Page 99 of Where Happiness Begins
He texts something back, his cheeks warming, then he buries his phone back in his pocket. “You could have this too, I think.”
My heart squeezes at that. Despite it all, I don’t think I could ever have this with anyone other than Carter. He’s my high-voltage plug, for better or for worse.
“You just have to decide if he’s worth risking your heart for,” Finn adds.
I turn to him, feeling lighter than I have in weeks as I finally admit the truth. “I really think he is.”
“Then you have your answer.”
Chapter 41
Ishow up late to the party.
I wasn’t planning on it, but after returning home from the farm, I started questioning everything, from what I should wear to how I should approach Carter, if he even decided to show up tonight. I’m hoping—praying—he’s decided to make it, especially since the success of Crash & Burn’s album is partly because of him. Still, it’s not his scene, so I can’t say for sure. And then I started spiraling, wondering whether I was too late and our story had been ruined.
By the time I finally decided to push myself out of the house, with messy hair and asymmetrical winged liner, I had to say to hell with it and rush to the venue. Not like there was much I could do now anyway.
In the end, Finn was right. You’re never going to walk into a good situation without risk. And after a month separated from Carter, I can say itwasa good situation. I’ll never be as happy as I am when I’m with him, and if he’s the key to my happiness, then I can’t keep myself away from him out of fear. I’ve been a coward, and Dad would tell me it’s not the way he raised me. Life’s tooshort to play it safe, and despite everything, I believe in Carter. Believe in us.
The bar is jam-packed when I step inside, the first act bowing as the audience cheers for her. I missed the entire set. I clap anyway, looking left and right, trying to recognize familiar faces. I can barely walk over to the bar with the amount of people swarming the place, shouting and laughing, beers sloshing over cups onto the sticky floor.
There’s no break between the two acts. The moment the singer walks off stage, the scene techs step on to arrange the set for the band, and not long after, the lights shut off. Screams erupt through the small room, and even with the nerves tightening my insides, I start cheering with the rest of the audience. I’m so proud of how far these guys have come, from that first night at the club, when they’d barely gotten their first taste of performing.
When the guys walk on stage, it’s without a fuss, waving along to their fans. The decibels crank up, and I can’t help but laugh at the way the guys who left their boxers lying around and got into burping contests are now being treated like stars.
“Let’s hear it!” Ethan shouts in the mic.
The screams become almost unbearable, but even as I try to muffle the sounds with my hands over my ears, I can’t stop smiling at the level of excitement they’re receiving.
Once Ethan has motioned for the crowd to quiet down, he goes into a speech thanking everyone for their support of their first album and tour and for getting them nominated for the AMAs. I try to keep my focus on him—I’m here for the band, after all—butmy body keeps twisting around, hoping to spot a familiar head of tousled hair, but with the way I’m being pushed in all directions, it’s almost impossible to see.
“And there are also a few other people we need to thank.” He begins by thanking their agent, their tour manager, the people from the label who believed in them in the first place. “Lil,” he adds, “our promoter extraordinaire.” Somehow, a spotlight finds me in the crowd, and I blow them kisses, those people who’ve gone from strangers to lifelong friends in a matter of months.
“And finally, we need to send a million thanks to the person who brought our music from good to great.”
My breath somersaults, body stilling as I wait for Ethan’s next words.
“Andrew Carter, we could never have done it without you.”
The spotlight moves away from me, and I follow its tracks as it leads to a body leaning against a wall in the far corner of the room, arms crossed in front of his chest, a blush covering his face.
And his gaze is right on me.
It’s as if I’ve put my hand in a power outlet, like my entire nervous system gets overpowered. As soon as the light returns to the stage and Emmett rips the first chord of “Be My Guest,” I trudge a path to Carter. He never looks away from me, and I might be imagining it, but I’d swear his face softens the closer I get.
“Hi,” I whisper once I reach him, the blaring music swallowing the sound.
“Hi,” he answers, uncrossing his arms, then bunching his hands at his sides as if he was going to reach out at first.
“I was hoping you’d be here tonight.”
His throat works on a swallow, eyes searching mine.
“I miss you.”
His lashes flutter, and for a moment, he almost looks in physical pain. “Don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
