Page 61 of Where Happiness Begins

But even if Frank knows all of this, apparently, he doesn’t get why I can’t just get over it and move on. I never planned on “starting fresh.” I just planned on running away so I could stay as far away from my demons as possible. I never thought beyond that.

“I don’t know where I’d even start,” I say, arms crossed.

“You love music, don’t you?”

“I can’t play anymore.” Besides, during those months on tour, I had no pleasure in doing it. It felt like a task, just like it had when I played as a kid so my parents would clap and finally give me the attention I’d been craving. There was none of the tingly feeling I used to get in my fingers when I played and knew Ihadit. I played so I could get drunk afterward, or I’d already be drunk by the time we made it on stage. If I’m honest with myself, leaving the band didn’t take my favorite thing away from me. I lost it way before then.

He shrugs.

“Then do something else with music. Write. Compose. Produce. Just do something with that talent I know you have.”

I’d be lying if I said those things never crossed my mind, but I don’t think they ever did as seriously as they do now.

Produce.

“You’re young. You’re bright.” He puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Don’t waste that because you made some mistakes in your early twenties.”

I don’t know what to say to that, especially with the way my throat suddenly burns, just like it does when you’ve inhaled deeply and are waiting to blow all the air out. I nod instead, and he seems to understand that this is all he’ll get.

“Now, you’ve done your six months, so by the law, you’re free of me.”

My throat—my entire body—feels even tighter. He can’t leave. He’s the only person I have.

“You can decide to walk away and never look back. But if you want to continue beating my old butt at basketball and nagging at me for my pressed shirts, I’m all for it.”

Who would have guessed six months ago that this offer would make my body feel a hundred pounds lighter?

I flip the coin once more between my fingers before pocketing it.

“Yeah, I think I’ll take you up on that.”

Chapter 25

This is the part of the tour I’ve been anticipating the most.

Attending local shows has been incredible, and I’ve spent so many great nights singing and dancing to the songs I now know by heart, but I’m ready to experience this next part. I also can’t wait for those three weeks away from the bar, even though I haven’t picked up many shifts in the past months. Following the band has consumed a huge chunk of my life. My channel has slowly drifted from “day in the life” content to being very music-focused, but so far, my followers don’t appear to mind. In fact, they seem to have fallen in love with each member of the band, for different reasons. Ethan for his charisma, Emmett for his teddy-bear-like persona, Bong for his humor, and Joe for his quiet but awe-inducing talent. Of course a lot have also been following my husband’s and my “love story,” and while I hate lying to everyone, there’s no hiding the success this promotion has brought the band. Ethan told me a week ago that the ticket sales have skyrocketed in the past months, almost doubling the audience from the first shows of the tour. I also received DMs from multiple followers saying they discovered the band’s music because of my posts and now have become die-hard fans. I can’t take the credit for it all, ofcourse, but knowing that it’s made a difference makes accepting the emotional challenges that have come with this arrangement worth it.

Case in hand: I’m happy to get on the tour bus today even though it was almost impossible to leave home this morning.

Carter made it clear this mini tour wasn’t for him, which I understand even better now, and the tour was a must for me. Even so, when the time came to get out of the house, I felt a pull to remain right where I was, cooking for two and watching four-hour-long historical movies with him because he claimed they were too good to miss. The feeling made no sense; one of the reasons I accepted Carter’s proposal at first was to have a real tour bus experience, and now that it was time to go, the need to experience it had disappeared. I had a strong feeling it was mostly due to the man who was reinstalling the freshly-painted cupboard doors back into place.

“Anything you need before I leave?” I asked an hour ago, duffel bag thrown over my shoulder as I stood next to the front door.

He looked up. “Already?”

I didn’t know if it was disappointment or simply surprise I heard in his voice.

“It’s only for three weeks. You won’t even have the time to miss me,” I teased even though I knewIwould. Carter hasn’t just become a presence I can tolerate. He’s become a presence I crave, one that’s made my days so much lighter. I don’t know how I’ll deal with the loss of him once our two years are done and he leaves. We might only be four months in, but I’ve already begunto anticipate it. If it’s this hard to leave him now, what will it look like when I’ve had even more time to become attached? To becomeaddicted? I have a feeling it won’t be anything like when my ex left me after almost three years together. Then I’d felt a deep sense of relief, like I didn’t have to pretend that relationship made me happy anymore. I was too scared to leave by myself, a small voice in my head telling me he might be the only person who could stay, baggage and all. I only realized once he was gone how much I had settled. Being alone all my life was a better alternative. It won’t be the same with Carter, though. I might neverhavehim, but once he’ll leave, I know I’ll miss being able to pretend, even for a minute, that he’s mine.

“Let me get you to your car,” Carter said this morning, wiping his hands on a rag before eating the space between us with his long legs and taking my bag from me. I didn’t argue, knowing it’d be useless.

“You’ll be careful?” he asked once the bag was thrown over the back seat and my seat belt was on.

“Yes, daddy.” I threw him a wink, which made him look up at the sky, begging for patience. “I’ll be fine,” I added, serious this time.

“Good,” he said, then remained there, squatting in front of my car so his head could pop through my window as if he wanted to say or do something else. Finally, he tapped the door twice, then pulled back. He didn’t add anything else, but he remained in the driveway, watching me until my car was out of view.

“Lil!” Ethan shouts from the living room area of the bus when I step in. The others join in, Emmett from his spot on the couch facing Ethan and Joe from the dinner table’s built-in bench, waving at me before returning to his card shuffling.

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