“Harris Commons’ daughter?” Vinny asks, casting his line with ease. It lands inches away from mine.

“You couldn’t have cast on the other side of the boat?” I ask dryly. I hate fishing. But I love hanging out with my cousin and we rarely get time together. Both of our jobs keep us out of town a lot. He’s a traveling electrician and I’ve been touring.

“This is my side,” he says with an unaffected shrug.

“It’s my side, too.”

“I’m older.”

“This is why I stopped fishing with you.”

“You stopped fishing with me because you suck at fishing.”

Despite Vinny and I having been raised by native New Yorkers who moved to Charlotte before we were born—my cousin adopted a thick Southern accent. It’s actually pretty comical when a dude who sounds like him introduces himself as Vinny. He’s either a person who picks up accents easily and can’t help it, or he amped up his Southern charm to impress girls.

Which goes to show that relationships and what people are looking for in a mate is subjective. I’m not trying to mess with girls who are impressed by his thick Southern accent. I prefer General American—that sort of neutral, non-regional accent used by people in broadcasting.

After reeling in my line, I turn my back to Vinny and cast from the opposite side of the boat, knowing damn well I’m not going to catch a thing over here.

“Back to Harris Commons’ daughter. How’d you get involved with her?”

“I was on my way to class a few months ago, the night we had that ice storm. Saw a car smashed between two trees while driving up Queens Road West on my way to class. I stopped to check on it and saw a girl slumped over the wheel.”

“Did you make it to class?”

“What?” I glance at him over my shoulder. Not the question I expected.

“Did you make it to class or did you spend all your time saving the damsel in distress?”

“I made it to class…late.”

I never cared much about school when I was in it. Going to college never crossed my mind. As I started learning more about the music industry and what I wanted out of my career, I decided to take a few classes. I’m not book-smart, but I can understand concepts that are interesting to me. And not getting screwed over by a management company or record label was very interesting to me. There are so many horror stories about mismanagement of money, having a basic understanding of accounting is essential. I have no problem with someone else handling the business aspects of our career, but needed to know enough so we weren’t fleeced.

“You have to get over the hero complex, Austin,” Vinny warns.

“What?”

“You’re attracted to people who need saving.”

“I’m not—” I begin.

“Don’t even!”

“If you’d let me finish a goddamn sentence! I was saying that I’m not trying to save her. She doesn’t need saving.”

Vinny chuckles. “I thought you were denying your history.”

No reason to deny anything. Vinny is right. I am attracted to broken people. People who need me. People who need someone. White-knight syndrome.

It’s not just women, but friends. What can I say? I like the underdog. I like making friends with the kid everyone is picking on and making sure he knows that I’m not going to be a bitch-ass bully just to impress the crowd. I’m gonna have his back. Maybe it was growing up with Vinny, the stereotypical alpha male, my entire life. Vinny’s a dick—definitely had bully moments when we were kids. I’d take a bullet for him, but he can be a douche.

“So, you saw her car on the side of the road…” Vinny leads me back to the story.

“It had already started sleeting and there were accidents all over. I knew it would take hours for an emergency crew to get to her, so I took her to the hospital.”

“If that was over a year ago, why am I just hearing about her now?”

“Well, we didn’t actually meet that night. When I dropped her off, the nurse told me she was a surgeon at the hospital and in the Commons family. So I left. Then she came to that show we did with Intermission.”

“The one I was at?”

“Yeah.” I nod.

“Did she come to thank you or—?”

“No. She didn’t know I brought her to the hospital. I never told anyone there my name or anything. Didn’t post my heroic efforts on social media.”

“Surprising, since you’re an attention whore,” Vinny jabs.

“I get my fix on stage.”

“She randomly showed up at your show? And you recognized her—”

“No! Jesus, man! Let me finish the story! Have you always been this annoying?”

“Yes.”

At least he admits it.

“I didn’t recognize her at all. I fell for a gorgeous brunette in the second row.”

“Here we go,” Vinny says. I bet he’s rolling his eyes.

“What?”

“You fell in love with a girl in the crowd that you’d never met or spoken to.”

“There was a pull! I can’t explain it, and even if I could, you wouldn’t get it. We had this undeniable, intense connection.”

“From the stage?” The disbelief in his voice is thick.

“Yes.”

“Okay. What happened with the brunette and how does this all tie in to the girl you saved?”

“The brunette was her. It was Liz.”

“Oh! Gotcha!”

“It was fate,” I say, knowing he’s about to rail me. He hates that I think in terms of fate and destiny and universal connections. And I hate that he can deny those things so easily. Life isn’t always logical, neither is love.

“Your head is in the clouds, kid.”

His condescending use of “kid” always annoys me since he’s only two years older, and there’s a very strong argument that I am more mature emotionally than he will ever be. Being introverted, introspective, and having feelings isn’t a bad thing. It doesn’t make me any less of a man.

“Why do you always discount me just because I see things differently?”

“I don’t! Just listen for a second. She’s a surgeon? From a prestigious family, right? You’re the type of guy she’s never met before. The sensitive soul. The dreamer. The romantic musician. Do you think that will last long?”

“Why wouldn't it?”

“You’re gonna be pissed at anything I say…”

“When has that stopped you before?”

“You float through life, making ends meet however you can. And that’s awesome, man! I know you aren’t about material things. I love that about you. But do you think a woman like her sees you as a viable life partner or as someone fun for now? Women don’t want a guy they have to take care of—that’s why they have kids.”

“You think I’m a gold digger?”

I’m offended and hurt to realize Vinny thinks of me that way. I’ve paid for my own shit—and helped my mom with bills—since I was old enough to work. Using Liz because of her money has never crossed my mind.

“Austin! No! I didn’t mean it that way. I don’t think that of you at all. I’m trying to show you some perspective. What do you think her family thinks about you?”

“I know what her family thinks about me. And I don’t give a flying fuck.”

“Maybe you don’t, but she will. You think she’s going it give it all up for you?”

“I’m not asking her to give anything up. This is a fucking ridiculous conversation.”

“You are two very different people from very different lifestyles. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Noted.”

“Jesus. I’m not good with words like you are, Austin! Give me a break. I know you think I’m a caveman, cousin. If I’ve learned anything over the last five years, it’s this: women want an equal. Strong women don’t want someone they have to take care of, nor do they want someone to take care of them.”

I raise my eyebrows. Not what I expected. “Okaaay.”

“They want someone that matches their intellect and drive and has the same passion for life. But most of all, they want to be accepted for who they are, as they are. Not who you want them be. Or who you think you can change them into. There’s enough pressure from the outside world. Just be her best friend. Love her. Grow with her.”

Vinny has never spoken words at an introspective level like this before. I twist around and rake my fingers toward his face, pretending to unmask him. “Who are you and what did you do with my cousin?”

He bats my arm away. “Get the fuck off me before I throw you in the water.”

“I’m just speechless. When did this happen? This hasn’t always been your view.”

“A pending divorce will do weird shit to your head, cuz. Makes you rethink what you once thought was the right way to be.”

Vinny and his wife have been separated for about six months. In North Carolina you can’t file for divorce until you’ve been separated for at least a year. Unfortunately, with our busy schedules, this is the first real conversation I’ve had with him since she left.

“You were a good husband,” I tell him. Because I honestly thought he was from the interactions I saw.

“No, I wasn’t. Not for Abby, at least. I would have been a good husband for someone else, but I wasn’t right for her. She didn’t need someone to take care of her. She needed a friend. Someone who liked her for who she was. Deep down, I didn’t. I wanted her to be someone else, ya know?”

I’ve forgotten about fishing, and turned around to look at him. Vinny isn’t normally a guy who talks about his feelings, so this is all surprising.

His gaze is locked on the water, but his voice seems miles away as he speaks. “She’s kinda like you. Quiet, reserved, only opens up around people she feels comfortable with. I knew that when I married her. I loved that gentle shyness about her. I felt like I was her rock, her protector, but also the one who took her to do things she never would have done. But that’s not what she wanted. She didn’t want to do any of those things—or most of the things. She went along with it to make me happy. And I didn’t see how much she hated it. She didn’t hate me or our friends, but she constantly felt pressure to be someone she wasn’t. I did that to her without even realizing it. We went on trips and had fun, but she was always unhappy because she was always anxious. I kept putting her in uncomfortable situations and she pretended to enjoy it.”

“Jesus, Vinny. I’m sorry, man.” I think about his situation for a moment. Vinny is a gregarious, extroverted, party guy. He’s truly content when he’s around other people—or fishing. Abby was absolutely an introvert. A lot of people mistake introverts for being unhappy or standoffish, but that’s not always the case. Sometimes it’s social anxiety. And when someone is uncomfortable in a social situation, they tend to be quiet.

“Now that you realize the issues, can the marriage be salvaged?”

“No. I mean, we don’t want to salvage it. It’s a completely amicable breakup. We both realize now that we’re not a good fit. Neither of us are bad people, but we just don’t work together. I’ll always want that loud, outgoing girl who wants to go on adventures and have our friends over every weekend. And Abby will never want that. It’s not a bad thing. I’m glad we realized it early—before kids.”

“Why didn’t you reach out? I would’ve been there for you, man. I didn’t realize there was so much disconnect.” My phone buzzes in my front pocket. I want to check it so badly to see if it’s Liz, but I don’t want Vinny to think I’m blowing him off.

“Yeah, we put on a good show around people.” He adjusts the worn, camouflage baseball cap on his head.

My heart hurts for him. I don’t think many people enter into a marriage thinking it’ll end in divorce. It sounds like he’s come to terms with the situation, which alleviates some of my concern.

“You’re busy kicking ass, Austin. I’m not gonna burden you with my problems when you’re on the road touring. That’s not what you need to be thinking about.”

Buzz. Buzz.

“Don’t worry about burdening me. I’m always available to listen.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s one of those alpha-male things I can’t get over yet.”

“Fucking neanderthal,” I joke.

Buzz. Buzz.

“Answer your fucking phone,” Vinny commands. “Unless it’s on some kind of alarm to jerk you off or something.”

Without a second thought, I tug my phone out of my pocket and see a series of text messages from Liz.

Shit.

“Is that her?” Vinny asks.

“Yeah.”

“Remember my story, Austin. Think about how different Abby and I were and what it did to us before you get in too deep with Liz.”

In too deep? I’m already in love with her. How much deeper can it get?

“I appreciate your concern, Vinny, but Liz and I are nothing like you and Abby. We’re both introverts.”

“Is that all you got out of this?”

“Well, I didn’t get any fish, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Vinny ignores my attempt to lighten the mood. “I’m not saying you aren’t good enough for her. I’m saying that just because you love each other, doesn’t mean it will work. Sometimes love isn’t enough when it comes to two completely different people.”

“I have it under control,” I tell him.

Despite my flippant response, Vinny’s words sink to my core because I do think about the differences between how Liz and I live. I love everything about my life. I have a job that pays my bills and allows me the time and flexibility to make music and tour. I have a roof over my head and food in the fridge—usually. Even if I had the money to do it, I don’t want a mega mansion in the wealthiest neighborhood in Charlotte. I don’t want three BMWs in my circular driveway. I don’t want to eat at places where one meal costs more than I spend on food in one month.

But that’s the life Liz is used to. And even though she’s never flaunted her wealth in front of me or made me feel bad about anything, I sometimes wonder if she’ll truly be happy with someone who doesn’t want to live an extravagant life.

“Can we head in soon?” I ask.

“Yup.”

My fingers tap across the screen as I answer Liz’s message.

I push the thoughts out of my head. It’s not that I’m brushing off Vinny’s warning, but if I let myself stay in that place of questioning every single thing for too long, I’ll fuck everything up with my overanalyzing. I need to focus on one day at a time—and being in the moment. I’m not ready to throw in the towel just because Liz and I are different. We’ve already gotten through a few battles together and we came out stronger because of it.

When I get to Liz’s house, she’s on the couch waiting for me with red-rimmed eyes and Kleenex in her hand. Multiple tissues litter the floor around her feet. I’ve seen her frozen and unconscious, but nothing compares to the way my heart rips apart seeing her like this. Real grief. Real pain. I’ve had disappointments in my career: bands that didn’t work out, songs I thought were phenomenal that never made a blip on the radio or any streaming service. The identity crisis she must be going through is beyond my comprehension.

All I can do is run to her side, sweep her into my arms and let her cry. She burrows into my chest, body shaking and trembling with every sob. I kiss the top of her head and keep my mouth on her hair, while holding her securely.

Knowing that she feels safe with me fills me with pride. I always want to be her shoulder to cry on. Always want to be here to console her and soothe her and come up with a plan for what’s next. She needs the plan. She’s not the person who will wander around lost forever.

Once her tumbling subsides, her body returns to calm, even breaths. She pulls back slightly and looks up at me.

“Thank you.” She wipes her nose with the back of her hand. I grab a tissue from the box next to me and hand it to her. She laughs and sniffs simultaneously. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

“I’m really sorry that I bothered you while—”

“Nope.” I rest my index finger on her lips. “No sorries. This is where I want to be. Right here with you. Always. Got it?”

She nods.

“I feel so stupid, Austin. I knew this was coming. In a way, I’ve been preparing myself, without really preparing.”

“There’s no reason to feel stupid, babe. It’s a huge loss. You identified as a surgeon for years, so you’re bound to grieve while you come to terms with it.”

“How will I face people again, Austin? I still have to go back to the hospital and finish up care and documentation for the patients I’ve been working with. The other residents will think I couldn’t cut it in the program. Everyone in my social circle will pity me and look at anything I do now as a complete failure. My parents will be so disappointed. A complete failure. The daughter they can’t brag about anymore.”

It hurts to know that Liz values those opinions more than she values what she thinks of herself. She’s worried about judgment and the perception of who she is in the eyes of others.

“Forget that for a minute. I know it’s hard to separate yourself from your career, but just take a step back. How do you feel? Deep down?”

“Shitty.” She glares at me.

I sigh. “I know that. I meant, you’ve told me a few times that you didn’t even know if being a surgeon was your ultimate dream. You said it was your parents’ dream. Now that it’s not an option anymore, how do you really feel?”

Liz is silent as she contemplates her answer.

“No! Don’t think. How do you feel?”

“Relieved,” she blurts.

“Why?” I press.

“Because now I have the freedom to do what I want. I don’t have to fulfill anyone’s expectations of me. My career path is really my own now.” She pauses. “My career path is really my own now,” she repeats, looking at me with a half-smile, as if it’s just occurring to her.

“All right.” I slap my hands together. “What’s next and how can I help?”

“I really need to talk to Dr. Crowder to see what I need to do to switch modalities. I think Family Medicine is my best route to be involved in nonprofit work.”

“Oh!” I say as I dig my phone out of my pocket. Her mentioning nonprofit work jogs my memory. Once I find the site I’ve bookmarked, I hold my phone out to her so she can see the screen. “I was looking for organizations for doctors who provide affordable healthcare to low-income communities and found this.”

I glance up at Liz, who isn’t looking at my discovery, but at me. Tears fill her eyes and she’s biting her bottom lip. Shit, maybe I’m pushing her too fast.

“We’ll get through it, babe. I promise. I know how hard—”

“Thank you,” she says before surging forward and planting her lips on mine. The force pushes me backward into the couch. I wrap my arms around her, absorbing her energy.

It feels so damn good to know the girl I love appreciates me.