Текст книги "Missing Dixie"
Автор книги: Caisey Quinn
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
“Me too,” I say, because it’s all that comes to mind.
“Good night, Bluebird.”
“Night, Gav.”
I watch him walk down my driveway toward wherever he parked on the street and disappear into the night. I don’t even know how I feel, just that I feel so many things all at once. Too many to divide and decipher.
My panties—what was left of them—were in his pocket. I saw the corner of them. I was going to tell him but the opportunity didn’t exactly present itself.
If I’m being truthful? I’m just catty enough to hope the blonde finds them.
8 | Gavin
THREE DAYS GO by and nothing.
I thought I’d see her, run into her, something. I even took my mom’s barely running Oldsmobile to the McKinleys’ to get an oil change in case she was hanging around.
Dallas is going to be pissed that I haven’t discussed the battle of the bands with her. I want to. I do. I just don’t want to appear like someone trying to talk her into something. The last thing I would want would be for her to think the whole spiel about getting my shit together is to bully her into participating in the battle.
I care about that, too, but nowhere near as much as I care about her. She can say fuck the band for all I care, as long as she allows me to be in her life.
I have a plan, one that does not involve the band at all. Basically I have to finish paying the penance for what I did the year she was in Houston. Then, once that’s all squared away here in a few weeks, I’ll tell her about it and how I’ve successfully completed all required conditions of my probation, and once it’s over, I just want to take her on a date. A real date. Dinner, a movie, a long walk where I grovel and beg for forgiveness for any and all pain I’ve caused. But first, I want to be her friend again.
I wouldn’t trade my memories from Austin for all the money in the world. But if I said I didn’t have regrets, I’d be lying.
Dixie deserves better than a hot fuck in a Days Inn. Granted, it was the hottest night of my life, but still. She deserves dinner, and candlelight, and romance. Most of all, she deserves honesty. I have so much I have to come clean about but with the battle and Ashley and my mom disappearing for days at a time, telling her now would ruin everything. I need time, time for her to see me as her friend again and not just the guy that screwed her and then screwed her over. Then and only then can I tell her everything, and if the pieces all fall apart, I’ll be there, as her friend, to put them back together. My hope is that once she knows everything, processes it, and, okay, maybe hates me with the fire of five Hells, she’ll eventually understand why I did what I did and forgive me. Then maybe we can be . . . more. I hope. God, I fucking hope. This girl makes me hope like a madman.
So far this all seems feasible. For the most part. With a few exceptions.
Jaggerd is a jagged fucking thorn in my side. He may have nailed Cassidy at Dallas’s wedding, but his entire demeanor changed at the sight of me and there is definitely still some love for Dixie Lark left in his system.
I recognize the gestures. Squared shoulders, tense jaw, refusal to break eye contact even after it’s appropriate to do so.
Territorial. Protective. Possessive.
He’s like a stand-in for Dallas but in Jaggerd’s case his connection to her is physical, not biological. Which in turn makes me a raging meathead tempted to pound the shit out of him just for good measure.
Cavemen had it so much easier. Dude encroached on your territory? You straight-up killed his ass. Or beat him so bad he hoped like hell never to cross paths with you again.
I should’ve been born in the prehistoric era.
As it is, McKinley and I sort of circle each other. He comes in the bar sometimes, sits as far from me as possible. We both politely refuse to acknowledge the other’s existence with anything other than grunts and short nods. Both of us pretend not to hate the other, as if we don’t feel intimidated or threatened in any way. This is the socially acceptable version of caveman behavior, I guess.
When I go in to get my oil changed, I check my phone a few more times than necessary and he stares under the hood like he’s examining a labyrinth.
“Saw the flyer at the bar.”
I glance up from my phone as if I forgot he was even there. “Oh yeah? Which one?”
“The one about the battle of the bands.”
“Yeah. That’s coming up soon.”
McKinley wipes his hands on a cloth and slams the hood closed. “You and Dallas going to enter?”
I tuck my phone into my back pocket. “The band is considering entering.”
“The band as in Dixie?” He says this as if he knows something I don’t.
“The band as in the three of us. Why? You gonna come out and show your support?”
He huffs out a laugh. “Tried that once. Didn’t end so well.”
No shit. More like he showed his ass. Dude got six sheets to the wind and showed up and made a scene. Dallas had to escort him out to keep me from knocking his ass out. He said some very unflattering things about Dixie, and she was his girlfriend at the time. My blood pressure spikes just thinking about it.
“Yeah. I remember.”
He snorts. “I bet you do.”
“You got a problem with me, McKinley? ’Cause if I’m honest, I’m not your biggest fan. But I’m not really losing any sleep over whether or not you plan to start me up a fan club, either. In some way, I think that makes us even.”
He regards me warily for a full minute before responding. “You hurt her. You’re still hurting her. And I have a feeling the little detour you took on your way home after the wedding has more to do with you wanting her to play in the battle than trying to patch things up.”
This guy is something else. “Let’s be real for a second, man. You don’t know me. You don’t know jack shit about me other than local rumors, and let’s face it, if we all believed those, I’d be able to get this chop shop shut down with one phone call.” His eyes widen and he keeps his mouth shut. Enjoy being speechless, asshole. “Yeah, so, I don’t know. Maybe don’t waste your precious time worrying about my intentions with Dixie. And I won’t worry about your dad’s intentions when he does thousands of dollars’ worth of work for cash only.”
Just when I think I’ve won, dude laughs. Straight-up laughs out loud like I am damn comedian.
I arch a brow and cross my arms over my chest. “Something funny?”
He takes longer than necessary to compose himself. “Yeah. You. You’re hilarious.”
“Which part exactly did you find humorous? Just so we’re clear.” I narrow my eyes, hoping he gets the message about just how close to an ass beating he is.
I can hear Ashley telling me to keep my nose clean if I want to get off probation anytime soon, but the rage is already beginning to rise to the surface. I need my damn drum kit. Now.
Once he’s got a hold on his giggling, McKinley stares me straight in the face. “Just so we’re clear, I was particularly amused by the part where the local drug dealer, you know, the one that takes sexual favors as payment from anything with a pussy, threatened to rat out my dad.”
The shock on my face must show. I didn’t know that was common knowledge, but there it is.
Dixie doesn’t know how far I fell the year she was in Houston, but Jaggerd McKinley obviously does. What I can’t work out is why he wouldn’t have told her already and gotten me out of his way.
“No wait, wait,” he says mockingly, as if trying to stave off another fit of laughter. “It might’ve been the part where the strung-out cokehead told me I didn’t know jack shit about him when I’m the one who rebuilt Dallas’s truck last year after you nearly killed him in it. News flash: the Amarillo PD don’t go out of their way to protect lowlife scum like drug users and distributors so I got a nice, long look at the details on the paperwork when it passed through here for insurance purposes. So, who knows, man. I guess it’s a toss-up on which part of your bullshit speech I found the most entertaining.”
There is no trace of humor in his voice. He’s good and pissed now and so am I.
If ever there was someone I didn’t want to know my business, particularly business I have successfully managed to keep from Dixie for this long, it’s her jealous ex-boyfriend.
When I speak, my voice comes out low and lethal. “You and I live on the same side of this town and I bet you’ve got a few secrets you’d rather not be made public. Daddy’s side business is probably just one of them.” When he doesn’t argue, I finish speaking my piece. “You can judge me all you want and I couldn’t give two shits what you think. But I can tell you this: if any of that information makes its way to Dixie through any channels other than me directly telling her—which, believe it or not, I do intend to do—you will wish you’d kept your mouth shut.”
It’s low, the empty threat. Well, mostly empty. But I’m panicking. If McKinley knows that much, then it’s likely there are people who know more and might be less inclined to keep that knowledge to themselves.
I thought I had more time.
I had a plan.
My plan is shot to hell.
9 | Dixie
DID GAVIN TALK to you yet?
I wake up Wednesday morning to my alarm blaring out a song called “Better Than You Left Me,” and an hour-old text from my brother.
I wipe the sleep from my eyes and squint while texting him back.
Sort of. Why?
Dallas doesn’t respond right away and he’s on his honeymoon, so I don’t really want to think about what he might be doing or risk calling and interrupting.
I take my time showering and eating breakfast. My first lesson isn’t coming until 1 P.M. so there’s no rush.
After I’ve tamed my hair into a manageable low ponytail and dressed in well-worn jeans and a black tank top with red letters that say KEEP CALM AND HUG A DRUMMER—what can I say, I have a thing for drummers—I pick up around the house and unload and reload the dishwasher. How jealous people would be if they could see my glamorous life.
It’s not until the doorbell chimes that I realize it’s time for Maisey’s piano lesson. I don’t realize how empty the house seems until I have company.
“Hey, ladies,” I say to six-year-old Maisey and her mom, Leandra.
Leandra was a sixteen-year-old rape victim who used pain pills and narcotics to try to ignore her resulting pregnancy until she couldn’t anymore. They’ve have a rough go of it and Maisey is tiny for her age, something I know Leandra still feels an immense amount of guilt over, but she’s actually one of my best students. Maybe the best.
“Hi, Miss Dixie,” Maisey says. “I practiced on my princess keyboard all week!”
“Yeah!” I give her an enthusiastic high-five. “Go you!”
Leandra grins at us and shoots me a thankful look. “She really did. She’s getting so good. I’m going to grab some groceries and I’ll be back, probably before you’re done.”
“Sounds good.” I close the door behind Leandra and usher Maisey over to the piano bench. “Show me which piece you’ve been working on.”
For the next half hour I work with Maisey. Her mom arrives a few minutes before her lesson is over and we play a mini-concert complete with a curtsy.
In the hour before my next lesson, I sit and I wait.
He’ll be here. He always is.
He won’t ring the bell or knock. He’ll just wander almost aimlessly up to the porch and stand there until I let him inside.
It took him two weeks to come inside and a third week before he told me his name.
Liam.
I don’t know what his story is, or why he shows up here, but I always make sure to have a snack and a beginner piano lesson ready.
Today is the same as before. I listen for him, opening the door once I hear him on the front porch.
The sight of him breaks my heart and yet again, I don’t see a car in sight that could’ve dropped him off. His clothes are stained and threadbare and his hair is oily as if he could use a good bath. I want to offer him more than cookies or a sandwich or a piano lesson but I can’t find the words that would make this appropriate. So I just stick to our routine. For now.
“Good afternoon, Liam.” I’m careful to keep my voice low. He’s got the demeanor of a cornered animal that might flee the room at any time.
“Hi,” he says just as quietly.
“Come sit,” I say, pulling out the piano bench. “I picked out ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’ today. It’s a good one.”
His eyes narrow like they always do, as if he’s waiting for this to be a lie or a trick. Liam is a dark-haired little boy with matching eyes that darken when he gets frustrated, which happens often. He reminds me of another broody musician I know. I contemplate asking Gavin to give him drum lessons because piano, violin, and even guitar pretty much just piss him off. I want to love and hug Liam the same way I want to smother Gavin with love to help guide him out of the darkness, but that would likely piss him off, too.
Liam keeps a shield up, an impenetrable one I’m almost envious of.
He stumbles through the song with my encouragement two full times before telling me he’s done.
“Okay, that was good. Did you want to try any other instruments today?”
He shakes his head and stares at the floor.
“Whew, playing piano is tiring work. You want a sandwich and some pretzels or something? Tea? A soda?”
Liam’s eyes lift and lighten for a few seconds before he shrugs. “That’d be okay I guess.”
Once I’ve retrieved the peanut butter and jelly sandwich and pretzels, I set them down on the table along with a sandwich for myself. I grab both a grape soda and a glass of iced tea, not sure which he’ll prefer. He reaches for the soda and downs almost all of it in two drinks.
Watching him eat makes me lightheaded and heartbroken. He eats like he hasn’t eaten in months.
I slide my plate in his direction. “You know what? I messed up. I put grape jelly on my sandwich and I only like strawberry. Think you could eat mine, too, so it doesn’t go to waste?”
He barely takes a breath before nodding and inhaling the second sandwich.
Every week I tell myself I’m going to find out what this kid’s deal is, who’s neglecting him this way. Every week I get scared that if I push him he’ll disappear. Asking about his parents has been a major failure each time. His mom is dead, he says, and his dad doesn’t like “no one in their business.”
I decide to take a different approach.
“Liam? Can you tell me about your house? What it’s close to?”
He wipes his mouth with his sleeve and takes a long drink of soda. “Where the big trucks are. It’s by where the big trucks get gas.”
I rack my brain for a few seconds. There’s a truck stop beside the highway . . . but the only houses out there are run-down and mostly condemned. I tell myself he can’t possibly be crossing the highway alone to get here.
Can he?
“Can you tell me what your house looks like? Does it look like this one?”
His chair scrapes the floor as he backs up quickly to stand. “I gotta go. I’ll get in trouble if I don’t get home soon.”
I stand as well. “Can I drive you home? You could show me the way. That way I’ll know—”
“No,” he says, coming the closest to shouting as I’ve ever seen him. “My daddy doesn’t like people on his property. Says it’s trespassin’.”
“Okay.” I nod and walk slowly with him to the door. “You come back anytime, Liam. Okay? Tonight, tomorrow, whenever you want.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answers as I open the door for him.
After he leaves and I’ve composed myself a bit, I remember to check my phone and am surprised to see two messages from Dallas. One says to call when I can and the other asks what I think. What I think about what?
Jag texted and asked me if we could have dinner to talk. I assume he’s planning to ask Cassidy out and I find it mildly amusing that he’s asking me, queen of disastrous and impossible relationships, for advice.
I text Jag back and tell him to let me know when and where and then I dial Dallas, praying he doesn’t answer out of breath and totally gross me out and ruin my lunch break.
“Hey, Dix,” Robyn answers cheerfully. “Dallas just got out of the shower but I know he wants to talk to you. Hang tight.”
“ ’Kay.” My lungs finally take in air, something they’ve struggled to fully do since my brother went missing. “How’s the vacay?”
“It’s good. Amazing, actually. But, um, Dix, I’m going to say this fast because he doesn’t want you to know because he doesn’t want it to affect your decision but—”
“That Dixie?” I hear my brother call out in the background.
“Yeah,” Robyn calls back to him. “We’re gonna have a little girl chat. Go ahead and get dressed.”
“Thanks for that mental image of my naked brother. Lovely,” I say while making another sandwich.
“You’re welcome.” Robyn laughs lightly but there is still tension in her voice, “Listen, you did not hear this from me, okay?”
“It’s twins, right? I knew it!”
“Seriously I am going to cut you if you keep saying that.”
I take a bite of my PB&J. “If I say it enough it will eventually happen. Then you can name one after me.”
“You’re crazy.” I can hear the eye roll in Robyn’s tone.
“You love me. So what’s the top-secret news?”
Her voice lowers to an actual whisper I have to strain to hear. “The label released Dallas today. Officially. He’s reaching out to some other contacts in hopes that he can still cut his record one way or another, but it’s pretty up in the air right now, so he’s stressed. Even more than usual.”
My heart sinks even though I know he suspected this would happen. “Oh no. That sucks.”
“Yeah it does. Here he is with a pregnant wife and no job. He’s trying to play it cool and not worry me but I see it, the strain it’s put on him since we found out this morning. Anyway, I just wanted to give you a heads-up in case he’s moody or assholish in the near future.”
I can’t help but laugh because she totally gets him. “Got it. Thanks for the warning.”
“And just know that we love you,” Robyn says. “Whatever you decide is fine. If you’re not feeling the battle right now, we totally understand.”
“I’m guessing you’re referring to the battle of the bands competition?”
“Yeah. Wait, here he is, hon,” she says before explaining herself any further.
“Hey,” Dallas says, his deep voice booming through the phone much more powerfully than his wife’s.
“Hey yourself, Mr. Breeland.”
He chuckles at my comment. “Pretty much sums it up. So how’s it going back home?”
“Not quite as tropical and exotic as Costa Rica, but we make do.”
“It is beautiful here. Though not as beautiful as the girl I get to wake up to every day.”
Sheesh. “Who are you and what have you done with my brother?”
His chuckle warms my insides. Dallas and I may never have had the easiest life but we’ve known love and happiness. It makes my entire life to hear him so deeply overjoyed in love. It also makes me a teensy bit jealous but that’s my own hang-up.
“I’m still here. As much as I hate to do this, Dix, we’re running out of time. We have to confirm this practice gig for next week like two days ago and I don’t know what Gavin told you but I think this might be the perfect opportunity for us. One last shot, you know? It’s like . . . fate or something.”
I move my tongue back and forth to remove the peanut butter from the roof of my mouth and then take a big swallow of sweat tea.
“I’m thinking about it. I am. I swear.”
“Did you and Gavin talk about it?”
“Um, negative. Gavin didn’t say a word about any of that.”
My brother huffs out a loud breath of annoyance. “Of course he didn’t. Because that would’ve been doing something I asked. Ask Gavin to turn right and he’ll go left every damn time.” Now he sounds more like the overbearing bandleader I know.
“So . . . the competition?”
“We don’t have much time to rehearse, and Robyn and I have to get the nursery ready, but it’s two songs in round one, one song in round two, and an original if we make it to the final round.”
“And you really want to do this? What if you get a better offer as Dallas Walker?”
“Dallas Walker was a joke, Dix. You know me. I belong with the band . . . and honestly, so do you. But there’s more I need to tell you about the competition. Details I’d hoped Gavin would discuss with you,” Dallas adds. “And I don’t want you to feel pressured, but I’ve seen a few of the other bands performing and I think we have a decent shot.”
“Spit it out, D.”
“The contest is sponsored by Rock the Republic Records. First prize is a recording contract and a significant amount of cash.”
My chest aches at the idea of ruining this for him. This is why Robyn wanted me to know he might be a little nuts and why she mentioned that his label released him. The tabloids have had a field day with the Country Music Crooner Dallas Walker Walks Away from It All for Love headline and they’ve already sold the exclusive rights to the baby announcement and first photos, but like everything else in this life, that money will run out eventually.
Turns out babies are expensive.
I’ve told him repeatedly that even after the renovations to the house and the money I spent on equipment and licensing needed for starting Over the Rainbow, I still have royalties leftover from what Capitol paid for Better to Burn. But we are Larks and Larks are stubborn.
I want to be ready for this. I want to stand up there with my band and own it like I should’ve done in Nashville instead of letting a bitchy manager get in my head. But so much is still uncertain. This life, in this house, my meager existence, it’s safe. Safer than the road, than hotel rooms with Gavin and nights of watching groupies fall all over him. And truth be told, I like giving music lessons. I look forward to it and it makes me happy.
“It sounds like a huge opportunity, Dallas. I’m interested, but you know I have a lot going on with Over the Rainbow and—”
“Dixie, if we win this thing, you can have half the money to incorporate OTR and hire more instructors. If we tour, you could visit inner-city schools during downtime and give group lessons. I have thought about this and I don’t want to take anything away from you. I swear. I don’t even care about the money at this point. We’ll survive. What I want is our band back. I never should’ve walked away from it, never should’ve left you when you were hurting. I should’ve been there for you.”
Tears well in my eyes because I can hear them in his voice. “Well, shit, Dallas. Now you’re making me cry. Stop that.”
“Sorry. I’m not trying to upset you or manipulate you. I really will love you just the same if you say you’re not into this at all. But I had to ask. Technically, Gavin was supposed to ask but I’m getting used to him chickening out when it comes to you.”
Maybe he’s right. Or maybe Gavin was going to play another hand—the “I know you want me” hand. Was he going to screw with me like that? Pretend he wanted to be with me, eventually, when he’s done with the blonde, to get me to go along with this?
My emotions twist into an intricate knot in the pit of my stomach.
“I need some time to think about it. Either way, we can still do the warm-up gig. Go ahead and confirm.”
My brother barely suppresses a yelp of joy. Gavin says we don’t have poker faces. He’s right. We don’t. But he sure as hell does.
“Awesome. I’m so glad you’re on board,” he tells me on a huge sigh that sounds like relief. “I’ll text you all the details and the competition info with my thoughts on the songs we should play as soon as we hang up.”
“ ’Kay. Love you, big brother.”
“Love you, too, Dixie Leigh.” My usually closed-off brother is overflowing with the emotions. I like it. It’s different, but I like it.
After we hang up, my phone buzzes in my hand and texts from Dallas come in one after another.
My vision blurs trying to read it all.
Dallas has really put a lot of thought into this. I agree with all but one of his song choices and I text him back to tell him so. I’m a little surprised when I notice the excitement and anticipation welling up inside me.
I want this. I want to do this.
Moreover, I want to win.
At the edge of my awareness, there is still that same nagging concern that is always there. The thought of playing music with Gavin feels like facing a giant mountainous incline the world expects me to climb. One with terrain I have no clue how to navigate and haven’t had time to train adequately for.
I shake my head and stand. This isn’t about Gavin Garrison. This is about my band—a band I am just now acknowledging is as much mine as Dallas’s or Gavin’s.
I can do this. I have loved. And lost. I have grown. I am stronger.
I’ve learned a few vital lessons over these past few months. It’s not knowledge and experience that helps us to grow and mature.
It’s pain. It’s damage. It’s recovering from it. Surviving it.
I am stronger because I had to be. I’ve been hurt so many times. By life, by death, by love, and by loss. I am happier because I’ve known profound sadness, wiser because I’ve made epic mistakes and learned from them. But I am still standing.
Damn straight I am.
Oz sits faceup on the kitchen table and I run my fingers over his strings. “You ready for this? Want one more run at this thing? Think we’re ready?”
The buzz of electricity hums through my fingertips like an answer and it ignites every cell in my body. I am grinning like a maniac as I use my ancient laptop to research the competition.
I’m still smiling when my next student rings the doorbell. I have survived everything in my life so far—this won’t kill me.
At least I hope it won’t.
