When I was a kid, my father told me a story about the Carter family. He said it all started with him, from the moment he saw my mother and realised what it was to love someone so much you'd destroy the world for them. The plot soon thickened when, one by one, my uncles found their true loves.

Now, the next generation of Carters, my generation, were following in their fathers' footsteps. My father thought of his love story as the beginning of the Carter legend. I thought of it as the Carter curse. Having one woman may come with benefits, but playing with many was so much more fun.

Until her.

She held my attention and pulled me in like no other, and trying to keep her in the friend zone was proving harder than I imagined, especially with obstacles pulling us together.

She needed me. And I liked being the shoulder she cried on, the person she called, the one who made her laugh.

However, somewhere along the way, I grew to realise I needed her too.

I wanted her.

Although it wasn't going to be easy, who was I to break Carter tradition?

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