Leaving Amarillo

by Caisey Quinn

  Papa played bass guitar with a group called the Harmless Gangsters. They had a tagline; something about the only thing they stole was hearts. I saw a picture of them in his old things out in the shed once, a discolored black-and-white shot of four guys leaning leisurely against a classic car.

  I’d let out a low whistle and handed it to him. Papa had smiled and set the photo aside. Later I’d wished I’d taken it. It was probably packed away or half moth-eaten by now.

  My chest aches with missing him. “I miss you. Dallas has a few things lined up after this festival, but then we’re coming home for a bit, okay? I’ll make you that meat loaf you like so much. Like Nana’s.”

  He’s quiet for a moment and I wonder if I’ve lost his attention to his talk radio broadcast blaring in the background. It’s been over two years since she passed away, but Papa holds on to his pain the same way that I do.

  “I’d like that, Dixie Leigh. Nobody could make it like she did, but yours is pretty close I ’spose.”

  “Thanks, Papa. I try.” My throat constricts and I begin to wonder if I’m going to pay for my lie to Dallas by actually starting my period soon. My emotions are running away with me and I can hardly keep up. “I’ll, um, play that piece you like on the Wurlitzer, too. That one by Glass that she used to play.”

  He grunts out a sound of approval then lingers a moment, as if he just wants to stay on the line a little longer, but I note the time on the alarm clock on the nightstand and tell him that I need to go.

  We say our goodbyes and I sit on my bed and stare at myself in the mirror across from it.

  It’s odd, the things we remember and the things we forget. My memories of my parents are like a whimsical montage that plays at the press of an unseen button in my mind. The images of them holding hands in the car, swinging me by the arms, my mom putting on earrings and glancing at me in the mirror with a smile and a promise about getting my ears pierced one day, her musical chiming laughter when my father made a joke, her smiling up at his handsome face before they would kiss. It’s always behind a thick, gauzy haze that feels more like I watched a movie about them than actually lived that life. But memories of Nana and Papa are sharp and well defined—all of them.

  Even though I’m staring at the reflection of a woman who looks a great deal like my mother, I can’t help but think of Nana and how when she was alive, our house was full of music. It was what helped me to moved past the devastation of losing my parents.

  She taught us everything she knew about playing the piano—about timing and feeling. She showed me how to pour my pain into the keys.

  Music might not have fixed what was broken inside me when my parents died, but it was the balm that soothed the wounds.

  When I meet the guys in the lobby to head to the meeting with Ms. Lantram, neither of them hides his reaction to me very well.

  It’s not like I usually perform in sweatpants or anything, but I’m dressed a little more provocatively than usual. My dress is short, my heels are high, and I worked for half an hour on getting this smoky eye done right. The black dress with tiny white skulls looks more like a shirt with a belt than an actual dress and the McQueen ankle boots with skull zippers I bought at a yard sale are much racier than my usual flats or boots.

  Dallas is on his phone and frowns his disapproval but says nothing to me, causing me to once again be grateful that he thinks I’m in a highly hormonal state.

  Gavin’s reaction is more what I was going for. Because I don’t want him to just agree to our one night, I want him to look forward to it. To be counting the time, measuring the moments and heartbeats until we’re alone, just as I am.

  The frustration rolls off him in waves as I step between him and my brother. His hands are fisted at his sides and I watch him swallow three times more than is necessary.

  Finally. He finally sees me. He glances down, his eyes meeting mine and reflecting the painful need I’ve shouldered alone for so long.

  “You didn’t bring Oz?” Dallas finally says after he’s ended his call.

  I force my eyes reluctantly away from Gavin’s. “Are we not going to have time to come back here after the meeting?”

  Dallas sighs as if I have asked the world’s dumbest question. “I don’t know, Dix. But I’d prefer to be prepared just in case.”

  So much for having it together for a change.

  “I’ll grab him,” Gavin volunteers, reaching his hand out for my key. “I left my extra set of sticks, too.”

  I’m not sure if he’s just trying to make me feel better or what, but there’s no way in hell he’s going to my room right now. Though I do appreciate that he called Oz a him and not an it.

  “Um, actually I need to grab a few things if we’re not coming back here. I’ll hurry.”

  The lyrics I’ve been working on are out in plain sight and they’re about him. My bras and underwear are strewn around the room—though that last one shouldn’t matter so much if I’m going to let him see everything Friday night anyways. Anticipation rolls over my stomach at the thought and threatens to pull me under.

  “Grab what you need and let’s get moving. I don’t want to be late.”

  Gavin and I nod at my brother’s command. The two of us head to the elevator and I avoid looking at him because, once again, Dallas has reduced me to the kid sister who forgets and needs reprimanding.

  Gavin presses the button for the elevator and I catch myself watching his hand, his fingers long and masculine and graceful. They gripped me so hard when we kissed that I should’ve checked for bruises on the back of my thighs.

  Dear God in Heaven, give me strength.

  I want him to bruise me in a passionate lovemaking, fingers-denting-flesh-hard-enough-to-hurt-while-I-scream-his-name sort of way.

  There’s a ding and we wait for a few guys in reggae getup to exit the elevator before we step inside. Alone. Our arms brush and this is so the wrong time to be fantasizing about Gavin holding me hard enough to hurt.

  His shoulders are rigid and I’m wondering if I am somehow conveying my thoughts via mental telepathy. He seems to know exactly what’s going on in my head and it seems to be making him angry and uncomfortable. I hit the three for him and the five for me, keeping my eyes fiercely trained on the glowing round buttons.

  The third floor comes and the doors open. I start to tell him I’ll see him in a few minutes, but he doesn’t move. The doors close and we continue our ascent. I raise my eyebrows at him and he cuts his eyes to mine.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper.

  “Isn’t this what you want?”

  Yes.

  “Um, what?”

  His eyes meet mine and he’s sneering at me. “Me to fuck you real quick in your room so you can check that off your list?”

  My body recoils at the maliciousness in his tone. “Excuse me?”

  Gavin slams his hand on the stop button, jerking the car to a halt, and braces his arms beside my head.

  “You wore my shirt on your dinner date with that boy-band kid, then you said those . . . things. Now you’re making me agree to one night alone with you and wearing this goddamn dress. I may not have gone to college, but I’m not fucking brain dead, either.”

  The rush of conflicting feelings floods my brain. I love him. I hate him. I want to slap his face and kiss him until I’m drunk and dizzy.

  What in the hell is wrong with me?

  My chest heaves between us as I work to breathe normally. “For one, I didn’t know that was your shirt. Secondly, I was honest yesterday. Finally. For once, I was completely honest and I’m not taking back a single thing I said or did. Thirdly, there is nothing wrong with my dress,” I bite out through clenched teeth. “And for the record, I didn’t make you agree to anything. You want to say no? Then say no, Gavin.”

  I cross my arms in defiance, meeting his icy glare with one of my own and daring him to back out on our one night even though it will break me apart when he does. I’ve been holding on to that one night like a li
feline.

  The heat in his glare burns into my icy one, but he doesn’t say it. Not yet.

  “Gavin? The words, I need the words. Either you’re in or you’re out.”

  An intruding buzzer sounds, making me flinch, and he steps out of my space. He hits the emergency stop again and we ride in silence to my floor.

  My heart hammers in my ears as I walk on unsteady legs to my room with him close behind. Retrieving my key card from my bra makes me self-conscious and my fingers tremble. I drop the slender piece of plastic twice and mutter a curse under my breath when I pick it up the second time.

  Gavin’s breath is hot against my neck as he reaches around and takes the card from my inept fingers.

  “Let me,” he says low in my ear, sending a shiver across my shoulders and down my arms.

  I slide my tongue across my lips in an attempt to moisten them so that I can speak. He opens my door easily and I step inside on the wobbly legs of a newborn foal.

  “Gavin, I need the words. I—” I’m ashamed at how my voice breaks.

  I have no idea what else was about to come out of my mouth. But it doesn’t matter because his lips press against my neck and I am rendered immediately speechless. Tilting my head to allow him better access, my intense appreciation for what he’s doing to me slips out of my mouth in a moan.

  “I’m in, Bluebird,” he whispers in my ear. “But I think you already knew that, didn’t you?”

  “Y-you know what you’re saying? Do you understand what I want?”

  He presses against my backside and I feel something I have only ever imagined in my wildest fantasies, the thick ridge of Gavin’s arousal. A guttural sound escapes and I should be embarrassed but I can’t recall what that would feel like. All I can feel is his mouth on my neck, his hands on my hips, and the promises of what’s to come—literally—against my backside.

  “I think I have a pretty good idea. And I think we both know what it could cost us. You okay with that? Risking it all for one night?”

  All I can do with his body this close is nod. Yes.

  “Hmm. I am not happy about anyone else seeing you in this dress. Not happy at all.”

  His blatant desire gives me courage. “And what do you plan to do about it?”

  His tongue flicks against my earlobe and I shudder. “Let’s just say if you get what you want on Friday, you probably won’t be able to walk anywhere on Saturday.”

  My knees go weak and his arm wraps my waist to support me as if he anticipated the effect he’d have on me. “Do we have to go to this meeting?”

  A low, dark laugh tickles my ear and reverberates through my body. “I think so.” He places one last kiss against my neck and pulls back.

  When I turn around, knowing I’m flushed and mussed from his assault, I’m annoyed at how calm and collected he appears.

  “Planning to seduce me, were you, Bluebird?” His half smile is infused with infuriating arrogance, but I’m still quivering so I’m in no position to be upset that he figured me out.

  “Maybe,” I say, retrieving my bow from the bed and placing it alongside Oz in the case. “But I meant what I said about talking and being honest, too, Gav. I need . . .” I pull in a breath and he steps closer to me.

  “I know what you need. I just don’t think I’m worthy of giving it to you.” All vestiges of his smug façade have evaporated and he is that boy again. That fragile boy with a heart of glass.

  “You are. I know that you are.” Reaching my fingertips up to his jaw, I stroke the stubble gently. “You always have been.”

  “I have a condition,” he tells me. “Well, an additional one besides your brother never finding out.” His jaw flexes beneath the tension.

  “Okay,” I say as I wait for him to reveal the restrictions he’s going to place on our one night together.

  He swallows hard and rubs his nose against mine. “Don’t fall in love with me. It’s one night because that’s all I can give you. Sometimes women confuse really great sex with love. I can give you great sex. I have every intention of making it a night you’ll never forget. But love isn’t something I’m capable of and you of all people know why.”

  His mom enters my mind immediately. She never loved him—or at least I never saw any evidence that she did. She never hugged or kissed him or held his hand. My heart clenches in my chest and a small piece breaks off inside me, the debris gathering in my throat.

  Gavin doesn’t know how to love. And oh, oh, I want so badly to teach him. But I can see from the pained expression on his face that he doesn’t want that—not from me or from anyone.

  “I promise I won’t fall in love with you just because we sleep together,” I assure him while gently raking my fingers through his hair.

  Because I have been in love with you from the very first day we met.

  Chapter 12

  MANDY LANTRAM LOOKS LIKE A LONG-LOST KARDASHIAN SISTER. She’s got flawless mocha skin and raven hair that flows down to the middle of her back. Her navy blue dress fits like a second skin over her voluptuous figure and I feel like a little kid playing dress-up when she stands to greet us at dinner.

  When we walk onto the back patio at a barbecue place overlooking Austin, Dallas introduces us in turn.

  “Please, call me Mandy. It’s nice to meet you both,” she says, smiling warmly at Gavin and me. “As I told Dallas when we spoke yesterday after the show, the three of you have made quite a name for yourselves around the great state of Texas.”

  I don’t miss the way her eyes linger on Gavin as he leans back in his chair.

  “You could say that, I guess,” I interject. “We play mostly for free, though, so that doesn’t hurt.”

  Everyone chuckles good-naturedly even though I was being completely serious.

  “Well, I’d like to change that,” Mandy says with a pointed look at each of us. “I think you’re worth so much more than that.”

  It feels so good to hear. Someone finally believes in us—someone with legitimate connections and knowledge of the industry. I want to hug the woman I hope will help my brother to see that this is where I belong instead of back in Houston.

  Gavin surprises me by clearing his throat loudly. “Yeah, well, as you know, getting gigs isn’t the easiest thing in the world and we’re not the typical country trio. We play multiple genres and have been told by several managers that country radio isn’t ready for our sound.”

  Part of me wants to kick him under the table.

  But Mandy nods as if this is exactly what she expected him to say. “Yes, the fiddle and the R&B remixes are certainly unconventional.” She waits for one of us to interrupt but no one does. “That being said, I think it’s time for the three of you to make some hard and fast decisions. The reality is, you can play covers and revamped rap or bluegrass or both for all I care in festivals like this one. But when I get you into a showcase, you’ll have to streamline your sound. Play the songs that best represent what you’re capable of, the ones that sound a bit more like the hits topping the charts today.”

  I don’t miss that she says when and not if I get you a showcase. Hope grows wild inside of me, unfurling in my chest and spreading like wildfire. I can practically see myself sprouting wings and flying right out of stringent music theory classes. A showcase would be huge. It would put us in front of managers and record labels. I know this because for years now Dallas has been saying how important they are for getting record deals.

  “I think I speak for everyone when I say that we understand about sacrifice and compromise when it comes to this business,” Dallas says. “And we know that as we start out, we’ll have to do whatever it takes.”

  “That being said,” Gavin interrupts bravely as I watch this conversation unfold. “We’re not going to pretend to be something we’re not. It won’t do us any good to get a deal based on something we aren’t capable of or happy doing.”

  “The last thing I want is for you to be unhappy,” Mandy says. “Or unsatisfied. Music is very . . . pe
rsonal. And I plan to make it my personal goal that you are very satisfied with everything we do together.”

  There’s excessive warmth in her tone and it’s a little unsettling, but her smile is genuine. I have a nagging sensation of female intuition trying to alert me to something, but I have no idea what.

  Mandy’s eyes might linger on Dallas a little longer than they do on Gavin or me, but I assume that’s from their established familiarity. And in a way, if she’s interested in either of the guys, I’d prefer it be Dallas anyway. Gavin’s groupies are one thing, but working with a manager who was attracted to him would be my worst nightmare.

  Before I can analyze the situation any further, a waiter appears and takes our order. I haven’t even looked at the menu so I just ask for whatever pasta they have and a water. Gavin gets a burger and so does Dallas. Mandy orders a salad.

  Once we’re alone again Mandy asks about the details of our story, how we came to be a band and how the guys managed when I was at school in Houston.

  “They called me crying a lot and begging me to come home,” I say with mock seriousness.

  “We mostly just played shows where we could meet halfway between Houston and Amarillo when Dixie wasn’t too swamped with school,” Dallas tells her with an eye roll in my direction. “Gavin and I played a few local shows on our own.”

  “And you’re prepared to give up a prestigious scholarship for this? For life on the road with these two?” Mandy looks almost confused by this.

  I nod without hesitation. “I realize that a career with a nationally recognized orchestra is a dream for a lot of people. It’s just not mine. I didn’t belong there.” The last part sort of snuck out of me and I feel embarrassed by revealing so much, but Mandy nods as if taking it all in thoughtfully.

  After that she inquires about our social media presence, what bands we’ve opened for, and other managers we’ve previously spoken with. Social media management is my department, my contribution to the band. I keep our pages up to date and post pictures on our blog. We actually have a surprising number of followers.