Page 65 of Pink and Country

I spent years keeping women at arm’s length, not willing to get close to anybody. Why was it so different with her? Why did I feel like opening up to her and spilling out all of my secrets, including the one that had been eating me alive for a long time?

“Jeff used to work there,” I said, pointing to the bar on the opposite side of the street.

“I thought he was in the army.”

“Yeah. But he moved here after high school. He dropped out of college after a few months and started working there instead. He’s the reason we got signed at eighteen with a big label. He made some contacts, and one day, Riley came to see us play. The rest is history.”

“Wow. Were you guys close? I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to have a sibling.”

Growing up, Jeff and I got ourselves in impossible situations more times than I could recount.

“There was this time. When I was about nine years old. Jeff and I built a soapbox out of the junk we found in our neighbor’s backyard. We used the little money we had, the money we earned mostly from doing chores, to buy paint because we wanted our cart to look fierce. For two months, we hid our secret project under a tarp in the back of the garage. Our parents were clueless about it. Or we thought they were. Anyway, we worked on it for weeks. It helped that Jeff was good with tools. Proud, we took our soapbox out for a road test, wearing helmets and elbow pads. I’m still grateful we did.

“I remember that day perfectly. The sun was high, warm, and glowing in the blue sky. Jeff sat in front, both hands on the old rusty trash can lid serving as a steering wheel. He told me to hold on tight to him as I sat behind him. My little arms tightened around his waist. Don’t be nervous, Carter, he said, trying to reassure me in his big brother way. We wheeled down the hill at high speed. I remember how I felt. Free. Invincible. Excited. I remember the sun warming my skin and the wind messing up my hair. Jeff and I laughed the whole time. Until we realized, too late, we forgot to install some sort of brake on our little cart. One wheel broke, and the soapbox tipped over, ejecting us. Jeff ended up with a broken arm, and I broke two ribs and chafed the skin of my back on the pavement.” I smiled. “That minute of freedom was worth every broken bone and every burn.”

April’s grip tightened on my forearm. “Ohmygod. Did you get grounded? What happened afterward?”

“Wait, that’s the best part. Once we both fully recovered from our injuries, our dad surprised us with an improved version of our soapbox. He fixed it and added two sets of brakes, just in case. Jeff and I entered the annual derby competition at the end of the summer, and we finished in second place.”

“That’s amazing. I would’ve loved to witness the troublesome Hills brothers at that age. I missed the action growing up. Nana wasn’t much of an adrenaline junky or a prankster.”

“Ask Dahlia. I’m surprised our parents didn’t die from children-induced stress.”

“Carter, I’m sorry Jeff is gone.”

I inhaled a shaky breath. “Me too.” April dropped a kiss on my lips, so soft it freed me from years of pain. The twinkle in her eyes glued back together more pieces of my heart that’d been hanging around in my chest for years. Pieces I thought were lost forever. April had this way of making everything in my life better. Even my sorrows.

In Centennial Park earlier, I kissed her under a tree. I couldn’t resist. April made all these cute sounds whenever I showed her something new, and it turned me on. Big time. When her eyes flared, I knew she saw something exciting. When she scrunched up her nose, something was bothering her. A lopsided smile meant she wasn’t sure. Without a word, I could read April like an open book. I pushed her against the trunk of a willow tree, caging her with my arms, and the hunter side of me took control, craving to claim her as mine. Our mouths fused. Hungry. Yearning. Desperate. April whispered my name, and my chest cavity expanded to make room for my swollen heart. Her lips on mine deprived my brain of oxygen. Every lap of her tongue against mine reminded me of how stupid I was last night to push her away instead of holding on to her as I should have. Time stopped. April liquified in my arms, and I never wanted to let her go.

We continued our stroll down Broadway.

“The other day, you said you didn’t know if you were supposed to be an author. When you were little, what was your dream job?”

April lifted our joined hands and brushed my knuckles with the pad of her thumb. “It’s silly. I always knew I wanted to be a writer. When I was little, I was obsessed with poetry. Not sure I could’ve made a living out of it, though, so I picked journalism as a major in college. Seemed like a smarter choice at the time.” She shrugged.

“Do you want to be a journalist? Right here, right now, tell me the truth.”

“Hell, no. I prefer writing fun things. Creating worlds. From scratch.”

“Ever wrote song lyrics?”

April stopped in her tracks and stared at me, her lips parted and her eyes big.

“It’s a bit like writing poetry. You should give it a try. Just a thought.” She stayed silent, as if what I asked required an in-depth analysis. As if I spoke a different language. Or I opened a door she never knew existed before. “If you’re interested, I know a person who does that as a living. He’s an ass but a nice one. Think about it.” I kissed her still-open mouth and winked.

April didn’t say anything. I could probably see the gears working in her head if I looked close enough. Her eyes were focused. Her lips slightly twisted. Her nose wrinkled. She was processing my words and looked fucking adorable.

Halfway through the pedestrian bridge, Pink Fairy fished her phone from her purse. She stepped on a concrete bench, now standing as tall as me. “Scoot closer, HN, I want a picture. This is one of those days I want to remember forever.” April snapped pictures of us, our back to the Cumberland River, her lips on my cheek, her eyes as bright as fireworks on the Fourth of July.

My gaze landed on her face as she scrolled through the pictures she just took. My clothes felt too tight and itchy. I removed my beanie and ran a hand through my hair. Breathe in. Breathe out.

April jumped into my arms to kiss me before we climbed into my truck to drive back home. Home. Green Mountain. The cabin. Anywhere with her felt like home.

“Thanks for everything, HN. It’s like we spent the last two days in a snow globe where everything’s magical.” I tilted my head, and our foreheads met. The air thickened between us. I said nothing, struggling to keep my hands to myself. Other parts of my body too. At the moment, I wished I could flip her over, bend her over the hood, and thrust into her until neither of us could stand upright.

The entire ride back, we entwined our fingers, my thumb drawing circles on her palm.

Halfway to Green Mountain, when April fell asleep, her head grew heavier against my shoulder. The corner of my lips curved up as I dropped a kiss on the crown of her head. If only I could drive all night and never have to wake her up. Left alone with nothing other than my thoughts and the soft sound of her breathing, my mind wandered to uncharted territories. Places I tended to avoid. My throat tightened, and my breathing became harder. Deep inside me, fear bubbled, threatening to surface and wreck this thing simmering between us. Lust. Desire. Thirst. Trust. I ignored how to deal with my burgeoning feelings for the woman next to me. Carter Hills didn’t do love. He fucked. He showed you a good time. He left afterward, not giving it a second thought. Pixie was creating chaos in some twisted balance I’d set for myself years ago. April wasn’t the typical woman you banged on the side and left behind with the bedsheets still covered in hot sweat. April was a girl you planned a future with. A keeper—like our tour guide said. A girl you introduced to your parents. The kind of woman you’d see yourself married to. The one you’d never forget or get over when she stepped out of your life.