Текст книги "Missing Dixie"
Автор книги: Caisey Quinn
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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
5 | Dixie
I GOT THIS.
Right up until I had to be this close to him. Seeing him across the altar was hard; seeing what my impossibly hopeless heart thought was a wistful look in his eyes nearly broke me.
Now I’m sweating, nervous, and my heart is threatening to make a break for it straight out of my chest for all to see.
I so do not got this.
“Smile,” Robyn says quietly to me after the third flash of the camera. “I love you, babe. And you nailed the song and made my wedding the most special day of my life. But you’re making my wedding photos look like mug shots.”
“Sorry,” I mumble under my breath.
I switch the small bouquet of calla lilies I’m holding to my other hand and tuck a wayward curl behind my ear.
I can feel him watching me—he has been since I first made my way down the aisle. He held his breath for a full minute when we had to stand beside each other for pictures and now I’m holding mine.
Dallas and Robyn kiss again on the photographer’s command and I have to look away.
I can’t explain it, but it hurts to see such blatant displays of affection when I’m consumed with this longing for a man who keeps his heart so closely guarded from me in particular. A man who is so close I can inhale him, smell him, and practically taste him. The heat radiates from his body and warms mine. If I leaned back a few inches I would be resting on his chest, a tempting thought that makes me hate myself. But I need the . . . contact.
I clench my hands around the neck of the bouquet and focus on smiling. On breathing. On keeping myself still where I stand and not dragging Gavin into a back room to force him to give me what I need.
Answers. Explanations. Himself.
“Okay, I think we’re good for now,” Jacqueline, the photographer calls out, finally allowing me to relax a few fractions of an inch. “We’ll get a few more at the reception and some as you leave for the honeymoon.”
So much for relaxing. I haven’t had time to mentally prepare myself for the reception. Dancing. Touching. Other women. Single women who will want to take their turn on the dance floor with Gavin so they can slip him their numbers while I watch.
I am better than this. I am not this girl anymore.
No one else has ever had this effect on me and it infuriates me that he does. Still.
It also doesn’t bode well for my ability to play music on the road with a single Gavin Garrison whom I bear no claim to. I nod and force a smile for Robyn and my brother before heading around behind the chapel and into the sprawling backyard, where guests are already mingling at the reception.
Robyn’s mom waves from the middle of a group of ladies about her age and I wave back, but I keep walking. What I need is in the back corner of the barn in Jag’s pants.
Once I reach the table where he’s sitting with his dad and his dad’s girlfriend, Gina, I set my flowers down and hold out my hand. With an eye roll I ignore, he hands over the shiny, silver flask.
“Pace yourself, crazy girl,” he warns low under his breath as I take my first swallow of gloriously burning liquid fire.
“Pacing is for sissies,” I mutter back before taking another drink. My heart pounds hard in my chest but the sweet burn distracts me from my oncoming anxiety attack.
“I’m guessing pictures went well?” Jag retrieves the flask of what I’m pretty sure is Jack Daniel’s from my reluctant hands.
“Fabulous.”
“The ceremony was beautiful,” Gina says softly. I recognize the way she’s looking at Jag’s dad. She’s wondering if they’ll ever have a ceremony like this one. I know the feeling. Maybe this is why so many people have sex at weddings—it makes you slightly desperate and strangely turned on.
“It was,” I say, because saying thank you feels like taking credit for something I didn’t really have much to do with. I didn’t actually pay much attention to the décor because I was busy keeping my shit together, but I did see tears in Dallas’s eyes when Robyn promised to make his dreams as important as her own.
Watching those two be so deeply in love is probably going to kill me. Particularly since I’m just a few strays away from becoming a lonely old cat lady at the ripe young age of twenty.
Or a groupie of a member of my own band.
Fuck.
Levi’s band launches into a song called “Love You Like That,” by Canaan Smith, and Gina drags Jag’s dad off to the dance floor.
“Don’t be stingy, McKinley,” I practically growl once our company is gone.
“Don’t get wasted, Lark,” he answers while handing the flask to me once again. “I’m serious. Your brother will be pissed and nothing good will come of you getting hammered and making decisions you’ll regret.” Jaggerd’s eyes drift over my shoulder and I follow his gaze.
Cassidy is dancing with Gavin and doing her best not to look this way. I return my attention to the flask.
“Okay, party girl. That’s enough. Let’s dance.” Jaggerd pulls me up by the hand and maneuvers us entirely too close to Gavin and Cassidy.
“I don’t want to dance.” I’m pouting. I know it and I can’t even stop myself. Damn Gavin Garrison to hell.
Jaggerd snorts out a laugh and draws me closer to his chest. “Maybe you just don’t want to dance with me, huh?”
Leaning back, I sway a little from the potent mix of liquor and adrenaline before looking into his eyes.
“Not true. I just don’t want to be here right this second. Not this close to . . .”
“Him,” he finishes for me with a tilt of his head.
“Everyone,” I correct. “Right now I’m tired, these shoes are killing me, my boobs are squished together like sardines in this dress, and I’ve had my fill of lovey-dovey mushy mess for the evening. Thank you.”
“You’re full of shit, Lark. But I still like you. And for the record, you look beautiful in that dress.”
I glance down at the midnight blue silk wrap and I nudge him hard with my hip, forgetting it’s the one I cut a few days ago while helping out in his garage.
A hiss escapes my lips and the pain sobers me instantly. “Ugh. Ouch.”
Jag’s eyes widen and he glances down to where my hand has gone. His hand meets mine. “Your hip still hurts? You need to get that checked out.”
“You’re probably right. I didn’t realize it—”
“You step on her toes or what, McKinley?” Gavin breaks in.
“What? No. She hurt her hip in the garage a few days ago and—”
“I’ll check it out for her. Here.” Without warning, Gavin passes Cassidy off to Jaggerd and pulls me into his arms as if they planned the switch ahead of time.
“Let’s go,” Gavin says, taking me by the elbow. “I’ll look at your hip and we need to talk.”
Yanking out of his grasp, I walk off the dance floor only to come face-to-face with him as he turns abruptly around in front of me. It would be nice if for one damn second he weren’t so freaking gorgeous.
“Excuse me? Are you a doctor now? Guess you’ve been busy these past few months.” The liquid courage is in full effect.
“What the hell happened to your hip? I thought McKinley fucking broke you. Your face just went completely white.”
You’re the only one with the power to break me, I think but don’t say. A few more sips from Jag’s flask and that one might have slipped out. Gavin reaches for my hip and I flinch, wincing at the reminder. “Nothing. My hip is fine.”
“Bathroom. Now.”
No, he did not just order me to the bathroom.
“Gavin Garrison, you know as well as anyone that I do not take orders. I’m sure as hell not going to start now.”
“Fine. If your hip is in such great shape, you can dance with Robyn’s uncle Elvis then.” Gavin tugs me to where Robyn’s uncle Richard, the Elvis impersonator who came dressed in full white sparkly jumpsuit getup, is stepping all over Robyn’s mom’s toes and wiggling his own hips for all he’s worth.
“Wait.” I dig my heels in and plant myself on the edge of the dance floor. “Might not hurt to at least take a quick look.”
“If you insist.” Without allowing me to argue any further, Gavin slips his warm, supple hand into mine, threading our fingers together and leading me into a back hallway.
I follow him, allowing my eyes to roam from thick dark hair I want to slide my fingers through, down his thick muscular neck, broad shoulders, to his perfect backside. He can rock a tux, that’s for sure. A pang of longing shoots through me when we step into the bathroom and he closes the door.
I’m trapped, in a small, enclosed space with a man who smells like Heaven and tastes like sin.
He removes his jacket and slings it over the counter. His white dress shirt is fitted tightly to his muscles, hugging and caressing them in ways I’ve been dreaming about for months. He unbuttons his top two buttons and I can’t stop staring at his neck, his fingers, his mouth. All of it.
“Gavin,” I breathe, prepared to beg him to open the door and let me out because I can’t do this.
“Let’s see it, Bluebird.”
He drops slowly to his knees, never once breaking eye contact. Other than a slight trembling in my hands and legs, I remain still—entranced and completely paralyzed by his proximity.
I swallow to make sure I can still function and then lift my dress one inch at a time until the gash on my hip is revealed to him.
“Jaggerd McKinley had sex with Cassidy before the wedding. You have any feelings about that?”
I shake my head even though it’s swimming from having him this close. “Um, yay for them?”
Gavin doesn’t even flinch at the sight of my black lace thong. Nor does he touch me in any way that even borders on inappropriate, which is almost brutally painful.
Smooth fingers graze the area just below my still-healing wound.
“It’s bruised pretty good and a little inflamed. I’ll check for a first aid kit with antiseptic wipes but you should probably get it checked out. Mind if I ask what happened?”
Come to me, words.
I fumble over my tongue for a second and take a deep breath.
“I ran into something in Jag’s—um, the McKinleys’ auto body shop. Sometimes I help out over there. Answering phones and stuff.”
Jesus. I sound like a nervous teenager. Which I no longer am.
Again, I can’t help but weigh the pros and cons of our band reuniting. If I had a Magic 8 Ball right now like the one I had as a kid, I already know what its answer would be if I asked it whether or not I could keep my shit together.
Outlook not so good.
I square my shoulders and watch Gavin search the cabinets until he produces a small white, plastic container.
He tears open a small square packet containing what looks like a wet wipe. “This will help a little. But, seriously, no telling what you ran into in that chop shop. Promise me you’ll go to the doctor.”
“Chop shop?”
Gavin doesn’t respond to my inquiry and I don’t press it because the wet wipe on my hip both tickles and stings, igniting a tingling sensation that extends far deeper into the flesh. When he’s done, he blows gently on my skin and my knees threaten to given out. I grip the marble counter behind me for support.
“You good?”
“Just fine,” I tell him through gritted teeth.
He rubs some cream on my wound and blows some more before standing and that’s it. I can’t take it anymore. His mouth is so close, he’s so close. He seems taller or something, and even though I know the likelihood of that is ridiculous, I don’t remember ever feeling so very aware of his presence. Or maybe I just blocked it all out. But here, now, in the room with him, everything is coming back.
All of it.
Every single second we spent connected on a physical level. His mouth on me, his lips, his tongue, his body inside of mine.
“You’re good at this,” I say, barely able to get my voice to go above a whisper.
“I’ve had a lot of practice.”
I don’t know if he means with first aid, which is likely since he’s had to perform CPR on his mom more times than I can count, or seduction, which I also happen to know he’s well versed in. Either way, I am in danger of losing my grip on my ability to remain upright.
It’s as if my brain has been doing me a favor for the past few months, allowing me to focus on being pissed at him instead of . . . this. But clearly my brain has left the building and I am completely on my own. This is dangerous.
I am weak.
I want him.
I need him.
Screw it.
“There,” he says gently, lowering my dress back down over my thighs. “That might help a little but you should still—”
My mouth captures his midsentence. His lips are slightly moist and even fuller than I remembered. I tense and a dull ache hits hard as my heart drops a few inches in preparation of being rejected.
Much to my surprise, Gavin doesn’t stop me. He doesn’t reject me. He doesn’t spew some bull about my brother or our friendship or seeing anyone else or anything.
He only makes one sound—a soft, pained groan. His hands grip the skin just beneath my ass and he lifts me onto the counter. The dress is tight but I manage to part my thighs far enough to accommodate his broad figure between them.
My fingers press into his back, urging him closer even though it’s not exactly possible. I try to catch his tongue but he’s sweeping it deeply inside, then pulling back to suck on my lips. A muffled moan escapes my mouth and slides into his.
“You taste like whiskey, Bluebird.” He chuckles lightly, then cuts off any chance I had of verbalizing a response by slipping his fingers between my legs and into the waistband of my panties.
“I’ve come a long way since strawberry ice cream.”
A wounded sound like an animal might make tears from his chest and I feel his erection press into the tiny scrap of fabric between my thighs. “If I don’t stop right now I won’t be able to.”
“Please don’t stop.” I don’t even recognize my own voice—it’s raspy and deep and filled with desperate need. Desperate wasn’t quite what I was going for, but there it is.
Apparently desperate works for Gavin, though, because my plea fuels his enthusiasm and my panties are a mere memory in a matter of seconds.
His fingers explore my newly exposed skin before sinking into my pulsing wet heat.
“Fuck, you’re wet,” he bites out when I thrust myself harder against his hand. “So fucking wet.”
“Seems you have that effect on me.” I want him so badly and wanting this much can’t be a good thing. He’ll break me, burn me to ash. Again.
His mouth against mine blanks my memory. I want to forget the many reasons why this isn’t a good idea—because it doesn’t matter how much it will hurt in the end. All that matters is now.
I’m drunk, but not from the Jack Daniel’s in Jag’s flask. I’m lust drunk on the cocktail of emotions Gavin Garrison always sends swirling around inside me.
I can feel the smile on his lips when they meet mine again. But then he groans and pulls back, and I want to scream.
“We shouldn’t do this. Not like this. Not here.”
I whimper in protest, biting his bottom lip, then nipping his top one hard enough to let him know I’m not playing around. Either he’s in or out. Literally. But the mind games are a thing of the past and I won’t be that person again. He either wants me or he doesn’t, plain and simple.
I open my eyes and stare directly into the fire flashing in his. “I won’t beg. Not this time.”
His gaze deepens and darkens simultaneously. “Bluebird . . .”
“Either fuck me or don’t, Gavin. But I won’t play this game again.”
And I won’t join the band if this is how it’s going to be. Hot and cold. On and off. Yes and no. Soaring hopes and dashed dreams.
My heart does not belong on a yo-yo string and I won’t allow it to be treated like one, no matter how much I love him.
His luscious mouth drops open slightly. I’ve caught him off guard. I raise an eyebrow while I wait for him to decide.
“You know I want you. I want this. I want us. But there’s so much I should—”
A harsh loud knock on the door interrupts whatever he was about to say.
“Band’s taking five and this is the only bathroom we’re are allowed to use. Dying out here!” Levi, Dallas’s friend and the leader of the band that’s playing the reception, calls out.
“Just a minute!” Gavin calls back.
When he returns his attention to me sitting there propped spread eagle on the counter in all my undignified glory, I can’t help but shake my head. I can literally feel my self-esteem being dashed to hell in a handbasket. I don’t know how I became putty in Gavin’s skilled and very capable hands, but between that and the pent-up sexual frustration, I’m about to explode.
Some things just aren’t meant to be, I guess, no matter how badly we want them.
Maybe Leaving Amarillo is one of them. Maybe Gavin and I are, too.
“Have a good night, Gav. And for the record, I was going to keep my heart out of it this time.” With that I hop off the counter and readjust my dress before throwing open the door to reveal a startled and relieved Levi Eaton.
“Oh shit,” he mutters under his breath. “My bad, guys. I didn’t realize—”
“It’s fine, Levi. Take care of business. Someone should.” I pat him on the shoulder and saunter away from what was either about to be the best or the worst thing that ever happened to me.
6 | Gavin
SHE’S EVERYTHING I ever wanted and the one thing I was never supposed to have. Now she’s all I can think about. The scent of her, the taste of her, the feel of her.
Watching her storm off, away from me, which is probably the safest direction for her, I can’t help but replay the past few minutes. Partially because my dick is still hard and there’s a steady ache in the center of my chest as if she just left and took my heart with her.
She was going to keep her heart out of it? What the hell was that supposed to mean?
She doesn’t dance with McKinley anymore, for which I am extremely grateful. Pummeling the absolute shit out of him at Robyn’s dream wedding would piss Dallas off immensely. Dixie didn’t seem at all concerned about him and Cassidy, which was also a relief.
Sure as hell could use my kit about now, though. Between trying to conceal my raging hard-on and the testosterone that surges every time I see another man so much as glance in her beautiful fucking direction, I’m pretty amped up.
I pull out my phone and text Cal to ask if I can use the kit at the bar after hours. My boss is kind of an asshole, but I’m the best employee he’s got so he bends the rules for me a bit.
My bartending job at the Tavern is a condition of my probation, and since the court didn’t specify where I could work, just that I had to, I of course took the most incongruous job possible for someone facing hard time for driving under the influence and reckless endangerment.
Mama always said do what you know. I know bars. I know addicts and alcoholics. Like it or not, a lifetime with one taught me how to handle them. They’re my kind of people. I don’t know what that says about me and I try not to think about it much.
The truth is, I’m a user just like the rest of them.
Maybe not of crack or meth or heroin, but I use what I need to get high and I’m as addicted as any of them. Or I was. Now I’m sort of in remission, I guess, self-imposed and somewhat court-ordered remission.
An attractive blonde in a tux much more revealing than mine offers me a tray full of champagne glasses. I shake my head and ignore the come-hither look she’s attempting to drill into my skull.
You don’t want to board this crazy train, sweetheart. You can’t hold a candle to the competition. Move along.
It takes a full minute, but she gets the message and moves on to the next group of people standing near the open bar.
Champagne wouldn’t even begin to take the edge off this kind of pain.
Dixie Lark was like my exact brand of heroin, the perfect combination of everything forbidden. She cured me and destroyed me with one taste. The worst part? All those years, I think I knew she would be. When Dallas laid down the “do not touch my sister or I will end you” law, I didn’t even argue. She was beautiful and full of life and light where I was shrouded in darkness. People like her shine from within; they don’t need the spotlight. People like me will wither and die without it, without attention and glaring lights forcing their demons to run and hide.
Touching her would’ve tainted her and I never wanted that. I could’ve admired her, loved her, worshipped her from afar for the rest of my life and just been happy for the brief moments of being in her presence.
And then she had to go and push it, push me, want me the way I’d always wanted her.
Now I live in a constant state of purgatory.
I need her.
She haunts my dreams and most of my waking moments.
Her whimpers, her breathy moans, her sweet, soft laughter.
She tamed the demons inside me, bringing them to heel with a gentleness I never expected them to submit to.
I fucking crave her like a desperate addict dying for his final fix.
I don’t deserve her.
I will only hurt her.
As if my every thought is written all over my face, Jaggerd McKinley meets my hard stare and gives me a look that says he feels my pain but tough shit because I brought it on myself. Dixie has once again confiscated his flask and he’s guiding her out of the party with a carefully placed hand on the small of her lower back.
One centimeter lower and he is a dead fucking man.
A powerful wave of adrenaline, testosterone, and primal territorial instinct hits me so hard I nearly stagger.
Only the image of breaking his hand slowly, bone by bone, brings me any sense of relief.
“Garrison? You good, man?”
Levi stands behind me looking both concerned and apologetic.
I clear my throat and nod. “I’m straight.” Glancing around, I realize the crowd has thinned considerably.
“Hey, for real, sorry about the bathroom. We just had that one quick break and I didn’t know—”
“Y’all done for the night?”
Fuck. How long have I been staring at Dixie? Apparently long enough for the band to call it a night and a middle-aged DJ to take over.
“Yeah, we are. Dallas was kind enough to give us the last hour to scope out the single girls. You know how chicks are at weddings.”
“Huh.” I regard him closely, contemplating this.
Is that what happened? Dixie was lonely because her brother was getting married and I just happened to be in the right place at the right time?
This is the problem with being a user. You know your own motivations and you project them onto others, assuming everyone else is like you.
But I know her. Don’t I? I did, anyway. Hooking up for the sake of hooking up isn’t really her style. Or it didn’t used to be.
Damn it. In my quest to get my shit together, I’ve all but shut her out of my life completely. It seemed like the best idea for everyone involved, but now I’m wondering if I’ve made a colossal mistake. Because watching her now, half-dancing with Jag on her way to congratulate the happy couple or say goodbye or whatever the hell, I realize that my little Bluebird is all grown up—and maybe, for the first time since we were kids, I don’t know who she’s become.
“Obviously that doesn’t include his sister. We all got the warning. And even if we hadn’t, we’ve all watched you plot McKinley’s murder for the last hour and a half, so you’re good, man. No one wants to die tonight.”
“What?” I tear my eyes from Dixie and return them to Levi. I forgot he was even still standing there, much less still speaking.
Damn attention deficit bullshit.
Levi looks at me like I’m high. I wish.
“Later, Garrison. Have a good night, man.”
“You, too,” I say absently as he walks away and I realize I’ve lost Dixie. She was right beside Dallas and Robyn and now she’s gone.
“Hey, you. I get off in half an hour.”
The voice is female and inviting. It belongs to an edgy-looking redhead in a server uniform. My hands are in my pockets and I realize I probably look nonthreatening for the most part, but I’m still loner guy at a wedding full of mostly happy couples. I guess that screams “dude looking to get laid.”
Which I usually am. Or I used to be.
“Good to know,” is all I say, because interested or not, there’s no sense in being hurtful.
And who am I kidding? I might be in remission but I’m not cured. The attention still tempts me, still begs me to do what I’ve always done. Compliment, flirt, tease, pull away, and make them come to me. On their knees.
My fists clench at my sides because I’ve worked too damn hard not to be this guy to let one woman and a stunted sexual encounter with the girl I love fuck it up.
“Want me to get you off in half an hour?”
Feisty, this one. She looks me directly in the eyes while she waits for my answer. A challenge in her sea-green stare tells me she’s a good-time girl up for anything and everything.
My cock twitches at her bold invitation and it’s like . . .
It’s like you’ve spent your entire life existing on sugar and empty carbs, cake and cookies, just because it was there and you had no restraint, and now another cupcake has rolled onto the floor in your direction and part of you thinks, Fuck it—what’s one more? But deep down you know you won’t be satisfied. There will be guilt. Shame and remorse. It’s wasteful, really. You’ve had a taste of the real thing. Been sated by gourmet steak and potatoes and indulged in perfection so everything else seems . . . slightly nauseating.
“Thanks for the offer. And please don’t be insulted—you’re gorgeous. Obviously. But I’m going to call it a night.” I nod toward where Levi is standing with his guitar player. “Lead singer is a decent guy. You should introduce yourself.”
Red is very confused by this. I am, too—a little. The old me would’ve told her to meet me out back or in the kitchen or wherever my mind could conjure up on the spot. Technically I should be cock-blocking the hell out of Eaton for his previous fuckup, but he was genuinely sorry and he’s the reason Leaving Amarillo got into Austin MusicFest to begin with, so in a weird way I kind of owe him. Guess this is the new me. Apparently I repay favors and shit. My addiction counselor would be so proud.
“Oh-kay,” she says slowly, with a noncommittal shrug. “Maybe I’ll do that. Your loss.”
“You’re absolutely right. Have a good night.” I nod curtly, dismissing her because I’m ready to be alone so I can figure out where the hell Dixie got off to. McKinley is dancing with the bride and Dallas is shooting the shit with his buddy the sound guy.
“Where did you go, Bluebird?” I mutter mostly to myself.
“Dance with me, drummer boy,” a voice calls out as I pass.
Well, shit. This time the woman making the demand is Robyn Breeland-Lark.
I may not be an expert on weddings, but I know you sure as hell don’t turn down the bride.
“Your wish is my command.” I smile and try not to bare my teeth at McKinley as he hands Robyn over to me.
She feels tiny and fragile in my arms and I’m almost afraid for her. She’s pregnant, something only a few people here know, which is nuts because Texas is Texas and shit gets around. Being privy to that delicate knowledge makes me feel like she’s made of glass, and I handle her accordingly.
“She’s outside decorating Dallas’s truck with lingerie and shaving cream and balloons and tin cans and all that silly, traditional stuff.”
“What?”
Robyn scoffs at me. “Come on, Gav. It may be my wedding day, so I’m a little distracted, but I know who you’re looking for. Who you’re always looking for.”
I smile in spite of the awkwardness of being busted. “Yeah? That obvious, huh?”
Robyn smiles and I realize she actually is glowing. I thought that was some sort of myth or a trick of lighting, but her skin seems to have a light of its own and it’s strangely comforting.
“Pretty obvious. You know what’s not obvious?”
“What’s that?” I spin Robyn in a circle and catch Dallas’s eye. He’s watching closely. I don’t know why this hurts my feelings, maybe because I just recently discovered that I have them, but it does. Dallas Lark knows all my shit and is on a first-name basis with my addictions and issues, but surely he knows me better than that. This is his wife, for fuck’s sakes, and if anyone knows how deeply in love I am with his sister, it’s him. But I see it, the wolflike glint in his eye warning me to behave myself.
“Why you don’t just tell her the truth?”
My heart stutters in my chest. This is Dallas’s wife and Dixie’s best friend I’m talking to. She knows all my secrets and is close with the one person I never want to know them.
“Meaning?” I choke out over the significant stone of fear rising in my chest.
“Meaning you have been in love with Dixie Lark since we were kids, Gavin. And you and I both know how she feels about you. Even Dallas knows and has known, though he would rather not think about it, I’m sure. But this game you are playing, you and Dixie,” she clarifies. “It won’t end well if you aren’t honest with each other. Every second you spend in the dark about your feelings for each other is dangerous. People do stupid things when they’re hurt or sad or confused. Stop torturing each other and lay it out there. Or . . .”
“Or?”
“Or let her go, Gav,” she says softly. “Man up if you can’t be what she needs and deserves and let her go already. I can’t stand to see her hurting and closing herself off to everyone and everything while she waits for you to decide if she’s worth it or not. Life is too short to spend it pining for someone who will never come around, wishing for something you will never have, and holding on to something or someone that doesn’t want to be held.”
“Pregnancy has made you wise. And blunt.” I wink, and Robyn punches me playfully me in the chest.
“I was always honest. You know that. That’s why Dallas loves me, because I tell it like it is.”
“I love you for lots of reasons, babe.” Dallas reaches out to cut in and I step back and allow him to take my place.
“Good thing, because you went and knocked me up. Now you’re stuck with me.” Robyn winks, and I laugh, but in Dallas’s face I see pure love and adoration. If anything, she’s stuck with him because when Dallas Lark looks at any woman like that she is undeniably his for life.
“For the record, I was behaving myself,” I say quietly to Dallas. “That’s your wife, man. Congratulations. I’m happy for you.”
Dallas looks confused and I know the offense I took at his warning look and cutting in is probably misplaced.
“I know you were, Garrison. Far as I know, you want to see your next birthday, right?”
I shrug.
Honestly?
I could give a shit.
“Hey,” Dallas says, placing a hand on my chest. “I didn’t come over here to protect Robyn from you, man. I came over to protect you from her when I saw her punch you. She may be my wife but she’s also my sister’s best friend, so you are currently on the asshole list where Dixie is concerned. I didn’t want her getting her blood pressure up and decking you for real. Then I would’ve had to deck you for hurting her hand on your thick skull.”
