Missing Dixie

by Caisey Quinn

  Dixie places her elbows on the table and her head in her hands.

  Sheila pats her gently on the shoulder. “Regardless, I need to get to work so I can get this report submitted. I’ll walk Liam over to Mrs. Lawson’s and chat with her as well. Call me if Carl shows up or you have any questions.”

  I nod and Sheila goes into the living room. I half-expect Dixie to break down and cry at the bleak news, but instead, she stands, eyes bright and heated.

  I watch as she walks purposefully into the living room and leans down to Liam’s level.

  “Thank you for camping in with us,” she says, smiling widely even though I know what’s behind the happy mask she’s wearing.

  “Thanks for brinner,” Liam says quietly. “I liked it.”

  Barely restrained pain ripples across Dixie’s features but she manages. “I’m glad. I’ll be right over here if you need anything. And I’ll come by and check on you before bedtime. Maybe we can play Mrs. Lawson’s piano for a bit?”

  Liam’s expression darkens. “I’m not good at it.”

  “That’s why we practice, silly. But we don’t have to unless you want to. I thought maybe we’d work on the song from the movie last night. Would that be okay?”

  He nods. “Guess so.”

  I step over and give him a light fist bump, which he returns more enthusiastically than I would’ve expected. “Later, man,” I tell him. “Thanks for the help with the s’mores.”

  We say our goodbyes and Sheila leads him out the door. Once they’re gone, Dixie curls up on her couch, using my bedding from the previous night. She hugs the pillow tightly to her chest and I stand above her feeling unsure. This isn’t something I can fix for her. Not really. Even as much as I wish I could. But there is a glint in her eye and a determined set to her chin and I know that she has made up her mind to handle this herself.

  “I’ve got some stuff I need to deal with today but I can stay if you need—”

  “I’m fine. I’m going to get online and see what else I can do for Liam. Go do what you need to do,” she answers without looking at me.

  “Bluebird . . .” This fucking sucks. Liam can’t be over here because I’m here. I don’t want to leave her alone in case Carl shows up here or next door. But I do need to get my kit ready and take it to the rehearsal space soon and return my boss’s truck before he puts out an APB on it and me. And I need to call Ashley about payment arrangements, which is damn sure not something I want to do in front of Dixie. I meant what I said, though, and since being with her in Austin, I haven’t looked twice at another woman, nor do I ever intend to.

  “Go, Gav. I’m good. Promise.”

  She is and I know she is, but I hate not being able to be there for her when she’s upset—even when she does look ready to take on Carl Andrews herself. Leaning down, I kiss her lightly on the temple. Her eyes open and flash quickly to mine and I see so many conflicted urges in them, but mostly I see a girl who needs more sleep.

  “I’ll stop back by later if you want me to.”

  “ ’Kay,” she mumbles while pulling her computer into her lap.

  I slip out the door quietly, making triple sure my girl is locked in safe before I go.

  25 | Dixie

  WHEN GAVIN LEFT this morning after the social worker visited with Liam before returning him to Mrs. Lawson, there was so much I wanted to say. All I actually said was thanks for staying and then I took a very necessary nap.

  But as I start getting ready for rehearsal, I realize a few things. Some of what I have to say isn’t actually for him.

  So I decide to find the person I actually want to say it to.

  Once I’m dressed in jeans and a tank top donning the words JOHNNY AND JUNE, I give my hair the usual college try and slip on my boots. Palming my keys, I add my cheap gas station aviator sunglasses to the top of my head and call it good.

  My cell phone screen lights up as I lift it off the counter. Dallas is texting reminding me not to be late.

  I swear, you oversleep one time at Austin MusicFest and your brother will never let you live it down.

  I ignore his message and pull up my Web browser in search of an address. Once I find it, I type it into my navigation app.

  Okay, so I might be late.

  But only just a little.

  Downtown Amarillo isn’t huge but it can be confusing when driving. There are several one-ways going in the opposite direction and the navigation lady on my phone reroutes me more than once. Somehow I finally find the building I’m looking for and park at a meter across the street.

  As I ride the elevator up to the ninth floor, where the sign in the lobby said her office was, my nerves start to play tricks on me. I can’t tell if I’m angry or nervous or both but I’m something.

  A potent cocktail of adrenaline and estrogen floods my system and I’m a few floors away from a full-blown anxiety attack.

  The lobby on her floor is all white from floor to ceiling, with a few colorful works of art on the walls. It looks, feels, and smells too expensive to touch. Feels kind of like I might dirty up the pristine furnishings just by looking at them.

  A blonde with her hair in a bun sits at the large desk with the name of the firm on the front. “Can I help you?”

  I feel like Julia Roberts’s friend visiting her at the penthouse in Pretty Woman but I suck up my feeling of inadequacy and state the name of the person I’m looking for.

  “Is she expecting you?” Blonde Bun asks.

  I arch an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

  The woman glares at me and picks up the phone on her desk. I hear her telling someone that Dixie Lark is there to see her and asking if she should let me go on back.

  “Miss Weisman is currently with a client but said she can see you in a few minutes,” the receptionist tells me, her tone cold enough to give me frostbite.

  “Thank you,” I say evenly, refusing to let her get to me. I step over to the seating area and lower myself onto a firm white couch cushion. The magazines on the glass table all look lame so I scroll through my phone for a few minutes while I wait.

  “Miss Lark,” a voice calls out from behind me.

  I stand and turn to see a brunette who doesn’t look older than me holding a door open.

  “Miss Weisman will see you now.”

  “Great.” I follow her down the hall, listening to the beat of her heels on the shiny hardwood floor. We stop at a door on the right and she pushes it open.

  Sitting in a chair across from Ashley Weisman is the last person I expected to see here.

  Gavin.

  My heart stutters, faltering in my chest at the unexpected sight of them together.

  Ashley Weisman is stupid pretty. It’s irritating as hell that she’s so polished and perfect all the time. Does the woman never get frazzled? Smudge her eyeliner? Have a bad hair day? Apparently that’s just too much to ask.

  I wait patiently until clear green eyes meet mine. “What can I do for you this afternoon, Miss Lark?”

  Gavin whirls around quickly in his chair. “Dixie? What are you doing here?”

  Filling my lungs with air while attempting to smile isn’t easy but I give it my best shot. “I came to discuss a few things with Miss Weisman.”

  She contemplates this glancing back at Gavin and then makes a face as if she doesn’t see the harm in it. “Okay. As long as you don’t ask me for any privileged information, I think that’s fine.”

  “Oh, I’m not here to ask you for privileged information, Miss Weisman. I’m here to impart some.”

  Her eyes widen and I know my boldness might come off wrong so I ease up a little. “There are things you may or may not know about Gavin. I’m guessing you don’t so I’m going to tell you because I think it is important to his case.”

  Gavin starts to stand when I sit. “Dixie. Don’t—”

  “Okay. Let’s hear it.” She lifts a pen and slides a notebook under it.

  I lick my lips, place my hands on Gavin’s arm, and begin
. “First of all, Gavin didn’t just attack Carl Andrews. He witnessed him hitting his kid. This is a trigger for him because he grew up in an unstable environment with a drug-addicted mother who did not provide him with a safe living situation.”

  Surprise widens her gaze and I know he hasn’t told her about his childhood. I tell myself this is for his own good so he’ll forgive me . . . eventually. His expression indicates otherwise.

  “Secondly, Carl had been into Gavin’s place of work with his mother before and had provoked Gavin previously.”

  “I’m aware of that incident,” she says, but I notice she jots it down anyway. “Anything else you want to share?”

  “Two more things,” I say before clearing my throat. “One is that a social worker came and got some info and pictures for a report on Liam and that should be in the system soon. We can use that as evidence to support Gavin’s motivation for doing what he did.”

  Ashley asks the social worker’s name and I give it to her. “And the second thing?”

  I pull an envelope with a check in it out of my small black leather bag. “This,” I say, setting the envelope on her desk. “It’s a check for Gavin’s retainer and representation fee.” I stand and watch her open the envelope. “From now on, this is the only type of payment you’ll be receiving from him.”

  She arches a brow as if in challenge, but I’m prepared for that.

  “And PS, if I even so much as suspect you’re being anything less than completely professional with him I guess I’ll just see what the bar association and the partners at this firm think about your policy on accepting alternate forms of payment.” Her face pales and I smile. “Was that clear, counselor? Or do I need to put it in legal terms for you?”

  “Abundantly clear, Miss Lark,” she says through nearly clenched teeth. “But Gavin here just handled that moments before your arrival.”

  “With cash!” Gavin announces loudly. “I just paid her with cash, Bluebird. I swear.”

  Well, now I feel like an idiot.

  I narrow my eyes at them both and Gavin holds his hands up. “I’m done with that life, Bluebird, done handling things that way. I told you that and I meant it.”

  “He was extremely explicit in his conditions, Miss Lark. If that helps any,” Ashley says.

  I sigh loudly. “Okay, well . . . good.”

  Ashley stands to escort us both out. “If that’s all,” she begins, handing me back my money, “then I really need to get to my next—”

  “That’s not all,” I break in. “I have another legal issue I’d like your help with.”

  Both Ashley and Gavin appear confused by my outburst.

  “Okay. What can I do for you?”

  I take a deep breath and glance at Gavin and then back to her. “I want to become the legal guardian for an abused child. The one whose dad Gavin assaulted. I want to become his temporary guardian until they can find him someplace better to go. And if they can’t, then I want to become his permanent guardian.”

  “Dixie?” Gavin gapes at me.

  “Go big or go home. Right, Gav?”

  26 | Gavin

  EVERY MUSICIAN I’VE ever met has a ritual of some sort that they perform before they play. I’ve known some to have to drink out of certain cup, or eat a certain meal, or even sleep with a specific girl.

  Ours are much less obvious, but we have them. Dallas paces. Before rehearsals and before shows. He paces and he visualizes the show and what could go wrong. I told him this was just another brand of worrying and stressing the hell out, but he swears by it.

  Dixie sits and applies rosin to her bow.

  Me, I like to watch Dixie while tapping out the beat of the first few songs on my knee.

  I don’t even know that we realize that we do it, but we do. Every rehearsal, every performance. Same drill.

  Except tonight’s rehearsal will be different because we’re fifteen minutes into our time slot and Dixie isn’t here yet.

  Dallas is about two more ignored text messages from blowing a fuse when his sister finally comes through the back door.

  “Sorry I’m late. Quick errand caused me to get stuck in traffic,” she says while pulling Oz out of his case.

  “Dixie, we talked about this. I sent you about twenty-five messages about not being late and you—”

  “You want to have this fight on paid rehearsal space time, Dallas?” She lifts her bow to the strings and stares her brother down. “Or can it wait until we’re finished?”

  Well, then.

  I don’t wait for Dallas’s approval. I take my cue from Dixie and count down the song we agreed on playing first at the battle of the bands.

  Dallas overplays his part a bit out of anger, but by the second run-through he’s calmed down.

  I’m guessing we should’ve told him about Liam so he’d be a little more understanding about Dixie being late, but then I’m not sure it was Liam who caused her to be late. Though I suspect she was meeting with Sheila after meeting with Ashley. I guess Dallas and I aren’t the only ones with secrets.

  When we get to the end of rehearsal, we have to decide on an original song. There’s only one I want to hear.

  Dallas is getting out our list of ones we’ve written but I know the one we should play isn’t on there.

  I look over at Dixie. “Can you play the one you wrote recently?”

  “The one I wrote on my arms?” She gives me a perplexed look as if I was just supposed to forget. “It’s not even finished.”

  “Can you play us what you have so far? Maybe we can finish it together,” Dallas chimes in. Clearly he’s pretty curious about her burst of inspiration as well.

  Dixie rubs the toe of her boot across the stained carpet. “I can. I don’t know that it’s much to work with, but I’ll give it my best shot.”

  Dallas nods and we both wait patiently as she lifts her fiddle and prepares to play.

  “Here goes nothing,” she says softly. “I call it ‘Draw the Line.’ ”

  The room falls silent, then she begins to play Oz in a melodic trance that pulls us immediately into the music.

  You say so many things. Tell me I still have to wait.

  But what you don’t know, is what you don’t know.

  No matter what you tell me to do,

  I’ll keep holding on to you.

  I know lonely, like an old familiar friend.

  I know the pain, the way you keep it all in.

  I know you don’t know it, but you’ve done your time.

  We’ve already paid the price.

  I know one day that you’ll be mine,

  But until then,

  I have to draw the line.

  You’re the addiction and I’m afflicted.

  You’re the sand in the hourglass of time.

  You’re so many things,

  Just say you’ll be mine.

  Loving someone, loving so much it hurts,

  Love until you can’t, love until it gets worse.

  I know one day that you’ll be mine,

  But until then,

  I have to draw the line.

  Where does the line go?

  Oh, I don’t know. How will I ever know?

  I’ll just have to follow wherever it goes.

  It crosses the ocean, spanning wider than the sea,

  It twists and turns and always ends

  Just before you reach me.

  I know lonely, like an old familiar friend.

  I know the pain, the way you keep it all in.

  Maybe you don’t realize, but you’ve done your time.

  We’ve already paid the price.

  I know one day that you’ll be mine,

  But until then,

  I have to draw the line.

  “So that’s all I have,” she announces, cutting the music off abruptly.

  Dallas and I just stare at her, dumbfounded by her talent. Her words pierced the air and inked themselves onto my heart. She doesn’t need either of us; this girl is a star all
on her own. I don’t know why she’s allowed herself to remain hidden behind the band, behind Oz, but she’s incredible.

  And she’s mine.

  And I’m hers.

  My pulse throbs as if the music is still playing and I am in motion.

  “You should step outside, Dallas,” I tell him urgently. “Like now.”

  I walk around my kit and make a beeline for her.

  “Seriously, Garrison? What the—”

  I don’t hear the rest of his complaint because Dixie is in my arms and her mouth is on mine and Dallas can deal.

  Dixie responds eagerly, her mouth moving rhythmically against mine before opening and allowing me inside.

  We kiss until we have to come up for air. My hands wander over every inch of her skin before tangling in her hair.

  “That song,” I say between mouthfuls of her. “It was about me?”

  “It was about us, Gavin. Everything is about us. I don’t know how to make you see—”

  “I do, baby,” I say before trailing kisses down her neck. “I do see.”

  After forcing ourselves to get through rehearsal, Dixie and I end up falling into her bed.

  “Tell me what you want, Bluebird,” I say while looking down into her beautiful blue eyes. They are so warm and trusting as they stare unflinchingly up at me.

  “You,” she answers softly. “All I’ve ever wanted or needed is you, Gavin. Just you.”

  “You have me,” I tell her as I lower myself down into her. Clutching her to me, I drag us both up to the head of the bed. Tongues and flesh collide as our clothes become distant memories and the promise of what is to come burns bright between us.

  I lace my fingers in hers and use our hands to brace myself above her. “Oh God, Gavin,” she cries out as I sink in completely.

  I run the tip of my tongue up her throat. “Right here, baby. Always. I’m right here.” I kiss her delicate earlobe gently and then slide several more kisses across her jawline.

  “You’re so deep. So amazingly deep.” Her confession breaks me and I damn near lose control.

  This is too important to fuck up so I hold on longer, making this last even though I have ached for it for so fucking long. My body screams at me to ram my cock inside and pound into her as hard as possible. But I don’t want to just use her like that. This isn’t like any of the sex I’d had before. Even with her. It wasn’t about getting in and getting off. I love this girl. With all my heart. I’m not just fucking here, I’m staking a fucking claim.