Where Happiness Begins (Evermore #3)

8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

F or as many scenarios as I’d created about how living with Carter would be like, the reality still found a way to surprise me.

I didn’t imagine we’d become best friends and have slumber parties every night, but I did expect some sort of partnership or even simple cordiality to take place between us.

I was dead wrong.

That first day, after Finn left and it was just the two of us outside, Carter didn’t even look me in the eye as he said, “I’ll be downstairs if you need me,” before disappearing inside the house.

He wasn’t joking. Aside from one or two exceptions when he had the vast displeasure of crossing paths with me, he’s hid in the basement. Most days, I don’t even know whether he’s home or not. I feel like he tries his hardest not to make a sound in the basement, save for the rare flush of the toilet or the stream of the shower. He doesn’t appear to be watching TV or talking on the phone with anyone. It’s as if he wants me to forget he exists.

I don’t, obviously.

Even when I try to relax and pretend like I’m alone in my place, it’s just that. Pretending. I still enter the kitchen and living room warily as if I’ll surprise Carter there and we’ll need to exchange another awkward conversation that starts with me asking how he’s doing and him finding some excuse to run away.

I don’t want it to be this way. I know I’ll never be able to walk around the place in my underwear while my hair dries in a towel wrap like I did before, but it doesn’t matter. This could be more fun than a simple business arrangement. So last night, I tried to ambush him with food the moment he came back from work. I’d made enough quinoa salad to feed an army, but I still pretended it was a mere coincidence we were in the same room together at that moment.

“Oh, hey,” I said. Then I turned to my food, and like the great actress I am, said, “You hungry? I think I made too much.”

And what did this guy say?

“Thanks, but I’m good.” And then, as if I were a carrier of all infectious diseases known to humankind, he and his rude ass escaped toward the basement, leaving me embarrassed and wondering what the heck I could’ve done to make him want to have this little to do with me. I understand that we never agreed to anything other than faking a relationship in public, but is basic politeness that much to ask for? Every time I speak to him, it’s as if I’ve dropped a bomb in the room, and the awkwardness makes it hard to breathe.

However, being stuck in a car with him is worse than all those days combined. At home, I can pretend now and then that he’s not ignoring me, he’s only busy with other things, but here, there’s no hiding how uncomfortable we are with each other. Or maybe I ’m uncomfortable and he’s simply indifferent.

Since we were both headed to the studio in Boston to meet with the band, I suggested we go together—mostly because my car’s stuck in the garage thanks to a leaking engine—and while Carter didn’t seem thrilled, he didn’t deny me. However, it probably would have been better if he had.

“So,” I say, unable to bear another second of this painful silence, only broken by the rock music playing from his Mustang’s radio. “How should we play this?”

He quickly steals a glance before returning his attention to the road ahead. “What do you mean?”

Apparently, he was fine with the thick silence from before.

“Well, I can’t just start posting about the band all the time out of nowhere. My followers need to know why I’m even with them to begin with.” I readjust into the seat, then pull my phone out of my purse. “I was thinking of a boyfriend reveal. Or husband reveal…”

“No way.”

This time, it’s my turn to look his way. His hands are tight around the steering wheel, the muscles in his neck tense.

“Why not?” The second the words slip out, I regret asking the question. What if he’s embarrassed about being associated with me? Maybe he was okay with marrying me so long as the whole ordeal was kept private, but the idea of having our faces attached together on the Internet is too much.

“I just don’t do social media.”

If that’s a lie to protect me, I’ll take it .

“We don’t have much of a choice, though. It’s our excuse for me being around.” If I just started following a random band around with no relationship to them, it would look strange. “Plus, it wouldn’t be very realistic for me to keep you hidden.” If I could, I probably would. After having my previous relationship heavily displayed on social media, I’m not keen on doing it again, especially since I know people will probably bring up Greg in the comments one way or another, but again, we don’t have a choice.

When he doesn’t answer, I cock my head, thinking. “What if I don’t show your face? Just, like, your hands or something?”

He throws me a glance, looking less against the idea than before but still not convinced.

“Please?” I say as a last resort.

With an exhale, he says, “Fine.”

I smile, grateful even for this small win. “Great. Let’s do it.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now. It won’t take long.” I’ve already seen a few boyfriend reveals done this way before and it always looks cute. “I’ll start with a photo post, and then I’ll explain our faux love story in my next video. But for now, give me your hand.”

He hesitates before extending his right hand, palm up. I take it, then flip it so it’s facing down before dropping it onto my thigh.

He jerks at the touch. “What are you doing?”

“I told you, taking a picture. Jeez.” You’d think he’s some middle school kid who’s never touched a girl in his life, although Carter’s quiet confidence tells me that’s probably far from the truth .

“Squeeze a little,” I say. When he sends me a “what the hell” look, I add, “Girls love veiny forearms.”

His nostrils flare, but thankfully, he does as I say, and the result through the camera is great. Delicious, even. Once I’m sure I’ve got the right angle, I place my left hand on his, showing off the gold band. I snag four photos. “All done.”

I pretend not to be insulted when he rips his hand away before I’ve finished my sentence.

I start editing the photo, and a good moment passes before he says, “I don’t think your friend’s going to like that.”

I don’t automatically realize who he’s talking about, and once I do, I laugh. “Don’t worry about Finn.” He’ll get used to the idea. He loves to do the big, bad guy show, but in reality, he’s softer than a marshmallow.

“He kind of made that hard to do,” Carter says.

“Sorry about that, by the way. Finn can be a little…protective.”

“Got that.”

“But he’ll be fine once he knows you better, I promise.” Unless Carter decides he doesn’t want to spend any time with my friends. Technically, now that Finn is in on the secret, we don’t need to pretend to be a loving couple in front of him and Lexie. If Carter decides he never wants to see him again, he doesn’t have to.

“Were you two ever…”

I lift my brows.

“A thing?” he finishes.

I snicker at the question but also at the thought that he decided to ask it. “No, no way.” I tell him, just like I told Lexie when we met, that I’ve never seen Finn as anything more than a slightly annoying good friend.

Carter hums, and the rest of the drive to Boston is spent in our initial silence. I’d like to think that our micro conversation broke some of the ice, but that might just be me kidding myself.

Once the Mustang comes to a halt in front of an industrial building, Carter puts the car in park. “You do know his concerns were stupid, though, right?”

“Huh?”

“I’d never touch you or expect sex.” He’s still facing forward, not meeting my eye once. “That was never on my mind. Thought that was clear.”

Everything he’s saying is great—gentlemanly, even—but it still feels like a jab. It’s not like I wish he would’ve wanted sex in exchange for his insurance, but did he really have to talk about touching me like that’d be the last thing he’d ever consider doing?

“Uh, yeah, sure,” I babble. “I never thought that either.”

“Good.” Then he unclasps his seat belt and opens his door. “Let’s go meet the guys, then.”

“If it’s not the lovely couple.”

Three heads turn from the section holding two old-school brown couches at Bong’s exclamation. While Carter simply walks straight to them without acknowledging the statement or the fact that I’m here with him, I give them a little wave, feeling way more embarrassed than I was when I first met them. I guess now’s different, though. They know a lot more about me and my problems than they did then. That is, if Carter’s told them the details of our deal.

This part of the studio isn’t big, made of two rooms separated by a glass panel. This part of the room includes the couch section as well as the console where the recording technician does…whatever it is recording technicians do, and facing it is the actual recording room, with multiple microphones and instruments leaning against the walls. The room is decorated in a boho vibe, with mandalas hanging on the walls and warm rugs adorning the floors.

“I guess congratulations are in order,” Ethan says as we reach them, his eyes only on me as he grabs my hand and brings it to his lips. “Mrs. Carter.”

“Fuck off, Briggs,” Carter says as he pushes his shoulder and takes a seat next to him. I’m not sure whether he’s teasing or not.

“Come on, man. The amount of times you’ve given us shit.”

Carter rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny the statement.

“Have a seat, Lilianne,” Emmett says when he sees I’m still standing awkwardly next to Carter.

“Lil, please. And thanks.” I grab the spot next to Joe, who gives me a silent hi. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him speak, but he doesn’t seem to mind the chaos the other men bring.

“How’d you know her name?” Carter grunts.

“It’s on her channel. Haven’t you looked at it?”

I’m not surprised one bit when Carter shakes his head. Not even a little curious about the woman he married .

“So, Lil,” Ethan says, clapping his hands between his knees. “First of all, thanks for doing this.”

“Of course,” I say. “I’m excited, actually. Never been on a tour before.” I assume it’ll be much different than the small shows I used to see at The Sparrow.

“Well, neither have we, so it’s sure to be one hell of an experience.”

Ethan then goes through the plans for the upcoming weeks. For the first three months, they’ll only be touring in smaller venues in New England, so we’ll be able to sleep at home most of the time. Then in August, we’ll be going to the West Coast and driving to the different venues across the states in a tour bus.

“We should be gone for a few weeks. Obviously, you’re free to hop on flights and attend shows here and there, but there’s space for you on the bus if you want.”

“I might take you up on that,” I say, and I don’t think I imagine the clench in Carter’s jaw at that.

“Will you be there too?” I ask him.

Carter shakes his head, not offering more of an explanation. I guess it makes sense that the producer wouldn’t need to be there for their tour, but I’m not sure how to feel about his future absence. It’s not like he’s the life of the party, but he’s also the person I’m the most familiar with here, and living with only strangers for a week is something I never thought I’d ever have to do. Hopefully, they won’t feel like strangers anymore then.

Nana better be proud of all this living I’m suddenly doing .

“It’s settled, then,” Ethan says before lifting his beer. “Welcome to the Crash & Burn fam, Lil.”

The rest of the band members lift their glasses too, Bong shouting a “Whoop!” on top of it. I find myself smiling at the warm welcome they’re giving me, not even caring that the least happy person in this room is the one I married.

Once they’ve all taken a sip, the band gets lost in mixed conversations, and while Joe and I remain pretty silent, I don’t mind it. I take the opportunity to study these people I’ll be spending a lot of time with in the upcoming months, but more often than not, my attention goes back to Carter.

We haven’t been here long, and even so, I see a change in his demeanor compared to how he is at home. He looks much more at ease, even if that comfort is subtle. A slouch of his shoulder here and a huff at a comment someone made there. And while I know it’s stupid, I still feel a pang of disappointment. I used to think I was an easily approachable person, but clearly I’m not. Something in me makes him uncomfortable.

A few minutes pass before I grab my phone and walk around to take pictures of everyone. If I want to uphold my end of the deal, I need content, and I want to figure out the vibe I’ll be going for with my promo posts.

“Wait,” Emmett says, jumping to his feet when he sees what I’m doing. “We can do better than that.”

I lift a brow.

“If you’re going to post about us, we should be playing instead of slouching around. ”

“Oh, I’m sure people would actually love seeing the behind the scenes,” I say.

“Still,” Ethan says as he too gets up. “He has a point. We can give you better photos than that.”

“You’re going to serenade me?” I ask the band.

“Damn right we are,” Ethan says as everyone walks to grab their instruments.

I smile, excited to see what they’re going to play. Even after only listening to them live once, I’m eager to hear more. As they get ready, I work with the lighting in the room to make sure the pictures and videos I get are the best they can be, and only once I take my position sitting on the couch’s armrest do I notice Carter’s eyes on me, watching. As soon as I meet them, they move to the band.

“Ready to get your mind blown?” Bong asks, bringing my attention back to what’s important.

I lift my camera. “Bring it.”