Crazy Dreams (Dreams #1)

Stone

It was a surprisingly cool night for the middle of July. After living in Nashville for nearly six months, I figured the weather would be much warmer. According to my introverted roommate, Dallas, it was unusual weather for the time of year.

It’s always hot as fuck in July. I’m glad I came home for the month, he said, rinsing his plate and then putting it in the dishwasher. Dallas was a neat freak if I ever met one; he was borderline obsessive compulsive.

I like the heat, I complained, wishing the weather would warm up. Part of the reason I moved to the area was better weather. After living in Pennsylvania for the last twenty-two years, I was ready for some of that infamous southern humidity.

The move to Nashville the winter before was hard on me. Mostly, the problem was leaving all my friends and family, people I’d known all my life. My best friend wanted to move south with me, but I refused, telling him I needed to do it on my own. No one supported me, which was probably why I felt the need to get the hell out and follow my dreams… I wanted to prove everyone back home wrong. I wanted them all to be in awe of me when next they saw me.

After six months, I was less and less sure of my chances of being discovered than ever. I wanted to be a country star more than anything, but so far, I’d been nothing but rejected. My songs were good, or so I was told. Record companies like the sound, liked the music, but they said my lyrics were lacking. They wanted something more soulful, more real. Hell if I knew what they meant.

I spent all my spare time writing music. Whether it was strumming notes on my guitar or jotting down lyrics on a napkin, I was a man obsessed with getting my name out there. I played as many weekend gigs as I could at dive bars across town, trying to force people to recognize me. They didn’t.

Dallas encouraged my dream, but he was also a realist and got me some freelance work at the magazine he photographed for. I had a degree in graphic design from Penn State, which was something the magazine found appealing. I only worked when I had to, choosing to spend the bulk of my time focused on writing music. I paid Dallas rent for the room he generously let me stay in and had enough left over to buy groceries, gas, and pay my cell phone bill. I was used to simple living, so I didn’t complain.

Stone, we need to talk, Dallas said when he closed the dishwasher.

Kicking me out already? I asked, praying it wasn’t true.

Hell no. You’re a great roommate. And we’ve become good friends. The problem is, my sister’s kid sister is coming to visit.

Your sister’s kid sister? What the hell does that even mean? I asked.

My sister Rainey, the one who died last year… his voice trailed off and his eyes filled with anguish.

I knew his sister died, but he never talked about it, so I never brought it up. That was his mess to deal with however he chose.

He took a deep breath. Well, she has a younger sister named Ember. She reached out to me, telling me she needed an escape from the pain she’s been feeling since Rainey’s death. She asked if she could come stay with me for a few weeks, just as a mini-vacation. She’ll be here tomorrow.

That’s fine with me, I said, unsure if he was asking for my approval or not.

The problem is, I’ve come to think of Ember as my little sister and I don’t want you hitting on her.

I laughed. Trust me, women are the last thing on my mind. I wouldn’t dream of it, I agreed. Women weren’t a propriety for me.

We’ll see, he mumbled. I’m picking her up at the airport tomorrow morning. But I have to fly out for a job. I won’t be around all weekend. Would you mind showing her around?

I didn’t want to, but what choice did I have? Sure thing. I’ll show her the sights and keep her occupied. But I thought you were home for a month?

I was. I got the call a few minutes ago. Just don’t make a move, okay? She’s still mourning Rainey and I don’t want her to feel pressure from a guy. His voice was stern, big brother-like.

I tried not to laugh. Listen, I won’t hit on the girl. She’s too young for me, anyway. It was true. When I did need some female attention, I found older women to be quite satisfying. Younger women, or even women my own age, were a little too dramatic for me.

Good. And thanks, he said, walking off to his room.

The apartment was huge, with cathedral ceilings and an open floor plan. The living room and kitchen were the largest spaces and Dallas even brought in a professional decorator. Even I had to admit it looked good. With three bedrooms and two baths, it felt more like a house than an apartment. The master bedroom had its own bath, which meant I would be sharing the second bathroom with Dallas’ sister. Great. I found women’s bathroom rituals scary and tedious, not to mention completely unnecessary.

My bedroom had a king-sized bed, which Dallas provided, since I brought nothing but clothes, toiletries, and my guitar with me when I moved. I didn’t need anything else, or so I told myself. Not having a bed was problematic, but Dallas assured me I would have a bed waiting for me when I moved. True to his word, the king bed was all made up when I walked in. I owed him so much. If I ever made it big, my first plan of action was to pay him back for all he’d done for me.

Of course, that meant I actually had to hit it big. My dream was starting to fade. I’d been rejected so many times; I couldn’t even count how many, but I tried to keep my head up, telling myself that it was going to happen. Maybe I was crazy, thinking I could make it in this town.

My twin brother spent months trying to convince me not to move out of Pennsylvania. Storm was a worrier, spouting off facts about the odds of catching a break in Nashville and how even if I did, the music world would change me. I listened in silence while he went on and on. He actually thought he could convince me to give up. No such luck.

Since my move, he barely talked to me. It was only when I would shoot him a random text that he’d make contact, asking me if I’d gotten a deal yet. It was his way of telling me he was right. And in the short-term, he was. But I didn’t start the journey expecting it to easy, or for me to get a record deal in a week. I mean, hell, if that happened, I would’ve jumped on it, but the reality was, I knew how hard it would be. I knew I’d be working my ass off and it might never happen for me, but I had to try. I gave myself two years.

Twenty-four months to get to my dream, or at least get close. If it happened, great. If it didn’t… I’d cross that bridge when I got to it. I wasn’t going to lose complete hope–not yet. I still had eighteen months left to make someone of myself, to make it all worth it.

Dallas believed in me, believed I was fully capable of making my dreams come true, even if he wasn’t always verbal about it. His silent support - letting me live with him virtually rent free - was proof enough. The women in my life loved my music, which I appreciated, but none of the songs I wrote applied to them. None of my songs were love songs, period. Maybe that was the problem with my music – I hadn’t been in love since I was sixteen, so while my heart was in my music, the songs weren’t about real love or loss. I had a feeling Dallas would be able to write one hell of a love song, after dealing with his sister’s death and then having his girlfriend of three years leave him within two weeks of Rainey’s death. It was sad, but real life was never easy.

When Dallas invited me to live with him in Nashville, I was shocked. I hadn’t really told anyone about wanting to become a country singer. It took almost no convincing on his part, as I really wanted to make something of myself. I even talked him into letting my girlfriend come, too, something he wasn’t too keen on, but he finally relented. She gave me an ultimatum the day before we were planning to move, though, throwing a wrench into the whole plan. Either I broke up with her and moved to Tennessee, or I kept her and stayed in southwest Pennsylvania, where we would get married and have babies starting that same year.

I wasn’t ready to be a husband, yet, let alone a father. I let her down as easily as I could, but she made a scene, causing most of my friends to hate me. Jess got what she wanted, though. We had mutual Facebook friends and I saw through their posts that she was married already and three months pregnant. It scared the hell out of me, since that just as easily could have been me as her baby daddy, but I was glad to be free of her. She and I both were born and raised in that small town and she had no intentions of ever leaving it, despite what she told me when I asked her to move with me.

It all worked out for the best, or so I told myself. I was still working toward my goal, desperate to reach it or die trying.

Two

Ember

Modeling was a career I never truly wanted. In fact, if I had my way, I would have been a journalist or something more geared toward using my intellect. I never would have chosen a career based solely on looks and keeping myself thin. Of course, I blamed my mother for getting me into modeling, but I also blamed myself. I never spoke up to my mother, not until recently, and if her reaction was any clue, she had no intentions of letting me quit.

Most days, I liked modeling. It made me feel pretty, in a way, but I wasn’t a vain person, wasn’t the type to care what people thought about me anyway, so I found it a useless occupation. Especially since everyone in the business knew beauty faded. Eventually.

Lately, I grew more and more tired of the lifestyle. My mother pushed it harder every time I even mentioned how sick of it I was. Of course, being in college made things a bit more difficult for her. She discouraged me from going to classes, claiming I needed some modeling session or something. It was exhausting.

After y older sister, Rainey’s death, she let me take a reprieve from modeling, but it didn’t last long. I couldn’t smile, couldn’t let myself be happy when I lost the one woman in my life who gave a shit about what I really wanted. She always encouraged me to pursue my dreams, not to settle for what was easy. It was inspiring, really, and seeing how she went after what she wanted last year only solidified my decision to back away from modeling.

I wanted to quit completely, and I managed to keep my mother off my back while school was in session, but in the two weeks I’d been out of class for the summer, she scheduled an insane number of photography sessions and modeling gigs. And I canceled every single one with one phone call.

Dallas wasn’t technically related to me, in any kind if sense where he might feel obligated to offer me a chance at normalcy. But he was Rainey’s older brother, so I took a chance calling him. I told him I needed to get away, and I knew he would get it. If anyone understood the pain of losing Rainey as a sibling, it was him. Baker’s pain was so different, having lost the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. But Dallas… He felt the same way I did – empty.

I spent at least an hour on the phone with him, pleading with him to let me stay with him for a few weeks over the summer. He finally relented, but then came the daunting task of convincing my mother, something I didn’t look forward to.

I made it out of the conversation with her with only minimal scars. She wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but she gave in, possibly recognizing how depressed I was. The depression wasn’t going away, not by itself, so she only let me take off if I agreed to get on depression meds first. It was a compromise I wasn’t happy with, but I figured things could have been worse.

I swallowed my little happy pill with a chug from a seven-dollar bottle of water in the middle of the airport, ignoring the mass of people around me. I knew if I didn’t take it right then, I’d forget it. I screwed the cap back onto the bottle and made my way to my terminal, checking in with the desk and then grabbing a seat. I had at least an hour before my flight, and I was bored, so I pulled out my phone.

I scrolled through my pictures, cherishing the ones I still had of Rainey. She was so vibrant, so full of life in every photo, it made my heart ache. She lived her life to the fullest. I was almost jealous at how well she lived, how well-adjusted she was, considering her tragic life. She was worse than a Shakespeare