Leaving Amarillo

by Caisey Quinn

  And I have Gavin, I almost say.

  But you can’t really have fire. You can’t hold a flame in your hands without getting burned.

  “You shouldn’t have to settle for enough,” Dallas says, his blue eyes meeting mine.

  “Get to your mark, big brother,” I tell him with a wink, because any more heavy heart-wrenching promises might break me. “Let’s give these people a show.”

  He nods and moves over so that I can play my opener.

  I don’t look up until I’m done, but when I do, the crowd in front of us is significantly larger. And Afton and the members of his band are watching from beside the stage.

  I don’t know why, but Afton doesn’t make eye contact with me through the entire performance. He keeps his eyes exactly where I wish mine could be. Where my heart is.

  Firmly tied to Gavin Garrison.

  So your drummer is kind of intense,” Afton says as we walk to the restaurant after his show. A light breeze blows, cooling my still-overheated skin. The show went well, even by Dallas’s standards, and the entire area around stage seven was packed to maximum capacity by the time we’d finished.

  “Mm-hm.” Intense is a pretty good adjective for Gavin. And drummer is an obvious descriptor. Though he’s certainly not mine. I caught a glimpse of my least favorite waitress slithering up to him after our show.

  “And, uh, he didn’t seem thrilled about me taking you to dinner.” Afton shoves his hands in his pockets and jerks his neck to move his hair out of his eyes. His curly hair is damp from playing out in the humid heat.

  Gavin and Dallas stood like members of the Royal Guard, shoulders squared and effectively blocking me when Afton introduced himself after he’d performed.

  Dallas had promised to hunt him down if I wasn’t back at our hotel by midnight, because I’m Cinderella apparently. Gavin had glared with all his might but as I’d slipped past him to join my dinner date, I’d paused, giving him one last chance to say something. Anything.

  Once I was certain he was just going to try to murder us with his eyes, I shrugged and took Afton’s arm. At least one guy on the planet wasn’t afraid to touch me in front of my brother.

  “They’re both just annoyingly overprotective,” I assure him, sensing that Gavin has somehow really intimidated him with looks alone.

  “Yeah, your brother maybe. But the drummer—that wasn’t the overprotective brother vibe I was getting at all.”

  Even though we’d walked out of sight, I was still wearing Gavin’s glare. It had penetrated my skin and clung to me as I tried to pretend I didn’t care why he didn’t want me having dinner with Afton Tate.

  “And what vibe were you getting?” Baby butterflies flutter to life and I hate that this is the first time Afton has really piqued my interest. I am a terrible person. Worse, I’m a sick person obviously interested in masochism.

  “He watches you while you’re playing,” Afton says thoughtfully, no trace of jealousy in his voice, as if he is simply making an observation. “Closely,” he adds, lightly nudging my shoulder.

  My throat constricts and the words are trapped beneath the knot that has formed in the middle of my esophagus.

  Does Gavin watch me?

  I can’t see him when I’m actually playing. I don’t see anyone really. I close my eyes and see the vibrant colors of the music I’m playing. The neon tendrils swirling in blackness. Sparks exploding from a midnight sky in brilliant flashes of light.

  “Swear I’m not making it up. Why would I lie about that?” Afton’s voice is gentle, as if his only intention is to observe this phenomenon and tell me about it. He’s a genuinely nice guy. It seems unfair that I don’t have anything to give him in return.

  “No, I, um, I believe you. I was just thinking.” I blow out a breath into the night as we reach the brightly colored funky blockish building he gestures to as our destination. “He’s probably just watching to make sure I don’t screw up and he doesn’t have to cover for me or something.”

  Afton holds the door for me. A Hispanic woman wearing all black greets us. She stands there in stark contrast to the radiance of colors all around us. Sombreros adorn the walls and intricate blown-glass lanterns hang from the ceiling. The smells of salsa and fajitas entice my painfully empty stomach.

  After we’re given menus and seated at a small table in a back corner, a slightly more intimate setting than I’d prefer, Afton looks at me and then forces a tight smile.

  “Whoa. Acting is out for you,” I say, picking up my menu. “Change your mind about this date already? Better say something quick because I’m about to order the entire left side of the menu.”

  Afton lowers his menu and runs a hand through his hair.

  “I’m kidding. I’m getting a chicken quesadilla. Relax.”

  I watch as he inhales deeply and leans forward. “I was impressed seeing you onstage. You’re very talented. And beautiful. Obviously.” He pauses to shake his head and I avert my eyes from this now very awkward situation I’m in. “I promise I have a point. I’m going to get to it here shortly.”

  I breathe an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Oh good. I was worried this was going to get uncomfortable before we even ordered appetizers.”

  Finally he grins, a boyish grin of amusement that brightens his entire face. “My bad. I’m usually better at this.”

  “I have to say, I don’t think I’ve ever made a guy this nervous before.”

  “It’s not you.” He closes his eyes and smiles again. “I suck at this.”

  “Yeah you do. I think the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech is supposed to come after dessert at least. Or maybe even after the sex.”

  Afton’s eyes go so wide I almost laugh out loud.

  “Y-you’re planning to have sex with me? On the first date?”

  There’s an eagerness in his voice and also a fear.

  “Well, I’m not going to now since you gave me the breakup line already.” I can’t hold back my grin and it gives me away.

  “That’s just mean. I’m starting to think maybe I should make you buy me dinner now.”

  “Oh, uh-uh. No way. You asked me to dinner, remember?”

  Afton’s lips twitch into a smirk.

  A young man who looks barely old enough to drive interrupts long enough to greet us and set tortilla chips and a bowl of salsa on our table along with two glasses of water. I order my quesadilla and Afton orders steak fajitas. Once the waiter leaves I lift a chip from the bright red basket and return my attention to my date.

  “So you were saying?”

  His eyes meet mine and there’s a heat under the playfulness. I triggered something when I mentioned sex earlier. I’m wondering if this works on all members of the male species.

  “I was curious about why you agreed to come to dinner with me. Seemed to be a risky decision.”

  “Let me guess,” I begin, pausing to take a sip of my water. “You got the ‘we own her, you can look but don’t touch’ message from my brother and Gavin’s behavior and now this is a severance dinner.” I eat the chip and lick the crumbs from my lips. His eyes drop and I have to test my theory. “Unless . . .” I bite my lip while he watches and lean closer to him. “You’re not as nice as you look, and you’re willing to risk it.”

  Afton isn’t just nice. He’s smart, too. He catches on pretty quickly. And I’m not as sexy as I wish I could be.

  He leans back with raised eyebrows. “Honestly? I’m not real big on risks.”

  “So I’ve heard,” I say, dejected. This is why Gavin walked away. We both know I could never be what he needs. I’m not sexy enough, or experienced enough, and it must be written all over me if even someone I just met can dismiss my advances so easily.

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning I’ve heard you’ve had lots of offers from major labels and big-name managers. Why turn them all down? Why not give one a shot?”

  Afton’s lips press into a line.

  “I like my career how it is. I like my band ho
w it is. The first thing those people do is tell you how great you are and then start changing everything that made you great to begin with.”

  “I see.”

  A flash of understanding pings through me. It makes me sad to think about Afton’s band being stuck where they are. Even if they like it, they’re amazing and they deserve better than being crammed in a van, playing for peanuts. The thought of never seeing them hit it big is depressing.

  This must be how Dallas feels.

  “Don’t make that face. We have options. Right now this is what we want to do; if that changes, we’ll start exploring those options.”

  I nod. It’s none of my business anyway. “Right. Sorry to pry.”

  “I don’t mind talking about it. And for the record, this is definitely not a severance dinner. I just like to know where I stand.”

  “In relation to what?” I swipe another chip through the salsa and toss it in my mouth.

  “The drummer,” Afton says evenly. “He’s not watching you like he’s worried you’ll screw up. He’s watching you like he’s worried you’ll disappear and take his heart with you.”

  “If I ever touched you, ever let myself so much as lay a hand on you, I might not be able to stop.”

  Gavin’s words force themselves uninvited into my mind and I try to shove them out.

  “Oh that’s a good one. You should put that in a song.”

  He shrugs. “It’s the truth. I saw him tonight, watching you like his life depended on you, and I felt like a dick for asking you out when there’s clearly—”

  “There’s clearly nothing, okay? I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about and neither do you.”

  Afton arches an eyebrow at my outburst.

  Fuck a rubber duck. Why does this keep happening? I’m going to starve to damn death if I can’t stop having these Gavin-induced meltdowns at mealtimes.

  “Look,” I breathe, clenching and unclenching my hands just for something else to focus on. “It’s not as complicated as it may seem. I guess I had a childhood crush on him but believe me, he’s made it more than perfectly clear that we’ll only ever be friends. Bandmates. That’s all.”

  “We’re more than that. You and Dallas are all I have. Do you get that?”

  How has Gavin suddenly become the voice inside my head? Afton nods, watching me closely and opening his mouth as if he’s going to say something else but the food arrives and it doesn’t matter.

  We both compliment the homemade tortillas. Afton tells me about a small, unsigned-artists tour he’s trying to get his band added to. The conversation flows easily while we eat and I have a good time. But when the meal is over, all I am is thankful and ready to get back to the solitude of my room.

  Gavin ruined my date and he wasn’t even on it.

  Chapter 8

  I SAW HIM.

  When Afton walked me to my hotel room, I saw Gavin. He must’ve heard us coming and turned the other way because all I saw was his back for a split second before he turned down a stairwell, but he was on my floor.

  Why?

  Part of me assumed he and Dallas were taking turns making sure I got back in time, but Afton’s words had stirred an infectious hope inside of me. Maybe Gavin would one day want me badly enough to risk it. To risk Dallas’s anger, the band’s future, and our friendship.

  I have to admit, it is an awfully big risk. The thought of risking those things, especially the possibility of having my brother’s trust, the band, and Gavin’s friendship all ripped away at once, was like standing over the gaping mouth of an endless chasm. Full of vipers.

  “Thanks for dinner,” I tell Afton as I open the door to my room. “Sorry I’m lame. I didn’t realize how tired I was.”

  “You’re the furthest thing from lame,” he says, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

  “And thanks again for the ride today. You really saved my ass.”

  Afton leans over, blatantly checking out my ass. “Oh well, thank goodness. It’s a great ass,” he tells me with a playful wink.

  “Glad to have your approval.” I reach my hand out to shake his and he lifts and kisses it, which makes me snort out a laugh. “Farewell, Mr. Tate. It was simply lovely to make your acquaintance. Best of luck in your future musical endeavors.” I use my best British accent because this moment is so overly clichéd I can’t imagine not using it.

  “Same to you, Miss Lark. Perhaps our paths will cross again someday. Should the stars happen to align once again.”

  In that moment, when we’re both using faking British accents and he’s smiling so warmly at me, I sort of understand how Gavin can sleep with faceless randoms.

  It’s lonely on the road—lonelier now that I’m rooming alone, and the idea of comfort, even empty comfort that probably won’t last long, is tempting. I could invite him in, let him press his lips to mine, tug at the waistband of his jeans and we’d probably get a great deal of simple pleasure and easy gratification from a night in bed together.

  Except I can still see Gavin’s tormented expression as I left, and I know exactly how many drumsticks he broke tonight. Five. Five drumsticks. The most I’d ever seen him break in one session. It’s not exactly like we’re playing heavy metal here.

  So maybe he doesn’t want me enough to grab on to me and jump into the abyss, but knowing I’m hurting him somehow by associating with Afton is enough to make me not want to.

  “Perhaps,” I say softly. “Good night, Afton.”

  “Good night, Dixie Lark,” he says, accepting his dismissal and walking away like the gentleman that he is.

  Once I’m in my room, I lean again the closed door.

  Oz beckons me and I wonder if the people in the rooms beside me would complain if I played for a while.

  It’s too late to call Papa and I’m kicking myself. I always call him after every show to let him know how it went. But I know he’ll be in bed at this hour so I sit with my fiddle and try to get down usable lyrics to an unfinished song I’ve been working on, until I can’t hold my eyes open any longer.

  I trust your minion reported back that I was tucked safely in almost a full hour before curfew last night,” I say to Dallas the next morning in the hotel lobby.

  “My what?” His brow wrinkles and his eyes land on Gavin making his way toward us looking like he just tumbled out of bed.

  “Never mind,” I say under my breath.

  A heavy-eyed Gavin reaches us and in a husky voice that makes me instantly lust-drunk, bids us good morning.

  “Morning,” I say, tilting my head in an attempt to get him to meet my eyes.

  “Where’d you run off to last night?” Dallas asks him. “Catch up with that redhead after all?”

  Trying to mask my masochistic curiosity and the scowl that contorts my face at my brother’s words, I turn away from both of them before Gavin answers.

  It’s better if I don’t know. Even if he hooked up with Ginger, and even if I’d known he was going to, I wouldn’t have done anything differently. Afton is a nice guy and I can’t imagine ever being the type of person who could revenge-screw someone. So I swallow my hurt feelings and make my way outside into the harsh sunlight.

  Squinting, I shield my eyes and spot the van parked in the lot.

  “We walking or driving?” I ask no one in particular.

  “Walking,” Dallas answers. “Gavin’s kit is already there and the place is crowded enough even though it’s still early. If we leave now, we probably won’t have a spot left to park when we get back.”

  I let them walk a few steps ahead of me, concentrating on keeping my eyes away from Gavin.

  I need so very little to exist. Air. Water. Oz. Music. And for my heart to just beat. Just keep beating.

  Just keep beating.

  Breathe in. Breathe out.

  Walk, Dixie Leigh. Focus.

  But it’s hard. The concrete beneath my feet is quicksand and my blood is syrupy-thick and threatening to smother my poor heart.

  He’s hurt
ing. I can feel it. I don’t know if it’s because of Afton, or our dinner date, or something that has absolutely nothing to do with me. But his shoulders are slumped and the air of nonchalance he wears so effortlessly appears heavy on his back. His hands are in his pockets and his head is down. Something is wrong. Maybe he’s hungover, or maybe he’s angry. Maybe his mom called and asked for money for some bullshit that he knows is code for drugs. Maybe Ginger was so good in bed she kept him up all night and he’s exhausted.

  Whatever the cause, when Gavin’s heart and soul are injured, it weighs on mine all the same.

  I don’t know when I became this pathetic mess so completely codependent on the happiness of someone who has told me in no uncertain terms that he will never cross the friendship line with me, but here I am. All alone on the in-love side.

  We reach the street where the warehouse is and Dallas and Gavin jog across the empty intersection. My legs are heavy as I follow.

  That year I spent attempting to become a classically trained violinist headed straight for an orchestra pit?

  It wasn’t just the music that didn’t do it for me. It was being away from my family and from Gavin.

  Away from Gavin’s warmth and that damn dimpled smile, from my brother’s understanding and his quiet laughter, without Papa’s silent strength and constant encouragement, I began to change. Like a flower cast out into the darkness, I withered day by day, withdrawing into myself and into the girl I likely would’ve become if Gavin Garrison hadn’t wandered up onto my grandparents’ porch the day of my parents’ funeral.

  Everyone thought I was shy, and a few thought I was some sort of snob who believed herself to be above them. Nothing could have been further from the truth. When end-of-the-semester tryouts came, I made first chair without having any of the expensive schooling or training the rest of them did. No one was more surprised than me, but it didn’t go over well.

  When Dallas called to tell me about Papa’s heart attack, I didn’t hesitate. I took incompletes on my finals and hopped the first bus home. The scare with Papa reminded me how short life really is and by the time we got to bring him home from the hospital, I was ready to sprint to Gavin’s house and tell him that I loved him and couldn’t be away from him for a single second.