Daring Dixie

by Tara Crescent

  “Thank you. I really appreciate your help, Xavier. I owe you one.”

  “No, you don’t. I’m not doing this for you, Hunter. I’m doing this for Breanna.”

  “What?”

  “When Lina died, Layla fell apart. It was bad. I thought she’d try to kill herself. I was twenty, and I was terrified because the girl I was in love with was inconsolable with grief. Your mother had come to Boston for the funeral. She sat down with me after, and she asked me how I was doing, and I just poured it all out to her. And then your mom talked to Layla.”

  “Oh. I had no idea.” She never mentioned it, but then she wouldn't. My mother took patient confidentiality very seriously.

  “To this day, I’m not sure if Layla would be alive if it hadn’t been for Breanna. There is nothing I can do that will ever repay that debt. Nothing.”

  For three months, I’ve been avoiding entering my mother’s bedroom. After last night, and after Xavier’s revelations, I’m finally able to brave it.

  I turn the handle of the door and go inside. The cleaners have been in since her death, and my mother’s bed is neatly made. There’s a half-drunk cup of tea on the ledge; the crew must have missed it.

  I look at the mug and grimace—it’s a science experiment gone amok. Cranking the window open to get some fresh air into the room, I sit in my mother’s rocking chair.

  “Hey, mom,” I say softly.

  Mitch Donahue asked me how I wanted to honor my mother’s legacy. Sitting here, surrounded by her presence, I realize I’ve been going about things all wrong.

  For three months, I’ve tried to rush the healing process. I’ve tried to tell myself I should be okay. But I’m not. Breanna Driesse had an outsize impact on the lives of so many people. How could I be okay when she’s gone?

  Sitting here in her armchair for the first time since her death, I give myself the same grace I would give all of my patients. Whether I’m a psychiatrist or not, this is hard and difficult and emotional.

  I need to stop pretending. I will always miss her.

  “Anette told me you wanted grandchildren. I had no idea. You did an impressive job not nagging me.” Does Dixie want children? I don’t know, and it doesn’t really matter. I don’t have strong feelings on the subject.

  “I met someone,” I continue. The logical part of my brain knows that my mother is gone, and she can’t hear me, but this room feels imbued with her presence. “Her name is Dixie. You’d have liked her.”

  This morning, when Dixie had told us she wanted out, I’d felt bleak and demoralized. Now, I find new hope.

  Yes, Dixie is nervous about the three of us. Yes, she’s running scared. But she’s smart and thoughtful and self-aware. I have to trust that she will see that what we had together isn’t easy to find.

  I’m ready to fight for us—I have to hope she’s prepared to do the same.

  35

  Dixie

  I’m dreading going into the office on Wednesday. My head hurts from the effect of too many margaritas, my heart hurts because of my folly, and I’m really not ready to see Eric. I don’t trust myself not to turn into a weeping mess.

  It is after eight when I pull in. There’s a BMW in my usual spot—I think it’s John’s car. No doubt he thinks he’s making some kind of petty point that I wasn’t in early. Some days, John succeeds in getting under my skin, but today, I wear my heartache like armor.

  Andie gives me a concerned look when I walk past her. “Are you okay?” she asks. “You look dreadful. You’re not falling sick, are you?”

  Andie’s husband is immune-compromised. “Just nursing a hangover. I drank too much last night.”

  She grins approvingly. “Nice. You’ve been working so hard—you deserve to cut loose. Want me to get you some coffee?”

  “I will love you forever,” I tell her fervently. “Milk, extra sugar. Thank you.”

  I glance in the direction of Eric’s office, but his door is shut. Andie notices. “He’s out today,” she says helpfully.

  Relief wars with disappointment. “Really?”

  “They’re closing the Achard & Gifford deal this week,” she explains. “Mr. Leforte is in San Francisco, and so is Mr. Kane.”

  It’s for the best, I tell myself. You didn’t want to see Eric today.

  But I’m lying. I do want to see Eric. I just don’t know what to say to him.

  The caffeine has barely had time to work when John walks into my office. No knock, no checking to see if I’m busy. Typical.

  I’m done being nice. “If you’re here on behalf of one of Kevin’s contracts,” I begin. “Asking me if it’s ready three times a day doesn’t speed up the process.”

  He gives me a strange look. “You haven’t heard? Kevin is out.”

  “Out?”

  “He was fired yesterday. Xavier and Kane delivered the news.”

  “Oh.” I don’t know what to say. Eric could have told me about Kevin Hughes; I didn’t have to hear it from John. After all, we worked on the project together. But he hasn’t been in touch. No email, no text messages. I guess he doesn’t want anything to do with me.

  A pang of sadness engulfs my heart. I haven’t heard from either Hunter or Eric after I left. It’s been less than twenty-four hours, but I already miss them.

  You brought this on yourself, Dix.

  John’s not above making sly insinuations about Eric and me. I’m half-expecting him to say something snide to me now, about how surprised he is that I don’t know the news despite working closely with Eric.

  But he doesn’t. He just stands in front of my desk and stares at me. It’s a little weird and a lot creepy. “Do I have lipstick on my teeth or something?”

  “What? No.”

  He still doesn’t move. “Can I help you with something, John?” I ask pointedly. “If not, I have a meeting with Reena I need to prepare for, so if you don’t mind—”

  He seems to collect himself with a start. “You’ll do anything for the job, right?” he throws down at me and leaves on that cryptic note.

  I stare after his departing back. John’s being stranger than usual. Then again, Kevin and he were friends, and it’s always disconcerting when people get fired.

  Friday morning, Xavier Leforte knocks on my office door. “Do you have a moment, Dixie?”

  “Of course.”

  I haven’t had a chance to talk to my boss in weeks. We have a much-rescheduled one-on-one coming up Monday. Three days ago, I was nervous about that meeting. Now, I can’t find it in myself to care about work. My heart is numb.

  A thousand times in the last seventy-two hours, I’ve picked up my phone to text Hunter and Eric, only to set it down again. What’s the point of calling them? What would I say? This heartache is my doing. I’m the one who cares what other people think. I’m the one who wanted to break up.

  Xavier enters my office and takes a seat. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I let Kevin Hughes go on Tuesday.”

  “I’d heard.”

  “Eric tells me he wouldn’t have gotten anywhere without your help.” His eyes rest on me. “You went above and beyond, Dixie. Thank you. I deeply appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome.” I think this means I’m not fired. It might even mean—fingers crossed—that I have a chance at the COO job. “I was happy to help.” I lean forward. “Kevin Hughes didn’t set this up on his own.”

  “No, he was a tool, nothing more. But thanks to you, I know who is trying to frame me. It’s being handled.” A smile brushes his lips. “On a different note, do you have plans tomorrow evening?”

  Tomorrow is Saturday. I’ve spent the last several Saturdays with Hunter and Eric, fulfilling one outrageous sex fantasy after another. Had I not broken up with them, what might we have done?

  Would they have blindfolded me and trailed ice-cubes down my overheated skin? Brought me to the edge of release over and over again until I was a shaking, quivering mess?

  Or would we have been more playful? Would Eric have
insisted on having sex in the canoe, even though our last attempt ended in disaster?

  I don’t know. Whatever it was, it was always great. When I was with them, I always felt seen. Heard. Accepted.

  And how did you respond? With fear. You weren’t brave enough to stay. You weren’t courageous enough to choose them.

  Xavier’s waiting for me to answer. “No, I don’t.”

  “Good.” He hands me an envelope. “It’s an invitation to a gala tomorrow night,” he explains. “I’m organizing a fundraiser for the community health center. Dinner, dancing, and a charity auction.” He glances at me. “Hunter said that it was your idea to get me involved.”

  I’m in no mood for a party. “Xavier, I—”

  “Community involvement is important to me,” he continues, ignoring my attempt to interrupt him. “I’d like my team to be there, delivering the same message.”

  Eric will be there, and so will Hunter. I open my mouth to tell Xavier I can’t make it, and then shut it. Who am I kidding? As much as it would feel like twisting the knife in the wound, I really want to see them.

  36

  Dixie

  I’m back at the castle again. Everything feels like it’s coming full circle.

  The event coordinators had less than a week to set up this event. They’ve done an amazing job. When I enter the ballroom, I stop dead in the doorway, almost gasping in astonishment. Yards and yards of red silk fall from the high ceiling and drape the walls, evoking the feeling of being in a sumptuous tent. Copper candlesticks tower in the middle of tables covered with rich purple fabric. The scent of jasmine kisses the air.

  Groups of well-dressed men and women dot the room. Waiters circulate among them with trays of champagne and canapes.

  And I’m blocking the door. I step out of the way, murmuring an apology to the couple behind me, and scan the ballroom for familiar faces.

  There’s no sign of Eric and Hunter, but I see Hira. Relieved, I make a beeline for her. “Hey.” Hira’s wearing a fuchsia one-shouldered gown, and the color looks amazing against her brown skin. “I love your dress,” I tell her sincerely.

  “Thank you.” She beams at me. “I love yours too.”

  I’d agonized for hours over what to wear. Finally, I’d picked a beaded eggplant-colored cocktail dress that I bought on sale at the start of the year. The neckline is scooped, and the hem grazes the top of my knee. It’s not the most glamorous dress in the world, but I like the deep purple color on me.

  “I match the tablecloths,” I comment ruefully.

  She bursts out laughing. “You do not.” A waiter comes up to offer us glasses of champagne. Hira clinks her flute against mine. “It’s good to see you, Dix. It’s been forever since we caught up.”

  I suppress my instinctive stab of guilt. I should have disclosed my affair with Eric to HR, and I haven’t, and so I’ve been avoiding Hira. “It’s been busy,” I murmur.

  “Things are easing up though, aren’t they?”

  “They are.” I even left work at five yesterday. A month ago, I’d have been delighted to have an entire evening to myself. Yesterday, I’d gone home and wallowed in my misery.

  “It’s nice of Xavier to invite us all to this gala,” Hira continues. “Look, there’s Leona. Have you met her husband Maxwell? He’s such a great guy. Come, I’ll introduce you.”

  I start to turn in the direction she’s pointing, and my gaze collides with Eric. He’s just walked into the ballroom, Hunter right behind him.

  My pulse starts to race. For a long second, we just stare at each other.

  And then they turn away.

  I lock myself in a toilet stall and let the tears roll down my cheeks. I stay there for what feels like forever, hiding from the world.

  No, not the world. I’m hiding from Eric and Hunter.

  When I emerge, there’s a woman splashing water on her face. She takes a look at my red-rimmed eyes. “You too?” she asks.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “We’re both hiding in the washroom,” she says wryly. “Who are you trying to avoid?”

  “An ex.” I correct myself. “A pair of them, in fact.”

  She doesn’t appear fazed by my admission. “A threesome gone horribly wrong? I’ve been there.”

  “You have?”

  “Mhm. It happened right here, in fact.”

  “At Club M?”

  “Oh good, you already know there’s a sex club in the basement.” She smiles as she carefully applies a layer of mascara. “Yeah, at Club Menagé.”

  “Is that what the M stands for?” I hadn’t known. I would have liked to come back to the club with Eric and Hunter. I would have liked them to show me around. To take me to one of the private rooms and have their evil way with me.

  Now, that’ll never happen.

  “I think it’s meant to be Mystery.” She takes a half-step back, studies her reflection, and reaches into her purse for a comb. “It’s weird being here again.”

  Tell me about it. If there was any way I could leave without my absence being noticed, I’d take it. But it’s a sit-down dinner with assigned seats, and I’m at the same table as Xavier. I’m stuck.

  Oh crap. What if Eric and Hunter are at my table too? Xavier knows the three of us were involved. He must have learned by now that it’s over. He wouldn’t do that to me, would he?

  “You look like you just saw a ghost,” the woman comments. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Not at all. “They’re here,” I murmur. “I knew they’d be, but it’s still throwing me. You?”

  She laughs bitterly. “Same. Well, not exactly. Let me see. We had a one-night stand ten years ago, and they got me fired. I haven’t seen them in a decade. Oh, and I didn’t know they’d be here.”

  Yikes.

  “If my organization didn’t desperately need Mr. Leforte’s money,” she continues. “I’d run away.”

  “You’re Sophia Thorsen?” I don’t know why I’m surprised. Fiona is a private detective. Avery is a therapist. I should know by now that it’s impossible to typecast women who choose to be with two men, not one.

  She puts her comb away. “Do I know you? I’m usually good with faces—”

  “No, we’ve never met. One of the exes I mentioned is Hunter Driesse.”

  “Ah.” She tilts her head to a side, her expression curious. “I’ve only met him once, but he seemed nice.”

  “He is.” They both were. I’m a fool for letting them go.

  After an hour of cocktails, we take our seats at the tables. Xavier gets to his feet and makes a short speech. He praises the community health center’s work and encourages us to bid generously on the items in the auction.

  Then it’s Sophia’s turn to speak. She talks about the work the health center has done since it’s been open. She’s not a bad speaker, but my attention wanders. I can’t seem to focus on what she’s saying.

  My career is going well. My debts are being paid down. I’m wearing a beautiful dress, and I’m in a room surrounded by people, but I’ve never felt more alone.

  Fiona was right. When I was with Eric and Hunter, I was happy.

  I keep asking myself if I dare to be with Hunter and Eric. But that’s the wrong question. Being with them never took courage. Being with them was always easy. Always right.

  When I realized I’d fallen in love with them, I’d run away. I thought I’d failed them.

  But it wasn’t them I failed. It was myself.

  The room suddenly feels too noisy, too crowded. I need to find a quiet spot to gather my thoughts. Am I really going to do this? I think I am.

  Sophia is done with her speech. People are clapping. I lurch to my feet, muttering an excuse. Hira, who is also seated at my table, looks up with concern, but I barely register that.

  Skirting past the tables, I head outside. I feel almost light-headed, giddy with shock at the magnitude of the decision I’ve just made.

  I’m about to head in the direction of the washroom wi
th a vague idea to splash some water on my face when someone steps in front of me.

  “Look who I’ve run into,” John Stone says with a sneer. “Dixie, Dixie, Dixie. I know what you’ve been doing.”

  37

  Eric

  I’m seated at a table that’s to Dixie’s right and slightly behind her. She can’t see me without turning around, but I can, and I can’t take my eyes off her.

  She’s so beautiful it makes my throat hurt.

  The speech I made on Tuesday to Xavier seems so stupid now. I told him I wasn’t going to beg. What was the point, I’d asked? Every time things got difficult Dixie would want out.

  But here’s the thing. The same accusation can be thrown at me.

  Dixie bolted, and so did I. I didn’t have to go to San Francisco. Xavier was perfectly capable of signing the damn contract on his own.

  She wasn’t the only one who’s running scared. I am too. We both have pasts. Our wounds have left scars. We carry baggage—loads of it.

  But I can’t keep looking backward all my life. At some point, I have to look to the future.

  And I want a future with Dixie Ketcham.

  She gets to her feet and hurries out. I stand up. This time, I won’t let her run without a fight. This time, I’m going to tell her how much I care.

  38

  Dixie

  John Stone is drunk. He’s slurring over his words, he’s swaying on his feet, and when he opens his mouth, his breath reeks of alcohol.

  I’ve actively tried to avoid John since that creepy episode on Wednesday when he lingered in my office and kept staring at me. I guess my luck’s run out.