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.