I was hesitant to follow. I’ve never been one of those guys who loves walking around without a shirt on and showing off muscles that I lacked.

But the dedication I’ve given to my health in recent years shows and I like the way she’s looking at me, appreciating the work I’ve put into my body, not only with working out but with artwork.

“We’re done! Want to come see your bookcase?” Scar pops in the doorway to the bedroom, her hair tied up in a high ponytail that Walker immediately starts tangling around his fingers as he comes up behind her and leans against the frame.

“Well damn, good thing we didn’t bet on who could finish first ’cause you guys wouldn’t even make it a contest,” Walker says, surveying the pieces still scattered around.

To be fair to us, Carter does have almost all the drawers completely assembled and most of the wheel tracks installed. It’s now just about getting everything actually put together in the right places.

“That’s on me. I should’ve let Carter take over from the start, but turns out I’m not as capable with DIY shit as I thought.”

She laughs as she stands, stretching her back and sighing at the satisfying pop she gets as she twists side to side. “Let’s see your handiwork.” She gestures at the two of them, ushering them back out into the living room.

I get up and follow, admiring the bookcase she picked out. It has warm-toned wooden shelves that go well with the color of her couch. The top is arched, bringing a unique detail to the otherwise functional piece.

Carter’s face lights up as she looks at it and runs her hand over the side appreciatively. “It looks great, doesn’t it?” She turns around, eyes sparkling, and looks at us for confirmation.

I smile back at her, enjoying her happiness and letting it fuel my own. Surveying her apartment, I take it in with new eyes. When I first arrived today, it seemed so empty, similar to how my own house feels when I step inside.

But looking around now, I realize it’s an opportunity. It’s a clean slate, a fresh start for Carter. It’s not an empty shell like my own house has turned into a reflection of who I’ve been for the last two years.

Carter is making this space her own, one item at a time; building her home in an image of herself and infusing it with her personality, creating an environment for her to thrive.

And if she can do that after years of living under someone who crushed her spirit day by day, I can do it too.

10

HAYDEN

It’s the last weekend of June and the heat in the south is stifling. My tank clings to my chest with a light sheen of sweat and we haven’t even performed yet.

Our set is up next.

A low buzz vibrates throughout my body, fingers tingling and heart racing at the anticipation of playing tonight. A pit of unease churns in my stomach, nervous about the large crowd and open air around us in the field where this festival is taking place.

But it’s lessened by the excitement to perform and the knowledge that a certain photographer is here tonight to capture the show for us.

Carter was on our flight down but our seats weren’t near each other. We chatted briefly on the ride to the hotel since an SUV picked all of us up. But since arriving at the venue, I haven’t seen her.

But I know she’ll be watching.

Me: What are you up to this weekend?

My text to Will has sat unanswered for the last hour, but finally my phone buzzes with a response.

Will: same old

Me: Getting drunk and playing beer pong? Don’t you get sick of it?

Will: did you when you were my age?

He has a point.

Will: or are you just trying to be up my ass like Mom and Dad?

Me: They’re just worried about you

---