Текст книги "Missing Dixie"
Автор книги: Caisey Quinn
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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
2 | Gavin
BAND MEETING. TODAY. Rehearsal space. 4:30. Don’t be late.
That’s all the text from Dallas says. Kind of odd since we’re not “technically” a band anymore, but that’s Dallas for you. No more explanation than he feels is necessary. I’m too tired from working a late shift to text back a list of questions.
His text is the first thing I see when I wake up and check my phone out of habit on a random Thursday afternoon. I worked late last night, so even though it’s nearly three in the afternoon, this is basically breakfast time for me.
For months I’ve checked my phone day and night. Part of me was waiting for this, the opening, the opportunity to see her again and show her that while I’m still a work in progress, I’m trying, improving, and growing closer to becoming the type of man she deserves. The other part of me is dreading it.
After our band sort of unofficially broke up after Austin MusicFest, Dallas went solo, Dixie went home, and I went straight to my probation officer to find out how I could right my many, many wrongs.
Trouble is, I didn’t exactly tell Dixie that. I let her believe I was on tour with Dallas.
When I saw Dixie Lark three months ago, she used her last words to me to tell me right where to go. I’ve left her voice mails, sent texts, asked repeatedly for the chance to explain what she saw—what I did and why I didn’t contact her sooner. When Dallas went missing in Rio, I stopped by to check on her but she didn’t look at all happy to see me in her time of grief. So even though I wanted nothing more than to hold and comfort her, I saw McKinley there and decided it would be best if I kept my distance. Christmas and New Year’s came and went and they were the first ones I didn’t spend with her and Dallas since I met them ten years ago. Dallas invited me to his and Robyn’s place but I declined, choosing to work instead. If it had been her asking me to come, then I would’ve quit my job to be there if necessary, but all I’ve gotten from Dixie Lark is radio silence.
I don’t even blame her.
Groaning, I stretch as far as my back will allow and lumber out of my bed. After a quick shower, I throw on a T-shirt and a clean pair of jeans and step into the lace-up work boots I rarely bother to lace.
Glancing at my reflection on my way out, I note that I should have shaved my face, but I would’ve been late and I’m not really in the mood for pissy Dallas at the moment.
I glance down at the kitchen table and see a notice about the rent on the trailer being overdue. Usually I scrape up enough to keep it paid on time, but I’ve been saving my money lately. My mom is rarely even here and this isn’t where I plan to spend the rest of my life.
My plan for becoming a worthwhile human being has three major components.
The first is paying for all past mistakes in full so those fuckers don’t sneak up on me. I’m fulfilling all the requirements of my probation to a T. The second is making a regular effort to reach long-term goals involving the things that matter, like money, music, and my life. The third is finding a way to be completely honest with Dixie—about everything.
It’s the third one I’m struggling with the most.
The rehearsal space isn’t too far away but it’s beginning to mist outside so I walk to the truck stop a few blocks down the road and check for Mr. Kyung. He’s on the phone, speaking Korean with an earpiece in, when I step inside.
Without even acknowledging that he sees me, he tosses a pair of keys into the air—lobbing them in a perfect arc into my hands.
“Komawoyo,” I call out as I turn to leave. “Bring her back before closing.”
He waves me off while continuing his conversation.
He’s one of the very few people on the planet who actually trust me.
When I was nine I got caught stealing a pack of cheese from Kyung’s. He took one look at me, saw that I was filthy and most likely starving half to death, and told me he wouldn’t turn me in if I would work off what I owed and promise never to steal another thing. Most days I swept the floors, restocked drinks, and delivered groceries and food orders to nearby houses I could reach on foot. Every time I walked in the door his seventy-something-year-old mother insisted on making me enough food for two meals. Now that I’m older I’m pretty sure it was just his way of providing for a kid he felt sorry for, but I still appreciate that he did it without making me feel ashamed. He made it clear that in his family a man is nothing without his pride. I have always been thankful that he allowed me to keep what little bit I had.
When I was sixteen and still “working” off a five-dollar seven-year-old debt, Mr. Kyung bought an old red Isuzu pickup and hired me officially as the delivery guy, but it was also officially under the table.
In some ways, the man of small stature and few words is like a father to me. I never stole another thing. Since getting the job at the Tavern I haven’t needed the extra cash but he still lets me borrow the truck and come by for a meal now and then. No questions asked. His mother passed away a few years ago and his wife started doing the cooking.
“It’s not as good as my mother’s was,” he told me quietly in his still slightly broken English over some type of dumpling soup he called manduguk, “but if you stop coming by it will hurt Lin’s feelings and I’ll have to hurt you.”
Again, I don’t know if he was just worried I wouldn’t eat otherwise, or if it really would have hurt his wife’s feelings or what, but I still come in every now and then.
I drive the barely running truck back to my place, load up my kit just in case Dallas has more than a simple meeting in mind, then head to the rehearsal space in downtown Amarillo. I listen to my favorite rock station on the way, concentrating hard on the music and wishing I had the drumming chops of Keith Moon or John Bonham, while trying to keep the anxiety over seeing Dixie at bay.
It works for a little while, right up until I pull behind the building and see EmmyLou parked beside Dallas’s truck. She’s already here then.
Dallas will be glad she wasn’t late. Whatever it is, for him to call an emergency band meeting the same night as his rehearsal dinner, it must be important.
I pocket the keys to the truck and make my way to the back door of the repurposed storage building we used to rent out to rehearse in. When I open the door she’s the first thing I see.
My adrenaline, testosterone, and heart rate all rise immediately at the sight of her.
Dixie sits cross-legged on the couch, Oz in his case beside her. Clearly she had the same inclination I did about the purpose of this meeting. Dallas is standing across from her but his guitar is nowhere in sight.
“Now that you’re both here,” he begins as soon as the door is closed behind me, “let’s get right to it. We all have to be at the restaurant in about two hours so we don’t have time to waste.”
Dallas continues before I have time to check if any sign of comprehension registers on Dixie’s face.
“There is a battle of the bands at the Tavern two weeks from now and I went ahead and signed us up before the list was full. We haven’t played together in months and I know I should’ve talked to you both first, but time wasn’t a luxury I had.”
Dixie’s mouth opens slightly and I can tell this is the first she’s heard of this. Dallas puts his hands up and continues.
“I’m proposing that we give Leaving Amarillo one more shot, rehearse as soon as I get back from my honeymoon, play a warm-up gig next weekend, and perform in the battle.” He pauses, glancing briefly at both of us before going on. “But Austin MusicFest was like herding cats with the two of you and I won’t do that again. We all three have to want this equally, have to be ready to give it all we have. Otherwise, we can say to hell with it, and I’m going to see if Afton Tate wants to work together on writing and hope I can make a living writing songs for other people. This isn’t just about living my dream anymore,” he tells us on a heavy sigh. “I have a family to support now, one who I would do anything for—same goes for you two. Don’t say yes for me, say yes if and only if you really want this. If it’s your dream, too. If it’s not, I’ll have us taken off the list. Drill Sergeant Dallas is retiring so either you’re in or you’re out.”
He huffs out a loud breath and my eyes dart to where Dixie sits, still as stone with only her side profile visible to me. When neither of us answers right away, Dallas looks ready to throw his hands up.
“Well . . .” he prompts.
“I’m in,” I choke out before clearing my throat. “I’m with you. All in.”
I’ve been hoping for this moment since I saw the flyer in the bar, not that I was hoping for Dallas’s solo career to fail by any means, but I’d be lying my ass off if I said I didn’t want to once again be a part of the only thing that has ever mattered to me. I’m done lying, to them and to myself.
The silence takes on a sort of self-awareness, as if it’s as much in the room as we are.
“Dix,” Dallas says quietly. “I know it’s been a tough year. I know you’ve dealt with a lot on your own and whatever you decide, I will be okay with. I mean it.”
My heart feels like a lead weight in my chest when she stands. She lifts Oz but doesn’t remove him from his case and I can feel that she’s going to pass. On this. On me. Because of the pain I’ve caused her.
When she turns to face me I do my best to give her a “what do we have to lose” look and a hopeful shrug, but she barely registers my presence. There’s blind drive in her eyes; I just don’t know what it’s driving her to do. I don’t have to wait long as she starts to make her way to the door.
Her voice is soft but clear when she faces Dallas. “Is that all you wanted?”
He nods. “Yeah. Mostly. I had a request about the wedding but we can discuss that tonight at the rehearsal dinner.”
She frowns and I cross my arms and wait for her to pummel my already fucked-up heart with blatant rejection.
“I need some time . . . to think . . . about all of this,” she says carefully. “I’ll let you know something when you get back from your honeymoon. That okay?”
Dallas’s shoulders sag slightly and his face shows his disappointment, but he doesn’t look surprised by her answer. “Of course. I understand. I want to say take your time but I’ll need to know something soon.”
She nods. “I know. I’ll have an answer as soon as possible. If that’s all, I’m going to head on home. There’s a little boy who keeps showing up for lessons, and I haven’t ever met with his parents, so I’m going to try and catch them before they drop him off. And I still need to get ready for the rehearsal dinner.”
Dallas gives her a quick one-armed hug and the next thing I know she’s breezing right out the door. Lessons?
“Guess you don’t get a goodbye,” he says evenly. “I’ll take that as a bad sign on the current climate between you two. I think it just lowered a few degrees in here.”
I don’t answer. Instead, I just sit back down on the couch and place my head in my hands. There has to be a way to help her understand why.
“She’ll come around, man,” Dallas tells me. “Enough to at least hear you out, I hope.”
I glance up at him. “And the band? You think she can really put what happened behind her and forgive me?”
“I think she can try.”
“Hope so,” I answer dejectedly. “Hey, how long do we have the space for?”
Dallas checks his phone. “About another half hour. You gonna stay and play?”
I nod. I need to work off all this amped-up energy before going to his fancy, formal sit-down dinner.
“Later, man,” he calls on his way out. “Don’t be late tonight. In fact, I’ll pick you up in about an hour or so.”
“Got it.”
Drill Sergeant Dallas may have retired but he’s still Dallas. Dude will probably make a damn good dad.
Once he’s gone I set up my kit and play until my arms ache. I’m sweaty and tired and I still have to return the truck and shower, but knowing I’ll get to see her again, even if only for a little while, even if from a distance, keeps me motivated.
I return Mr. Kyung’s truck and purchase the few groceries I need for the week, basic stuff that fits into one bag. I practically jog home knowing I need to shower again, but I stop short when I see the front door isn’t closed all the way.
I closed it when I left.
I know I did.
Locked it, too.
“Hello? Someone here?” I practically yell as I pull open the screen door. “Something I can help you with?” Like a busted fucking face. My arms are tired but they aren’t that tired.
When no one answers and I don’t hear even the slightest sounds of movement, I head into the kitchen figuring my mom came by and raided her stash before leaving again. I shift the bag of groceries to my other hand but they fall to the floor when I step into the kitchen.
My mom’s here, all right.
Unconscious on the kitchen floor.
3 | Dixie
“HE’S NOT COMING,” Dallas says as he hangs up the phone. I knew when he arrived at his rehearsal dinner without Gavin that something was wrong.
“Everything okay?” Robyn asks and I’m grateful she begs the question before I do. Every time I so much as mention Gavin’s name I get the pity look, and frankly, it’s getting old. I smooth the black knee-length dress I’m wearing and strain to hear Dallas’s answer. All I catch is “had to work,” so I’m guessing that explains Gavin’s absence. Or is a lame attempt at explaining it, anyway. Dallas didn’t sound too convinced and the line between his brows has made an appearance.
I barely made it on time myself—practically had to sprint inside after my lesson with the troubled little boy whose parents I have still yet to meet ran a little long
“The wedding coordinator is ready for y’all,” I tell them when I see the gray-haired lady motioning maniacally. “Like five minutes ago.”
“You first, Maid of Honor,” Robyn tells me with a tense smile.
The wedding isn’t huge but it’s in a huge place. A property Robyn has dreamed of getting married on since we were kids. Photographers are everywhere and OK! magazine is here doing an exposé on Dallas Walker and the love of a lifetime who led him to walk away from the fame.
Part of me wondered how my brother would be when he got home. I was expecting him to be forlorn or sullen or something. He had everything he’d ever dreamed of as far as music was concerned—well, everything except his band. But Dallas Walker the solo act decided he’d rather come home and marry his pregnant girlfriend instead of continuing on tour. The press is having a field day—proclaiming Dallas and Robyn’s relationship the stuff fairy tales are made of. Dallas says give it a week and the tabloids will be screaming that they’re done forever and Robyn is pregnant and alone.
Life sure is funny sometimes.
I can’t help it, I check my phone to see if there is anything from Gavin. I’ve been doing this for far too long and like always, there isn’t a peep.
A few of the moms of the kids I give music lessons to have messaged me back saying they don’t know the little boy I’ve been asking about and don’t recognize him from my description.
Liam is his name and every week on Tuesdays and Thursdays he arrives like clockwork at five on the dot. He doesn’t seem to enjoy learning to play piano or violin but he keeps coming, so I keep trying. I just wish I could talk to his mom or dad about his behavior and how to reach him. So far all he’s said out loud to me is his name.
“You. Come. Now,” the wedding coordinator from Heritage House hollers at me. I began a slow march down the aisle with a fake version of my bouquet. The spray on the fake flowers makes me sneeze and the woman looks at me like I’m intentionally pissing her off.
“Sorry,” I tell her as I continue my stroll to the altar. Once I’m down I see Robyn’s friend Katie and our mutual friend Cassidy coming down as well. They’re escorted by two of Dallas’s friends. I was supposed to walk with Gavin, but as per usual, he is missing and I am alone.
Once we’re in place the music begins to play. Dallas has taken his place beside the blank space where Gavin is supposed to be and I give him an encouraging grin. I’m proud of him, happy for him, and all-around ecstatic about his upcoming nuptials, but Gavin’s absence is weighing on me heavily.
Maybe he really did have to work, but it felt to me like Dallas wasn’t buying it and I’m not, either.
When Robyn’s mom begins coming down the aisle, we all giggle a little as Mrs. Lawson takes her arm looking proud as a peacock. Apparently it’s bad luck for the actual bride and groom to rehearse before the wedding, so Mrs. Lawson volunteered to stand in—bless her.
Once they arrive, the pastor reads his part of the vows, has Dallas and Mrs. Lawson repeat after him, and then pronounces them man and wife. We all make our exit to a small smattering of applause from the members of Robyn’s family that are in attendance.
I glance around to see if Gavin made it but see no sign of him. It’s a mutual gut punch of welcome relief and disappointed concern that he’s not here. Seeing him earlier in the rehearsal space was like watching the color coming back into my life. All while feeling like someone was ringing out my intestines like dishrags.
“He better not bail tomorrow, Dallas. I told you about him. You know how he—” Robyn’s sentence cuts off abruptly when I whirl around. There’s no need to ask who she’s referring to. Our perpetually troubled drummer friend who specializes in disappearing and reappearing at will.
“Missed you at rehearsal dinner,” I text to his number. “Hope everything is okay.”
We do two more walk-throughs, me with my invisible Gavin, before heading into a formal dining room for dinner.
I check my phone several times, finding exactly what I expect to time and time again.
No new messages.
This past year, traveling on my own, meeting new people, coming home, and establishing a life for myself—one that didn’t include my brother or Gavin or the band—it hasn’t been easy but it has made me a stronger, more independent version of myself. I have grieved the loss of my grandfather, met new people, seen things I never thought I would, started a successful music instruction business, and moved on from the pain of knowing Gavin didn’t want me the way I wanted him. All of this I’ve done alone. No overprotective brother giving orders or watching my every move, no broody drummer distracting me at every turn, and no one to answer to except myself.
I didn’t reach out to him, even when I knew he was home. Because one thing I decided over these last few months is that I did the reaching in Austin. It’s his turn. He has to decide if he can do this—us, me and him, the band, all of it—for real this time, not with only half his heart.
I’d be lying if I pretended that part of the reason I haven’t answered Dallas yet about rejoining Leaving Amarillo wasn’t Gavin. I’m not saying I wouldn’t just because Gavin doesn’t want to be with me, but I would need a definite answer from him before being able give it another shot with the band. I am strong, stronger than I thought, at least. I can handle it if he doesn’t want me or isn’t able to give himself to me the way that I truly need. Completely.
Once dinner is over, I give in and check my phone for the final time before heading home, and the sting of what I see is a real physical thing in my chest. In a way, it feels like Gavin’s lack of response is the answer. For now at least.
No new messages.
What else is new?
4 | Gavin
IF THERE IS a God, he’s not a big fan of mine. I decided this as a kid when my mom was strung out for days and there was no food in the house, but as if I needed further proof, I’m currently in the seventh circle of Hell. Wearing a tux.
“Missed you at the rehearsal dinner last night,” Dallas says as we pose for another round of pictures. “Hate that your boss wouldn’t let you off.”
“Yeah. He’s a real dick.” And I’m practically a professional liar. “Sorry, man.”
“No worries. You’re here now. That’s all that matters.” He claps me quickly on the shoulder, before grinning once more for the photographer.
As if dealing with what I thought was my dead mom passed out on the kitchen floor last night wasn’t bad enough, lying about it to my best friend is somehow worse. Somehow my mom has always managed to turn what should be her shit into mine. Pushing the image of me shaking her awake and screaming for her to regain consciousness out of my head, I do my best to force a smile toward the camera.
The bridal parties didn’t mix before the wedding and for that I’m grateful. At one point the groomsmen, me and Dallas’s friends Levi and Alex, stepped outside to take a picture with the bride. So far I’ve only seen hints of Dixie, caught the faint scent of her, and heard a chiming laugh down the hall that might have belonged to her.
Heritage House is an interesting mix of elegant and rustic. The property isn’t far from Hamilton Pool, where Dallas and Robyn met. According to Dallas, Robyn has always dreamed of getting married here. I feel out of place surrounded by so many smiling faces full of love. There are mirrors reflecting everything all over the damn place. Everywhere I look I see a reflection of a man I don’t recognize. A man pretending to be something he isn’t.
Beneath the monkey suit, the tattoos, and the freshly shaven face, I am still a wreck of a human being. I’m still a lost, hungry, fucked-up kid confused about the way the world works and where I belong in it. My adrenaline spikes when we line up to enter the atrium-style room where the wedding is being held. My teeth are even on edge when Cassidy nearly bumps me on her way to the room where the bridal party is getting ready.
“Sorry, Gav,” she mumbles quickly as she scurries past.
I grunt and nod, noticing a disheveled-looking Jaggerd McKinley staring dazedly after her.
Ah. Slutty wedding sex. I’m familiar with it. While I’ve fooled around with a bridesmaid or two in my day when we played gigs at weddings, I don’t recall ever hooking up with a girl I actually knew or one who was friends with my ex. Not that I ever technically had an ex. Whatever.
I don’t know how Dixie will feel about this or if it will even matter to her, but the thought that it might bothers me on multiple levels. I have so many questions and no right to ask her any of them.
Did she get back with McKinley when she came home?
Would she care if he hooked up with Cassidy?
Is she hooking up with McKinley—or anyone for that matter?
Is she still pissed I didn’t tell her I was home?
And the biggest one of all, if I tell her everything, will she ever be able to forgive me?
Judging from the icicles that formed around her when I looked in her direction at our band meeting yesterday, the outlook isn’t looking so great for those last two.
Only one way to find out, I suppose.
The wedding coordinator decided to make a slight change, apparently, and I can’t help but wonder if Dixie asked her to or if my not attending the rehearsal caused it. Instead of walking Dixie down the aisle, something I was both terrified and excited about, I will stand with Dallas and Dixie will walk alone.
While Dallas and I walk to the front of the altar, I try to visualize telling Dixie everything, the same way Dallas visualizes us having an amazing show before we perform. I can see myself talking but I can’t hear the words.
The small chapel is quiet while I shake Dallas’s hand and congratulate him one last time. There’s a sacred sort of silence surrounding us. Robyn’s family isn’t huge but her side is still much fuller than the Lark side. I glance out over the crowd, seeing only a few familiar faces. I grin at Dallas while fighting the urge to loosen my tie.
“I’m nervous,” he whispers. “This isn’t like playing music. What if I’m a terrible husband and father? What if I—”
“Relax,” I tell him. “Robyn seems really set on sticking with you now that you knocked her up and all. So I think it’s okay even if you suck at it.” But he won’t. I watch him sometimes with her, the adoration in his stare, the slight gleam of amusement in his eyes as if he still can’t believe she actually picked him.
He’s a lucky guy—but he’s a good guy, too, and he loves the hell out of her, so Robyn could’ve done worse. I want to ask them both, no, demand, to know what the secret is. How do you give yourself to someone—flaws and all—and expect them to just love you for the rest of your natural-born lives?
Before I have time to contemplate these burning questions any further, the doors in the back of the room open and Dixie stands there in all her perfect glory. Her dress is strapless and dark blue, a midnight-sky shade of silk that falls just below her knees and wraps her body lovingly. My Bluebird even has a feather in her hair and I nearly get hard at the sight of it barely restraining her wild curls. She holds a small bundle of white flowers and her ink shows on her arms. Everything about her is vibrant and breathtaking.
She is perfection personified and in my heart she’s mine. Always has been, always will be.
Except . . . she isn’t.
I am a statue as she comes down the aisle toward me. I stand unblinking, immovable, unwilling to miss a single second of this sight. As much as I wish I could, I can’t picture us having a day like this. A traditional Texas wedding, her in a white dress and me in another stifling monkey suit—but I also can’t deny that in this moment, my eyes locked on hers as she comes closer, I’m pretending and wishing like hell.
At the last second before she reaches me, she averts her gaze and winks at Dallas before turning to stand on the other side of the altar.
I thought seeing her yesterday was tough, but this is a wrecking ball to my chest. She isn’t a girl anymore, isn’t my girl. She’s a grown woman who owns me whether she wants to or not.
I release the breath I was holding captive and take in fresh air so I don’t pass out. Her wildflower and vanilla scent wafts toward me and it’s a struggle not to toss her over my shoulder and carry her out of here.
The other two bridesmaids come down the aisle escorted by Levi and Alex and I can’t help but wonder why Dallas would choose me as his best man. Maybe because he’s known me the longest, but in all of my twenty-two years, I don’t think I’ve ever been the best man at anything. Except maybe the drums. God, I need my drums.
I haven’t been with anyone in months and the sexual frustration and proximity to Dixie Lark, the last woman I’ve laid a hand on and the only one I wasn’t supposed to, are about to do me in.
Just before I completely lose my waning grip on my sanity, a piano begins to play and Robyn makes her grand entrance. Dallas pales and then smiles so wide he looks like he’s about to burst a blood vessel at the sight of her.
Robyn’s always been attractive but today she literally seems to be glowing, radiating a light all around her that’s almost too intense to stare directly at. Her smile matches Dallas’s and my throat constricts.
A chill hits me hard when Dixie’s voice fills the air around us. I’m not the only one in shock as she uses her sultry sweet voice to sing “Marry Me,” a Train song I never paid much attention to. Dallas and Dixie were apparently in on this one together. Dallas is practically vibrating with emotion and I pull my eyes from Dixie’s surprise performance at the piano to where the bride and groom are now lost in their own world, in which the rest of us do not exist.
This is Dallas’s first priority now, not the band. Without him playing drill sergeant, I don’t know if Leaving Amarillo will stand a chance. But I can see in his face that it doesn’t matter; any sacrifice he has to make for this woman will be worth it.
When Dixie finishes, she takes her place across the altar and I can’t tear my stare from her. Her sapphire eyes shine like diamonds with the promise of tears.
I wish I could give you this.
Right as I’m about to look away, her gaze collides with mine. My heart swells in my chest. I have so much to say and no words to say it.
I’m sorry.
I’m trying.
I love you.
She doesn’t even flinch at the turmoil I know is probably apparent on my face. She just gives me a confident smile and a knowing look as if to say, One day.
One day that will be us.
A future.
A forever.
I fucking hope so.
I just have no clue how we’ll ever manage to get there.
