Loving Dallas - Caisey Quinn Page 0,83
he said. So I did. For the most part. I mean, I drove my grandparents’ RV around the country for a few weeks, but it wasn’t like I was picking up guys or anything. Dallas didn’t tell me that Gavin didn’t go on the unsigned artists tour, and when I called him out on it, he seemed to be under the impression that Gavin would’ve already told me himself.”
“But he hadn’t?”
“Nope. Not a word.”
Gavin always kept to himself, but in my years of dating his best friend and handling the social media outreach for Leaving Amarillo, I did learn that his mom is a drug-addicted townie who had no business being a mother, from what I saw and what Dallas told me over the years.
“And you still haven’t heard from him?” Dixie’s face pales and I feel bad for pressing. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t pry. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t—”
“Oh, I heard from him eventually. Not because he called or even texted to say he was alive. I ran into him by accident, actually. And he wasn’t happy to see me. At all.”
Tiny fissures form in my heart as she continues. I knew the first time Dallas introduced me to his sister and his best friend that there was something between them. It was obvious, even if Dallas chose to remain oblivious; anyone with eyes could see how much they cared about one another. Sparks practically flew in the air between them every time their eyes met.
“Maybe you just caught him by surprise or something,” I offer, knowing my words probably don’t help.
“I caught him by surprise all right. He was with someone.”
The fissures widen into full-blown cracks.
“Oh no. I’m so sorry, hon. Are you sure? Maybe it was something else?”
Not that I have any alternate suggestions.
“I’m sure.”
I watch as she takes a deep breath before gathering the strength to continue.
“He works at the Tavern now. So he was literally fifteen minutes down the road and he couldn’t even pick up the phone or stop by. I’ve been giving piano and violin lessons to some local kids whose parents can’t really afford much. One of the moms was turning twenty-one; yes, she’s twenty-one with a five-year-old, don’t judge.”
I put my hand up because I am the last person to be judging anyone right now. “No judging. Got it.”
“And a group of them convinced me to go out for a night on the town. We got there and they all shoved me toward the piano. I figured what the hell, you know?”
God. I can see it. I can totally see Dixie playing the piano in this smoky bar and Gavin being drawn to the music and seeing her, and my stupid pregnant hormones are making this too much to handle. Dixie blurs before me as she continues.
“So I’m playing and I feel someone watching me and there he is.”
A startled cry escapes me even though I saw it coming.
Dixie shrugs. “And he was with this . . . woman. She was blond and beautiful in a sophisticated street-savvy sort of way. And older than me. Probably late twenties or early thirties. They were talking all night, every time he took a break from bartending, and they were like forehead to forehead. She kept touching him and it was just . . .” Dixie shudders and so do I.
“He didn’t even speak to you?” Now my hormones are vacating oversentimental land and heading toward blind rageville.
“Oh he did. He basically told me to go back to Houston because I’d be better off.”
“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