Finally he seems to settle on a look of concern seasoned with determination. “I saw how you were at the funeral and after. Whatever you do, just be sure you mean it, Garrison. If this is just jealousy over McKinley, maybe shove that shit down deep and keep it to yourself.”
“It’s not,” I answer abruptly, picturing McKinley with his arms around her in her kitchen. “But I’m not opposed to tearing his greasy fucking hands off if I ever see him touch her again, either.”
Dallas gives me a half grin until he sees that I’m dead serious. Then his expression shifts to one of amused interest.
I shake my head and lift my hands in a gesture of helplessness. “She’s my Bluebird, Dallas. I need to go home and get my shit straight so that I can be the kind of man she deserves.”
“I can see that you care about her, and that’s great. Really. I believe you’ll protect her from your own bullshit like you promised—because otherwise I’d have to kill you here and now. But the nicknames or putting your hands all over her in front of me, that shit ain’t gonna fly. Ever.”
“I’ll try my best. But I think we both need to go ahead and accept the fact that what Dixie wants, Dixie gets. From me at least. I can’t put you first anymore.”
“It’s like you’re breaking up with me, Garrison. Do I get breakup sex?”
“You wish,” I tell him as I stand to pick up my bag.
“You leaving because you don’t want to risk going to jail or for her?”
There’s a good question. I give him the most honest answer that I can. “Both.”
Sliding my phone into my pocket and lifting my bag onto my shoulder, I ask him to make sure someone gets my drum kit home. Most likely I’ll have to hitchhike back to Amarillo.
Dallas promises that he will and leans on the wall by the door.
“You’re not a bad guy, Gavin. And I trust you with my own life. But if you hurt my sister, you’re fucking—”
“I know. I won’t. Or I’ll do everything in my power not to.”
“You have to tell her,” he says with a straight face. “All of it. Maybe not all at once, but eventually.”
“I know. I will. I need to get my shit handled and then, I swear to God, I will tell her everything.”
The lines etched into his face fade noticeably. “When I saw you with her in the alley at the showcase I thought it was like—”
“It wasn’t,” I say, cutting him off sharply. “And it never will be.”
His mouth flattens into a straight line and he gives a quick nod. “Good. Better not be.”
“After I tell her everything—once she knows everything that I did and what happened—she might tell me to stay the fuck away from her.”
Dallas doesn’t reassure me. Probably because he knows I’m right. “She might. But that’s her decision to make.”
“There are some sins even saints can’t forgive,” I mumble.
Dallas claps me on the shoulder and shakes my hand, pressing something into it. “Well let’s just hope she loves your sorry ass back. Good luck, man.”
Adjusting my bag on my shoulder, I nod to where Dallas’s guitar is propped by the dresser. “Same to you, my friend.”
She answers on the second ring.
I’m sitting in the station where I used the money my best friend slipped me for bus fare to get a ticket home. I have about five minutes until my bus arrives so I decide to call the absolute last person I want to talk to. Well, one of the last people. Definitely not the first.
“Well, well. To what do I owe this honor?” She asks once I’ve told her it’s me.
I stop tapping my drumstick on my knee. “We need to meet.”
“Well that sounds promising. Dinner? Or just my place for dessert?”
My skin crawls at the sound of her voice. I shove a memory I wish I didn’t have back into the deep, dark closet of my mind and ram the door shut. “Neither. This isn’t about that.”
“A girl can dream.”
I don’t have time for her bullshit. “Look, I’m not in the mood to play games with you.”
“Too bad,” she purrs through the phone. “We have so much fun when we play.”
Jesus.
“Can you meet with me or not?”