by Caisey Quinn
I’d wanted this for so long. The number of hours we’ve spent apart have been a torturous waste and I was going to make up for that by making her come as much as humanly possible.
Dropping my head below hers, I allow my tongue to travel south. Sucking her sweet flesh into my mouth makes my entire body hot. Almost too damn hot.
“Please,” she whimpers, slamming her knees together and clenching her thighs. I watch her squirm for a long minute before returning my gaze to hers.
“Please what, baby?”
“Um . . .” She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and squirms some more.
I chuckle, resuming the slow, arduous path of circles with my tongue. When I reach one of her tightened nipples, she cries out.
Writhing beneath me, she thrusts her body upward and grabs my arms around each bicep. Her beautiful eyes flare brightly. “Gavin fucking Garrison, I am going to implode if we keep this up. I need you. I need all of you. I’m ready now.”
After sucking each of her soft pink peaks into my mouth, I glance up at her with the most innocent expression I can manage under the circumstances.
Her hand grazes my face and traces a burning path down my chest and abs. I brace myself for her to grab my dick when she takes my hand instead.
“Ready for us,” she whispers, lowering my hand with hers. “For all of us. For everything that entails and then some.” The moment my fingertips touch the scorching-hot wetness between her legs, I lose my grip on logic. On reality. On myself.
Stroking her undoes me. It’s everything I can do not to come apart right then.
The tight pulsing of her walls clenching rhythmically around my finger was the push I needed to back it down for a second. I can focus on her, give her this.
Sitting up on my haunches, I watch as her entire body detonates around my hand. Plunging in and out, I hold back as long as I can while she rocks her hips and moans in time. Even sex with my Bluebird is going to be like making music with her. Frantic and then slow. Amazing. Freeing. Real.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks into the darkness after I’ve made her come and she’s caught her breath. She stills completely, clamping down around the two fingers that remain inside of her.
“Because you’re beautiful. Because I’ve wanted you, wanted this, for so long. I want to enjoy it. Memorize it. Memorize you.”
“Well,” she says on a breath, “how about you come here and do that then.”
Slowly retracting my fingers from inside her, I give her a wicked grin before sucking them into my mouth. Her expression alone could light the entire house on fire.
She pulls me to her, and I let her. Her little tongue lashes against mine, and I tug at her bottom lip with my teeth.
Wrapping her legs around my waist, she angles her hips upward and presses against me. I groan loudly and force myself to pull back before I give in to the urge to fuck her harder. Much harder.
Her whimper of protest makes my dick throb in response.
“I’m suddenly feeling extremely hungry,” I say, working hard to keep my voice even.
“O-kay,” she says, eyeing me warily like I’ve lost my mind. “Can it wait?”
“Hmm.” I let my eyes map every exposed inch of her body. “No, I’m afraid it can’t. I’m starving, babe.”
Before she can argue or say a single word in protest, I lower my head and lick a path up her inner right thigh. And then repeat the process on the left.
“Gavin, please,” she cries out, begging and trembling beneath me. The noises she makes when I swirl the tip of my tongue around her delicate folds makes me want to beat on my chest and shout from the rooftops. She is mine, dammit. Mine and only mine. No one else will ever touch her, taste her, the way I am allowed to.
The louder her moaning gets, the weaker my self-restraint becomes. I finally lean over to reach for a condom, and she stops me.
“It’s okay. Um, I’m on the pill,” she informs me.
“I know this.” I tear open the foil packet and sheath myself, growing even harder because she is watching so closely. The streetlights peeking in from the half-open blinds light her up like she is made of something other than skin. Something shiny and beautiful. And mine. “I’m still going to be careful with you. Always. Until . . . until you don’t want to be careful anymore.”
A slow smile spreads across her lips. “You’re always looking out for me,” she whispers as I lower myself back inside her, bracing myself above her by lacing our fingers together as I did before.
“Always.”
Tangled together, telling truths and swearing never again to keep secrets, we bond in a way I never knew was possible.
Dixie Lark is as much a part of me as my past. Because she is my future.
I don’t know why it took me so long to see, why I got caught up in the short term and failed to see how powerful what we had was, or the kind of future our love is capable of providing.
Something about her song, about the way she trusts me so implicitly, to hold her, to kiss her, to be inside her—I finally understand what an honor and privilege that is now. She bared her soul and I decided to finally bare mine right back.
“There’s nothing I wouldn’t trade to make your dreams come true,” I tell her in bed the morning of the Phi Kap show. “You know that, right?”
“This is my dream come true,” she tells me, looking up at me with those endless blue pools. “This and the band finally making it.”
“Working on that last one,” I say as I take her hand in mine and kiss the back of it softly.
“And . . . I want Liam to be safe. I can’t stop thinking about him.” Her voice lowers. “He’s so much like you, Gav. And I learned so much more about you by getting to know him.”
“You do have a thing for us troubled black sheep, don’t you?”
“What if they give him back to his dad? What if—”
“Don’t think like that. Sheila is working on it and Ashley might own us for the rest of our lives but she’s going to do what she can, too.”
“She will never own you,” Dixie growls like an angry kitten. “I mean it, Gavin.”
I chuckle lightly. “I know, Bluebird. The only one that owns me is you.”
“You’d do well to remember that, Garrison.” She pins me with a glare before pouncing on my chest and covering me with kisses.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She collapses on my chest, both of us still too tired for more lovemaking. I think we’ve set some records in the past twenty-four hours. “So you never told me about your mom or what happened with the charges filed against you. I was going to ask yesterday after rehearsal, but . . .”
But we didn’t exactly use words to communicate yesterday.
“Ashley was able to get Carl to drop the charges by threatening him with Mrs. Lawson’s eyewitness testimony that he assaulted Liam first. I let the trailer get hauled away since my mom had stopped coming home anyway.”
“About time,” Dixie huffs.
“I know. I guess I felt I owed her since she bailed me out the night of the accident.”
Dixie stiffens in my arms.
“I would never hurt you or Dallas intentionally. You know that, don’t you? Believe me, I would rather break every bone in my own body with a crowbar than cause either one of you an ounce of pain.”
She nods against my skin. “I know.” Her voice is so soft I can barely hear her.
I tilt her chin to face me. “Bluebird, you are now and will always be the most important thing to me. I won’t let anything jeopardize what we have, even my own stupid self.”
“Promise?” She is so open, her expressive eyes pleading with me to give her everything that I am. Beautiful and perfect even though they say no one is perfect. My girl is, though. Perfect for me anyway.
“I promise. From here on out, it’s you and me against the world.”
27 | Dixie
THE PHI KAP gig was a piece of cake. We played to hundreds of drunken f
rat boys and their dates and the majority of the crowd was too drunk to know if we were decent or if we sucked. A few of them recognized Dallas, girls mostly, but only a handful made a pass at him. Afterward we got brinner at a nearby diner, where Robyn joined us and we had more fun than we’d had in a long time. We’re a family now, the four, soon to be five, of us. It made me smile, but there was still a nagging thought in the back of my mind. I wished Liam could’ve been there. I could hardly eat my waffles. I didn’t touch my hash browns.
I called Mrs. Lawson, who said Liam was officially in the care of Child Protective Services and that she had applied to be his temporary guardian as well in case I got turned down.
Tonight I have to put my worries aside and focus on playing. Any tension I feel or hold inside will come right out into my hands and onto Oz.
I spend the entire ride to the Tavern practicing the deep-breathing techniques Robyn has taught us all.
Dallas thinks we’re ready for this. I can only hope he’s right.
Walking into the Tavern the night of the competition is unreal. There are twice as many people as I expected and the energy is palpable. Despite a glarey-faced older brother breathing fire nearby, Gavin holds my hand and brushes his lips against mine several times.
Dallas will just have to get used to it. I have to watch him and Robyn practically going at it on a weekly basis.
The closer it gets to our turn, the more still we each become. None of us even speak while we’re in the area behind the bar where bands are lined up. We drew number fifteen for the first round so at least we’re near the middle.
Our first song is a Lady Antebellum cover called “Just a Kiss” and Dallas and I harmonize really well. Probably that whole shared DNA thing.
Next up we play a reworked countrified R&B hit that has always been a fan favorite.
We exit the stage to a wild cacophony of applause.
My nerves are shot from stress but I grin through the rest of the performances. There are only two other bands that really give us a run for our money. Still, knowing we might not win is only fueling my need for it.
We make our way back to the line, drawing number eight for round two. Only fifteen bands made the cut, so I feel like eight is a good slot.
In the second round we play a harder, more aggressive song called “Take It Out on Me,” mashed up with a song called “Games,” and the women in the audience are losing it. Gavin is killing it on the drums and Dallas is giving it his all. I’m singing more than I ever have before and Dallas was right, my voice does add a rich layer of depth to the band. This is us. We are on. I’m so proud to be a part of it I feel like I could burst. We’ve got the hometown crowd advantage for sure and our cheering section is by far the loudest.
Robyn moves through the crowd handing out drink huggers, T-shirts, and postcards with our name and social media info on them.
While we wait for the remaining bands to play, Gavin steps away to check his phone. I use the ladies’ room and freshen my makeup. Butterflies come to life in my belly while the other bands play. It hits me hard during the downtime.
This is it.
This is our shot.
It’s even more crucial than Austin MusicFest was because now we’re actually ready for it. Dallas can’t afford to keep “playing” at having a band and this is our chance to legitimize our dream as an actual career. Right here. Right now.
I feel the oncoming panic attack affecting my breathing and I need the guys to help calm my nerves. Otherwise I might float away into outer space. But I don’t see either of them near the bathrooms.
Making my way through the sea of bodies filling the bar, I search for signs of either Dallas or Gavin in every small grouping of people but see neither.
Dallas waves at me from a seat where he and Robyn are talking up the Rock the Republic guys. I’m relieved to see them, but still no Gavin.
I’m drunk on adrenaline and disoriented as I continue my search.
The emcee announces that there are two bands left and I feel like I’m being thrown face-first out of a plane—with no parachute.
Where the hell is he?
I throw up a silent prayer, my last resort when I’m consumed with hopelessness.
Please don’t let him choose the darkness.
Please, please, for once, for me, let him choose the light.
28 | Gavin
I DON’T KNOW if it’s an innate thing or what, but I can literally feel when my mom is about to come into my world and fuck it all up.
All night at the battle of the bands I’ve been jittery, on edge, and basically consumed with the overwhelming sensation of impending doom. After round two I check my phone for news that the sky is falling and there it is.
The trailer is gone.
I need your help.
I’m all alone.
I’m scared, Gavin. Please.
I don’t recognize the number but I know it’s one of the many prepaid cell phones she goes through. I resist the urge to call back until I’m outside the bar. We’ve got several other acts until we go on again, if we even make it to the finals, that is. When Dixie heads to the ladies’ room I slip outside and pull up the number.
It goes to a generic message telling me this user doesn’t have voice mail.
I wait a few seconds and sure enough, my phone vibrates in my hand.
Caller Unknown.
Except, I do know.
“Hi, Mom,” I answer on a sigh.
“How could you?” her shrill voice answers back. “How could you let them take our home away, Gavin? What did I ever do to you to deserve this?”
The list is endless.
“It wasn’t being paid for and you were never there. I moved out on my own like I told you I was going to. It’s been gone almost a week and you’re just now noticing. That should tell you everything you need to know.”
A couple moves past me to go inside the Tavern and I nod and step aside.
My mom’s shrieking reaches an inaudible level of hysteria as she rambles on about having nowhere else to go and how she’s not safe.
“Not safe from what, Mom?” I break in. “Calm down and breathe and tell me what you aren’t safe from.”
“Carl,” she chokes out. “No one is safe from Carl. They took his son away, said you and your friend reported him and some other stuff. He asked me where to find you and nearly strangled me to death until I told him.”
Jesus.
“Where are you? And where did you tell him to look?”
She coughs her typical smoker’s wheeze loudly into the phone before answering me.
“Mom. Fucking tell me where you are and where you told him I’d be.”
“I-I wasn’t sure,” she stammers out. “I told him you work at that bar we saw you at and that sometimes you hang out at that Korean store by the truck stop. I didn’t tell him anything else, I swear.”
She told him enough.
“Where are you right now?”
She coughs again. “I’m at his place. At Carl’s. But he’s not here; he left when they called and told him he couldn’t have his son back. He said he was going to find you and your friend and teach you a lesson about interfering in other people’s private business.”
“Great, Mom. That’s great. Thanks.”
“Baby, I’m sorry,” she pleads. “I—he’s—you’re not . . . He’s not a good man, Gavin. If he wants to hurt you, he will.”
I breathe through my nose.
Violence.
It always finds me.
But I’ll be damned if it comes anywhere near my Bluebird.
The thing about my world is that it’s typically bathed in darkness regardless. People like Carl and my mother will find the darkened corners even in the bright of day. It’s where they thrive.
I text Dallas that I have to check on something and that if I don’t make it back in time to go on without me. He and Dixie can perform her original song acoustic-style and it will still be amazing.
&nbs
p; I practically jog to Mr. Kyung’s store, breaking into a full-out sprint when I see the flames. The scent of ash and destruction swirl in the air around me.
What the fuck?
Mr. Kyung and his wife are outside and he’s shouting into the phone. I pray it’s to 911 or the fire department. I run around the side of the building and grab the garden hose, pulling it as close as it will reach.
Carl set the truck on fire. The truck that I use sometimes.
It’s a message. A warning. One I don’t plan to heed. Within a few minutes the fire department arrives and begins battling the flames with much more success than I did.
I comfort Mr. Kyung and his wife, promising them both I will replace the truck and handle any damage that insurance doesn’t cover. I don’t know how, but I will. This is my mess to clean up.
The thought of Carl going to the Tavern and doing something similar with Dixie inside floods my mind. Mental images have me literally shaking with rage as I run as fast as I can to his house.
Once I arrive, I catch my breath and storm inside. A few junkies litter the floor in the front room and my mother sits slouched over a makeshift kitchen table made of cinder blocks and plywood.
“Mom,” I say as loud as I can. “Mom, look at me.” I wait until she does.
Both of her eyes are swollen and she’s likely battered and high at the moment.
“Where is he?”
She’s dazed, staring at me as if I’m a stranger speaking a foreign language.
“Mom,” I repeat slowly. “Where is Carl? Carl, you know, your friend. Where is he?”
“Carl?”
I want to shake the answer out of her. Scream and demand she sober up and come to.
“Tell me where Carl is. Carl can help you, okay? He can help you feel better.”
He can’t, but this is how you get info from a junkie. Make promises of things that will never happen. The cops are especially good at it.
“Carl is . . . Carl went . . .”