Loving Dallas (20 page)

“I will kill him. He’s a dead man.”

She laughs a little, but then she looks at me and her eyes go wide. “Robyn? You okay? I promise, it’s all right. I’m okay. Don’t cry.”

“Fuck. Am I crying?”

I wipe my eyes and sure enough, they’re damp. Well, hell.

“How could he? I mean, it’s so obvious that you two—”

She waves her hand. “I don’t know. All I know is, whatever was going on, he didn’t want me there to see it. He basically told me to leave and not come back. So yeah. I’m thinking of getting the first of many cats because I’m obviously destined to be a lonely old cat lady.”

“Like hell you are. I will get this waiter’s number right now and you will—”

I’m interrupted by the waiter in question. He sets our food down and grins sheepishly. So he heard me then. Good.

“Anything else I can get you, ladies?”

“You bet your sweet—”

“We’re fine,” Dixie says loudly. “Thanks.”

He leaves us with another lingering grin.

“See?” I say, gesturing wildly toward his retreating figure and nearly knocking my water over. “There are other fish in the sea. Smoking-hot fish, mind you. Gavin Garrison can suck it.”

Dixie takes a bite of her wrap, eyeing me speculatively while she chews. “You’re really worked up today. What’s going on with you?”

Crap. We’ve reached the portion of the lunch date that’s about me.

“Eat a little more. Then I’ll tell you.”

“Robyn Breeland,” she begins, setting her wrap down harshly. “If you invited me here to tell me you have a deadly disease or something awful and are just stalling for time by messing around about the waiter then I—”

“No, it’s nothing awful.” I sigh. “Well . . . I don’t think it’s awful anyway. Your brother might feel differently.”

“My brother?”

I push my spirally pasta salad noodles around with my fork. “He and I have kind of been seeing each other casually during the tour. Since we were together so much anyway, it just sort of . . . happened.”

“Feel free to spare me the details.”

“No problem.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So . . .” Dixie prompts. “Now you realize you’re in love and you want to tell him that he’s the one and you plan to spend the rest of your life with him making lots of pretty babies for me to spoil?”

Score one for her. “Um, well . . . you got one part right.”

“You’re in love?”

I shrug. Yeah, I am. I always have been. But I don’t think that necessitates a formal announcement.

She tries again. “You plan to tell him he’s the one? Because you know how he is. Just because he might not say it doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel the same way.”

“That’s not it. Not exactly.”

“So then . . . babies?” Her eyes light up and her mouth drops open.

“Just the one, I hope. At least, there was only one on the ultrasound, thank goodness.”

Dixie makes an “ahh” sound that causes several people nearby to turn and look at us.

“Shh. Keep it down. I didn’t plan to tell the whole restaurant.”

“Oh my God.” Dixie clasps a hand over her mouth. Another “Oh my God” still escapes, though it’s muffled. Tears shine in her eyes.

“You’re going to make me cry again,” I say, because she is.

“Oh my God, Robyn. I’m so happy for you. For both of you.” She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand, which causes my tears to fall because I’ve been so worried I forgot to be happy. Seeing her be happy makes me realize that Dallas be damned, I can be happy, too. “What did Dallas say?”

Well . . . I was happy for a second at least.

“He doesn’t exactly
know
yet.”

Dixie releases my hand. “Holy shit. I know before he does? Nice. But uh, you should probably tell him. Like sooner rather than later. He leaves for Mexico on Monday I think.”

I nod. “Mexico. Then Canada. Then Brazil, I think. I’m going to. I just . . .”

“You’re scared. I can understand that. But you still have to tell him.”

“What if he hates me, Dix? You know him. You know he won’t want this. He’s living his dream right now. How am I supposed to tell him I’m about to turn it into a nightmare?”

“You stop right there, lady. No one calls my niece or nephew a nightmare. And as far as my brother goes . . . you might be surprised. Dallas is a lot of things. Driven. Stubborn. Sometimes downright obnoxiously overprotective. But he’s a good man. And family matters to him. Maybe more so since we hardly have any left.”

“I know that. I do.” I take a few steadying breaths. “That’s my other fear. That his values will cause him to leave his dreams behind to be with us. Then what? What happens two or three years from now when he resents us for costing him his dream? Can you imagine Dallas without music? Working some nine-to-five dead-end job he hates? Because I can and it isn’t pretty. I won’t do that to him.”

Dixie looks so deep into my eyes I fear she can see my soul.

“Robyn,” she says slowly. “You didn’t see his face when he learned about your mom’s cancer. It broke him, knowing you didn’t trust him enough to tell him the truth that summer.”

I might not have seen his face that night, but I saw it a few days later and I remember how furious he was.

Dixie continues before I can say anything. “And for the record, he wasn’t the only one who was hurt by that.”

The pain is evident on her face and my shoulders sag beneath the weight of it.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve told you, both of you. He was just so excited about that summer and I didn’t want to take that away from him.” The same way I didn’t want to put a damper on the international leg of his tour now.

Remembering what he told me, about how he bombed his few performances that summer because of me, I feel myself sinking into the hopeless pit of despair. If I don’t tell Dallas he’ll be hurt later and if I do tell him now he’ll be distracted on the road. Either way, I’m repeating mistakes I don’t know how to avoid.

I haven’t called or texted him because I just can’t find the words. Now I know what he meant about the mind-numbing frustration of writer’s block.

Dixie nods. “You’re forgiven. I know you were trying to handle it on your own and your intention wasn’t to hurt anyone. But I’ve learned a lot these past few months. I learned that I can live all on my own without my brother or anyone else dictating my life or my schedule. I’ve learned exactly how important music is to me and how much it means for me to be able to share it with other people. I’ve realized, in hindsight, that I should’ve told Mandy Lantram to go straight to hell when she suggested I sit out of my own band. And I’ve learned that some things are simply worth fighting for. So you might have to bail me out of jail when I back over Gavin’s new lady friend with Dallas’s truck. But of all that, the most important thing I’ve realized is that I should never, ever, underestimate myself. So I want you to take a long, hard look at yourself.”

I glance down at my beige sweater and jeans. Nothing too impressive to see here.

Dixie disagrees, apparently. “You are independent and strong and amazing. You are one of the hardest-working people I know. And to top it off, you’re a truly good person. You’re funny and gorgeous, and mine and Dallas’s lives are better because you’re in them.”

“Why must you insist on making the pregnant lady cry?”

She smiles at me and gives me the universal head tilt of sympathy. “Whatever his reaction is, you can handle it. I know you can. You put up with him for far longer than anyone else ever could.”

“Maybe I could just wait until he gets back. That way he can focus while he’s overseas and—”

“And he can come home to you and your baby bump knowing something very important was kept from him. Again. How well do you think that will go over?”

I place my elbows on the table and rest my face in my hands. I know she’s right. It’s probably why I told her before him, because I needed confirmation that telling him now was the right thing.

“Mandy told me to stay away from him,” I mumble in a last-ditch effort to delay the inevitable.

“I will happily deal with Mandy Lantram if she gives you any grief,” Dixie says, a level of ferocity in her voice I’ve never heard before. “You don’t even think about her. Just tell him. Tell him about the baby and tell him what’s in your heart. I know you, Robyn. And I know you want to give him the easy way out. The I’m-Robyn-Breeland-I-got-this-no-worries-I-don’t-need-you speech.”

I smile because she does know me. Every time I’ve rehearsed telling him in my head, there’s an out clause.

She reaches across the table and takes one of my hands in hers. “Tell him how you feel. All of it. Even if he makes the wrong choice, at least he won’t be able to say you didn’t give him one.”

35 | Dallas

I
SPENT THE WEEKE
ND LYING LOW BUT WHE
N
I
WAKE UP
M
ONDAY
morning, my vision is still blurry and my head has a heartbeat of its very own. Hangovers don’t typically linger for more than a day. But then, I’m not usually beat to hell and back from duking it out with Jase Wade, either.

She hasn’t called. Or texted. Or sent smoke signals. Nothing.

I’ve called and left voice mails and texted to the point that she could probably file a valid harassment suit against me.

I take my daily dose of extra-strength Tylenol, then some migraine medicine for good measure, and stumble to the bathroom. After a long, hot shower I feel marginally better. Still sore and tired, but human at least. Today I leave for Mexico and I still haven’t talked to Robyn. I owe her an apology and I’ve decided that even if I have to swallow a year’s worth of pride to do it, I am going to tell her that I’m happy for her. Deep down I am. Deep,
deep
down.

Telling her goodbye is going to suck. Telling her goodbye and knowing I’m leaving the girl I’ve thought of as mine on some level for the past seven years to some other bastard is going to suck hairy gorilla nuts. But it’s the least I can do.

Getting dressed I think about the night she slapped me at the diner in Denver and the amazing sex that followed. If not for her and that night, I wouldn’t have written “Tough All Over,” it wouldn’t be the headlining track on my upcoming album, and I probably wouldn’t be going on this tour.

Memories of our amazing night in New Orleans and her celebrating my single’s success with me fill my head as I pack the rest of my belongings into my bag.

This is my life, I might as well get used to it. Strangely enough, it isn’t the shows I keep remembering from each city. It’s the time I spent with her. The shows she didn’t attend are hardly even memorable. I played, I grabbed some food and beer, and crashed alone. Without Robyn in my life, it’s black-and-white. All work and no play. Which is odd since technically I “play” for a living. But when she’s there, my world is in brilliant color.

Fuck.

I knew in New Orleans, and maybe I knew even before that. But damn it to hell, I love her. Not like I love my fans or my sister or my job or my music. I am crazy head over ass in fucking obsessive love with her. And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. I’m leaving the country, for fuck’s sakes. I can’t exactly ask her to wait a decade or so while I make music until people get tired of me. She deserves better than that and it sounds like she found it.

I want to see her, to go to her place and apologize and lay my heart on the line. But now that it’s time, I’m chickening out for fear of two possible outcomes. One, her new man is there and I kill him and go to jail instead of on tour. Two, she feels the same way and dumps her new man and spends her life sitting around waiting on me to finish living my dream.

Neither of those feels right.

Not really.

So I pull out my phone and take the mangina way out. Texting. Which was probably invented by a coward who’d acted like a jackass and needed to apologize to some girl but didn’t have the balls to do it on the phone or in person. Cowards unite, Dude.

I’m sorry for being such an ass. I understand why you haven’t called me back. I’m happy for you and I should’ve said that instead of storming out. Tell your new guy he’s lucky I’m leaving the country and that he better treat you right.

When she doesn’t reply, I send one more—one that says three words I should have told her in person—and then I shut my phone off because I’ve become too much of a pussy to even handle her goodbye.

“I
’m so glad the label decided to add Rio to the tour. The food is amazing, the people are beautiful, and wait until you see the water. It’s this incredible shade of aquamarine and so clear you wouldn’t believe it.”

Mandy prattles on in the back of the town car that’s taking us to the airport. I couldn’t give two fucks about leaving the country right now. Or what color the water is anywhere. The only color I care about right now is emerald. The color of Robyn’s eyes. They darken to jade when I piss her off. And they’re lighter, peridot maybe, when they’re filled with tears.

Propping my elbow on the ledge of the tinted window, I stare out at Texas as it passes.

When we pull up to the Dallas–Fort Worth airport, the driver gets out and handles checking our luggage. I don’t have much. A guitar. Two suitcases full of clothes. Everything else will be handled by crew members.

“Come on, Superstar,” Mandy says, linking her arm with mine. The contact pisses me off.

“Enough with the superstar shit,” I say, ignoring the years of manners that have been ingrained in me.

Mandy jerks her arm loose and glares at me.

“Excuse me? Do you have a problem we need to handle, Dallas? Because right now, on the way to the biggest opportunity of your life, I can’t even imagine what could be putting you in such a bad mood.”

“Guess you aren’t very creative then,” I grumble, following the entourage with us toward a private security entrance we’ve been cleared for. Behind me I can already hear people losing their shit over Wade. Camera phones are flashing everywhere. I keep my sunglasses on and my head down.

“Hey,” she says, practically stomping her designer stiletto on the floor. “Talk to me. What’s the problem here?”

I don’t exactly have the words and if I did, she’d be the last person I’d share them with.

“I’m tired is all,” I say. “Sorry.”

“If you need to blow off some steam, it’s a long flight. Our seats are together. We could—”

“No,” I say too quickly. “No thanks, I mean.” Pass, Mandy. Hard fucking pass.

“You should know something, Dallas,” she murmurs low as she takes my arm again without my having offered it. “I always—and I mean
always
—get what I want.”

“Must be nice,” I say drily.

She huffs out a breath and whips her hair behind her. Within seconds she has her trusty cell phone out and is steadily ignoring my temperamental ass.

I’m lost in thought, when I hear someone calling my name. We’re almost to the security checkpoint so I ignore it, assuming it’s an overzealous fan who won’t be able to get through without a ticket. Our protective detail pulls in tighter so I can’t see who it is anyway.

But then I hear it again and I recognize the voice.

“Back up, fellas,” Wade tells the bodyguards from behind me. “He’ll want to see this one.”

I stop, causing several guys to bump into me. Mandy hisses something hateful under her breath but I don’t care.

Robyn is here. And she’s jumping up and down and calling my name and hand to God, she’s the best sight I’ve ever seen. Even if it’s just to say goodbye or piss off, I’ll take it.

“Hang on, baby,” I call out. “I’m coming.”

I make my way through the crowd over to the window wall she’s standing beside.

“Sorry,” she says when I finally reach her. “I didn’t mean to make a scene. I was afraid I wouldn’t catch you before you hit security and I wouldn’t be able to get through.”

“It’s fine. You okay?”

Her hair is in a messy ponytail, like she ran here from her apartment. Her face is flushed and her eyes are wide with panic.

“I will be. I just, I got your message and . . . maybe we should sit down.” She gestures to a round cushion thing next to a plant.

“Uh, babe? I don’t exactly have a lot of time.” I glance over to the small group that has remained behind to wait for me. Mandy and a few security guys.

“Yeah. Of course. Right.” She looks nervous, terrified actually, but I can’t imagine why.

“Are you coming with us to Mexico?” Because that would be fan-fucking-tastic if she were.

“No,” she says softly. “I came here to see you before you left because I have to tell you something. Something that couldn’t wait three more months until you got back.”

“Okay. I’m all ears, darlin’.”

Say there isn’t really someone else. Say you ended that because you don’t love him like you love me. Say you’ll come with me on tour.

Her chest rises and falls with deep breaths. I reach out and take her hands.

“Robyn, whatever it is, it’s okay. Just tell me.”

Unless you’re getting married. Then don’t tell me. Just shove me out this plate glass wall instead.

She sucks in one more breath and presses her gaze into mine. “Did you mean it? The text?”

I nod. “I’m sorry I waited so long to tell you. I’m a fucking idiot.” I run a hand over my head. “I told myself if I ever got another chance I’d fight for you, no matter what. The way I should have that summer. If I hadn’t walked away, if I’d—”

“I love you, too, Dallas Walker Lark,” she announces. “I love you and because I love you, your dreams are as important to me as my own. And that’s why I didn’t tell you about my mom. That’s why I ended things that summer—because I couldn’t stand the thought of being the reason you missed out on something you wanted, something you’d dreamed of and worked so hard for. But looking back, I could’ve handled it better. I should’ve told you the truth. I’m not a scared kid anymore and I’m not going to make that same mistake again.” She pauses to pull in more air and either I’m imagining it or she’s trembling before me. “I’m pregnant, Dallas. That’s the someone else. We’re having a baby and I was terrified to tell you because I didn’t want to mess up your life right in the middle of all of your dreams coming true.”

She lost me at pregnant.

I should say something. But I can’t find any words.

I’m just standing here, staring blankly. You know that feeling, when a limb falls asleep from lack of blood flow and the numbness is like a thousand pinpricks? That’s how my face feels right now. It’s like when I had writer’s block. Like staring at a blank page and knowing there should be lyrics on it but having lost all ability to combine letters to make words.

“So . . .” she says, biting her lower lip. “There’s that.”

I can barely hear her over the white noise in my head.

“I . . . you’re . . . we’re . . .”

Yep. That’s what I came up with.

“Pregnant,” she says slowly. “And I promised your sister I wouldn’t do this, but you look like you’re about to pass out, so I’m going to anyway.”

“My sister?” I choke out.

“Yeah. I told her first to see if she thought I should tell you now or wait.”

My face is numb. A thousand invisible needles are pricking the hell out of it. “Okay.”

“Maybe I should’ve waited,” she says softly. “But, Dallas, I don’t want to be the reason you punch out Jase Wade. Or the reason you miss out on this tour. This is huge. Your career is growing astronomically at a rate most people can only dream of. I am so proud of you. So believe me when I say, I didn’t come here to tell you this so that you’d stay behind or whatever. Go. Live your dream and show those people how we do music in Texas. I will be here when you get home and we can talk. But know that if you decide you don’t want this, me or the baby—both or either—that’s okay. I’m okay. I can do this on my own. You can be as involved or as uninvolved as you like. That’s what I invited you over to dinner to tell you. Then you told me about the tour and you were so excited and I didn’t want to piss on your parade, so to speak. But I won’t make the same mistake I made when I didn’t tell you about my mom.”

“So there isn’t someone else?”

There you are, words! Finally.

Robyn shakes her head slowly. “Well, technically there is, but he isn’t born yet.”

“He?” Christ, I hear my own voice crack.

“I don’t really know for sure,” she tells me. “But it feels like a he to me. I’ll find out in about six to eight weeks. I’ll text you. I can even send the ultrasound picture. If you want me to, that is.”

“Denver,” I say, finally putting the pieces together as my brain catches up. We weren’t careful. Several times.

“Yeah. Denver. And I take full responsibility because I missed two birth control pills that week. I didn’t even realize it until later. So this is on me. I am not upset. If anyone was going to knock me up, I’m glad it’s you. I am just so sorry that I have to put this on you when so many amazing things are happening in your life.”

“Don’t do that. I was there, too. Don’t be fucking sorry.” The command comes out harsher than I mean for it to and Robyn flinches.

“Dallas,” Mandy calls out from behind me. “We need to get moving.”

“You should go,” Robyn tells me. “Don’t want to miss your flight.”

I drive my hands into my hair and leave them on top of my head. My head is shaking back and forth. Go? I can’t go. I can’t leave her. I won’t. What the fucking fuck is happening to my life right now?

“I just . . . I thought you’d met someone. I thought you and Wade—”

“No,” Robyn says, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly. “There’s never really been anyone else for me, Dallas. I kind of thought you knew that by now.”

That feels so damn good to hear, I feel like I could sprint to Mexico.

“Dallas!” Mandy barks again. “Time to go!”

“Wait,” I say more to Robyn than Mandy. “Then how’d you know I punched him? Wade tell you?”

“She mentioned it,” Robyn informs me, nodding at my manager, who’s growing more impatient by the second. “When she dropped by my place to tell me to stay away from you.”

The fuck?

“She what?”

“She’s also the one who told Dixie to sit out the encore at the showcase in Nashville. Said she was holding you back. You might want to discuss that with her.”

My blood pressure rises so high I can feel it. Dixie’s hang-up about holding me back makes so much more sense now.

“Dixie tell you this?”

Robyn nods. “I’m happy for you, Dallas. I am. And I meant what I said about being here when you get home. Regardless of what you decide. But one thing is for damn sure. You need a new manager. Like yesterday.”

She glances around me to glare at Mandy.

“You can say that again.”

“Okay, I will.” Robyn leans up and brushes her sweet little pouty lips past mine on her way to my ear. “You. Need. A. New. Manager.”