Leaving Amarillo

by Caisey Quinn

  “Because of who you are,” he adds gently. “You’re the one person that’s supposed to be off-limits. I made a promise. One I intended to keep.”

  A breath escapes my lips, taking a tiny bit of tension with it. “Some promises are made to be broken. I don’t think anyone has the right to decide that for us. Not even—”

  “I know.” His stare leaves mine and returns to the road. “It’s just complicated. There are things you don’t know. Things that happened while you were in Houston.”

  This much I do know. But Dallas never would share the details. Just that it was bad.

  “So then tell me.”

  I watch the back of his head shake back and forth.

  “Trust me, it’s better if I don’t. You’re better off not knowing.”

  I’m not, though. That’s the part he doesn’t get. I want to know everything. I want to know what his life was like before we met as kids, I want to know if anyone ever read him fairy tales, or made him pancakes, or cuddled him in a blanket fort. I want to know if he was upset last year because of the band or because of his mom or because of me. I want to know what he did to try to fill the void. And mostly I want to know if there is any chance at all that our one night could be more.

  Before I can find my voice, rain begins to pelt the roof and the windshield with a hellacious vengeance.

  “Shit, I can’t see a thing.”

  I’d make a joke about him peeking but the noise from the downpour would just drown it out. “If you really can’t see, you should pull over.”

  I lean over the seat to grab my bag from the front and he hits the brakes suddenly to avoid hitting bright red taillights that have only become visible that instant. My head hits something solid—the window maybe—and the back tires spin angrily in an attempt to find some traction. We skid to a stop and a horn honks loud and long behind us.

  “Fuck!” Gavin bites out before pulling over into the emergency lane. “You okay?”

  I rub my hand soothingly across the bump on my head and fall back into the backseat, no longer caring about my lack of clothing. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

  Gavin eases us beneath the safety of an overpass and I can see the car in front of us doing the same while a few brave souls soldier on despite the monsoon.

  He shuts the engine off and turns to me with worry deepening each line in his face. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see them. Christ. That could’ve been so bad.”

  I witness the exact moment he starts to lose it. Something terrifying flashing like lightning in his eyes and his gaze goes somewhere far away from me and from this car.

  “If anything had happened to you, if you’d been hurt . . . if I’d hit them, you would’ve went through the goddamn windshield.” He’s shaking. “I could’ve killed you,” he whispers and the words wrap my heart and squeeze. He never once says anything about my brother or what my brother would do to him. Because he’s not worried about him. He’s worried about me. Only me.

  Before I can think of any other way to comfort him, I’m over the seat and straddling his lap.

  “Look at me,” I say, locking my fingers behind his neck and staring down into his eyes. “I’m fine. It’s fine. You stopped in plenty of time. I’m okay. We’re okay.”

  So slowly I wonder if I’m imagining the sensation, his warm hands slide up the outside of my bare thighs. As if he can’t believe it himself, he watches his fingers move across my skin.

  “You’re okay? You’re sure? What about your head?”

  “I’m tougher than I look,” I say quietly. I want him to understand this. Badly. Our one night together is not going to break me.

  “You have no idea what it would do to me if something happened to you, if I hurt you.” He squeezes my thighs hard and my body rocks involuntarily against him. “I never want to hurt you. Do you get that? Why I never touch you? I’ll only hurt you.”

  I shake my head, because, God, he does not get it. At all.

  “Sometimes . . . sometimes pain is a good thing, Gavin.” His eyes widen and I lower myself onto him, relieved that he’s as turned on as I am right now. “Sometimes it’s the only way to make sure that you’re still alive.”

  When Gavin lifts his hands to my waist and yanks me against him, I am alive. When he crushes his mouth to mine, I am having an out-of-body near-death experience.

  For a moment I hover above us, seeing myself half naked and pressed against him in a car beneath a steadily cascading force of nature. He drags me slowly back down to earth, kissing my mouth as if he plans to devour me. My tongue slides against his and he licks it gently before sucking my bottom lip hard enough to bruise.

  There was this piano piece I played once, one of the first ones Nana taught me. It was a classical piece by a famous composer whose name I can’t recall this very second. But I remember learning it and feeling like my fingers were battling for control of the keys. That is us right this minute, each of us desperate to be closer, deeper. Fighting for more. I want more so bad I can taste it, can touch it like a tangible thing.

  Hearing the sound of my own whimpers and breathy pleas makes me realize we’ve steamed up the inside of the car. Rain or no, Gavin could take me any way he wanted right here, right now. I’m about to tell him so, writhing against him as his hands roam everywhere at once, across my back, down into the waistband of my panties, gripping my hips, when he stops suddenly.

  “Damn it, Dixie. What are you doing to me?” His question startles me and my body begins to retreat, but his hands hold me firmly in place. “I used to have all this control. All these years I’ve done so well. Now . . . I got nothing.”

  Leaning forward, I let my lips brush gently against his, pulling in his air with my breath. “You’ve got me,” I say quietly into the stillness.

  He leans his head back against the seat and I take advantage of the opportunity to lick a path up his neck. A low groan escapes the back of his throat and vibrates against my tongue. I suck at the sensitive skin beneath his ear, savoring his warm male flavor. He even tastes like rain.

  “You tryin’ to mark me, Bluebird?”

  I smile, letting my bared teeth graze against his throat. “Mmm. Now that you mention it . . .” I suck harder and he struggles beneath me, pulling me backward with both hands.

  “And how would I explain that?”

  “Not my problem.” I attack his neck again and his warm chuckle fills me with so much happiness I feel as if I could burst. “I love when you laugh.”

  We both go statue still. The L-word. I forgot that he doesn’t want to hear it. The damn thing just slipped out on me.

  He gets that broody look again and I roll my eyes. “Relax. It wasn’t a marriage proposal. I just like your laugh. Always have.”

  He tilts his head and grins at me. “Oh yeah? What else have you always liked?”

  “Your tattoos,” I whisper, cranking up the intensity sparking between us and ruining our teasing moment. “I have pretty much been aching to touch every single one since you started getting them.”

  “That so?” His eyes drift down my body and my mind goes immediately to one of mine that I know I have to keep hidden. For now at least. If he sees it, there’s probably no way in hell tomorrow night is happening. “Speaking of tattoos. You have a few more than I knew about.”

  “That’s because you never bothered to look.”

  “It stopped raining,” Gavin says evenly without responding to my complaint. “We should get back on the road.”

  I nod, feeling painfully exposed. “Yeah. We should.”

  Swallowing hard, I start to move off of him as gracefully as I can in hopes that my dignity doesn’t fall to the floor. Pretty sure it’s somewhere around my ankles.

  A firm hand lands on my outer thigh with a light slap, effectively stopping my lateral motion. “Wait.”

  “For?”

  Confidence and pure male bravado exude from him along with his intoxicating scent. “This,” he says, sliding a hand between my thighs.

&n
bsp; I should say something. Come back with a witty retort, but I can’t. Not with his warm fingers sliding beneath my previously offensive black lace panties.

  “I fucking love these,” he says, stroking the thin scrap of fabric barely covering my most sensitive area.

  “You can borrow them sometime.” His mouth swallows my self-congratulatory smile and his fingers slide slowly through the slippery folds between my legs. The combination of what he’s doing causes the remaining brain cells necessary for playful comebacks to explode on impact.

  Once he feels my surrender in the form of every bone in my body liquefying against him, Gavin lets a deep sound of animalistic content roll through his throat and into my ear. “My sweet, wet girl. If this car were more accommodating, I’d spread you out and taste every single inch of you.”

  “Gavin.” I’m dying—writhing against his hand in hopes his thick fingers will stop teasing and slip inside. Preferably before I burn to death with the heat of needing him. The incessant throbbing inside me seeks his attention so badly I’m willing to outright beg for it.

  “Tell me what you need, sweetness. What can I do to make it better?” His index finger traces the outline of my labia before repeating the same languorous circuit around my clit.

  Too many things to list. “Gavin, please.” My voice breaks. It’s too much to handle all at once. And yet I still want more.

  “Since you said please.” Freeing me from the delicious imprisonment of his teasing fingertips, Gavin dips his entire middle finger straight into my pulsating opening. Thrusting rhythmically while using his thumb to massage the throbbing bundle of nerves between us, he whispers dirty promises in my ear until I plummet headfirst past the point of no return. Clutching his shoulder for stability, I press myself upright.

  And that’s when I hear it.

  Whoop whoop. The unmistakable warning of a police siren.

  Gavin practically tosses me off his lap and into the passenger seat. “Get your clothes and seat belt on. Now,” he barks at me.

  My fingers are clumsy and uncooperative as I rifle through my bag. “I packed a T-shirt. I know I did.”

  “I have a black duffel in the back. There are probably a few in there. Grab one. Quickly.”

  Turning in a position that sadly doesn’t affect him at all anymore, I lift his bag from the back and pull the first shirt I find out of it. The blue lights from the officer’s car are creating a strobe effect against the darkness. Out the back window I see the uniformed man getting out of his car. My heart rate triples at the sight.

  I examine the shirt so that I don’t put it on inside out or backward. “I bought you this one,” I say, holding up an army-gray short-sleeved shirt that says Always be yourself. Unless you can be a drummer. Then always be a drummer.

  “Yeah. You did. For my birthday a few years ago I think. Put it on, please. Before you get arrested for public indecency.”

  I pull it over my head and try to be discreet about inhaling his scent like a coke fiend taking their last hit. I’ve just yanked my jeans on and snapped my seat belt across my lap when the knock comes at my window. I don’t know why I expected him to go to Gavin’s, but I did. After recovering from a near stroke at the shock, I roll the window down and offer the uniformed gentleman a smile.

  “Hi, Officer.”

  “Evening, kids. Out kind of late. Car trouble?”

  “No, sir,” Gavin answers, leaning over to look at the stockily built guy. “Had some trouble with my windshield wipers during the downpour, but I got it handled.”

  He got something handled, but it sure wasn’t the windshield wipers.

  The office makes a grunting noise. “I see. This a ’67?”

  Gavin nods and his lips curve upward, but I can still see the way he’s barely breathing. “Yes, sir.”

  I don’t know if it’s the cop or Gavin’s obvious tension that’s rattling my nerves, but I feel jittery, like I’ve drank a dozen cups of coffee and have caffeine surging in my veins. Even my legs are trembling, but that might be from previous events.

  “It’s nice. Well cared for. Tell me, where are you two heading?”

  “Amarillo,” I say just as Gavin says, “Potter County.”

  The officer frowns, then glances over the top of the car at the traffic speeding past. “Listen, this rain could come and go all night. You kids get where you’re going safe, all right?”

  “Yes, sir,” we answer in unison like a pair of ten-year-olds being reprimanded.

  “Have a good night.” With that, he walks back to his car. Once he pulls away, I finally feel like I can breathe.

  Gavin cranks the key in the ignition, bringing the rumbling, thunderous engine to life. He’s paled at least two shades since I was sitting on his lap.

  “You okay? I’ve never seen you get so twitchy about cops before.”

  He nods without looking at me. “I’m fine. He just surprised me is all. You should get some rest. It’s a long drive.”

  The roads are rain-slicked as we drive and Gavin keeps his eyes closely on them. I’m sitting silently buckled in tight as he requested and contemplating turning up the Civil Wars song playing on the radio when he breaks the quiet tension blazing between us.

  “You look good in my shirt,” I hear him say. His words hang in the air between us until I fall asleep.

  Chapter 17

  Austin MusicFest—Day 5

  “WAKE UP, BLUEBIRD.” I HEAR THE FAMILIAR VOICE COMING FROM far away but I don’t quite recognize it. “Rise and shine. We’re here.”

  My head throbs hard and my hand is on it before my eyes open.

  “Mmph.”

  “Good morning to you, too. Head still hurt?”

  Gavin. I’m waking up with a skull-splitting headache and with Gavin. I blink my eyes into focus. Apparently I’m also waking up in a car. My eyes scan our surroundings. A nondescript brown building with American and Texas state flags flying side by side greet me. Gavin hands me a Styrofoam cup of coffee through the open car window.

  A black and white sign declares this the Potter County Women’s Detention Center and my memories come rushing back all at once.

  “Oh God. Gavin. I slept the whole way.” That’s what a raging orgasm will do to a girl. It’s cloudy and overcast, but still bright enough that I have to squint up at him. “Crap. I am so sorry. I’ll do the driving on the way back to Austin. Promise.”

  He opens my door for me. “Not a big deal. Roads were too wet last night for you to drive anyway.”

  “What time is it?”

  “About five minutes after eight. I was here when they opened.”

  “So . . . have you talked to the cops or a bondsman or anyone yet?” I stretch and yawn loudly once I’m out of the car.

  “I talked to the magistrate and if there’s only the one charge, her bail isn’t as high as I thought it would be. I can swing it without a bondsman.”

  I sip my coffee, black with about a pound of sugar—just how I like it.

  “When you say swing it, you mean—”

  “It’s all I’ve got, but it’s enough.”

  I can’t help but sigh my frustration. Watching him hand over every cent he has to his name for someone who couldn’t honestly give a single shit about him makes my heart sick. “Have you ever considered not bailing her out? Just letting her pay the price and face the consequences of her actions?”

  Gavin eyes me over his steaming cup. “Easy, Bluebird. It’s a little too early for this conversation.”

  “I’m serious,” I say, taking a step toward where he’s leaning against the hood of the car. “What if you just told her she is a grown woman and that if she is going to break the law, she’ll have to deal with the fallout?”

  I’m about to suggest he change his number when he gives me the strangest look. “So you mean I should encourage her to be an honest, upstanding citizen or prepare to deal with the consequences of her actions, whatever they may be?”

  “Well . . . yeah. I mean, that’s how
life works in the real world. Maybe it’s time she started living in it.” Instead of in her blitzed-out drug bubble, I think, but don’t say out loud.

  “Ah. I see. So people who lie or cheat or say, go behind their best friend’s back and kidnap their sister while plotting to do unspeakable things to her body, should own up and pay for it, right? Should be punished?”

  Of course he would go there. I narrow my eyes at him. “We’re not breaking the law, last I checked. Although I’ve been doing some Internet research and there are a few positions I want to try that might be illegal in some states.”

  Gavin shakes his head. “Only you could make a crack like that when you’ve only been awake for five minutes.”

  “What can I say? I’m pretty damn special.”

  “If that’s what they’re calling it these days.” Gavin gives me a hint of a grin before motioning to the building before us. “You don’t have to go in, but I need to fill out some paperwork and help her get her personal belongings.”

  I huff out my annoyance. I didn’t ride all this way to sit in the car. “I’m coming with you. Surprisingly, this is my first trip to a jail.”

  Gavin rubs his neck, and I notice the exhaustion ringing his eyes for the first time. “Considering some of the crap we pulled as kids, that actually is surprising.”

  I nudge him gently in the side as we make our way to the front door. “Well, Clyde, I always knew we’d end up here someday.”

  His shoulders stiffen but then he winks at me. “You’re not bad company to have, Bonnie. I’m almost glad you came along.”

  Bailing someone out of jail is a lot more complicated than it sounds. And when it’s someone who truly doesn’t deserve the time and effort involved, it’s that much more frustrating.

  I think I always assumed you walked up to a teller’s window like at the bank and handed over your money in exchange for the inmate of your choosing. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

  “Katrina with a K and Garrison with two R’s,” Gavin tells the lady in the uniform at the front desk. “She was picked up the day before yesterday.”

  “Charge?” The woman says without glancing up from the computer.