by Caisey Quinn
I fucking crave her like a desperate addict dying for his final fix.
I don’t deserve her.
I will only hurt her.
As if my every thought is written all over my face, Jaggerd McKinley meets my hard stare and gives me a look that says he feels my pain but tough shit because I brought it on myself. Dixie has once again confiscated his flask and he’s guiding her out of the party with a carefully placed hand on the small of her lower back.
One centimeter lower and he is a dead fucking man.
A powerful wave of adrenaline, testosterone, and primal territorial instinct hits me so hard I nearly stagger.
Only the image of breaking his hand slowly, bone by bone, brings me any sense of relief.
“Garrison? You good, man?”
Levi stands behind me looking both concerned and apologetic.
I clear my throat and nod. “I’m straight.” Glancing around, I realize the crowd has thinned considerably.
“Hey, for real, sorry about the bathroom. We just had that one quick break and I didn’t know—”
“Y’all done for the night?”
Fuck. How long have I been staring at Dixie? Apparently long enough for the band to call it a night and a middle-aged DJ to take over.
“Yeah, we are. Dallas was kind enough to give us the last hour to scope out the single girls. You know how chicks are at weddings.”
“Huh.” I regard him closely, contemplating this.
Is that what happened? Dixie was lonely because her brother was getting married and I just happened to be in the right place at the right time?
This is the problem with being a user. You know your own motivations and you project them onto others, assuming everyone else is like you.
But I know her. Don’t I? I did, anyway. Hooking up for the sake of hooking up isn’t really her style. Or it didn’t used to be.
Damn it. In my quest to get my shit together, I’ve all but shut her out of my life completely. It seemed like the best idea for everyone involved, but now I’m wondering if I’ve made a colossal mistake. Because watching her now, half-dancing with Jag on her way to congratulate the happy couple or say goodbye or whatever the hell, I realize that my little Bluebird is all grown up—and maybe, for the first time since we were kids, I don’t know who she’s become.
“Obviously that doesn’t include his sister. We all got the warning. And even if we hadn’t, we’ve all watched you plot McKinley’s murder for the last hour and a half, so you’re good, man. No one wants to die tonight.”
“What?” I tear my eyes from Dixie and return them to Levi. I forgot he was even still standing there, much less still speaking.
Damn attention deficit bullshit.
Levi looks at me like I’m high. I wish.
“Later, Garrison. Have a good night, man.”
“You, too,” I say absently as he walks away and I realize I’ve lost Dixie. She was right beside Dallas and Robyn and now she’s gone.
“Hey, you. I get off in half an hour.”
The voice is female and inviting. It belongs to an edgy-looking redhead in a server uniform. My hands are in my pockets and I realize I probably look nonthreatening for the most part, but I’m still loner guy at a wedding full of mostly happy couples. I guess that screams “dude looking to get laid.”
Which I usually am. Or I used to be.
“Good to know,” is all I say, because interested or not, there’s no sense in being hurtful.
And who am I kidding? I might be in remission but I’m not cured. The attention still tempts me, still begs me to do what I’ve always done. Compliment, flirt, tease, pull away, and make them come to me. On their knees.
My fists clench at my sides because I’ve worked too damn hard not to be this guy to let one woman and a stunted sexual encounter with the girl I love fuck it up.
“Want me to get you off in half an hour?”
Feisty, this one. She looks me directly in the eyes while she waits for my answer. A challenge in her sea-green stare tells me she’s a good-time girl up for anything and everything.
My cock twitches at her bold invitation and it’s like . . .
It’s like you’ve spent your entire life existing on sugar and empty carbs, cake and cookies, just because it was there and you had no restraint, and now another cupcake has rolled onto the floor in your direction and part of you thinks, Fuck it—what’s one more? But deep down you know you won’t be satisfied. There will be guilt. Shame and remorse. It’s wasteful, really. You’ve had a taste of the real thing. Been sated by gourmet steak and potatoes and indulged in perfection so everything else seems . . . slightly nauseating.
“Thanks for the offer. And please don’t be insulted—you’re gorgeous. Obviously. But I’m going to call it a night.” I nod toward where Levi is standing with his guitar player. “Lead singer is a decent guy. You should introduce yourself.”
Red is very confused by this. I am, too—a little. The old me would’ve told her to meet me out back or in the kitchen or wherever my mind could conjure up on the spot. Technically I should be cock-blocking the hell out of Eaton for his previous fuckup, but he was genuinely sorry and he’s the reason Leaving Amarillo got into Austin MusicFest to begin with, so in a weird way I kind of owe him. Guess this is the new me. Apparently I repay favors and shit. My addiction counselor would be so proud.
“Oh-kay,” she says slowly, with a noncommittal shrug. “Maybe I’ll do that. Your loss.”
“You’re absolutely right. Have a good night.” I nod curtly, dismissing her because I’m ready to be alone so I can figure out where the hell Dixie got off to. McKinley is dancing with the bride and Dallas is shooting the shit with his buddy the sound guy.
“Where did you go, Bluebird?” I mutter mostly to myself.
“Dance with me, drummer boy,” a voice calls out as I pass.
Well, shit. This time the woman making the demand is Robyn Breeland-Lark.
I may not be an expert on weddings, but I know you sure as hell don’t turn down the bride.
“Your wish is my command.” I smile and try not to bare my teeth at McKinley as he hands Robyn over to me.
She feels tiny and fragile in my arms and I’m almost afraid for her. She’s pregnant, something only a few people here know, which is nuts because Texas is Texas and shit gets around. Being privy to that delicate knowledge makes me feel like she’s made of glass, and I handle her accordingly.
“She’s outside decorating Dallas’s truck with lingerie and shaving cream and balloons and tin cans and all that silly, traditional stuff.”
“What?”
Robyn scoffs at me. “Come on, Gav. It may be my wedding day, so I’m a little distracted, but I know who you’re looking for. Who you’re always looking for.”
I smile in spite of the awkwardness of being busted. “Yeah? That obvious, huh?”
Robyn smiles and I realize she actually is glowing. I thought that was some sort of myth or a trick of lighting, but her skin seems to have a light of its own and it’s strangely comforting.
“Pretty obvious. You know what’s not obvious?”
“What’s that?” I spin Robyn in a circle and catch Dallas’s eye. He’s watching closely. I don’t know why this hurts my feelings, maybe because I just recently discovered that I have them, but it does. Dallas Lark knows all my shit and is on a first-name basis with my addictions and issues, but surely he knows me better than that. This is his wife, for fuck’s sakes, and if anyone knows how deeply in love I am with his sister, it’s him. But I see it, the wolflike glint in his eye warning me to behave myself.
“Why you don’t just tell her the truth?”
My heart stutters in my chest. This is Dallas’s wife and Dixie’s best friend I’m talking to. She knows all my secrets and is close with the one person I never want to know them.
“Meaning?” I choke out over the significant stone of fear rising in my chest.
“Meaning you have been in love with Dixie La
rk since we were kids, Gavin. And you and I both know how she feels about you. Even Dallas knows and has known, though he would rather not think about it, I’m sure. But this game you are playing, you and Dixie,” she clarifies. “It won’t end well if you aren’t honest with each other. Every second you spend in the dark about your feelings for each other is dangerous. People do stupid things when they’re hurt or sad or confused. Stop torturing each other and lay it out there. Or . . .”
“Or?”
“Or let her go, Gav,” she says softly. “Man up if you can’t be what she needs and deserves and let her go already. I can’t stand to see her hurting and closing herself off to everyone and everything while she waits for you to decide if she’s worth it or not. Life is too short to spend it pining for someone who will never come around, wishing for something you will never have, and holding on to something or someone that doesn’t want to be held.”
“Pregnancy has made you wise. And blunt.” I wink, and Robyn punches me playfully me in the chest.
“I was always honest. You know that. That’s why Dallas loves me, because I tell it like it is.”
“I love you for lots of reasons, babe.” Dallas reaches out to cut in and I step back and allow him to take my place.
“Good thing, because you went and knocked me up. Now you’re stuck with me.” Robyn winks, and I laugh, but in Dallas’s face I see pure love and adoration. If anything, she’s stuck with him because when Dallas Lark looks at any woman like that she is undeniably his for life.
“For the record, I was behaving myself,” I say quietly to Dallas. “That’s your wife, man. Congratulations. I’m happy for you.”
Dallas looks confused and I know the offense I took at his warning look and cutting in is probably misplaced.
“I know you were, Garrison. Far as I know, you want to see your next birthday, right?”
I shrug.
Honestly?
I could give a shit.
“Hey,” Dallas says, placing a hand on my chest. “I didn’t come over here to protect Robyn from you, man. I came over to protect you from her when I saw her punch you. She may be my wife but she’s also my sister’s best friend, so you are currently on the asshole list where Dixie is concerned. I didn’t want her getting her blood pressure up and decking you for real. Then I would’ve had to deck you for hurting her hand on your thick skull.”
He smiles and I force the best grimace I can on a deep breath. The tension in my chest lightens. It’s somewhat of a relief that he wasn’t worried.
I may have done some lowdown shit and Dallas knows all about it, but I would never mess with another man’s wife—my best friend’s or otherwise. Period. I did once, not knowing she was married, and that did not end well. Lesson learned.
“In that case, thanks for cutting in before she took a swing.”
Dallas hardly acknowledges my comment. Robyn murmurs something that sounds like “Did you talk to him yet?”
“I haven’t told him yet, no.” His ice-blue eyes are cold and hard when he returns his attention to where I’m standing, doing one hell of an impression of an unnecessary third wheel.
“Told me what? Is it twins?”
Dallas shakes his head. “Funny. That’s the same thing my sister said.”
The mention of her sends another pang of guilt or maybe regret through me. Whatever it is, it hurts like hell.
“Yeah? Great minds, I guess.”
“One baby,” Robyn hiss-whispers at me. “There is only one in there and I’ll thank y’all to quit putting the idea of multiples out into the universe. I’m freaking out enough as it is.”
I grin at her because she’s ridiculous. If she can handle Dallas, she can handle anything.
“So do I just keep guessing or what?”
“Or what,” Dallas says, before kissing Robyn quickly and allowing her Elvis impersonator uncle to cut in. “Come with me. We need to talk.”
The tension in his voice is freaking me the fuck out. “Dude. Whatever is going on, just tell me already. You know I don’t do well with beating around the bush.”
I half-expect him to make a manwhore joke about the bushes I’ve beaten but ever since I walked away from touring to get my life right, he hasn’t made a single crack. I don’t know if it’s Robyn’s influence on him or what, but I appreciate it. Nothing makes moving on from your mistakes harder than having them tossed into your face on a regular basis—whether it’s people kidding around or otherwise.
Once we’ve stepped away from the crowd, Dallas jerks his chin to a giant willow tree and we step behind it.
“So the battle of the bands at the Tavern,” he begins. “I talked to Dixie about it again after the rehearsal dinner.”
Could’ve been worse, I guess. I nod. “And?”
“And she’s still not sure. She’s taking the Over the Rainbow business—giving underpriviledged kids music lessons—very seriously and it takes up a lot of her time.”
Jesus. Of course she does. And yes I do know how she is. Because she couldn’t just be beautiful or talented or amazingly gorgeous. She has to be perfect. All of that light shouldn’t be tainted by my darkness.
But something is creeping up on the edge of my consciousness. It takes a few seconds but then it’s staring me full-on in the face.
“Wait. Only underprivileged kids?”
Dallas swallows so hard I see his Adam’s apple move behind his undone shirt collar.
“Yeah. Children of single parents, terminally ill parents or guardians, deceased parents, low-income families, and, um . . . drug addicts.”
I can’t verbalize how I feel right now, but I have a dangerous desire to hit something. It doesn’t make sense. She’s doing a good thing. Because she’s a good person, period. But it feels . . . personal.
Dixie the Fixer. Just grab a fiddle and fix everything right up. Kiss it all better—or in my case, fuck it all better.
“Gav. Breathe. She’s not doing it to hurt anyone or to get attention. She takes ridiculous stuff as payment, like one single dad mows the grass at the house and a young unwed mother makes her dinner once a week. Stuff like that. It’s not meant to upset anyone.”
“I know,” I choke out. “She would never hurt anyone on purpose.”
“Right. And like it or not, man, what you went through growing up, everything with your mom, we kind of went through it, too, once we moved to Amarillo. It affected me and Dixie both and sometimes it influences our decisions.”
“Doing favors for junkies is a bad idea, Dallas. Period. You know that. She should know that. It’s her getting hurt that I worry about.”
Dallas shakes his head. “Back up a step, man. I can see you making this about something else. She’s not doing favors for junkies. She’s sharing her gift with kids. Kids, man. Stop and let that sink in. Kids don’t deserve to be punished for their parents’ decisions. You should know that.”
Don’t they? I sure as hell got punished plenty for my mom’s choices. Still do from time to time. But none of that should ever come near my Bluebird.
“They come to the house? While she’s there alone?”
Dallas sighs. “Yeah. I guess. Sometimes.” He runs a hand hard through his hair. “They bring their kids, Gavin. Drop them off for forty-five minutes and then pick them up. End of story. Dixie’s a big girl. If she didn’t feel safe, she’d—”
“She’d what, Dallas? You know her. She gives everyone the benefit of the doubt. And you’re shacked up with Robyn so the last thing she’s going to do is tell you to leave your pregnant girlfriend or wife or whatever and come home because she’s worried about the meth head coming by later.”
“Gavin. Chill.”
I huff out some of my exasperation with how clueless the Lark siblings are. “No, I will not fucking chill. You live in this shiny fucking world where people are mostly good. And that’s great. I’m glad that you and Dixie both get to live there. But I know about the other side, the wretched, repulsive underbelly where the guy who c
hanges your oil runs a chop shop out of his garage, and the knock-knock-joke-telling cook at Rio’s Diner hands out crack to kids not old enough to drive yet. I know that world because that’s where I fucking live. I’ve worked my ass off to keep her away from that and you’re telling me she’s inviting it over for fucking dinner. So no, I will not fucking chill.”
Dallas stares evenly at me. He knows by now it’s best to just let me get it all out, otherwise my best friend and I will come to blows on his wedding day and he will go on the fancy honeymoon OK! magazine paid for in order to get Dallas Walker’s exclusive wedding photos, with a shiner or a busted mouth.
There’s a reason you don’t ever see two alpha males in a pack. It’s really nothing short of mind-blowing that he and I have yet to actually lay each other out.
“How many?”
Dallas raises his eyebrows instead of speaking.
“How many drug addicts are coming by there? How many of them are using her for free child care while they go out and get high and then come back wasted if they come back at all? How many local junkies know where she lives?”
He shrugs and glances over to where, speak of the angel, Dixie is making her way over to us with shaving cream on her hands. “A couple. Two that I know of for sure. McKinley keeps an eye out. I know you don’t like him but he’s good people. He cares about her.”
Kick me while I’m down, why don’t you.
“McKinley’s pop is crooked as they come, Dallas. I don’t know what Jaggerd knows or doesn’t know, but they’re not exactly salt of the earth. Trust me.”
“Not everyone is out to hurt her, man. And in fact, if we want to get technical, the only person I know that has really hurt her so far is . . .”
“Thanks for the reminder.”
“You’re welcome.” Dallas tilts his head to the side as she gets closer. “For the record, I should kick your ass. But I’m going to tell myself that you’re both adults and you can work this out on your own. That’s what I brought you out here for. To tell you that you’re the only one that can find out the truth about whether or not she really wants to give Leaving Amarillo one more shot and if the contest at the bar is worth entering. I think this could be our last chance and we’ll regret it for the rest of our lives if we don’t take it. And hearing her sing like that tonight, I wish I’d known she was interested in singing more, and I would’ve added in that layer with our band. But I won’t push her if she isn’t ready. Pretty sure the only thing holding her back is, well . . . you.”