“You never cramp my style, Red,” I say, using Jase’s nickname for her just because he bugs me.
“Okay then, bad choice of words. I don’t want to hold you back or weigh you down. Lots of people are going to want a piece of you at this party, Dallas, and some of them it will benefit you to get to know. So I’m going to hang back behind the scenes where I belong and let you do your thing.”
“Whatever you say, babe.” I reach for her hand and pull her toward my truck. “I’ll drive you to the airport so you don’t have to pay for long-term parking.”
“You sure?”
“Yep. Hop in.”
When we get to the airport I can only walk her to the security gate. We stop and she gives me a quick hug. “See you in a week. Have a great show tonight. Make sure my mom doesn’t run off with Jase Wade.”
“Will do,” I promise. “And hey, about what you said, about holding me back or weighing me down?”
Her brow crinkles. “Yeah?”
“That’s a load of malarkey and you know it, Breeland. If anything, you keep me grounded so all of this craziness doesn’t go to my head.”
She smiles. “Well, someone has to.”
28 | Dallas
SOUND CHECK AT THE GEXA ENERGY PAVILION DOESN’T TAKE TOO long and I’m glad. Dixie texted earlier that she’d come early and she’s bringing Robyn’s mom. I’ve always loved Belinda Breeland like she was my own mother and I wasn’t kidding when I said I was wounded at the thought of her liking Jase Wade more than me. I never claimed to be mature. Blame the testosterone.
I brought Belinda a giant box of her favorite Godiva chocolates. Maybe she’s still a little mad at me for not working things out with Robyn back in the day, but I am determined to win her over.
After I’ve put my guitar aside and cleared the stage so Wade could warm up, I head back to my bus in hopes of catching a quick nap before the show. Feels like I haven’t slept in a month.
Halfway there I see my sister and Belinda making their way backstage and I stop dead in my tracks.
“Stop gaping at me like I’m about to faint dead away, Dallas Lark,” Belinda says to greet me. “I’m fine. I’ve been in remission for months now. I just wear the scarves still because I like them and I’m not used to the short hair.”
She’s about twenty pounds thinner than I remember and even with the scarf I can tell that her once-long red locks are now cropped in a short pixie cut. She didn’t come to Papa’s funeral. Robyn mentioned that she was ill and couldn’t make it. I thought she meant like a cold or something.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know . . .”
“That I was in remission? Surely Robyn told you.” She shakes her head. “That girl acts like I’m going to relapse any second, though. You should see the stuff she makes me eat.” Belinda laughs lightly, probably hoping to break the tension I’ve suddenly created with my inability to conceal my shock. “When the doctors gave us the lists of restricted and recommended foods, you would’ve thought they were handing her a dietary Bible.”
Apparently I could fill a fucking book with the things Robyn hasn’t told me. The pieces of the puzzle that is Robyn Breeland are beginning to take shape in my head. The food. The obsession with healthy eating and all her overzealous ordering habits.
“Oh my God,” Belinda practically squeals, sounding more like a teenage girl than a grown woman. “There he is. Can we get closer to the stage?”
Dixie and I both follow her line of sight to where Wade is now warming up.
Grrr.
For this woman, though, the one who made me homemade chicken noodle soup when I had the flu, I’ll endure it.
“Come on,” I say, offering her my arm. “I can do better than closer to the stage.”
Once I’ve escorted them both past security and up the stairs to the restricted backstage area, I tug my sister’s elbow and pull her aside.
“Tell me what the hell is going on.” I nod toward Belinda.