Loving Dallas

by Caisey Quinn

  I want to fight.

  I want to fuck.

  And most of all, I want someone else to hurt as badly as I do.

  My phone rings and it feels like the universe has sent me an answer.

  “Hey, Mandy. I was just about to call you.”

  Mandy’s room is only a few down from mine. I pace the hallway twice before knocking on her door.

  This is stupid.

  She’s my manager.

  But she has made it abundantly clear what she wants so maybe I should give it to her. This is all I’m ever going to get, right? Meaningless fucks and empty orgasms. Plus, at least I know she won’t go to the media. My career is just as important to her as her own.

  Once I’ve made my mind up and worked myself up good by imagining bending her tight, bare ass over her bed and fucking her hard and fast, I rap hard on her door.

  “It’s me,” I say.

  “Well, hello there, me,” a man’s voice says when the door opens. Jase Wade smirks at me. He’s naked except a pair of black boxer shorts.

  The image of him with Robyn in Nashville, side by side, heads bent together in intimate conversation, fills my mind until I see bright blinding red.

  He’s got to be the someone else. He’s the only other man I’ve ever seen her so much as speak to. I’ve seen him whispering things to her that made her blush. And here he is fucking my manager on the side.

  I swing before deciding to, connecting with the left side of his face, and he staggers back before coming at me full force.

  He can bring it. I’m ready for the impact. Hell, I’m craving it.

  The crack of his fist into my jaw is welcome relief from the pain I’d felt when Robyn told me she had someone else. I shove hard in hopes of backing him up enough to give me room to swing, but the motherfucker wraps me in a bear hug and slams me against the wall.

  He hits me again and I laugh when I taste the blood.

  “The fuck is wrong with you, man?”

  He’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have.

  “Dallas? Jesus Christ!” Mandy calls out, stepping out of her room in a black silk negligée that barely covers anything. “What in the world are you doing?”

  “You’re a fucking piece of shit,” I say to Jase Wade. “Do you just fuck everyone in your damn path?” I shake my head in disgust, which makes me feel slightly dizzy.

  “I never knew you cared so much,” Mandy says, stepping around him.

  I spit out a mouthful of blood, causing her to jump back. “I don’t.”

  “You need to get out of here. There’s paparazzi up my ass everywhere I go,” Wade tells me. The concern in his voice is genuine. And confusing. “Go get cleaned up and meet me down in the bar in ten.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “You need to chill the fuck out, man. And we need to get some shit straight before I end up dumping your body in a deserted alley in another country. Bar. Meet me. Ten minutes.” He points a finger at me before going back into Mandy’s room.

  I right myself against the wall and ride out a wave of debilitating nausea. I’ll give him this much, dude hits like a fucking freight train.

  “I really hope this isn’t about the scrawny redhead,” Mandy sneers at me. “Seriously, Dallas. I thought you were smarter than this.”

  “She’s twice the woman you are. And probably a hell of a better lay. Maybe we should ask Wade.”

  The slap comes, sending my ears ringing so hard I don’t hear her comeback.

  “Let’s go, Casanova,” Wade says, charging out of the room and dragging me down the hall by my shoulders.

  “Get your damn hands off me.” I shrug out of his grasp and he glares at me.

  “You can wear my fist print on your face every day of this tour for all I fucking care. But we’re going downstairs and you’re going to hear me out. Like it or not.”

  I get more than a few strange looks when we exit the elevator. I’m bruised, battered and bloody, but I don’t care.

  “Bourbon neat,” I say to a pretty curly-haired bartender who smiles at me when we reach the bar. I’d smile back but I’ve lost most of the feeling in my face.

  “You got it. Maybe I’ll make it a double for that shiner you got there. On the house.”

  I nod and Wade chuckles from beside me. Bastard.

  “Water for me, darlin’.”

  “Pussy,” I mutter under my breath.

  He arches a brow, turning on the stool to face me.

  “Let’s get a few things straight, kid. You don’t know much about me, and what I know about you couldn’t fill a shot glass. So I’m going to lay some knowledge on you.”

  I just stare hard. I don’t want to know anything about him except why he’s leading Robyn on and fucking Mandy.

  The blonde delivers our drinks and he clutches his glass for dear life. “It takes everything I have not to sit here and get shitfaced night after night. I’ve been where you are and I’ve fallen down rabbit holes a hell of a lot darker than anyplace you’ve ever been. I’ve been in rehab more times than you’ve had your dick sucked. I have a little girl who deserves better, so damn it, I try to be better. But some days . . .”

  He shakes his head and stares into his glass of water.

  “You want a gold star? One of those sobriety badges they hand out?”

  So it’s a low blow, but the bourbon hasn’t burned off my residual anger and hurt on Robyn’s behalf.

  “Naw. What I want is to know where you got that chip on your shoulder from and why it led you to Mandy’s room tonight. More importantly, I want to know why you’re decking me for fucking Lantram when I’m damn near certain she’s not the one who’s had your attention during this tour.”

  “You know why.”

  He smirks at me. “That supposed to be a joke?”

  I stand up, but his hand lands heavy on my shoulder, shoving me back down.

  “Relax. Let’s take it one thing at a time. You have something going with your manager? ’Cause I gotta tell you, you’re not the only—”

  “No.” I take a deep breath. “I mean, she’s said shit. I just hadn’t actually considered it until tonight.”

  “Because . . .”

  “Because of you. Because Robyn ended it because of ‘someone else.’ ” I narrow my eyes at him, knowing we’re going to come to blows again, but unable to care.

  “Whoa there, Hoss.” He tosses his hands up. “Ain’t me she’s cutting you loose for if that’s what you mean.”

  I want to believe him, so help me I do. But I saw the tender look of affection on her face when they were talking in Nashville. So maybe he doesn’t feel the same way, but in Robyn’s eyes he obviously comes first.

  “Maybe you don’t give a shit about her, but she—”

  “She confronted me. Went pretty ballistic actually, thinking I’d requested her for this tour because I wanted to get in her panties.” He levels me with his hand again when I rile up at his mentioning her panties. “I told her the same thing I’m about to tell you.”

  My fists are clenched waiting for his explanation.

  “Take a drink, kid. Take a few. Then I’ll explain.”

  I down my shot and slide it aside. “There. Let’s hear it.”

  “Robyn Breeland is amazing. She’s one of those women, the good ones. The genuine article. The kind you fall in love with. The kind you love more every day, appreciating each line, each wrinkle, and each gray hair because it only makes her more beautiful. She’s a biscuits and gravy on Saturday morning girl.”

  Shows what he knows. Robyn won’t touch gravy. But for the rest of it, he’s pretty much dead on.

  “So then why—”

  “But,” he says harshly, cutting me off. “I requested her on this tour for entirely different reasons.” He takes a long drink of his water while side-eyeing a lanky brunette with silicone breasts passing by. “Honorable ones, if you can believe it.”

  “I’m not sure I can,” I tell him honestly.

&n
bsp; “Well, try.” He shrugs. “She’s young and she made a presentation that impressed me. She mentioned integrating social media into the tour promo and I’m not stupid. I know the guy with the Instagram and the Tweeter and all that shit is the one getting the most attention.”

  I’m pretty sure it’s Twitter, but I’m with him there. Robyn handled that shit for the band when we first started out, then Dixie took over. I hate doing it now. I suck at it, too, which Mandy constantly reminds me. If it weren’t for her nagging, I’d skip it altogether.

  “So then nothing happened with you and Robyn? Ever?”

  He finishes his water and shakes his head. “Other than her raking my ass over the coals because she thought I’d hired her for her body? Nope. And like I told her, I wouldn’t kick her out of bed. But that wasn’t my intention and it never made it there.” There’s a slight twinge of disappointment in his voice that makes me want to take another shot at him. “Funny thing,” he says, gesturing to the bartender to refill my shot glass. “Once you showed up, she hardly noticed me anymore. And no offense, kid, but I’m a hell of a lot better looking than you.”

  I almost laugh. Almost.

  “Yeah, well, she obviously got over it. Tonight she said we couldn’t do this anymore and that there was someone else.”

  “Maybe she was lying.”

  I don’t even pause to consider that. “Robyn doesn’t lie. She’s the most honest person I know.”

  “Did you ask who it was?”

  “I kind of bailed before we made it that far. Or before I broke every stick of furniture in her apartment in a blind rage.”

  Wade rubs his jaw, then stares at me so hard I almost ask if he’s trying to get my number. But then he leans back and winks at the brunette watching him from across the room. “Well, maybe she wasn’t lying then. Maybe you just didn’t give her a chance to tell you the entire truth.”

  “I don’t know if it even matters. What matters is that she ended it.”

  Right? Fuck. Now I’m confused.

  “Look.” Wade clears his throat and turns to nod at the brunette. “I’ve got another situation to handle, so I’m going to make this quick. Listen close.”

  I take my second shot of bourbon and nod.

  “When I was seventeen, I was nobody. A farmer’s kid being groomed to take over a farm that had been in my family for decades. I went to a bonfire after graduation, thinking I’d get drunk and blow off some steam. Drink to the privileged motherfuckers going off to college while I shoveled cow shit.”

  Well, this is an unexpected trip down memory lane. I signal for another shot, twirling my finger so the bartender will keep them coming. Once Wade leaves with his barfly, I’ll be drinking alone and it will be twice as pathetic.

  “But you didn’t, obviously.”

  “No, I did. But at that bonfire, I played a few songs on my guitar just for the hell of it. Then I went to put it back in my truck and caught some rich preppy asshole assaulting the prom queen.”

  Jesus.

  “So I bashed the asshole over the head with my guitar and knocked his sorry ass out cold.”

  “Nice.” I nod in appreciation. Sounded about like what I would’ve done.

  “Yeah, well. Turns out Aubrey Evers—she was the prom queen—had left the party because she’d heard a song I’d sung and it had made her feel something. Something that made her want to get out of our small town and see the world. My song, some words I strung together out of nowhere, you know? Fuck, that messed me up good, knowing I’d affected her like that. I didn’t think she’d even known I’d existed in high school.”

  “I’m guessing her boyfriend didn’t appreciate the profound effect your music had on her?”

  “Not so much.” Jase’s eyes drift and I see the longing in his face. I recognize it because I feel it every time I see Robyn’s face. “He probably didn’t appreciate me marrying her six months later or getting her pregnant the following year, either. But to hell with him. I should’ve killed that fucker. I loved that damn guitar and it was destroyed.”

  “So what happened?”

  If Wade is still married, and he’s still screwing everything with legs, I might have to coldcock him again regardless.

  “She filed for divorce not long after I got my first record deal. She was tired of waiting for me to make her a priority and she met someone else. Someone who could be there every night instead of out chasing a dream that can’t really be caught. She got remarried the day we celebrated the album going platinum in Nashville. That’s why Robyn was being so nice to me. Not because she wants me, but because she felt sorry for my sad-sack ass.”

  “Damn.”

  “Well, I mean, she might want me. Most women do.”

  I roll my eyes. Then nod at the brunette stealing obvious glances our way. “I guess I can see that.”

  “Naw, man. They don’t give a fuck about me. They don’t even know me. They see the fame and the publicity and a chance to rub up against me in hopes some of that will rub off onto them.”

  He stands, jerks his chin in a clear signal to his new friend to leave the group she’s with and head our way. She does, as if he’s yanked an invisible string.

  “Then why do you do it?”

  He scoffs like it’s a dumb question. Maybe it is. But then he shrugs and something about his expression is hollow and makes me feel almost sorry for him. Strange, since the brunette is bringing a friend over and I know he already got laid once tonight.

  “When you lose the only person who actually matters, you realize the rest of it is just physical gratification. Life is short. You have to find what happiness you can while you can. Otherwise you’re just existing instead of living. And who wants to sit around with old-man balls knowing he sat out his chance to live?” He dips his head toward my shot glass. “You’ve got your way of numbing the pain, I’ve got mine.”

  He offers his arms to the two women and they take them with matching smiles. The black-haired one with blond shot through like streaks of lightning turns to me. “You coming too, handsome?”

  Before I can answer, Jase shakes his head. “Nah. He’s nursing some serious heartbreak tonight and he’s six sheets in the wind. He probably wouldn’t be able to get it up anyway.”

  I kick out a leg but catch his stool with my boot instead of him.

  “Too bad,” she says as Jase leads them away.

  I turn around on my stool and stare at my newly refilled shot glass, placing one of my hands over the other and resting my chin on them.

  Touring with Jase Wade is like getting a glimpse into my future. Where all that awaits me is arenas full of screaming fans and nights filled with meaningless sex.

  It used to sound pretty damn appealing, once upon at time. It might still if I hadn’t gone on another tour just before this.

  Touring with Afton Tate on the unsigned artists tour, I saw him turn down women, record labels, managers, and even big-name producers that most guys would have given their left nut to work with. On one of the nights when I joined him for a beer at a dive we’d played at I asked him why he kept shutting everyone down.

  “I shut the women down because they aren’t interested in me, not really. They’re interested in what I can do for them, what my reputation and my name will mean when they can attach it to the story of hooking up with me. It isn’t real, and I don’t have time or energy for shit that isn’t real.”

  It made sense. I’d nodded along. “Yeah, okay. So what about the managers and the producers? They just want to fuck you, too?”

  He looked at me like I’d said something amusing. “Pretty much. They want me to leave my band, tell guys who’ve sacrificed just as much as I have and who are just as talented and driven if not more so, to take a hike so I can be the star of their bullshit show. I’d be a hell of a lot easier to manipulate on my own, without these guys having my back.”

  His words had struck a chord in me, one that had been exposed since I’d left Dixie and Gavin behind to pursue this alone.<
br />
  “You’re a more honorable man than I,” I told him. “Most people wouldn’t care so long as it meant they got what they wanted.”

  “Most people include you?”

  I’d shrugged like it wasn’t twisting my guts to hell and back to talk about. “I’d rather have my sister and my drummer with me, yeah. But it just wasn’t the way it worked out.”

  Afton had stared off into the distance for a long time, watching some girl duo perform onstage before he spoke. “Maybe that’s why I’m struggling to accept anyone else’s input on my career. I’m too much of a control freak to let it just work itself out. I’m willing to work for it until I get it right.”

  That brief exchange was still jammed in my subconscious. Maybe I’d fucked up. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken the first offer I’d gotten. I could’ve waited. Could’ve told Mandy I’d get in touch once Gavin had his probation worked out and Dixie was in a place where she could move past her grief. But I’d forced Dixie to suck it up and move on when our parents died; I thought I was doing what was best for her. I wouldn’t do that again. This time I backed off and let her wallow if that’s what she needed. Apparently a road trip had helped but by the time she was done traveling, I was already on Wade’s tour and magically transformed into Dallas Walker, solo act.

  There are two men inside of me: one I know well and one I am still getting acquainted with.

  One of them tells me that Wade’s life isn’t so bad. Besides, I won’t be stupid enough to get married and have to deal with that brand of hurt. But the other man in me, the one my dad raised to look out for his sister, the one my grandparents taught to believe in the integrity of music and of myself, he’s still stuck on Afton’s declaration. And not just where music is concerned.

  Maybe I let Robyn go too easily. Maybe I should’ve fought for her, tried to make it work in a way that we both could handle and be happy with instead of just stepping aside to clear the way for the next guy. I walked away once before and I haven’t stopped regretting it.

  Robyn made a comment once, about how it was hard to tell if we were getting a second chance or making the same mistake twice. I voted second chance. She looked dubious. I don’t know how I’m going to keep from making the same mistake twice, but somehow I have to try. One thing is for sure. I owe her an apology for not hearing her out. Not tonight, because I look and feel like shit, but I have to figure out a way to throw my hat in the ring before I leave the damn country.