Page 21 of Pink and Country

The words burned my tongue, but the painful sensation died when a smile lit up Nick’s face. One full of pride. He had a gleam in his eyes. The last time I saw it was on his wedding day. Their baby would be beautiful, I had no doubt. Nick reached the six-foot mark and had tanned skin and broad shoulders from years of working as a carpenter. He had a chin dimple, which I knew Dahlia found cute as hell, and golden-brown eyes. I could already imagine a toddler with Nick’s blond hair and Dahlia’s green eyes running around.

“Thanks. We’re thrilled.” Dahlia inched closer and wound her arms around her husband’s midsection. They looked at each other, and something passed between them. Love.

My heart sank in my chest.

To avoid staring at them, I lifted Jack in my arms and nuzzled into his neck. “I’ll see you soon, buddy. I love you.” I kissed his cheek, and he tightened his grip around my neck.

“I looooove you too.” I put him down on his feet, and he hurried toward the car.

“See you, Carter,” Nick said, clapping my shoulder before following Jack and helping him into his car seat.

“Call me anytime,” Dahlia said. Rising on her tiptoes, she dropped a kiss on my cheek and squeezed my arm before following her man’s footsteps.

In the driveway, standing next to my SUV, I waved at them, holding my breath, a piece of me leaving with them.

Most of the night, I tossed and turned in my bed, unable to find a soothing position. My fingers fumbled with the envelope under my pillow. I didn’t look at it, though knowing it was there was enough to increase the size of the ball of nerves bouncing around in my chest. This envelope was my demise. One day, I’ll open it. I’d said the exact same thing at least a thousand times in the last few years.

The next morning, I woke up early, oversleeping not an option with the never-ending night I had. After breakfast, I locked myself in the music studio, only to emerge thirty minutes later, my brain a blank slate. I ran my hands over my face, a poor attempt to get rid of the crippling feeling inside me.

To keep myself busy, I cooked, ran fifteen miles, took a nap, lifted weights.

Nothing distracted my mind long enough.

Hours ticked by.

The sun disappeared beyond the tree line.

Slouched on the couch in the media room, I ate leftovers for dinner while watching a hockey game, the TV on mute, and scrolling through my phone. What a waste of time. When I stretched my legs, I hit the clicker with my foot and changed the channel. It stopped on a late-night gossip show. I leaned forward to grab the remote but stopped halfway as my face filled the screen. Minus the beard and the untrimmed, disheveled hair. Goddammit . With the clicker now in hand, I unmuted the TV. Savannah Prince’s face filled half the screen. I swallowed the pool of acid filling my mouth.

“There are rumors longtime lovers, Savannah Prince and Carter Hills, have broken up. Everyone thought there’d be wedding bells in the next year. Insiders believed Carter Hills proposed during the holidays. A source reported an unexpected pregnancy. Miss Prince, who said in a statement she’s still in love with Carter Hills and that he broke his heart, has resumed her activities in Hollywood while Mr. Hills is nowhere to be found. Another source told us the country music star dumped the actress for one of his many mistresses, a famous model. Sadly, it seems like sex rehab might not have worked for Mr. Hills. We’ll keep you updated. In other entertainment news, Pierce Callaway…”

I hit the remote and turned the TV off.

Fucking fame.

I loved the music, hated the spotlight.

Lies, lies, lies, and more lies. Wedding. A baby. Many mistresses. A model. Sex rehab. All lies.

Since when was my personal life more important than my musical talent? I loathed scandals. I should’ve thought about that before linking my name to Savannah Fucking Prince.

By tomorrow, our faces would plaster the front pages of every gossip magazine around the world. I threw the clicker across the room. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Those trash tabloids spread lies, the same way Savannah Prince spread her legs to get what she wanted, and people bought that shit without second-guessing anything.

When I dumped Savannah’s ass, I knew she’d paint me as the bad guy. Although, with Dahlia and Jack around for a few days, I kinda forgot about it.

I also had this new neighbor who kept me on edge. This blunt piece of woman with pink hair intrigued me. Underneath all the fieriness that infuriated me like nothing else ever did, Hot Girl fascinated the hell out of me. Why would a girl—probably as strong as a wet butterfly when angry—rent a cabin on a mountaintop by herself for a month? Wasn’t she scared of bears or being alone in the dark? When the agency informed me about the last-minute tenant change, I thought this April Simmons would be much older or that someone would accompany her, not that she’d come alone.

Was she hiding? It’d make sense. Yeah, totally. If she was, then from what? Or from who? I needed to get to know her better. Uncover her secret. Right now, my life was a clusterfuck, and she’d be more than a welcome distraction.

The other day, when I faced my pink-hair neighbor in the woods, her blue eyes captured me, and their intensity jumbled my heartbeat. We bump-headed, we bantered, we pushed each other’s buttons. It left me with a hard-on. The entire time, I fought a smile. No woman had ever stood up to me the way she did. Fairy hadn’t taken my picture that day. I was well aware. Now that Jack was gone, I couldn’t use him any longer as an excuse to meet her. I’d need to resort to new tactics. The day Fairy bared her tits through her bathroom window, I knew she’d be trouble. Okay, I could’ve found a smarter way to engage with her than to pick a fight. Juvenile, right? But it worked. I got her attention, didn’t I?

Everything about this woman mesmerized me. From her brightly colored hair to her sass. Stubborn Girl held her end, not having a care in the world who I might be. That impressed me, and even at just twenty-six years old, I was hard to impress.

From the living room window, I caught sight of Mysterious Girl struggling to carry a pile of wood to her cabin. Neighbor looked like she’d crumble under the weight. I slid my arms into my lined-denim jacket and exited my cabin. Humming a song, I ambled her way, my hands stuffed in my pockets.

“Hey, Neighbor. What a great night, huh? Need a hand?”