Текст книги "Missing Dixie"

Автор книги: Caisey Quinn

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He smiles and I force the best grimace I can on a deep breath. The tension in my chest lightens. It’s somewhat of a relief that he wasn’t worried.

I may have done some lowdown shit and Dallas knows all about it, but I would never mess with another man’s wife—my best friend’s or otherwise. Period. I did once, not knowing she was married, and that did not end well. Lesson learned.

“In that case, thanks for cutting in before she took a swing.”

Dallas hardly acknowledges my comment. Robyn murmurs something that sounds like “Did you talk to him yet?”

“I haven’t told him yet, no.” His ice-blue eyes are cold and hard when he returns his attention to where I’m standing, doing one hell of an impression of an unnecessary third wheel.

“Told me what? Is it twins?”

Dallas shakes his head. “Funny. That’s the same thing my sister said.”

The mention of her sends another pang of guilt or maybe regret through me. Whatever it is, it hurts like hell.

“Yeah? Great minds, I guess.”

“One baby,” Robyn hiss-whispers at me. “There is only one in there and I’ll thank y’all to quit putting the idea of multiples out into the universe. I’m freaking out enough as it is.”

I grin at her because she’s ridiculous. If she can handle Dallas, she can handle anything.

“So do I just keep guessing or what?”

“Or what,” Dallas says, before kissing Robyn quickly and allowing her Elvis impersonator uncle to cut in. “Come with me. We need to talk.”

The tension in his voice is freaking me the fuck out. “Dude. Whatever is going on, just tell me already. You know I don’t do well with beating around the bush.”

I half-expect him to make a manwhore joke about the bushes I’ve beaten but ever since I walked away from touring to get my life right, he hasn’t made a single crack. I don’t know if it’s Robyn’s influence on him or what, but I appreciate it. Nothing makes moving on from your mistakes harder than having them tossed into your face on a regular basis—whether it’s people kidding around or otherwise.

Once we’ve stepped away from the crowd, Dallas jerks his chin to a giant willow tree and we step behind it.

“So the battle of the bands at the Tavern,” he begins. “I talked to Dixie about it again after the rehearsal dinner.”

Could’ve been worse, I guess. I nod. “And?”

“And she’s still not sure. She’s taking the Over the Rainbow business—giving underpriviledged kids music lessons—very seriously and it takes up a lot of her time.”

Jesus. Of course she does. And yes I do know how she is. Because she couldn’t just be beautiful or talented or amazingly gorgeous. She has to be perfect. All of that light shouldn’t be tainted by my darkness.

But something is creeping up on the edge of my consciousness. It takes a few seconds but then it’s staring me full-on in the face.

“Wait. Only underprivileged kids?”

Dallas swallows so hard I see his Adam’s apple move behind his undone shirt collar.

“Yeah. Children of single parents, terminally ill parents or guardians, deceased parents, low-income families, and, um . . . drug addicts.”

I can’t verbalize how I feel right now, but I have a dangerous desire to hit something. It doesn’t make sense. She’s doing a good thing. Because she’s a good person, period. But it feels . . . personal.

Dixie the Fixer. Just grab a fiddle and fix everything right up. Kiss it all better—or in my case, fuck it all better.

“Gav. Breathe. She’s not doing it to hurt anyone or to get attention. She takes ridiculous stuff as payment, like one single dad mows the grass at the house and a young unwed mother makes her dinner once a week. Stuff like that. It’s not meant to upset anyone.”

“I know,” I choke out. “She would never hurt anyone on purpose.”

“Right. And like it or not, man, what you went through growing up, everything with your mom, we kind of went through it, too, once we moved to Amarillo. It affected me and Dixie both and sometimes it influences our decisions.”

“Doing favors for junkies is a bad idea, Dallas. Period. You know that. She should know that. It’s her getting hurt that I worry about.”

Dallas shakes his head. “Back up a step, man. I can see you making this about something else. She’s not doing favors for junkies. She’s sharing her gift with kids. Kids, man. Stop and let that sink in. Kids don’t deserve to be punished for their parents’ decisions. You should know that.”

Don’t they? I sure as hell got punished plenty for my mom’s choices. Still do from time to time. But none of that should ever come near my Bluebird.

“They come to the house? While she’s there alone?”

Dallas sighs. “Yeah. I guess. Sometimes.” He runs a hand hard through his hair. “They bring their kids, Gavin. Drop them off for forty-five minutes and then pick them up. End of story. Dixie’s a big girl. If she didn’t feel safe, she’d—”

“She’d what, Dallas? You know her. She gives everyone the benefit of the doubt. And you’re shacked up with Robyn so the last thing she’s going to do is tell you to leave your pregnant girlfriend or wife or whatever and come home because she’s worried about the meth head coming by later.”

“Gavin. Chill.”

I huff out some of my exasperation with how clueless the Lark siblings are. “No, I will not fucking chill. You live in this shiny fucking world where people are mostly good. And that’s great. I’m glad that you and Dixie both get to live there. But I know about the other side, the wretched, repulsive underbelly where the guy who changes your oil runs a chop shop out of his garage, and the knock-knock-joke-telling cook at Rio’s Diner hands out crack to kids not old enough to drive yet. I know that world because that’s where I fucking live. I’ve worked my ass off to keep her away from that and you’re telling me she’s inviting it over for fucking dinner. So no, I will not fucking chill.”

Dallas stares evenly at me. He knows by now it’s best to just let me get it all out, otherwise my best friend and I will come to blows on his wedding day and he will go on the fancy honeymoon OK! magazine paid for in order to get Dallas Walker’s exclusive wedding photos, with a shiner or a busted mouth.

There’s a reason you don’t ever see two alpha males in a pack. It’s really nothing short of mind-blowing that he and I have yet to actually lay each other out.

“How many?”

Dallas raises his eyebrows instead of speaking.

“How many drug addicts are coming by there? How many of them are using her for free child care while they go out and get high and then come back wasted if they come back at all? How many local junkies know where she lives?”

He shrugs and glances over to where, speak of the angel, Dixie is making her way over to us with shaving cream on her hands. “A couple. Two that I know of for sure. McKinley keeps an eye out. I know you don’t like him but he’s good people. He cares about her.”

Kick me while I’m down, why don’t you.

“McKinley’s pop is crooked as they come, Dallas. I don’t know what Jaggerd knows or doesn’t know, but they’re not exactly salt of the earth. Trust me.”

“Not everyone is out to hurt her, man. And in fact, if we want to get technical, the only person I know that has really hurt her so far is . . .”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

“You’re welcome.” Dallas tilts his head to the side as she gets closer. “For the record, I should kick your ass. But I’m going to tell myself that you’re both adults and you can work this out on your own. That’s what I brought you out here for. To tell you that you’re the only one that can find out the truth about whether or not she really wants to give Leaving Amarillo one more shot and if the contest at the bar is worth entering. I think this could be our last chance and we’ll regret it for the rest of our lives if we don’t take it. And hearing her sing like that tonight, I wish I’d known she was interested in singing more, and I would’ve added in that layer with our band. But I won’t push her if she isn’t ready. Pretty sure the only thing holding her back is, well . . . you.”

“Great. No pressure then.”

Dallas nods. “So there’s that. And also, Afton Tate should be here any second now. Robyn’s a big fan so he’s coming straight here after a concert in Oklahoma to sing us off onto our honeymoon.”

“Fantastic. I can hardly wait.”

Dallas smirks at my tone. “If you ask real nice he’ll probably give you an autograph. Maybe sign your tits.”

“Eat a dick, Dallas.”

Between McKinley and Tate, if I don’t end up drunk or high or screwing a random waitress tonight, it will literally be a miracle. My nerves are frayed as fuck and what I really want is to toss the woman coming my way over my shoulder and tell everyone else to back the hell off.

“Come on, boys. Robyn’s changing into her leaving dress!” Dixie flicks remnants of shaving cream off her fingers in our direction.

She’s lucky it’s not whipped cream or I would be following through on my desire to carry her ass out of here.

“Come see me off, man. Throw some rice or blow some bubbles or whatever Robyn picked out. Relax for a change.” Dallas shoulder-checks me as we walk. “I’ll be back in one week. I’ll expect an answer when I return about the battle. Whatever she decides, whatever she wants, we respect that, okay?”

“Always,” I answer honestly.

My mind whirs back to what feels like a lifetime ago, when I had her in my arms so wet and warm and willing in the bathroom.

I meant what I said. I will always respect what she wants. Even when she wants all the wrong things.

7 | Dixie

“YOU HAVE A good time tonight?”

I shrug off Jag’s question because what can I say? I had an awful time until Gavin almost screwed me on the bathroom counter. Then we got interrupted and I bailed because I couldn’t face him after humiliating myself like that.

Seems like TMI for the moment.

“It was nice. I’m just tired is all,” I tell him. “You?”

Jaggerd is usually pretty even-keeled so I can’t help but notice he gets a little twitchy and squirmy in his seat when I volley his own question back to him.

“Yeah. Pretty good.”

“Thanks for coming tonight.” I turn on the leather bench of his Mustang and notice that his eyes look like they might bulge out of his head. “Jag . . . something you want to talk about?”

“You’re welcome.” He continues staring out the windshield as if driving requires every ounce of his attention. “And nah. I’m good.”

“You sure? ’Cause you seem a little . . . off.” I vaguely recall Gavin saying something about Jag and Cassidy but I was slightly distracted during that conversation.

He clears his throat, probably to buy himself some time. I wait patiently, deciding to start the long, arduous process of removing bobby pins from my wedding hairdo.

“I’ll just sit quietly over here untangling my tangled rat’s nest while you decide if you want to tell me why you seem so bajigity.”

“Not even a word, Lark.”

“Don’t care, McKinley.”

Houses blur and I don’t even bother trying to count them. I’m not actually able to focus very well at the moment. He’s adjusting himself in his seat, so whatever he’s stressing about obviously is having an effect on his man parts. If he tells me he wants to get back together I might punch him in the throat. He knows a little about my Gavin drama and that the last thing I need right now is him wanting to be more than friends.

“So . . . your friend Cassidy . . . she’s single?”

Oh, thank God. I breathe an audible sigh of relief. “Yeah, as far as I know. Why? You got a crush?”

“Something like that,” he answers low, but the corners of his mouth quirk up.

“She’s a sweet girl. Got a raw deal in Nashville and had to come home to deal with stuff. Her parents moved away years ago, though. Basically said that if she moved to Nashville instead of going to the Ivy League college she was accepted to, she was dead to them. She crashed with Robyn at one point and now . . . huh. Now I don’t actually know where she’s staying.” I make a mental note to ask her the next time I talk to her.

“Wow. Ivy League. Smart girl.”

I nod, becoming increasingly curious about Jag’s new love interest. It’s nice to have someone else’s complicated situation to focus on. I can always analyze the relationships of others so much better than my own. Go figure.

“She is smart. She’s also super-impulsive and kind of overly trusting. Or at least she used to be. Life has a way of sucking the hope and trust and free spirit out of some of us.”

“Including you?”

I don’t answer right away because he already knows from our talks in the garage. Seeing Gavin in the bar that night, realizing he’d been here the whole time and hadn’t bothered to so much as shoot me a text to let me know, it changed me. Not that I’m ruined or anything but it hurt and I know I’ve become more careful and withdrawn. Jag and my brother have both pointed it out and Robyn is pretty much constantly on my case about it. “Talk to him,” she says. “Tell him how you feel. Demand answers.”

Right. If only it were that easy. I talked to him for five minutes tonight and look how well that turned out.

“Especially me,” I say quietly into the darkened car interior without checking to see if Jag heard me.

In my head, it’s black-and-white.

Gavin and I had a fling. One I pushed him into. He got me out of his system and moved on with his life without any further thoughts of me. Sadly, I’m not quite that detached and I was hurt and, well . . . heartbroken. But I’m a big girl. I’m no stranger to pain. Just wish I understood the purpose behind it sometimes.

In my heart, though, it’s one big Technicolor mess.

I love him with everything that I am and there isn’t much I wouldn’t give to make him love me back. In that way. The reason I don’t push him for answers is that I know what he’d say. Or something close to it.

I care about you, Dixie. You’re like family to me.

Basically, “I love you, too, but not in that way.”

My Nana used to say for everything there was a season. My season with Gavin wasn’t a season at all but more like a sunny spring day that appears too early, promising sunshine and warmth, only to tease you before an avalanche falls on your head and buries you in the cold, unforgiving snow for the foreseeable future.

“So, um, who was that guy? The singer that showed up and sang and then monopolized all of your friend’s attention?”

It takes me a second to catch up. My friend meaning Cassidy.

“Afton Tate. He’s a nice guy. I met him in Austin, and Dallas toured with him for a bit. Robyn’s a big fan.”

Jag’s mouth twists into a sneer. “I gathered that when she nearly fell over. Nice of him to come all this way.”

“Mmhm.”

The silence feels heavy and suffocating. I’ve kept quiet about so much for so long and I feel like I’ve outgrown the need to be a weed in the breeze. I want to sway and move of my own accord. I want to grow. So here goes.

“Jag?”

“Yeah?”

“True or false, you have a thing for Cassidy?”

Wide hazel eyes regard me as if I am a foreign species in his vehicle. “Um . . . true. I guess. Sort of.”

“No. Man up and grow a pair. It’s simple. I’m super tired of half-ass answers and folks hemming and hawing around. You’re either interested in her or you aren’t. Which is it?”

“I am,” he answers, like a soldier on command.

“So. What are you going to do about it?”

He scratches the light scruff on his jaw. “Um, ask her out sometime?”

“Are you asking me?”

He chuckles low and the sound reverberates like the car engine. “No. I’m going to ask her out. I should, right?”

“Stop asking me and decide. For the love of God, man.” We laugh and I mimic ringing his neck. “Guys kill me. You’re all tough as nails and manly men but then when confronted with a woman, particularly one who is openly interested in you, suddenly you’re mute and confused.”

“She’s probably too good for me. I mean, Ivy League? And then that Tate guy makes a beeline to chat her up. If Robyn nearly fainting dead away was any indication, dude is a big damn deal. I can’t compete with that.”

I roll my eyes. “Who says it’s a competition? Ask her out. If she’s into you she’ll say yes. If she’s not, she’ll say thanks, but no thanks. What’s so complicated?”

“Rejection is complicated, Dix. It messes with your head and confidence and self-esteem and all that shit. I feel like she got what she wanted tonight, then she moved on to the next guy. Seems to be a pattern with me.”

“Whoa there, cowboy. Do not hang your wussing out on me.” I jab a finger in his direction.

“It’s not just you. I’ve dated other girls, you know. I didn’t just sit around and pine for you, Lark.”

“Good. Life’s too short to pine. Believe me.”

Jag nods as we pull into my driveway. “Seems someone else got tired of it also.”

Standing under the golden glow of the porch light is Gavin Garrison in all of his half-removed-tuxedo-clad glory.

“He must’ve hauled ass to beat us here,” Jag remarks under his breath, and I know he’s wondering about the size of Gavin’s engine compared to his. Boys.

“Wonder what’s wrong.” I don’t make a move to get out of the car. I can’t. I’m not ready to face him unexpectedly. He missed the rehearsal dinner because he had to work and I was braced to deal with him at the wedding, but this, this beat-down yet still beautiful and sure of himself version currently lowering himself onto my weathered wooden porch swing, I’m not ready for him.

“If you’re waiting for a good-night kiss, I’m going to have to take a rain check. You’re a great girl and you know I’m always here for almost anything you need, but I’ve grown pretty attached to my teeth. All of them. So . . .”

“Shut it, McKinley. I’m thinking.”

“About?”

Getting him to admit he was interested in Cassidy was like pulling teeth. When it’s my business he’s chatty all of the sudden.

“About what he’s doing here. What he wants and why it couldn’t wait. About what I should say to him and how I should approach this particular—”

“You’re overthinking it.”

I make a noise of agreement in my throat. “I do that.”

“Get out of my car, Lark. Man up and grow a pair, as you said.”

I shake my head. “That advice doesn’t work on women.” I stare at Gavin as he leisurely begins to swing back and forth, swaying slightly. A man on the outside, still kind of a little boy on the inside.

I love them both. All of him.

Probably not going to lead with that, though.

“All right. I’m going.”

“Later, babe. Good luck with . . . that.”

“Good night, Jag. Good luck with Cass. Oh! She likes that Greek place, the one with the awesome hummus.”

He laughs gently. “Thanks. I’ll make a note of it.”

Maybe my tip earned me some gentlemanly behavior or maybe he’s delaying calling Cassidy, but Jaggerd gets out of the car before I can and walks around and opens my door.

“Wow. Now it’s like a real date.”

His cheeks pink just a little. “Nah. Like I said. Old habits.”

I smile as he nods curtly to Gavin, who nods slowly back while stretching his arms across the back of the swing. How Gavin Garrison manages to exude such constant calm, I will never know. Even in the bathroom tonight, he totally had his shit together while I was coming apart at the seams.

Wait. No. Seams.

He did tear my panties completely off, so maybe he didn’t have it as together as I thought.

Walking with carefully measured steps up my front walk toward him, my body heats at the memory.

Is he here to finish what he started?

Do I want him to be here for that?

“Hey,” I say in greeting when I step onto the porch and remove my heels, holding the pair in one hand.

“Hey.” He rolls his lower lip between his teeth and every memory I have of his mouth comes flooding to the forefront of my mind.

I wonder what his lips taste like right now. Do they taste like me? Like wedding cake? Like liquor?

My attention has dropped noticeably to his mouth and when I recover my sanity his eyes gleam as he takes notice of my slip.

He stands, rattling the porch and causing my entire body to vibrate with need. My cheeks flare with the same heat that spreads across the rest of my flesh from the inside out.

The glow of the dim porch light catches the glint in his eye. The darkness surrounding him makes him look even more like a threat to my sanity. I finally see what other people see now, people who don’t know him or don’t know what he’s lived through.

Gavin Garrison is dangerous. Seductive and complicated and made entirely of muscles and ink and testosterone. Or at least it seems that way at the moment. Because he exudes maleness the way some women leave traces of their perfume everywhere they go.

“Can we talk?” Even his voice is a low rumble laced with the promise of dark pleasure.

I nod dumbly. “We can try.”

“Want to stay out here or can I come in?”

My thighs want to clench and give me away. I want him to come inside. Deep, deep inside. I want the dark pleasure and the pain only he can give me. I want it badly.

“Um.” I swallow and attempt to moisten my mouth as all of my bodily fluids seemed to have fled to a locale farther south. “It’s up to you. You’re the one who came by to talk, so you can decide.”

He glances at the door with a wistful expression on his face. “I should stay out here. For now.”

Disappointment weighs on my chest. “Okay.”

“Come,” he says evenly, making his demand sound more like a request for a favor while stepping backward in retreat toward the swing. “Sit with me?”

I comply, lowering myself onto the creaky old swing and groaning a little myself because it’s been a long day.

“You were right here. Right here where you are now the first time I saw you.”

I watch him remembering. His eyes glaze a little and the hint of a sad smile plays at his mouth.

“You and Dallas looked so . . . I don’t know. Clean. Perfect. Like kids from one of those black-and-white photos in the picture frames at the drugstore.”

My mind travels back in time along with his. The day of my parents’ funeral. People came, a lot of people, in and out carrying covered dishes and desserts and remarking just a little too loudly on what a shame it was our grandparents had to spend their golden years raising children who weren’t even theirs.

“It was a tough day. My aunt Sheila dressed us. She nearly tore all of my hair out trying to brush it.” Straight-haired people so do not understand the plight of those of us born with naturally curly locks. The struggle is real, people.

“You looked beautiful. And I was not the kind of kid who thought of girls as beautiful.”

“Did you think they were icky and had cooties?” I tease.

Gavin doesn’t smile back. He shakes his head. “No. I’d seen things. Seen men and women doing things. In my house. On my couch. My mom was too high to really care or pay attention. I knew how it worked, and frankly, it seemed gross and kind of terrifying and I planned to steer clear of females forever.”

A gripping sense of dread overtakes me and I forget to be upset with him or nervous around him. Gavin doesn’t talk about his childhood much and when he does, my heart aches to make it better.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, unable to imagine what that must have been like, to witness those kinds of things at such a young age.

“Don’t be. I’m not telling you to make you feel sorry for me. You know I don’t do pity or charity.”

“I know.”

“The reason I was telling you was because that day, things changed for me. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I saw a girl that didn’t terrify me, didn’t make me feel strange or confused, or slightly sick to my stomach.”

“What did that girl make you feel?” Chills break out across my skin as I wait for his answer.

“Hope.” There is so much emotion behind his answer I’m almost overcome with the need to kiss him, climb him, cover and smother him with love and kisses and whatever else I have to give. Somehow I remain still, and he continues. “I saw you and I felt hopeful. You were like no one I’d ever seen before. Wild and still all at once. Kind and selfless and beautiful. It’s a rarer combination than you realize.”

“You were hungry. Looking for food. Maybe your eyes were playing tricks on you.”

It might be the wrong thing to say or too sensitive an issue to bring up, but I have to lighten the mood or I’m going to combust. Or completely humiliate myself with a profession of undying love.

“They weren’t.” He’s smiling, and God, I love that smile. His dimples, his lips, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. “And it wasn’t just my eyes, Bluebird. I felt different. When you ran inside, I thought maybe you were running away from me because I was a mess and I’d scared you or something. But you came back out with food and I knew it was for me, but you didn’t make me ask for it or even act like it was a big deal. You didn’t treat me like a stray dog or a charity case. You and Dallas treated me like a person when no one else did. That meant something to me.” After a beat of silence, he goes on. “It still means something to me. Which is why—”

“Which is why you and I can never be anything more than friends that are like family. Right. I got it. You made that perfectly clear a long time ago and I should’ve listened.”

He’s opening up to me and as good as that feels, this “here’s why we can never be together” speech is breaking me apart on the inside.

“That’s what you think? What you really believe?”

I almost say, “That’s what I know.”

Months. He was here and didn’t tell me. I was on the road alone and then going to bed alone night after night and he was right here. No phone call. No text. Not a single smoke signal to be seen. There has to be a reason for that. The words hang out on the tip of my tongue and new me is bolder and mouthier and says how she feels, but this feels like a lie.

The truth is I don’t know. So I tell him that.

“I don’t know what I think or believe, to be honest.”

“I think you do, Bluebird. But I understand why you would fight it. I haven’t done much to make myself clear, have I?”

“Not exactly,” I whisper, afraid of breaking this magical trance where he opens up. I stare at him, unsure whether he’s testing me or not. His eyes are dark, but his lips are slightly upturned. I could stare at him every second of every minute of every hour for the rest of my life and still not get my fill of him.

My head knows he just wants to keep me in the friend zone where he feels I belong, but my heart is leaping for joy as if he’s made some huge declaration my head hasn’t processed yet. There’s always been something about him, about us. Something magnetic. Something enticing. An unrelenting force pulling us toward one another.

Something more powerful than either of us as individuals.

He remains still, watching me as if waiting for me to catch a clue, but I can’t seem to put it all together. I can tell he’s trying, but his eyes are always so guarded. He’s difficult to read and when you add that to how little he actually verbalizes, it’s like trying to put together a puzzle while someone holds the picture of what it’s supposed to look like behind their back.

With a deep sigh, Gavin stands, leaving me rocking a little harder backward on the swing.

“I should go. Being here, with you, after tonight . . .”

“I’m not going to beg you for one more night, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Whoa. That just shot right out of my mouth. Apparently I have some repressed anger still hanging around.

Gavin frowns at me. “I’m not worried about that. Not in the least.”

Ouch. Thanks for that. “Oh. Okay. Well, I just wanted to be clear. I got it, that it was just the one night and then the second time I was all upset over my grandpa and—”

“That was the fourth time, sweetheart. For the record.”

Now I’m flustered. I don’t know what his game is, but he’s better at it than I am. I flush all the way from my head to my toes and it’s a deep burn. Gavin always was the flame and I always was the bluebird flying too close.

“Right. Anyway, I just wanted to say that I’m not going to be that girl anymore.”

He shoves his hands in his pockets and gazes at me as if I’ve said something amusing. “What girl would that be?”

I stand because I don’t like the positioning of him looking down at me. “The one who had some silly notion that one night would change anything. The one that pushed you into something you obviously didn’t really want to get involved in.”

“Ah. That girl.” He nods a little too emphatically. “I see. The one who took what she wanted, consequences be damned?”

“Um.”

“The one who was honest about her feelings and bared her heart and soul to an undeserving asshole? The girl who stood her ground and demanded I stop being a fucking coward and give her what we both wanted and needed?”

“Yeah?” Now I’m confused.

“Oh good. That girl is nothing but trouble. Glad I won’t be seeing her anymore.” There’s an undeniable gleam of mischief in his eye and I can’t help it—seeing him playful and teasing makes me smile.

“You’re twisting the situation,” I bite out at him.

“Am I? Because if memory serves, that girl was pretty honest about what she wanted. It’s this new one that seems to keep her true feelings on lockdown. But that’s why I came by.”

“To unlock my feelings?”

He grins at my dubious tone. Pretty sure this is the most I’ve ever seen him smile. Like, ever.

“To tell you that I understand why you’re being careful. Why you’re guarded. I deserve that.”

And we’re back to square one. My gaze narrows on him. “I’ll consider myself warned.”

“For now,” Gavin says easily while making his way down the porch steps. “I want you to be careful around me. But one day, one day I will get my shit together, I will have something real to offer you, and hand to God, I will be someone you can trust again.”

“Gavin Garrison, if you tell me to wait for you right now, I’ll—”

“I’m not telling you to do anything. I’m just letting you know that once upon a time a devil fell in love with an angel,” his hypnotic voice tells me. “And now that devil is working on becoming the kind of man worthy of an angel’s love. That’s why I didn’t call you when I came home. I have a few issues I need to work through and straighten out.”

“Do these issues involve the blonde from the bar?”

He flinches. Noticeably. Did he think I forgot about her?

“Sort of,” he answers. “At the moment, yes. It’s complicated. But it won’t always be, if that makes sense.”

“It doesn’t.”

“I’m sorry.” In his defense, he does appear genuinely apologetic.