Page 22 of False Promises

God, I loved her.

7

CARTER

I woke up with a start, breathless, with sweat lining my spine. This was just a nightmare, I told myself. A mantra I’d been repeating for many nights since the news of Jeff’s sudden death. In my dream, I had been standing on the sidewalk and watching my brother as his life left him but couldn’t do anything. There was a barrier between him and me. As if I was watching the scene through a glass wall. I could see him taking his final breath. The last rise and abrupt fall of his chest. Every action unfolded in slow motion, making me feel the repercussions of it in every cell of my body, ten times more intense. My heart was dying, one beat at a time, with each second that passed by. I parted my lips to call for help, but the words got tangled in my vocal cords. I was encased in a soundproof bubble of my own making, separating me from the rest of the world. The whole dream was surreal. I knew it was not true, yet I couldn't seem to escape the reality of it.

Tiptoeing out of the room, I grabbed a bottle of water from the kitchen area of my hotel suite and chugged it down while staring through the floor-to-ceiling window wall, the night sucking me into its abyss. Other than my deafening heartbeat, all I could hear were Dahlia and Jack’s soft breathing in the second bedroom.

This was the last night my family would be by my side. Dahlia and Jack. Tomorrow, they would go back to their lives, and I would continue this journey, the performances, on my own.

Could the trepidation of their absence trigger my nightmares?

No doubt the void they would leave in their wake would take me a long time to fill. I was grateful they helped me dust myself up, though. These, the moments we spent together, were precious and would forever be the memories I’d cherish.

The sound of feet padding behind me caught my attention. “Can’t sleep?” I asked Dahlia, not bothering to turn around. Like a well-rehearsed choreography, I knew all her movements from instinct. Soon she would lean against me, and together we would enjoy the silence, giving each other comfort. Then she would offer to share my bed, like we’d been doing since we were kids, because just like me, Dahlia’s nights got haunted sometimes. She didn’t have to tell me. From the dark circles under her eyes to the glare around her pupils and the trembling of her hands when she thought I wasn’t paying attention, I knew the signs. The ones keeping her awake. Or troubling her mind.

No matter how many years had passed, we still connected as we did when we were toddlers in our hometown of White Crest, Tennessee.

It was beautiful and a curse at the same time.

Beautiful because not a lot of people had this kind of relationship.

And a curse, because no matter how much I thought we were destined to be together, my best friend never shared my feelings. Sure, she loved me. But as a friend. A brother. Or a bandmate. Or maybe a little more than all those, but still, she wasn’t in love with me and never had been.

With her in my arms, we stayed in front of the window, no words required to interpret our thoughts.

After a while, I turned toward her. “Come on, let’s go to bed. You have a long drive ahead of you tomorrow. You need the rest.”

“Can I sleep with you?” she asked like I knew she would. “I don’t know whether it’s the idea of leaving you or the memories of the tours we shared, but there’s a mass in my chest that won’t melt away. And you screaming and crying in your sleep isn’t how a restful night should be.” She stopped and studied me. “I thought you were doing better?”

I could read all the worries swimming in her eyes.

“I am. My episodes are mostly triggered by stress nowadays. I still have the urge to exercise to the point where I almost collapse when it gets too intense. But my nightmares, I can’t pinpoint the exact source. They come and go, not as often as they used to. My therapist said it’s my brain coping with all that happened. Finding closure. Don’t make a big deal out of it. I’m learning to work through them. They’re getting spaced in time. It’s all good.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.” Dropping a kiss on her forehead, I led her to her bedroom. Hand in hand, we lay next to each other after I made sure Jack was still fast asleep—and breathing—something I always ascertained every time he was around. Like we always did, we both scooted over until our heads pressed together, her small hand resting in my larger one.

“Good night, Cart.”

“Night, Dah. Now sleep, okay? I’m watching over you two.”

She nodded, and soon sleep claimed her.

For the longest time, I stayed awake, just to hear the steady sound of her breathing and burn it into my memory. Once I was convinced she was all right, I closed my eyes and surrendered myself to sleep.

* * *

I took another bite, wishing my disinterest wouldn’t show up on my face. I blinked to reboot my brain after I zoned out.

“…and then I called my girlfriend and she drove me to the emergency room. You should have seen the bump on the side of my head. It was impressive.”

I swallowed and flushed my food with a sip of water.

“You wanna get out of here?” I asked my date, discarding the cloth napkin on the table and pushing my chair back.

“Huh, sure.” Her eyes traveled back and forth between my face and her still half-full plate. If she had spent less time talking about her college years, she would have had time to eat.