Текст книги "Loving Dallas"

Автор книги: Caisey Quinn

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

29 | Robyn

“YOU LATE?”

Dallas’s words echo in my head over and over.

Because I am late. And I am never late. My life runs according to a very set schedule and my body cooperates with this most of the time.

I try to reason it away. I’m stressed. I’ve been traveling a lot. My body is just out of whack.

After hours of hanging decorations and lights and chasing down everything from extension cords to building permits, my feet and lower back ache like I spent the morning beginning my career as a barefoot carrot farmer. To make matters worse, I feel like I’m coming down with something. Something I am hoping and praying has nothing to do with the fact that my monthly visitor from Hell had yet to arrive. The nausea has mostly subsided but a wave blindsides me and while Katie handles the rest of the setup I am in the bathroom, sitting on a closed toilet seat holding a wet paper towel to my neck.

After a few minutes the soggy texture of it against my skin threatens to bring the half a turkey sandwich I had for lunch back up, so I throw it away and lean on the cool marble wall, concentrating on taking deep breaths until I regain my equilibrium. That is, until the scent of the bleach-based cleaner they must use to sanitize the ladies’ room hits my nostrils and nearly doubles me over.

Tonight’s party is one of the most important of my career, the one Mr. Martin will use to decide if I can really pull this off as well as I’ve said I can. I might as well be wearing a T-shirt that says, “Don’t believe the hype.”

The two-story historic home is fully decorated by the time I feel steady enough to leave the restroom. Guests are pouring in and it looks like I pulled myself together just in time. The main room is alive with neon blue lights streaking the blackened ceiling and our LED-lit displays are strategically placed by each minibar. Maneuvering my way through the crowd in search of Katie, because I basically owe her my life for covering for me, I crane my neck in search of her blond head. The second I think I’ve caught a glimpse of her, a solid mass slams against me, sending me careening toward a waiter in a tux carrying a tray of the signature cocktails Midnight Bay created for Jase’s tour. Just before I crash into him and his tray full of glasses, a strong hand grips my upper arm and yanks me back to safety.

“Shit, Robyn. My bad.” Jase Wade stands with one hand still holding tightly to me and the other wrapped around his cell phone.

Taking a steadying breath I give him a wavering smile. “No worries. I’m fine.”

Sort of. Minus the constant urge to vomit making me wish I could go home and curl up in old sweats. Wade is usually so much smoother. From the bags under his bloodshot eyes and disarray his shirt is in, he looks as bad as I feel and I can’t help but wonder if he’s okay.

“You all right? I think there’s something going around.”

He looks at me strangely, as if I’ve asked if he’s interested in nuclear physics and the atomic properties of space. “Yeah. Fine. Thanks.”

“You sure? Because the one-word answers don’t exactly scream ‘having the time of my life.’ Congratulations on the album going platinum, by the way.”

He releases my arm and shrugs, giving me a halfhearted grin. “Thanks.”

A modest Jase Wade isn’t something I’ve seen before. If anyone has the cocky country-boy swagger down to a science, it’s him. Dallas has been garnering a lot of attention since “Better to Burn” went gold. Both happening at the same time has likely created some competitive friction but I’m afraid to ask, for fear I’ll hear something I shouldn’t.

“Well, um, I should go check on the hors d’oeuvres, so . . .”

“You want to get some air? You look like you need it as badly as I do.” He rakes a hand roughly over his head and glances around for the nearest exit.

“You sure know how to flatter a girl.”

He rolls his eyes. “Stop. You know you’re gorgeous. You just look a little . . . I don’t know . . . out of sorts or something.”

“Or something,” I say, taking his arm and leading him to the French doors that open to the balcony. Thankfully no one stops us as we make our way outside. Fresh air is actually starting to sound pretty good.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Jase says as we step over to a deserted section of balcony. “You tell me why you’re green and look seconds from chunking on my shoes and I’ll tell you why I was barreling through the room like a runaway truck that nearly took you down.”

Sighing, I take a few minutes to breathe in the crisp, cool air around us.

When I turn to Jase, either he missed his calling as an actor or he’s genuinely concerned about my well-being.

“I either have the flu or food poisoning. I’ve been feeling off since New Orleans and I can’t shake it.”

“Did you go to the doctor?”

I gesture toward the party I had all of six days to plan. “When? In all of my spare time?”

He nods like he gets it. “That sucks. I hope you get to feeling better. Can I get you something to drink? Ginger ale or club soda or something?”

“Thanks. I’m good. For now.”

“You should go home if you’re feeling bad. The party is pretty much handling itself here. Hell, I’m the guest of honor and I don’t think anyone even cares if I’m here.” He rests his elbows on the balcony ledge and looks out over the courtyard.

I tilt my head. “That’s not true. All of this is for you, you know. To celebrate your hard work and success.”

“My success,” he huffs out under his breath.

“Whoa. I didn’t realize you’d invited me out here to your pity party.” I nudge him with my shoulder. “Who peed in your Wheaties?”

He chuckles, but it’s devoid of the lighthearted happiness that typically accompanies laughter.

Suddenly he turns to me, nailing me with an inquisitive stare I’m not prepared for. “You’re a hardworking girl, Red. You ever wonder if it’s worth it? The long hours? The traveling? Missing out on time with your family? Missing out on having a life, period?”

I regard him warily. He probably doesn’t realize how revealing his questions are. Or how much I can relate to them.

“Sometimes. I guess I tell myself that one day all the sacrifices will be worth it.”

“When?” he demands, growing instantly angry at my answer and catching me off guard. “When do people just sit back and say, ‘Okay. You did enough to deserve to just get to live your life. Now go enjoy it.’ Because I gotta tell you, in my experience, that day is never fucking coming. Your single hits number one and that puts more pressure on the album to do the same so they add more tour dates. More promotional appearances. More radio interviews and talk show appearances. Sell out venues? They add sixteen more shows. It’s all about feeding the machine. Put your heart and body and soul into it, and poof, money comes out. Too bad you won’t have time to spend it.” He shakes his head. “I’m not complaining.”

I arch a brow at him.

“Okay. Yeah, I am complaining. But I’m also trying to caution you from making the same mistakes I have.”

“Which are?”

“Too many to name. But most importantly, don’t use each goal you reach as a reason to set another, higher, less attainable one. Because I can tell you from experience that a life of chasing the next number one, the next promotion, the next opportunity, without ever taking the time to sit back and enjoy what you’ve accomplished is exhausting. And empty.”

I blanch at his declaration. Jase Wade is sad. I can see it so clearly now. Why he puts up the front. It’s a defense mechanism, same as my own. I completely understand what Dallas was talking about now. About “Performer Dallas” and “Person Dallas.”

Performer Jase Wade is on top of the world right now. But Person Jase is lonely and full of regrets. Who knew?

“You want to talk about it?” I coax gently, leaning against him just to let him know he’s not alone.

Performer Jase would make a comment laced with innuendo at the contact. But this version of him just gives me a shrug and pitiful puppy-dog eyes.

“Not really. Nothing I can do about it, anyway.”

“You sure? Sometimes a fresh perspective helps with—”

“My wife got remarried today.” He lets out a soft breath and continues speaking more to himself than me. “My album goes platinum and I get to celebrate on the day my wife marries a fucking accountant.”

If he had thrown me over the balcony, I don’t think I would’ve been more surprised than I am now.

“You’re married?” I don’t even bother keeping the incredulous apprehension out of my voice.

“Not anymore.”

“But . . .”

“But no one ever mentioned me having a wife? That’s because we separated several years ago and she filed for divorce when my career took off.”

“I’m sorry. What happened?” I shake my head. “Jesus. My mama would smack my mouth for prying. I’m so sorry.”

“I made choice, choices that hurt the two women I loved more than anything in this world.”

“Two?”

Jase turns his attention to his phone and when he holds it up I think it’s my cue to leave him the hell alone to wallow. A gorgeous auburn-haired little girl with startling green eyes and angelic curls smiles into the camera. She can’t be more than three or four and she’s holding up tiny hands covered in finger paint.

“That’s an old picture, but that’s my McKenna,” he says softly. “I call her Mac. She’ll turn thirteen soon.” There is reverence in his voice and it hits me hard in my chest.

My hand lifts to my mouth and inexplicable tears fill my eyes. “God. Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. She’s beautiful.”

He pulls up a more recent picture of a smirking twelve-year-old girl who looks a lot like him. A tear escapes my left eye, then one from my right follows and I feel like a complete jackass. First of all, it was my job to research Wade and all of his history so that I could make sure this tour was the right opportunity for Midnight Bay. Second, he’s Jase freaking Wade. How does no one know he has a wife, well, ex-wife, and a kid? Third, why the hell am I crying?

If Jase notices my emotional breakdown, he’s gentleman enough to pretend he doesn’t.

“I wanted joint custody, or scheduled visitation at least, but Aubrey fought me hard. I had the expensive lawyers but she had all the proof that she is Mac’s sole caretaker. There was no denying that the life I lead isn’t a great place for a kid. She won’t even let me pay for anything and that’s the whole reason I work so damn hard. So that Mac can have whatever her heart desires. Oh, hey, look at this one. Doesn’t she look like a superstar?”

He scrolls to another picture and I am barely in one piece at this point. McKenna is wearing a leotard and tights, standing in what I think is first position.

“She’s beautiful, Jase.”

“Right?” He shakes his head. “I just wanted . . . damn it.” Now his eyes are beginning to water.

“We are one hell of a pair of party animals.”

He puts his phone away and shakes his head. “Sorry.”

“Hey, listen. I won’t say anything. This is your personal business and no one else’s.”

“The only people that care about that part of my life are the vultures anyway.” Jase looks like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

I wish I knew how to comfort him, but there isn’t a go-to response for situations like this one.

Turning around, he faces the party and leans back on the railing in a way that makes me dizzy. If I looked over the banister right now I’d likely puke all over the people below.

“You know, when this all started, moving to Nashville, cutting a demo, signing with a label, it was all for them. For my girls.”

“You have another daughter?”

He shakes his head. “I mean Mac and her mom.” He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Aubrey,” he says softly. “We were crazy in love. She stood by me through everything . . . and we had some hard fucking times, you know? Bank repo’d my truck. Nearly lost our house. And then . . .”

I hold my breath in anticipation of having my heart further broken on his behalf. I don’t know when I became so vulnerable to everyone else’s pain but I’m an oversensitive mess lately.

“My career took off. It got bigger than me. Bigger than us. The things I had to do to really make it here—the demands and the schedule and building a brand and a fan base—it didn’t leave any room in my life for them. And I just let it happen. I told myself there would be time to fix it later. That once I was on top of my game and killing it on the charts, we’d figure it out.”

I’m quiet because I don’t know what to say and because I get it now. What he’s trying to tell me. I’m sacrificing everything for a “one day” that might never come.

“I’ll stop boring you with my bullshit. It’s a great party, Robyn. I don’t say it enough, but I appreciate all of your hard work.”

He gazes at the crowd through the glass doors with a look of detached amusement on his face.

“You’re not boring me,” I assure him. “I was just thinking.”

“About?”

“About whether or not it’s worth it,” I answer quietly.

When he doesn’t speak, I glance over to see him looking at his phone again.

“It isn’t,” he says evenly.

A waiter steps over and offers us our choice of champagne in flutes or highball glasses of bourbon and another is close behind with chocolate-covered cherries on the music note sticks I ordered.

I skip the booze and take a few of the cherries. Jase lifts the squat glass full of amber liquid to his lips while I place the dessert in my mouth. Something about the combination of bittersweet dark chocolate and the sickly sour cherry hits me wrong and I spit it out over the balcony.

“Oh my God,” I say once I realize what I’ve done. “I cannot believe I just did that.”

And I sincerely hope my half-chewed cherry didn’t land in anyone’s hair.

Jase laughs at me. “And here I thought you were some classy broad. You could enter a chewing tobacco spitting contest and give some boys I know a serious run for their money.”

“I’ll add that to my resume.” I wrap the remaining cherries in my cocktail napkin. “I usually love those. But lately chocolate has been making my stomach turn. And I need to go see someone about those cherries. I think they might be rotten.”

Jase gives me some intense side-eye. “I had some earlier. Tasted fine to me.”

“Well, that batch had to be bad. They even smelled weird.”

“You think so?” He’s still scrutinizing me as if I am an alien life-form to be studied beneath a microscope. “You know, when Aubrey was pregnant with Mac, she couldn’t stand the smell of oranges. It was the damnedest thing. She used to love them. Then she got pregnant and said they smelled like kitchen cleaner and I had to keep her out of the produce section for fear she’d get a whiff and puke all over aisle five. We couldn’t even keep OJ in the house anymore.”

My mouth gapes open. What the hell does my spitting out a rancid rotten cherry have to do with his wife’s pregnancy and aversion to—

I feel as if my head is detaching from my body and floating up into the sky like a wayward balloon.

I don’t want it to be true but it’s entirely possible. I know it is. I knew the day I stood in my bathroom realizing I had two more birth control pills than I should have had after getting home from weeks of traveling for work. After having unprotected sex with Dallas. More than once.

I doubled up my next two doses but then I googled that and saw that it wasn’t necessarily effective or even a good idea.

Likely noting my distress, Jase takes my arm much more gently than he did when he almost knocked me over. “I think you’ve had enough fun for one evening, darlin’. I’m going to call us both a cab so we can get—”

“No. I’m fine. It’s just this stomach bug. I need to get back inside. Excuse me.”

Without another word, I stride quickly away from him and toward the throng of people flowing in and out of the ballroom.

Halfway across the room, I run smack into a couch where Dallas is sitting surrounded by executives and half-dressed women snapping pictures with him. A bottle blonde in a sparkly blue dress is in his lap. She looks comfortable. Like she’s been there awhile.

The small amount of lunch I’ve managed to keep down rises in my throat and I have to get to the ladies’ room or risk covering the entire couch and its occupants in puke.

On second thought . . . no. I’m better than that. I clench my jaw and try to swallow the excess saliva filling my mouth.

“Robyn, hey. There you are. You did an amazing job with the—”

I hold a hand up and shake my head. I can’t talk to whoever is trying to get my attention. Dallas looks up when they call my name but I avert my gaze.

I can’t do this right now.

All I can hear is Jase Wade in my head telling me about his pregnant wife as I run through the crowd, elbowing people out of my way in hopes that I make it to the bathroom in time.

I didn’t even eat that much today. Apparently my stomach decided to hang on to a week’s worth of meals to toss into the toilet.

Leaning against the side wall of the bathroom stall, I place a trembling hand to my forehead.

My head pounds and my throat is raw, but that’s not what’s concerning me the most. Jase’s words play over and over.

Then Dallas’s question at my apartment.

“Are you late?”

I kept telling myself it’s the stress. The traveling.

It isn’t the first time I’d skipped a period or two. But I’ve never felt like this before. Weak. Drained. Constantly nauseated and repulsed by smells that I barely even noticed before.

For a fleeting second, I wonder if maybe it’s something else. Cancer runs in my family on my mom’s side. Jesus Christ. If my brain is trying to reconcile this by reassuring me that it could be a fatal disease instead, I am even more screwed up than I thought.

Stepping out of the stall, I see one of the girls from Dallas’s estrogen-filled entourage heading into the stall beside me. I ignore her and turn on the sink in front of me. Rinsing my mouth and checking my hair for puke, I catch a glimpse of my ashen skin in the mirror.

My face looks gaunt, the skin beneath my eyes sallow and puffy.

If I get fired for blowing off my responsibilities at this party I have a promising career as a corpse on any crime show that will have me.

My purse is checked in the coatroom so I can’t really do anything about my horrifying appearance except splash some cold water on my face and dab at my smudged eye makeup with a paper towel.

“It reeks in here. Don’t you work here? Can’t you do something about that?”

Dallas’s groupie has joined me at the sink. Oh goody.

“Yeah I’ll get right on that.”

“Oh, and there are no more of the little blue shots. They’re so good. You might want to get on the waiters to send more of those around.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

She begins adding more black eyeliner to already overly lined eyes. I silently hope her hand slips and she stabs herself right in the retina.

I frown at my own reflection. First I cry all over Wade’s tragic turmoil, then I fantasize about gouging some random chick in the eye. I am so not this person.

Am I?

I have to get out of here.

After drying my hands briefly, I shove the door open.

“Hey.” Dallas stands there as if he’s waiting for someone.

“Hi.” I narrow my eyes because I don’t know if it’s me he’s out here for or the girl coming out behind me.

When she winks at him on her way by and he doesn’t so much as glance in her direction, I have my answer. But I can’t do this with him. Not here.

His button-up dress shirt is so dark blue it looks black and seeing him in perfectly tailored charcoal-colored dress pants is confusing. Dallas is flannel and denim for the most part. Hoodies and backward ball caps. Maybe I’m still confusing him with someone that I used to know instead of who he is now. Maybe I don’t know him at all anymore.

He takes a long pull from his beer bottle, the light glinting off his shiny black and silver watch, before stepping into my path. “Can we talk, please?”

I shake my head. “Pass. You need to get back to your groupies and I have to find my boss.”

“Hey.” His fingers are warm beneath my chin. “What’s going on? You look like hell.”

“Thanks. So much for chivalry, huh?” I jerk my chin out of his hand and turn away from his searching gaze. “Feel free to return to your non-hellish-looking fans now.”

“Wait a second. That’s not what I meant. Robyn?”

I can hear him and I can feel him close behind me in the crowd but I keep going, walking toward the coat-check room without acknowledging anyone as I weave through a sea of overly perfumed bodies. My stomach threatens to turn on me again and I decide to text Katie instead of trying to find her or Mr. Martin to let them know I’m not feeling well.

No one is manning the coatroom so I walk in and begin searching for my black leather jacket and matching bag.

The door clicks shut from across the room, where Dallas stands glaring at me.

“You want to tell me what that was about?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I return to shuffling through coats on the rack.

“Well, you were busy having a moment with Wade out on the balcony so I mingled like you told me to do. After which you run by shooting me a death glare that should’ve killed me on the spot. Then you come out of the ladies’ room looking like you’re recovering from a three-day drinking binge. Now you’re behaving as if speaking to me rationally is beyond your limits of capability. So I’ll ask you again.” Dallas comes closer, plucking my jacket from a rack and holding it open for me. “What the hell was that about?”

“I’m just stressed. And tired. This party was a lot of work. But I’m fine now.”

“Well, I’m glad. Because we need to talk.”

“Can we talk later? I’m beat and I’m just going to—”

“Just going to what, Robyn? Lie to me? Keep something huge from me, like, oh, I don’t know, your mom having fucking cancer? Because let me tell you, finding out something like that just before a show wasn’t distracting at all.”

I close my eyes to shield myself from his wrath.

Shoving my own ire down deep, I turn and let him help me with my jacket. Dallas can’t let it go at that, though. He lifts my hair gently from beneath my collar and lays it over my right shoulder, giving him full access to the left side of my neck. He places a soft kiss on it and my traitorous body shivers.

“I’m not going to pretend I’m not angry, but seeing you all sick and fragile is softening my resolve to yell at you. Come back to my hotel room tonight. Stay with me. I missed you and we need to talk about this. About that summer.”

It’s tempting. I feel like death walking, and seeing that girl on his lap opened old wounds I’d been holding closed with all my might. But the thought of slipping so easily into the warmth of him, letting him hold me and make it all better, is enticing.

This must be similar to how drug addicts feel. I know it’s wrong. I know it will only cause more problems. I know exactly how much it will hurt the next time I have to see women groping him at a publicity event. But so help me, I am still tempted to crawl through the valley of the shadow of heartbreak. Naked.

I toss up a silent prayer for strength and step away from him. “There’s nothing to talk about. She was sick so I stayed home to take care of her. I didn’t want you to cancel any of your shows so I kept it to myself. Besides, I think I’ve got the stomach flu. I’m sure you can find plenty of willing bed-buddy candidates for the evening.”

“Maybe I would’ve wanted to be there for you, Robyn. You didn’t even give me a fucking chance.” Dallas snorts out a noise of frustration. “Don’t blow this off, like you actually give a shit about a bunch of girls hanging around the next big thing for all of five minutes until the next shiny new guy comes along? Come on. I thought you knew better by now. You’re the one that told me to play the part and keep what was going on with you and me under wraps. Remember?”

“The one on your lap looked dedicated. She seemed willing to hang around a lot longer than five minutes.”

“Cut the crap, Robyn. You know I’m not interested in any of them.”

“Don’t,” I say, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t make me seem crazy. I’m not overreacting or making a scene. You’re the one chasing me down here. They were all over you and you were lapping it up like a stud in the pasture.”

“That’s a lie and you know it.”

I gawk at him in disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Are you?”

We’re yelling now but I can’t figure out how to defuse the situation.

“No. I’m not. I’m supposed to be here to do my job and that’s pretty hard to do watching the person I’m sleeping with getting molested in front of me. I’m having a hard enough time trying not to gag all over the place as it is. You were right. We shouldn’t have crossed that line because now we can’t go back.”

“I’m here doing my job, too, damn it. And what the hell is that supposed to mean? Go back? You want to unfuck me?”

“I want to unknow you. I want to go back in time and never freaking speak to you. It always ends like this, no matter how hard we try or how many things we try to do differently.”

“What do you want me to do, babe? Tell the next woman that touches me to keep her goddamn hands to herself? Do you have any idea what that would do to my career? Who do you think buys my music? Have you paid attention to who’s filling those seats at every show? This is part of it. This is the gig, sweetheart. You’re the one who planned this fucking party for this very reason. I thought you got that.”

“No.” I shake my head and wipe the tears threatening to spill from my eyes before they can fall. “The party is to celebrate the music, the sales, and—”

“It’s the same damn thing!” Dallas throws his hands up, looking at me like I’m brain dead and he’s tired of dumbing everything down for me. “It’s me. That’s what I’m selling here. Me. I need them to buy into me as an artist. I can’t do that by being an asshole to them.”

He’s about to reiterate his whole “Performer Dallas” versus “Person Dallas” spiel but I just can’t hear it right now.

“Go on and get back to your party, Dallas.”

“You want me to leave?”

I nod. “I do.”

“You sure? I just want to be clear so if I go you don’t hold it over my head for the next five years.”

I have no words.

None.

The bile burns too hot, sending an acidic searing sensation through my chest and into my throat.

When I finally find my voice, it’s eerily even. “Do not throw our past into my face. I have never held anything over your head. If anything, I let you off the hook too easily.”

Dallas smirks and shakes his head. “What fucking hook, Robyn? You dumped me, remember? Instead of letting me be there for you, you lied to me—kept something huge from me. And you’re the one who gets to be pissed? I’m throwing the bullshit flag on that one.”

I blow past him and out of the room like a wayward hurricane of hellfire. I am not doing this at a work-related event. Moreover, I can’t. Because I’m about to be sick again.

I make it outside to where valets in red vests are retrieving cars before I vomit in the bushes beside the building.

The entire world spins, kind of how my life is spiraling out of control while I’m powerless to stop it. All I can do is kick my purse out of the way, brace my hands on my knees, and let it come.