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Loving Dallas
  • Текст добавлен: 15 сентября 2016, 00:00

Текст книги "Loving Dallas"


Автор книги: Caisey Quinn



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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

33 | Dallas

“BABE, I’M NOT TRYING TO HATE ON YOUR COOKING OR ANYTHING, but I legit have no fucking clue what these are.”

Robyn’s smiling at my ignorance when she comes back into the room with a tray of what I hope is recognizable food.

The tour just wrapped up last week and I have a few days before I leave for Mexico. Robyn blew me off for a while, saying she didn’t want me to catch what she had. As much as I didn’t want to sound like a lovesick idiot, I was twenty-five kinds of relieved when she finally called and invited me over for dinner.

“They’re kale chips, silly. Try one.”

“They’re green and it looks like a plate full of the garnish I usually ignore when it’s sitting next to my steak.”

“How very observant of you. Just eat one. They taste like potato chips. I promise.”

Reluctantly, I lift one to my mouth. “Here goes.”

Robyn watches me, an amused grin playing at her lips.

“Stop smirking at me,” I say once I’ve swallowed. “They’re all right, I guess. Though you do know we have plenty of potatoes here in the great state of Texas, right?”

“Potatoes are full of starch, which turns to sugar.”

I pop another freaky green baked leaf into my mouth. Now that I know when Robyn got so nutritionally conscious, I try to just go with it.

“So what other surprises have you got over there?”

“None. I made the Greek chicken that you like and sautéed some vegetables. Ones you’ll recognize.” She slides the tray of food closer to me. “There’s flour tortillas if you want to make a fajita.”

“Sounds good to me.” I work on assembling my fajita while Robyn grabs me a beer. When she returns I see that she’s drinking plain water.

“No wine tonight? Or good old Midnight Bay bourbon?”

I expect her to toss a throw pillow at me but she just sits down. Across from me instead of next to me, which is just plain disappointing. I’m pretty sure I was invited here for a specific reason, more than just to try kale chips. I have a bad feeling it’s not a reason I’m going to like.

“Nope. Plain old water tonight. I’d never drink bourbon with dinner anyway. It’s more of a dessert drink.”

“Too bad. I’d hoped there’d be a bottle lying around somewhere. I wanted to celebrate.”

Robyn’s eyes widen. “Celebrate?”

“My big news. About the tour. I kind of hoped that’s why you invited me over.”

Part of me thinks she’s messing around and that any minute she’s going to bust out a bottle of champagne. Either she’s developed some hard-core acting skills or she truly has no clue what the hell I’m talking about.

“Your big news,” she says slowly. “News that I should’ve heard about by now.”

“The international leg of the tour.” I press my gaze deeper into hers, trying to figure out if she’s playing dumb or if she really has no idea I’m about to be out of the country for nearly three months.

“The tour,” she repeats, her intonation at the end making it sound like a question.

“The international dates have been confirmed. Mexico, Brazil, Canada, London, and maybe even Australia and Tokyo. We leave Monday morning. Did no one at work mention this to you? It’s huge for my career and for Midnight Bay. So basically it’s huge for both of us. I was kind of hoping you might be coming along.” I take a bite of my fajita, and the slightly spicy chicken with the hint of lemon is the best thing I’ve eaten in forever. My girl is a fantastic cook, even if she does substitute garnish for potato chips. “This chicken is amazing, by the way. It’s still my favorite.”

Robyn is staring dazedly at me so I set my dinner on my plate and push it to the side.

“Robyn?”

Suddenly she shakes her head as if shaking herself out of a daydream. “Yeah, um, I mean no. No, I’m not coming on the international leg of the tour. But wow. That’s . . . big news. Congratulations.”

“I can’t believe no one told you.” This doesn’t make sense. I heard Mandy and a few others talking about it. They mentioned Midnight Bay partnering with similar companies overseas. How do I know this and she doesn’t?

“I knew Jase’s tour contract was extended,” she says slowly. “I was out sick for a bit and must’ve missed the announcement that they’d added you on to that leg of the tour as well.”

“I would’ve asked how you’ve been feeling, but you look like you feel one hundred percent better.” Or she did at least, until I mentioned the international tour dates. Now she’s kind of pale and looking like she might be sick again. “You’ve been with the tour this long, I can’t imagine they’d want to send anyone else.”

I should just say it. I should just come right out and tell her the truth. I don’t want to go to all of these new places where I’m going to be a fish out of water without her. The memory of the night in New Orleans is burned into my memory—and not just because of the sex—though, good Lord, I think records were broken and laws of gravity were defied. But the city came alive for me because of her. I want her with me. Always.

The startling realization leaves me sitting there stunned.

“We have marketing associates who specialize in those areas—speak the languages and know the trends—much better than I ever could. I could ask, but they wouldn’t send me. If they did, I’d just be in the way.”

“You’re never in the way, babe.” I try to catch her gaze, but it’s focused on some point past my left shoulder. I glance in that direction but all I see is her spare bedroom door and it’s closed. “You all right?”

“Yeah, um, yes. I’m fine,” she answers too quickly. But then she returns her attention to her food and we eat in awkward silence. Or I do at least. She barely touches her chicken.

“You all done?” she asks once I’ve cleaned my plate. “I’m kind of beat. Being sick took a lot out of me.”

I nearly get whiplash from the sudden turn of events. “I thought you invited me over here to tell me something. If it wasn’t congratulations on the extended tour, what was it?”

Robyn pulls back and glances at the door. She’s either ready for me to vacate the premises or anticipating that I will bolt after she tells me whatever she needs to.

“Dallas,” she says softly. “I do need to tell you something and you might not like it.”

“Okay.” I stand in case it is something that makes me want to leave, but now I feel like I’m looming over her, intimidating her. Being sick did take a lot out of her. Looking closer, I can see that she’s lost at least five or ten pounds. Crouching into her personal space, I lower myself onto the wooden pallets she’s refurbished into a coffee table and place my hands on her hips, pulling her to me. “What is it? Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Her body is rigid in my arms, which is so completely unusual it causes me to take my hands off her.

“It’s this,” Robyn says, gesturing between us. “I can’t do this anymore. Not with you.”

Before my brain catches up, I have a physical reaction that I have very little control over. My heart pounds harder, my hands tighten on her waist before I release her. My mouth is dry and my brain empties of all coherent thoughts.

“I don’t know that I understand exactly.”

But I can see it in her eyes. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, she’s quitting on us. Quitting on me.

Again.

“Robyn?”

“I’m sorry,” she says, turning her head a second too late. I already saw the tears. “It’s not because I don’t care about you, Dallas. You know that I do. It’s just—”

“Is your mom all right? Don’t mess with me, Robyn. Don’t do this shit to us again. If she’s sick, you can tell me.”

She shakes her head quickly. “No. It’s not my mom. She’s fine. Promise.”

Well, that’s a relief. But there’s still something.

“Is there someone else?” Maybe I shouldn’t ask, because truth be told, I really don’t want to hear the fucking answer. But at the same time, I need to. She and Wade have been awful cozy at the past few shows and at the party in Nashville. If she’s decided to take the clean slate over the guy she has history with, I have some news for her about the cleanliness of that particular slate.

“No. Not exactly. There’s just—” Robyn stops midsentence, her eyes widening, and I’d give my favorite guitar to know what’s going on in her beautiful head. “You’re right. There is someone else. Someone whose needs I have to put before my own. I’m sorry.”

Fuck his fucking needs is what I want to say. But I don’t. Because what the hell can I say? Hey, Robyn, could you do me a favor and hold off on moving on until this tour is over so we can keep fucking? You’re my muse. How about you let me squeeze a few more songs out of this?

I stand up because her apartment suddenly feels tiny even though it isn’t. I need some distance. With her intoxicating floral and honey scent infiltrating my brain, I want to beg. My primal urges tell me to fight for her, to make promises I can’t keep. But I won’t do that to her.

“Dallas,” she begins but I can’t listen to her tell me about her new guy. How he’s great and he wants the same things she does and didn’t we say this was casual anyway?

“It’s fine. Thanks for letting me know. I was supposed to check in with Mandy about some possible shows I might be doing on my own in smaller venues after this tour ends and I completely forgot to touch base with her. I’ll call you later.”

Robyn follows me to her door. I want to scream at her, ask her why she looks so damn sad if this is what she wants? She found someone else and no longer has to settle for the pathetic parts of a relationship I’m able to give. She should be happy.

“Wait, please,” she says, her green eyes filling with tears. “At least let me—”

“There’s no need.” I give her the best smile I can manage. “Come on, babe. We both knew this was coming sooner or later. This was casual, right? Temporary. I’m glad you found someone willing to be a permanent part of your life. I’m sorry I couldn’t be.”

Her mouth drops open and pain ripples across her pretty face, a quick flash that hit just when I said the word temporary. It thunders into my chest at the same time, the jagged knife of the lie I tell in my tone. Like I don’t care. Like it’s not killing me where I stand to think of another man—any other man—touching her. Holding her. Calling her his.

No matter how many guitars you own, you’ll always have a favorite,” my granddad used to say. “It probably won’t be the most expensive one, or the one with the richest sound. Likely it’ll be the one with all the scratches and the nicks in the wood. It’ll be the one that’s been with you the longest, the one you know inside and out because you’ve put it through the most hell.

He was right, and not just about guitars.

I have to get out of here before I hit something and Robyn owns a lot of fancy breakable shit. Most of which I suspect she created herself.

Because she is amazing like that. And I am losing her. Again.

No. I’m letting her go. Because it’s the right thing to do and because I’m leaving the country. I’m not exactly ideal boyfriend material.

“Goodbye, Robyn,” I tell her, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek even though my body begs for more.

I don’t look into her eyes as I leave. I can’t. Seeing even the tiniest hint of regret in them would break me. I’d lift her sexy ass off the ground and carry her back to her bedroom like a caveman. What I’d do to her body would make it impossible for her to even think of another man touching it ever again.

My fists are clenched so hard I’m losing feeling in my hands so I decide to walk around for a while before going back to my cold, empty hotel room.

I want to fight.

I want to fuck.

And most of all, I want someone else to hurt as badly as I do.

My phone rings and it feels like the universe has sent me an answer.

“Hey, Mandy. I was just about to call you.”

Mandy’s room is only a few down from mine. I pace the hallway twice before knocking on her door.

This is stupid.

She’s my manager.

But she has made it abundantly clear what she wants so maybe I should give it to her. This is all I’m ever going to get, right? Meaningless fucks and empty orgasms. Plus, at least I know she won’t go to the media. My career is just as important to her as her own.

Once I’ve made my mind up and worked myself up good by imagining bending her tight, bare ass over her bed and fucking her hard and fast, I rap hard on her door.

“It’s me,” I say.

“Well, hello there, me,” a man’s voice says when the door opens. Jase Wade smirks at me. He’s naked except a pair of black boxer shorts.

The image of him with Robyn in Nashville, side by side, heads bent together in intimate conversation, fills my mind until I see bright blinding red.

He’s got to be the someone else. He’s the only other man I’ve ever seen her so much as speak to. I’ve seen him whispering things to her that made her blush. And here he is fucking my manager on the side.

I swing before deciding to, connecting with the left side of his face, and he staggers back before coming at me full force.

He can bring it. I’m ready for the impact. Hell, I’m craving it.

The crack of his fist into my jaw is welcome relief from the pain I’d felt when Robyn told me she had someone else. I shove hard in hopes of backing him up enough to give me room to swing, but the motherfucker wraps me in a bear hug and slams me against the wall.

He hits me again and I laugh when I taste the blood.

“The fuck is wrong with you, man?”

He’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have.

“Dallas? Jesus Christ!” Mandy calls out, stepping out of her room in a black silk negligée that barely covers anything. “What in the world are you doing?”

“You’re a fucking piece of shit,” I say to Jase Wade. “Do you just fuck everyone in your damn path?” I shake my head in disgust, which makes me feel slightly dizzy.

“I never knew you cared so much,” Mandy says, stepping around him.

I spit out a mouthful of blood, causing her to jump back. “I don’t.”

“You need to get out of here. There’s paparazzi up my ass everywhere I go,” Wade tells me. The concern in his voice is genuine. And confusing. “Go get cleaned up and meet me down in the bar in ten.”

“Go to hell.”

“You need to chill the fuck out, man. And we need to get some shit straight before I end up dumping your body in a deserted alley in another country. Bar. Meet me. Ten minutes.” He points a finger at me before going back into Mandy’s room.

I right myself against the wall and ride out a wave of debilitating nausea. I’ll give him this much, dude hits like a fucking freight train.

“I really hope this isn’t about the scrawny redhead,” Mandy sneers at me. “Seriously, Dallas. I thought you were smarter than this.”

“She’s twice the woman you are. And probably a hell of a better lay. Maybe we should ask Wade.”

The slap comes, sending my ears ringing so hard I don’t hear her comeback.

“Let’s go, Casanova,” Wade says, charging out of the room and dragging me down the hall by my shoulders.

“Get your damn hands off me.” I shrug out of his grasp and he glares at me.

“You can wear my fist print on your face every day of this tour for all I fucking care. But we’re going downstairs and you’re going to hear me out. Like it or not.”

I get more than a few strange looks when we exit the elevator. I’m bruised, battered and bloody, but I don’t care.

“Bourbon neat,” I say to a pretty curly-haired bartender who smiles at me when we reach the bar. I’d smile back but I’ve lost most of the feeling in my face.

“You got it. Maybe I’ll make it a double for that shiner you got there. On the house.”

I nod and Wade chuckles from beside me. Bastard.

“Water for me, darlin’.”

“Pussy,” I mutter under my breath.

He arches a brow, turning on the stool to face me.

“Let’s get a few things straight, kid. You don’t know much about me, and what I know about you couldn’t fill a shot glass. So I’m going to lay some knowledge on you.”

I just stare hard. I don’t want to know anything about him except why he’s leading Robyn on and fucking Mandy.

The blonde delivers our drinks and he clutches his glass for dear life. “It takes everything I have not to sit here and get shitfaced night after night. I’ve been where you are and I’ve fallen down rabbit holes a hell of a lot darker than anyplace you’ve ever been. I’ve been in rehab more times than you’ve had your dick sucked. I have a little girl who deserves better, so damn it, I try to be better. But some days . . .”

He shakes his head and stares into his glass of water.

“You want a gold star? One of those sobriety badges they hand out?”

So it’s a low blow, but the bourbon hasn’t burned off my residual anger and hurt on Robyn’s behalf.

“Naw. What I want is to know where you got that chip on your shoulder from and why it led you to Mandy’s room tonight. More importantly, I want to know why you’re decking me for fucking Lantram when I’m damn near certain she’s not the one who’s had your attention during this tour.”

“You know why.”

He smirks at me. “That supposed to be a joke?”

I stand up, but his hand lands heavy on my shoulder, shoving me back down.

“Relax. Let’s take it one thing at a time. You have something going with your manager? ’Cause I gotta tell you, you’re not the only—”

“No.” I take a deep breath. “I mean, she’s said shit. I just hadn’t actually considered it until tonight.”

“Because . . .”

“Because of you. Because Robyn ended it because of ‘someone else.’ ” I narrow my eyes at him, knowing we’re going to come to blows again, but unable to care.

“Whoa there, Hoss.” He tosses his hands up. “Ain’t me she’s cutting you loose for if that’s what you mean.”

I want to believe him, so help me I do. But I saw the tender look of affection on her face when they were talking in Nashville. So maybe he doesn’t feel the same way, but in Robyn’s eyes he obviously comes first.

“Maybe you don’t give a shit about her, but she—”

“She confronted me. Went pretty ballistic actually, thinking I’d requested her for this tour because I wanted to get in her panties.” He levels me with his hand again when I rile up at his mentioning her panties. “I told her the same thing I’m about to tell you.”

My fists are clenched waiting for his explanation.

“Take a drink, kid. Take a few. Then I’ll explain.”

I down my shot and slide it aside. “There. Let’s hear it.”

“Robyn Breeland is amazing. She’s one of those women, the good ones. The genuine article. The kind you fall in love with. The kind you love more every day, appreciating each line, each wrinkle, and each gray hair because it only makes her more beautiful. She’s a biscuits and gravy on Saturday morning girl.”

Shows what he knows. Robyn won’t touch gravy. But for the rest of it, he’s pretty much dead on.

“So then why—”

“But,” he says harshly, cutting me off. “I requested her on this tour for entirely different reasons.” He takes a long drink of his water while side-eyeing a lanky brunette with silicone breasts passing by. “Honorable ones, if you can believe it.”

“I’m not sure I can,” I tell him honestly.

“Well, try.” He shrugs. “She’s young and she made a presentation that impressed me. She mentioned integrating social media into the tour promo and I’m not stupid. I know the guy with the Instagram and the Tweeter and all that shit is the one getting the most attention.”

I’m pretty sure it’s Twitter, but I’m with him there. Robyn handled that shit for the band when we first started out, then Dixie took over. I hate doing it now. I suck at it, too, which Mandy constantly reminds me. If it weren’t for her nagging, I’d skip it altogether.

“So then nothing happened with you and Robyn? Ever?”

He finishes his water and shakes his head. “Other than her raking my ass over the coals because she thought I’d hired her for her body? Nope. And like I told her, I wouldn’t kick her out of bed. But that wasn’t my intention and it never made it there.” There’s a slight twinge of disappointment in his voice that makes me want to take another shot at him. “Funny thing,” he says, gesturing to the bartender to refill my shot glass. “Once you showed up, she hardly noticed me anymore. And no offense, kid, but I’m a hell of a lot better looking than you.”

I almost laugh. Almost.

“Yeah, well, she obviously got over it. Tonight she said we couldn’t do this anymore and that there was someone else.”

“Maybe she was lying.”

I don’t even pause to consider that. “Robyn doesn’t lie. She’s the most honest person I know.”

“Did you ask who it was?”

“I kind of bailed before we made it that far. Or before I broke every stick of furniture in her apartment in a blind rage.”

Wade rubs his jaw, then stares at me so hard I almost ask if he’s trying to get my number. But then he leans back and winks at the brunette watching him from across the room. “Well, maybe she wasn’t lying then. Maybe you just didn’t give her a chance to tell you the entire truth.”

“I don’t know if it even matters. What matters is that she ended it.”

Right? Fuck. Now I’m confused.

“Look.” Wade clears his throat and turns to nod at the brunette. “I’ve got another situation to handle, so I’m going to make this quick. Listen close.”

I take my second shot of bourbon and nod.

“When I was seventeen, I was nobody. A farmer’s kid being groomed to take over a farm that had been in my family for decades. I went to a bonfire after graduation, thinking I’d get drunk and blow off some steam. Drink to the privileged motherfuckers going off to college while I shoveled cow shit.”

Well, this is an unexpected trip down memory lane. I signal for another shot, twirling my finger so the bartender will keep them coming. Once Wade leaves with his barfly, I’ll be drinking alone and it will be twice as pathetic.

“But you didn’t, obviously.”

“No, I did. But at that bonfire, I played a few songs on my guitar just for the hell of it. Then I went to put it back in my truck and caught some rich preppy asshole assaulting the prom queen.”

Jesus.

“So I bashed the asshole over the head with my guitar and knocked his sorry ass out cold.”

“Nice.” I nod in appreciation. Sounded about like what I would’ve done.

“Yeah, well. Turns out Aubrey Evers—she was the prom queen—had left the party because she’d heard a song I’d sung and it had made her feel something. Something that made her want to get out of our small town and see the world. My song, some words I strung together out of nowhere, you know? Fuck, that messed me up good, knowing I’d affected her like that. I didn’t think she’d even known I’d existed in high school.”

“I’m guessing her boyfriend didn’t appreciate the profound effect your music had on her?”

“Not so much.” Jase’s eyes drift and I see the longing in his face. I recognize it because I feel it every time I see Robyn’s face. “He probably didn’t appreciate me marrying her six months later or getting her pregnant the following year, either. But to hell with him. I should’ve killed that fucker. I loved that damn guitar and it was destroyed.”

“So what happened?”

If Wade is still married, and he’s still screwing everything with legs, I might have to coldcock him again regardless.

“She filed for divorce not long after I got my first record deal. She was tired of waiting for me to make her a priority and she met someone else. Someone who could be there every night instead of out chasing a dream that can’t really be caught. She got remarried the day we celebrated the album going platinum in Nashville. That’s why Robyn was being so nice to me. Not because she wants me, but because she felt sorry for my sad-sack ass.”

“Damn.”

“Well, I mean, she might want me. Most women do.”

I roll my eyes. Then nod at the brunette stealing obvious glances our way. “I guess I can see that.”

“Naw, man. They don’t give a fuck about me. They don’t even know me. They see the fame and the publicity and a chance to rub up against me in hopes some of that will rub off onto them.”

He stands, jerks his chin in a clear signal to his new friend to leave the group she’s with and head our way. She does, as if he’s yanked an invisible string.

“Then why do you do it?”

He scoffs like it’s a dumb question. Maybe it is. But then he shrugs and something about his expression is hollow and makes me feel almost sorry for him. Strange, since the brunette is bringing a friend over and I know he already got laid once tonight.

“When you lose the only person who actually matters, you realize the rest of it is just physical gratification. Life is short. You have to find what happiness you can while you can. Otherwise you’re just existing instead of living. And who wants to sit around with old-man balls knowing he sat out his chance to live?” He dips his head toward my shot glass. “You’ve got your way of numbing the pain, I’ve got mine.”

He offers his arms to the two women and they take them with matching smiles. The black-haired one with blond shot through like streaks of lightning turns to me. “You coming too, handsome?”

Before I can answer, Jase shakes his head. “Nah. He’s nursing some serious heartbreak tonight and he’s six sheets in the wind. He probably wouldn’t be able to get it up anyway.”

I kick out a leg but catch his stool with my boot instead of him.

“Too bad,” she says as Jase leads them away.

I turn around on my stool and stare at my newly refilled shot glass, placing one of my hands over the other and resting my chin on them.

Touring with Jase Wade is like getting a glimpse into my future. Where all that awaits me is arenas full of screaming fans and nights filled with meaningless sex.

It used to sound pretty damn appealing, once upon at time. It might still if I hadn’t gone on another tour just before this.

Touring with Afton Tate on the unsigned artists tour, I saw him turn down women, record labels, managers, and even big-name producers that most guys would have given their left nut to work with. On one of the nights when I joined him for a beer at a dive we’d played at I asked him why he kept shutting everyone down.

“I shut the women down because they aren’t interested in me, not really. They’re interested in what I can do for them, what my reputation and my name will mean when they can attach it to the story of hooking up with me. It isn’t real, and I don’t have time or energy for shit that isn’t real.”

It made sense. I’d nodded along. “Yeah, okay. So what about the managers and the producers? They just want to fuck you, too?”

He looked at me like I’d said something amusing. “Pretty much. They want me to leave my band, tell guys who’ve sacrificed just as much as I have and who are just as talented and driven if not more so, to take a hike so I can be the star of their bullshit show. I’d be a hell of a lot easier to manipulate on my own, without these guys having my back.”

His words had struck a chord in me, one that had been exposed since I’d left Dixie and Gavin behind to pursue this alone.

“You’re a more honorable man than I,” I told him. “Most people wouldn’t care so long as it meant they got what they wanted.”

“Most people include you?”

I’d shrugged like it wasn’t twisting my guts to hell and back to talk about. “I’d rather have my sister and my drummer with me, yeah. But it just wasn’t the way it worked out.”

Afton had stared off into the distance for a long time, watching some girl duo perform onstage before he spoke. “Maybe that’s why I’m struggling to accept anyone else’s input on my career. I’m too much of a control freak to let it just work itself out. I’m willing to work for it until I get it right.”

That brief exchange was still jammed in my subconscious. Maybe I’d fucked up. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken the first offer I’d gotten. I could’ve waited. Could’ve told Mandy I’d get in touch once Gavin had his probation worked out and Dixie was in a place where she could move past her grief. But I’d forced Dixie to suck it up and move on when our parents died; I thought I was doing what was best for her. I wouldn’t do that again. This time I backed off and let her wallow if that’s what she needed. Apparently a road trip had helped but by the time she was done traveling, I was already on Wade’s tour and magically transformed into Dallas Walker, solo act.

There are two men inside of me: one I know well and one I am still getting acquainted with.

One of them tells me that Wade’s life isn’t so bad. Besides, I won’t be stupid enough to get married and have to deal with that brand of hurt. But the other man in me, the one my dad raised to look out for his sister, the one my grandparents taught to believe in the integrity of music and of myself, he’s still stuck on Afton’s declaration. And not just where music is concerned.

Maybe I let Robyn go too easily. Maybe I should’ve fought for her, tried to make it work in a way that we both could handle and be happy with instead of just stepping aside to clear the way for the next guy. I walked away once before and I haven’t stopped regretting it.

Robyn made a comment once, about how it was hard to tell if we were getting a second chance or making the same mistake twice. I voted second chance. She looked dubious. I don’t know how I’m going to keep from making the same mistake twice, but somehow I have to try. One thing is for sure. I owe her an apology for not hearing her out. Not tonight, because I look and feel like shit, but I have to figure out a way to throw my hat in the ring before I leave the damn country.


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