Текст книги "Missing Dixie"
Автор книги: Caisey Quinn
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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
“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.
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.”
