Daring Dixie

by Tara Crescent

  “You’re nuts.” Despite my protest, I get up very carefully. The canoe wobbles. We’re definitely going to fall into the lake. I inch slowly toward him, my heart in my mouth, my hands gripping the sides of the canoe for dear life. Eric’s hands grip my hips, steadying me, and I sort of collapse on his lap.

  “Oof,” he winces.

  “Oh God, did I break your cock?”

  “I’ll live.” Laughter coats his voice. “Give me a second. Dixie, move just a little bit.”

  Hunter’s facing the front. He turns his head around to watch. He’s laughing, and I’m laughing, and Eric is both grimacing in pain and laughing at the same time, and it’s in that ridiculous moment that I know.

  I’m not starting to fall for them. It’s too late for qualifiers. I’m completely, utterly, head-over-heels in love with Hunter and Eric.

  Eric’s fingers part my folds. I raise my hips to give him room, shock coursing through me. My movement must be a bit too quick—either that or Hunter turns too abruptly to see what’s going on, because the canoe swings wildly and starts to tip.

  I jump like a scalded cat, and that’s all it takes. I end up unceremoniously in the water. Hunter manages to leap forward with a loud splash. Eric goes under but comes up a moment later. He’s laughing so hard that his face is red. “That went pretty well for a first try,” he says when he can finally form words again. “We’ll do better next time.”

  Next time.

  I’m silent all the way back to the house. Hunter sets out a towel for me, and I shower, alone with my thoughts. I can’t keep sleeping with them casually. My feelings are involved.

  When it was just about my sexual fantasies, I found it hard to ask for what I wanted. But now, things are way, way more complicated. Because my heart is involved, and what I want is them. I want more than what they have offered me.

  I’m drying my hair when my phone rings.

  It’s my brother Michael.

  My heart races. Shame surges through me. What would my brother think about what I’m doing? What about Jessica? Would she think I’m a slut, a bad influence on Jonathan and Dylan? Would she keep my nephews away from me?

  I close my eyes. William’s face flashes in front of me. His voice sounds in my ears. For fuck’s sake, Dixie. You’re a girl. You’re not supposed to lose your head.

  I swipe Michael’s call to voicemail. If it’s urgent, he’ll leave a message.

  There are social consequences to being in a threesome. I haven’t even been able to tell my girlfriends what I’m doing, and they are all in unconventional relationships. I haven’t been able to tell Hira, even though the longer I go without disclosing to HR that I’m seeing Eric, the more trouble I’m getting myself into.

  I’m not brave enough for this.

  I go downstairs. Hunter and Eric are sitting at the kitchen table. When I come in, they fall silent. “Dixie,” Eric starts. “Listen, I think we should—”

  “I think we should break up.” I can hear the tears in my voice. I’m trying not to break down. If I look at their faces, I’ll lose it entirely. “It’s time.”

  Shock slaps Eric’s face. Hunter’s eyes search mine. I think he senses I’m perilously close to tears. “Dix,” he says, his voice gentle. “Remember what you said to me? Whatever you’re going through, you don’t have to do it alone. Let us help.”

  “You can’t.” Oh God, I’m going to cry. I’m going to burst into loud, noisy sobs. “Thank you for everything. I’ll launder your t-shirt and get it back to you.”

  “Fuck the t-shirt,” Hunter says violently. “Please talk to us.”

  I can’t. I shake my head silently, spin on my heels, and run for my life.

  I’m hoping desperately that they’ll stop me. That they’ll jump in my way, bring me to my senses, and tell me that everything is going to be alright.

  But they don’t. They let me go.

  32

  Eric

  “You look like hell,” Xavier shouts over the noise of the blades. “Not enough sleep, or something else?”

  “Both.”

  We’re in Xavier’s helicopter, on our way to Washington DC. We’re going to confront Kevin Hughes, and we intend to get a name out of him. One way or the other, I’m going to find out who wants to ruin Xavier Leforte today.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  Yell about it, more accurately. I contemplate Xavier’s question. After Dixie left, Hunter and I had sat in his mother’s kitchen. Neither of us had said anything—what was there to say? She’s allowed to end our arrangement anytime she wants. That was our deal going in.

  “We’re not sleeping together anymore.”

  “Who got scared?”

  I give him a sideways glance. “You don’t think this thing just ran its course?”

  “I was at Hunter’s last night, remember?”

  I lean back with a sigh. My head hurts, my heart feels like it’s been attacked by a battering ram, and I’m left raw and aching. Cici was bad—this is so much worse. “She did.” I shut my eyes so I don’t have to see his expression of sympathy. “I don’t know what happened. One moment, we were fooling around, and the next moment—bam.”

  “Why don’t you ask her?”

  “She didn’t exactly stick around for twenty questions.”

  “So? Have you lost your cell phone? Is she not taking your calls?”

  My throat tightens. “It’s not that easy. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Really?” His voice is dry. “Let me see. Rafe and I keep flying to Bangkok every second week because the woman we’ve been hopelessly in love with for the last sixteen years lives there. Half the time, she doesn’t want to see us. She keeps putting herself in dangerous situations, and I think it’s because she doesn’t care if she lives or dies. I’ve neglected my business. Somebody is actively trying to ruin me. Everyone on my senior team has been working flat out for months, all because of my inattention, and even so, if Layla needed me, I’d drop everything for her. I’d do it all over again. Tell me again how things aren’t easy. Tell me again how I won’t understand.”

  “Touché.” I grimace. “I don’t know, Xavier. After the way things ended with Cici, I made myself a promise. No more. Dixie doesn’t want to be with us. I’m not going to beg. Sure, I want to. Right now, I want to beg and grovel and plead. But even if I succeed, what happens a year down the line? Every time things get difficult, she’ll want out.” I stare into the distance. “Society is set up for couples. It’s hard to go against the grain. I can’t ask her to make that sacrifice. She has to want it on her own.”

  “Have you told her how you feel?”

  Isn’t it obvious how I feel? Isn’t it obvious what I want? She ran before I could say the words, but she knows. Of course she knows.

  The helicopter starts its descent into DC. “Drop it,” I tell him. “We’re here. You have other things to worry about. Keep your eyes on the prize.”

  We take a cab to Zephyrus’s headquarters. Kevin Hughes is in his office. He looks up when we walk in, and the instant he sees us there, his shoulders slump. He knows he’s been caught.

  Xavier’s expression is neutral as he lays out the evidence against him. “I want to know two things, Kevin,” he says, his voice deceptively mild. “I want to know who asked you to frame me. And I want to know why you agreed.”

  “Or what?” Hughes blusters.

  Really? Buddy, you’re in one hell of a hole. Stop digging.

  Xavier’s expression hardens. “Or you’ll find out what it means to choose to be my enemy.”

  He doesn’t raise his voice—he doesn’t need to. Hughes caves. “People kept quitting. We couldn’t retain our customers. I increased prices, but that was only a temporary measure. Zephyrus was in trouble. Every time I tried to make a deal, that stupid bitch raised an objection.”

  He’s talking about Dixie. I clench my hands into fists to keep myself from punching him in the face. It’s obvious Hughes is looking for someone—anyone—to bl
ame, but the only person responsible for this mess is him.

  Xavier waits in silence for him to continue.

  “Then I was approached by someone in Capitol Hill,” Hughes says. They offered me a massive contract, nearly twenty percent of our revenue, if I did one thing.”

  I know the contract he’s talking about—it’s with the US Army. “You idiot,” I snap. “You did this to shore up your revenue numbers? To make yourself look good? What do you think will happen to your sorry ass if Xavier goes to jail?”

  “Spare me your concern,” he retorts. “This is the United States of America. Billionaires don’t go to jail. Worst case, he’ll spend a month in some white-collar prison while his army of lawyers gets him out.”

  Xavier leans forward. “I want a name. Who approached you?”

  Hughes’ expression stays defiant. “Theodore Downing.”

  The name doesn’t mean anything to me, but one look at my friend’s face and I know it does to Xavier.

  “You’re fired,” Xavier tells Hughes. “Security will walk you out of the building. And Hughes, one last piece of advice. A warning, if you will. If you ever come near me, my company, my family, and my friends, I will make you regret it.”

  Xavier hasn’t said a word in almost an hour. “Are you okay?” I ask him on the flight back.

  “I will be.”

  “Who’s Ted Downing?”

  “He’s a Senator,” he replies. “He sits on the Armed Services Committee. Eighteen months ago, his son Raymond got a little too rough with a prostitute in Bangkok. She died. Layla found out. I had to act before she took matters into her own hands.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I wanted to catch him in something shady, and so I allowed Raymond to join Club M. He’s long fancied himself a dominant.” Xavier almost spits that last word out. “Fiona used to be his submissive. I got her involved. He almost knifed her.” His face twists. “I shouldn’t have brought her into it. I’ll carry that regret to my grave.”

  He’ll do it again though. Because it’s Layla.

  If Dixie were in danger, I would stop at nothing to eliminate the threat.

  “Raymond Downing is in prison and will be there for a long time,” he continues. “The Senator wanted him in a low-security prison. I made sure that didn’t happen.” His expression hardens. “He came after me. He will regret it.”

  “And Dixie?”

  He flashes me a sidelong glance. “Why do you care?” he asks. “You’re done, you told me. You’re not going to try to fight for her. This isn’t really your problem any longer.”

  I stare at him until he relents. “Okay, fine,” he says. “Dixie is honest, and she’s ethical, and I trust her. The job is hers if she wants it.” He levels a glare at me. “Don’t tell her just yet. I need to wrap up a few loose ends first.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t.” After all, after the way she ran this morning, it’s unlikely that she’s going to want to talk to me again.

  33

  Dixie

  I weep all the way back home. I cry as I search for quarters for the washer and dryer. Tears fill my eyes as I pick dirty laundry off my bedroom floor, and they roll down my cheeks as I lug the basket to the basement.

  I have a dreadful feeling I’ve made a mistake. My brain keeps circling back to the same thought. I shouldn’t have broken up with them. I shouldn’t have left. I should call Eric and Hunter.

  Why? You don’t even have the courage to tell Hira about Eric. What makes you think you’re brave enough to be in a relationship with them?

  Please talk to us, Hunter had said. Let us help.

  I hadn’t listened. I’d run away. I’m pretty sure I hurt them in the process.

  Over and over, my thoughts whirl around, like bits and pieces of garbage circling a drain. I’m up and down and sideways, confused and clueless and messed up. I want to call and apologize, but what am I going to say? I want to hear the sound of their voices, but I don’t have that right. Not anymore.

  After about a couple of hours of misery, I call Fiona. She picks up right away. “Hey Dix,” she says cheerfully. “What’s up?”

  “You’re probably driving back to DC, right?”

  “No, Adrian’s meeting got canceled, so we decided to stick around.” Her voice sharpens. “You sound dreadful. Do you have a cold, or have you been crying?”

  “Crying,” I admit, fresh tears welling up in my eyes. I’ve been weeping all morning—you think I’d be cried out by now. “I broke up with them.”

  “Oh, Dix.” She sighs into the receiver. “Why?”

  “I don’t—”

  “Actually, don’t tell me over the phone. Tell me in person. Meet me at the taco place near your office in an hour, the one we tried a couple of months ago?”

  It takes me a second to figure out which restaurant she’s talking about, and then I remember. John Stone, of all the people, had discovered the unassuming taqueria located in a strip mall, sandwiched between a dry cleaner and a raw food store. “Okay, see you there.”

  Fiona is already there when I arrive, seated at a table at the front. She takes a look at my face and grimaces. “I ordered us both margaritas.”

  They’re already on the table. Bless her heart. “Wise move.” I sink into my chair and down half my drink in one gulp. “I ended things with them.”

  “Yes, you said that on the phone. Why?”

  Because I’m a coward and an idiot. “Do you think I made a mistake? Should I call them?”

  She grimaces. “I can’t tell you what to do, Dix. Only you can decide what you want out of life.”

  The waitress appears to take our orders. I get the al pastor, and Fiona opts for the barbacoa. “And another pitcher of margaritas, please,” I say, draining the rest of my drink.

  “Oh dear,” Fiona says. “It’s going to be one of those afternoons, is it?” She shrugs. “Ah well, who needs a functioning liver.”

  “Why won’t you tell me what to do?” I grumble once the waitress leaves. “Haven’t you ever wanted to run someone’s life? Here it is, your perfect opportunity.”

  “Ah, I see the tequila is working already.” She leans back. “What brought this on?” An expression of guilt flashes over her face. “Was it us showing up at Hunter’s place yesterday? Shit, I’m so sorry, Dix.”

  “It wasn’t really. I mean, it sort of was, but if it wasn’t you, it would have been something else.” I fix my eyes on the table. “My brother called me this morning, and I couldn’t take his call. What would he think about what I’m doing?”

  “Do you care?”

  “Of course I do,” I retort. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Let’s see. You never talk about him, you barely see him, and while you might be family, you have nothing in common.”

  “I talk to him,” I say defensively. No wonder people hire her. She’s scarily good.

  “No, you talk to your nephews,” she replies patiently. “But okay. Your brother will probably struggle with your relationship with Hunter and Eric. Many people do—a couple is still the default, and there are a lot of people that care about the status quo. I just never took you for one of them.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “You haven’t judged me for my lifestyle,” she points out. “Or if you have, you’re good at hiding it.”

  “I haven’t,” I murmur. “Why would I? I admire you, Fiona. I wish I were more like you.”

  She gazes at me for a long second. “I’m not telling you it’ll be easy. I’m not going to tell you that Hunter and Eric will be worth it—you already know they are.”

  “I do.” I moodily dunk a chip in salsa. “That’s what makes this so hard.”

  Our food arrives, along with a much-needed pitcher of margaritas. “But while I can’t tell you what to do, I will make sure you drink a glass of water between each drink.” She refills both our glasses and lifts hers in the air. “Here’s to drinking.”

  And so I proceed to do something I’ve never don
e in my life. I get completely wasted in the middle of the afternoon. Over the course of the next three hours, I drink margarita after margarita. I drunkenly fill Fiona in on the gory details—at least, I think I do. It’s all a little blurry. At some point, Fiona tells me that time heals all wounds. “I don’t want this wound to heal,” I snarl in response. “I don’t want this wound at all.”

  She’s a good friend. She stays with me through two and a half pitchers. She calls a cab, gets in with me, and makes sure I get to my apartment. She finds me an ibuprofen and makes me swallow it. She helps me get into my PJs, hands me a glass of water to drink, refills it when I’m done, and sets it on my bedside table, and then, she leaves.

  I’ve had far too much to drink. I’m having trouble keeping my eyes open. But still, sleep doesn’t come easy. Bitter regret keeps me awake.

  34

  Hunter

  Dixie leaves, and then Eric does too, and it’s just me in the house. Alone again.

  I go through my day on autopilot. I have patients in the afternoon and seeing them forces me to take my mind off my problems and focus on theirs. Most Tuesday nights, I drive back to my Adams Morgan home, but today, on impulse, I head back to my mother’s.

  I call Xavier when I get in. “I need a favor,” I tell him. I explain about Mitch Donahue and his persistent efforts to buy my mother’s house. I tell him about Sophia Thorsen and the community health center. “Donahue is holding them hostage. They need to raise a couple million dollars in less than fourteen days.”

  Xavier doesn’t even hesitate. “Of course,” he says. “I’ll hold a fundraiser for them Saturday night.”

  “A fundraiser?”

  “Any excuse for a party,” he says lightly. “Saturday evening at Summit. Black tie. I’ll save you a ticket.”

  Xavier Leforte could probably find two million dollars between his couch cushions. I don’t have to guess too hard to figure out what’s going on. Xavier’s found out from Eric that Dixie broke up with us, and because my friend is a die-hard romantic, he’s engineering an occasion for us to run into each other.