Dallas sighs. “Yeah. I guess. Sometimes.” He runs a hand hard through his hair. “They bring their kids, Gavin. Drop them off for forty-five minutes and then pick them up. End of story. Dixie’s a big girl. If she didn’t feel safe, she’d—”
“She’d what, Dallas? You know her. She gives everyone the benefit of the doubt. And you’re shacked up with Robyn so the last thing she’s going to do is tell you to leave your pregnant girlfriend or wife or whatever and come home because she’s worried about the meth head coming by later.”
“Gavin. Chill.”
I huff out some of my exasperation with how clueless the Lark siblings are. “No, I will not fucking chill. You live in this shiny fucking world where people are mostly good. And that’s great. I’m glad that you and Dixie both get to live there. But I know about the other side, the wretched, repulsive underbelly where the guy who changes your oil runs a chop shop out of his garage, and the knock-knock-joke-telling cook at Rio’s Diner hands out crack to kids not old enough to drive yet. I know that world because that’s where I fucking live. I’ve worked my ass off to keep her away from that and you’re telling me she’s inviting it over for fucking dinner. So no, I will not fucking chill.”
Dallas stares evenly at me. He knows by now it’s best to just let me get it all out, otherwise my best friend and I will come to blows on his wedding day and he will go on the fancy honeymoon OK! magazine paid for in order to get Dallas Walker’s exclusive wedding photos, with a shiner or a busted mouth.
There’s a reason you don’t ever see two alpha males in a pack. It’s really nothing short of mind-blowing that he and I have yet to actually lay each other out.
“How many?”
Dallas raises his eyebrows instead of speaking.
“How many drug addicts are coming by there? How many of them are using her for free child care while they go out and get high and then come back wasted if they come back at all? How many local junkies know where she lives?”
He shrugs and glances over to where, speak of the angel, Dixie is making her way over to us with shaving cream on her hands. “A couple. Two that I know of for sure. McKinley keeps an eye out. I know you don’t like him but he’s good people. He cares about her.”
Kick me while I’m down, why don’t you.
“McKinley’s pop is crooked as they come, Dallas. I don’t know what Jaggerd knows or doesn’t know, but they’re not exactly salt of the earth. Trust me.”
“Not everyone is out to hurt her, man. And in fact, if we want to get technical, the only person I know that has really hurt her so far is . . .”
“Thanks for the reminder.”
“You’re welcome.” Dallas tilts his head to the side as she gets closer. “For the record, I should kick your ass. But I’m going to tell myself that you’re both adults and you can work this out on your own. That’s what I brought you out here for. To tell you that you’re the only one that can find out the truth about whether or not she really wants to give Leaving Amarillo one more shot and if the contest at the bar is worth entering. I think this could be our last chance and we’ll regret it for the rest of our lives if we don’t take it. And hearing her sing like that tonight, I wish I’d known she was interested in singing more, and I would’ve added in that layer with our band. But I won’t push her if she isn’t ready. Pretty sure the only thing holding her back is, well . . . you.”
“Great. No pressure then.”
Dallas nods. “So there’s that. And also, Afton Tate should be here any second now. Robyn’s a big fan so he’s coming straight here after a concert in Oklahoma to sing us off onto our honeymoon.”
“Fantastic. I can hardly wait.”
Dallas smirks at my tone. “If you ask real nice he’ll probably give you an autograph. Maybe sign your tits.”
“Eat a dick, Dallas.”