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Ben follows, and I take a seat on the trunk, twist the tops off two beers and hand him one.

I take a long swallow, and then glance at him. “Got anything you wanna say before I start talking? ”

Ben take a sip, shakes his head. “Nope. ”

I shrug. “All right. Well, I expect you to listen, Ben. Not just hear me, but actively listen. Okay? ” He nods. “You’re trying to dig a hole in the sand, Ben. You’re never going to get anywhere doing what you’re doing. ”

Ben frowns. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? ”

“It means you’re waiting for something that’ll probably never happen. ” I pause, drink, and start again. “Look. Let’s forget the fact that we’re talking about my daughter for a minute, okay? I’m just Colt, and you’re Ben. You’re my best friend’s kid. You’re like a son to me, Ben. I’ve watched you grow up. I’ve watched you grow into a hell of a good athlete, and a good man. ”

“But? ” Ben prompts.

“But you gotta let her go, kid. ”

“I can’t. I’ve tried. Fuck, have I tried. I work out like a fucking lunatic. Condition, practice, study. Stay away as much as possible. Try not to think about her. But…it’s fucking hopeless, Colt. I can’t get her out of my head. I can’t—I can’t stop hoping and wishing and praying that she’ll change her mind. I dream about her. I have this recurring dream that she’s waiting for me after practice one day, and she tells me how wrong she was, that she made the wrong choice and she wants me. That she loves me back. It’s torture. I wake up just before she kisses me, just before her lips touch mine, and I realize it was all a dream, and…I just want to rip my fucking heart out. Except she’s already done that. ”

The pain in his voice makes my heart ache for him. I finish my beer and toy with the bottle, slowly peeling the label off and sticking the shreds down the neck. “She didn’t mean to, Ben. ”

“No. I know that. But is that really supposed to make me feel better? ” His voice takes on a mocking tone. “‘Oh, well, see Ben, the girl you’ve loved your whole life didn’t mean to rip your heart out and shit in the hole, so it’s fine. Just forget about her. ’”

I sigh. “No, you’re right. I suppose that isn’t any consolation. But here’s a shitty fact of life, Ben: sometimes you get your heart stomped on, and there’s just no consolation. Sometimes you get hurt, and there’s nothing that will make you feel better. No way to mitigate the pain, no way to change the facts. You just hurt. It fucking sucks. ” I crack another beer, hand it to Ben, and one for myself. “Tell me the truth. You love her? You really love her? ”

“Yeah. I do. ”

“What does that mean, for you? ”

He doesn’t answer right away. He swirls the amber liquid in the bottle, staring down at it, thinking. “It means I want to be around her all the time. I want to talk to her. It means I want a physical relationship with her. It means I think she’s talented and beautiful and amazing. My life isn’t the same without her in it. I miss her. ”

I nod. “Sounds about right. Except…that ain’t love. That’s your feelings. How you feel. What do you want for her? You ever hear that old John Mayer song, ‘Love Is a Verb’? ” He shakes his head. “Look it up some time. But do you hear what that means? Love isn’t just something you feel, Ben. I hate to sound like I’m Confucius or Yoda or some shit, but it’s just the plain facts. You like who Kylie is, and you want her. Okay, that’s all good and well, but so what? What are you going to do about it? Not to put too fine a point on it, or sound harsh, but you waited too long. Your reasons for waiting were admirable and respectable, and exactly what I would expect from a guy like you. But you lost your chance. Kylie’s in love with someone else, and I don’t see that changing. And even if, let’s say her and Oz don’t work out. Are you really gonna just wait around for that possibility? And if that were to happen, is that really how you’d want to get the girl? With her heart broken? On the rebound of pain? I know the feeling of rejection is fucking harsh, Ben. I do. Trust me on that shit. But having your heart broken when a relationship breaks down and ends, that’s even worse. You know what you had, and it was taken from you. It’s better to have loved and lost than never loved at all. Isn’t that how the quote goes? ”

Ben shakes his head, swallowing the mouthful of beer he’d just taken. “Almost. ” He takes a deep breath and then lifts his head, staring at the sky. “‘I hold it true, whate'er befall; I feel it when I sorrow most; ’tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. ’ That’s ‘In Memoriam A. H. H. ’ by Tennyson. ”

I’m impressed. “Damn, Ben. You can quote poetry? ”

He shrugs, laughing. “Yeah. I like poetry. I get it from Mom, I think. ”

I nod. “Pretty badass. ” I pause to sip. “Well, see, sometimes I think that phrase is just complete horseshit. Losing love fucking blows and, yeah, you may have the memory of the time you had with that person, but you also have the absolute agony of having lost them. I’m not sure it’s an even trade. ”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t know. ” Ben’s voice is thick with bitterness.

I ignore that and keep going. “Getting back to my original point. Love is something you do. It’s active. You show it. If I relied on my feelings for Nell all the time, we’d have broken up a long time ago. We’ve gotten in some really bad arguments over the years. The kind where we’re both spitting mad at each other, can’t even look at each other. My feelings of love in those situations aren’t worth shit, because all I feel is wronged and pissed off and ready to walk away. But you know what keeps me from doing anything stupid? The choice to practice love. ” I jab my finger into his arm as I emphasize the word. “The decision to ignore my feelings and focus on the fact that, even though I don’t feel the happy, fun, exciting emotions in that situation, I do love Nell and would do anything for her. Including apologizing for something I don’t agree that I did was wrong, or let her win an argument simply to get the peace back. Now, she’d get mad about what I just said, that I ‘let’ her win. And I don’t mean that in any kind of condescending sense, Ben. I just mean, fuck, whether I’m right or not, whether she’s right or not—diffuse the fight and apologize, or do whatever it takes to get back to where the feelings will do some good. And, in your case, you love Kylie, but what are you gonna do about it? Are you going to keep moping around, glaring at her, staring at her, getting mad when you see her and Oz together? Or are you going to make a choice to do what’s best for her? ”

“Which means what? ” Ben finishes his beer and sets the empty bottle into the empty square of the six-pack box. I do the same, and let him take a third.

I leave the last beer where it is, and try to find the right words for Ben. “You have to decide if you love her enough to let her go. ”

“I’m trying to let her go, Colt! I don’t fucking know how! ”

“No, Ben. You’re trying to get over her. Not the same thing. ”

He gets up, stalks over to the creek, silent, thinking. “Whatever it takes to show her love, huh? ”

I nod, even though he’s not looking at me. “Yep. Whatever it takes. ”

“Walk away, you mean? ”

“If that’s what it takes. No one wants you to…I dunno…go anywhere, but if the only way to move on and let her go, to let her have her own happiness, is to walk away from the situation, then so be it. And, honestly, sometimes, the only way past the hurt, the only way to really move on, is to put time and distance between you and the situation. ” I stand up and move to stand beside him, clap him on the shoulder. “My daughter does care for you. She doesn’t want to cause you pain. She wants you to be happy. You were her best friend for a very long time, and she’s sad that she’s lost that. She’s said as much. ”

Ben just nods, and I can tell he’s lost in thought. I walk away, lean against my truck, and watch a flock of starlings whorl in the distance.

“This sucks, ” Ben says.

“Yeah. ”

“Like, the only way I can think of to really truly walk away from the situation is just…leave Nashville. There’s nowhere here I can go that’s far enough away from her, from them. But where do I go? ”

“Sometimes, Ben, there is no where. There’s just go. ”

Ben laughs. “Now you sound like Yoda. ”

“Trying, I am. ”

He laughs again, and then lets out a long breath, rubbing the back of his head. “Thanks, Colt. ”

I shrug. “What’s the point of getting old and going through a bunch of shit if you can’t pass on some wisdom every once in a while? ”

We talk for a few more minutes, and then head back home. He’s quiet the whole way, but the silence is different. Less morose, less angry. When we’re back and parking in my garage, Ben thanks me again and heads across to his house. He doesn’t look back to see if Kylie and Oz are still on the porch, which I think is an improvement.

Nell meets me in the kitchen. “What’d you say to him? ” She leans in for a kiss, then hangs on to my neck, standing on her tiptoes.

“I told him love was a verb, and that he had to let her go, if he really loved her. ”

“John Mayer. Good choice. ”

I laugh at the fact that she knew exactly which song I’d reference. “Yeah. The allusion was lost on him, but hey, it was worth a try. ”

She goes flat on her feet and rests her head against my chest. “Do you think he’ll listen? ”

I nod. “Yeah, I think he will. ”

“Good. ” She kisses my jaw. “I’m glad you talked to him. Someone needed to. ”

“Where’d Oz and Kylie go off to? ”

“Back over to his apartment. ”

I frown. “I wish he lived in a safer neighborhood. ”

“Me, too. But our choices are to let them move in together, which I know they’re already discussing, or let the situation stand as it is. I’m not comfortable with them spending time behind closed doors here. ”

“Me, neither. ”

Nell shrugs. “I have a feeling Oz is going to be getting his own apartment soon. Hopefully it’ll be a safer one. ”

“Yeah, and Kylie will end up there as often as we let her. ” I sigh. “Rock and a hard place. ”

“Also known as ‘parenting, ’” Nell quips.

I laugh. “Very true. ”

She smiles up at me. “But, since the house is empty…” She slides her hands up under my shirt, and I grin down at her and let her peel my shirt off.

“Now this is a benefit to having an empty house, ” I say.

EPILOGUE: There’s Only Go Ben

I hand in my test paper and leave the lecture hall, step out into the sunlight, blinking as I slide my sunglasses on. That was my last final for the semester. Possibly my last final at Vanderbilt. I don’t know for sure. I don’t know anything for sure.

Well, that’s not entirely true. I know my heart is still cracking and crumbling under the weight of what I have to do. I know my truck is packed. Three duffel bags, five thousand dollars in cash and twice that in my bank account. A full tank of gas. No destination. No road map. I’m heading west, I know that much.

Except first I have three stops to make. First, my house. Give Mom a hug, tell her goodbye and not to worry. Then over to the stadium and say bye to Dad. They both know I’m leaving, and why. They weren’t real thrilled, obviously, but I convinced them this is what I have to do. I’ve promised to call every chance I get. Last stop? The recording studio downtown where Oz and Kylie are cutting tracks. Colt told me they were there. I have to say goodbye. I can’t just vanish on her.

I find a parking spot, walk a couple of blocks to the studio. I charm and flirt and smile my way past the receptionist and back to the booth where they’re playing. I step into the booth, say hi to the producer. Jerry, I think his name is. He holds up a hand for silence, so I bide my time. He punches a button, and the booth is filled with music, Kylie’s voice, Oz’s. Jerry slides the headphones down to rest on his neck.

A few more chords, and the song ends. Kylie and Oz haven’t seen me yet.

Then they do. Kylie’s eyes narrow. I wait, and I know she knows I want to talk to her.

“Let’s cut one more, Jerry, ” Kylie says, never taking her eyes off me.

“Okay. What’cha got? ” Jerry asks.

“I just wrote this one, ” Kylie says. “I’m calling it ‘Not Your Me. ’”

She shifts on the piano bench, touches the keys. Oz glances at me, then away to Kylie. He seems surprised, too, as if this wasn’t planned. When she sings, she stares at me, eyes sad, unblinking. Her voice is thick with emotion, lovely and surprising and perfect, just like her: “A lifetime of you and me A lifetime of here we are Day in day out of just be Of talking free

Of easy and slow

But there have always been Moments of what if

Moments of does he doesn’t he Can we, could we, should we Dismiss it, ignore it, pretend I never had those thoughts Put the wishes to an end

Live and breathe and move Find a brand-new groove

Keep going and just be

You and me

Day in day out

You and me

Day in day out

And then like a flash flood Like a sudden slide of mud I’m in love with someone else And you and me aren’t you and me You’re you

And I’m someone else

You’re not you

And I’m still me

And who are we

Who are we

Where’s the we

We used to be

Discover does he doesn’t he Has always been does he

Only I never knew

And the moments are too few Too late

The time is gone

Long ago and long

And my heart is full of someone else But you’re still you

I’m still me

There’s just no longer any we Because your heart is full of me But I’m not that me

Your me

I’m his me

And you want what can’t ever be But you still look at me

As if all the we and all the what if and all the as if and all the used to be Could ever add up to

A new you and me

And I don’t want this guilt I don’t want this guilt

I don’t want you to wish

Don’t want you to keep hoping Keep holding on and holding out I want you to find your own someone else Your own brand-new you and me Your own fresh lifetime of here we are now Day in day out

Of talking free

Easy and slow

I wish you could know

How much I miss you

How much I miss

The way we used to be

But god can’t you see

I’m no longer that girl

I’m not your me

I’m not your me. ”

I don’t deny the slicing ache in my heart. I accept it. It’s old news at this point. I let her see into me, let her see my hurt and my resignation.

Jerry glances at me, pushes a button, and gestures at me.

“Can I please have just five minutes alone with you, Kylie? ” I ask.

She nods, slides off the piano bench. She stops by Oz, whispers in his ear, kisses him quickly. He nods, glances at me. I think he knows. I hope he does. I’m doing this for him, too. The guilt over having almost gotten him killed makes this all that much worse.

Kylie steps out of the recording booth, and I follow her outside, into the sunlight. We stand in an alley, dumpsters to either side of us. I put my back to a wall, wait for Kylie to quit pacing and face me.

“Ben, I don’t even know—”

“You don’t have to say anything, ” I cut in over her. “Just listen. I’ve loved you for a long, long time. No, please, Kylie, just listen. You’re with Oz. I lost my chance. I get that. I hate it. It hurts. It fucking cuts me apart every single moment of every single day, is what it does. ” I don’t bother to hide my emotions. “It makes me crazy. It should be you and me, not you and him. But I can’t change that. I know that. I really do. And…if I really do love you, then I wouldn’t want to change that. I’m just weak enough that I still do want you for myself, even though I know, I can fucking see that you’re happy with Oz. So good for you. Be happy. ”

“Ben—” Her voice breaks.

“No, I’m not done. ” I force myself to stay absolutely still, barely even breathing. If I don’t keep going, I’m liable to do something stupid, like try to kiss her to change her mind. “I’m not done. I do want you to be happy. I want you stay happy. And if—fuck—if Oz gives you that, then so be it. I’ll accept that because I have no choice. But I can’t just pretend it’s fine for me. It’s not. It hurts to see you with him. It makes me angry and crazy and jealous, and I don’t know how to stop that. How to change that in me. I can’t. I’ve fucking tried. For months, I’ve tried. It’s not that I keep hoping you’ll change your mind. I know you won’t. It’s that I can’t help wishing. Wanting. And I think…I think no matter how much time passes, that’ll never change. At least, not as long as I’m here around you. Around him. ”

“What are you saying, Ben? ” Her voice is barely a whisper.

I pace away, running my hand through my freshly shorn hair. It’s close to the scalp all over, easy to maintain in the long days of driving and no showers I’ve got ahead of me. I turn back to her, memorize her features, her perfect strawberry blonde hair, her pale skin, her blue eyes, her body. God. I love her so much, and I’ve never even held her hand.

“I’m saying…I don’t know how to be in love with you and be your friend at the same time. I don’t know how. I don’t think it’s possible. So…I’m choosing to show you I love you the only way I have left. ” I pinch the bridge of my nose, breathe deep, and then look up into her eyes. One last time. “I’m leaving, Kylie. ”

“Leaving? Where are you going? For how long? ”

I shrug, shake my head. “I don’t know…and I don’t know. Anywhere but here, and possibly forever. For as long as it takes for me to get over you. Find someone else, maybe. I don’t know. ”

She sniffs. “I don’t want you to go. ” Her eyes are wet, but she doesn’t wipe them. “You’re my best friend, Ben. ”

I shake my head again. “No, I’m not. I’m your oldest friend. ” I point at the doorway into the studio. “He’s your best friend. ”

She nods. “So you’re just…running away. ”

I growl. “Fucking hell, Kylie. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be. ” I want to punch the wall, kick the dumpster, kiss her senseless. I do none of this. I’m used to wanting her and not letting myself act on it. I’m good at it; I’ve got almost ten years of practice, after all. “I’m not running away. I’m letting you go. ”

“But I might never see you again. ”

I nod. “Yeah. I mean, I’ll try to come back for Christmas, but…I don’t know where I’ll end up. ”

“What about college? You’re leaving Vanderbilt too? ”

I nod. “I finished the semester. I haven’t officially withdrawn yet, but I doubt I’ll be back in the fall. I might transfer somewhere else. Or I might try out for the minors or something. I don’t know. I don’t care. I’m just going. I’ve got to get away from you, Kylie. You’re…you’re in me. In my head, in my heart, in my life. But you don’t want me the way I want you, and this city just isn’t big enough. So…so…”

Kylie sighs, and finally wipes her eyes. “I get it. ” She looks up at me. “When are you leaving? ”

“Right now. I’ve already said goodbye to everyone else. ”

She moves closer to me, and my heartbeat ratchets up to a hammering crescendo just from the scent of her shampoo. She hesitates, then wraps her arms around my middle. I freeze solid, don’t hug her back. Don’t dare. I just let her hold on to me and try to remember to breathe. She lets go finally, and looks up at me from far too close.

Without my permission, my hand lifts, touches her cheek. “I wish—” My voice is close to breaking. “I wish I’d at least kissed you. Just once. ” Her eyes widen, and she stops breathing. Then, before I do anything truly stupid, I step away. “But I didn’t. And now…I never will. ” Another step backward. “Goodbye, Kylie. ” I turn away, and it takes every ounce of willpower I possess to do so.

“Ben? ” Her voice stops me. “Will you be okay? ”

I stop, but don’t turn around. Slowly, I nod. “Yeah. Eventually. ”

A long tense silence. She’s about to say something else. I can feel it, and I wait for it. But then, with a sad exhalation, all she says is, “’Bye, Ben. I’ll miss you. ”

I want to look back, but I don’t. I blink hard against the aching burn in my throat, in my chest, in my eyes. “Yeah. Me, too. ” It’s unclear, even to me, whether I mean I’ll miss her, too, or whether I’ll miss me.

Both, maybe.

I don’t look back. Not at her, and not at Nashville as I drive past the city limits. When I’m far enough away that I don’t recognize the landmarks, I turn on the stereo, hunt through the songs I’ve got loaded onto the flash drive. Find one that speaks to this moment. It’s a Kylie song, the kind of thing I listened to for her.

It’s “Let Her Go” by Passenger.

I listen to it on repeat until my throat hurts from singing along, and eventually I let the radio take me to other songs, as the road takes me to other places.

I remember what Colt said by the creek that day: Sometimes there is no where, there’s only go.

And I go.

POSTSCRIPT

Kylie

One year later

Performing never gets old. It never loses its patina of wonder for me. Every single time Oz and I get up on stage, I feel alive, like raw energy replaces the very blood in my veins, like life itself is bigger and more colorful and more amazing. We’re on tour with Mom and Dad and The Harris Mountain Boys. This tour has been, very literally, the most amazing experience of my entire life. Each and every day, even if we’re just rolling across the country on the tour bus, holds new joy and fresh and exciting things to see and feel and hear and do.

Oz and I get better each time we play together. Oz, not surprisingly, has turned out be an intense and tireless lyrics-writing machine. He’s got an endless well of emotion and life experience to pull from, and once I persuaded him to give it a try, he found he couldn’t stop the words from pouring out. It works for me, because I’d rather write the music.

We’re on the last leg of the summer tour, making the arc across the northern border and down through Michigan—where Mom and Dad are both from—and back to Nashville. The last date of the tour is Nashville, and I’m scared to fucking death for that show. It wasn’t announced until less than a month ago, and it sold out in under an hour. We sold out the Ryman. In an hour.

Andersen has been instrumental in all this. He’s gotten us huge press over the summer, increased our visibility in a way we could never have expected. Mom and Dad put together the tour, but Andersen used his industry connections to get us noticed, to get people talking about us.

Oz and I? God, I love that man. We haven’t gotten a lot of time alone together over the tour, seeing as we’re sharing a bus with Mom and Dad, and they won’t let us bunk together. It’s okay, though. We sneak off together after shows, or during lunch breaks while we’re traveling. Gareth, Amy, and Buddy, being more our age than Mom and Dad’s, are sympathetic to our plight, so they find ways to give us privacy on their bus whenever possible.

Oz is creative, too. He cornered me backstage one time, in Portland, Maine, I think it was, and dragged me outside into the maze of equipment crates. He pressed me up against the wall, hiding us between a pile of sound equipment boxes and an empty crate that held I don’t know what. We were all but invisible there, and he took full advantage of it. His hips pinned mine to the wall, and his fingers busied themselves lifting my shin-length skirt up around my hips. I wrapped my legs around his, grinning into his neck as he realized I wasn’t wearing any underwear. My giggle at his surprise turned rather quickly into a groan of need, and from there into a barely stifled squeal as he filled me. He silenced me with a kiss, kept his mouth crushed to mine and ate my cries and whimpers, sucked down my breath and gave me his own, holding me aloft with strong hands cupping my ass.

It wasn’t long before we were both trembling and gasping together, straightening clothes just in time to see a sound tech rummaging for a cord. He grinned at us, as if he knew exactly what we’d just been doing. Maybe it should’ve, but it didn’t bother me that he’d known.

I’m still going to school. I’m at Belmont now, studying for a degree in music management. I love playing, and I will to the day I die, but I also love the technical end of it, the business side. I love working with Andersen to get exactly the right sound, tweaking and tweaking and tweaking until the song is perfect. Oz is content to perform, I think. He and my dad have gotten close, and they’re talking about opening up a classic car restoration business together. Dad used to do that for a living, and Oz has a knack for the kind of details that make a restoration look authentic. That’s what Dad says, at least, and I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean.

I am wondering about our future together, though. I know we’re in love, and I know there will never be anyone else for either of us. But I’m still living with my parents. Oz has his own apartment now, and when we’re in Nashville I stay there more nights than not, but it’s…it’s not the same. Whenever I talk about officially moving in with him, he kind of dismisses the subject, glosses over it and makes it seem like we’ve got all the time in the world to figure it out. And, I mean, we do, I guess, but I want to be with him all the time, and I want that now. I don’t want to have to always go back to Mom and Dad’s for clean clothes. I don’t want to be split between their house and Oz’s. I belong with Oz now. He’s my home.