Missing Dixie (Neon Dreams #3)(10)

This is Dallas’s first priority now, not the band. Without him playing drill sergeant, I don’t know if Leaving Amarillo will stand a chance. But I can see in his face that it doesn’t matter; any sacrifice he has to make for this woman will be worth it.

When Dixie finishes, she takes her place across the altar and I can’t tear my stare from her. Her sapphire eyes shine like diamonds with the promise of tears.

I wish I could give you this.

Right as I’m about to look away, her gaze collides with mine. My heart swells in my chest. I have so much to say and no words to say it.

I’m sorry.

I’m trying.

I love you.

She doesn’t even flinch at the turmoil I know is probably apparent on my face. She just gives me a confident smile and a knowing look as if to say, One day.

One day that will be us.

A future.

A forever.

I f*cking hope so.

I just have no clue how we’ll ever manage to get there.





5 | Dixie

I GOT THIS.

Right up until I had to be this close to him. Seeing him across the altar was hard; seeing what my impossibly hopeless heart thought was a wistful look in his eyes nearly broke me.

Now I’m sweating, nervous, and my heart is threatening to make a break for it straight out of my chest for all to see.

I so do not got this.

“Smile,” Robyn says quietly to me after the third flash of the camera. “I love you, babe. And you nailed the song and made my wedding the most special day of my life. But you’re making my wedding photos look like mug shots.”

“Sorry,” I mumble under my breath.

I switch the small bouquet of calla lilies I’m holding to my other hand and tuck a wayward curl behind my ear.

I can feel him watching me—he has been since I first made my way down the aisle. He held his breath for a full minute when we had to stand beside each other for pictures and now I’m holding mine.

Dallas and Robyn kiss again on the photographer’s command and I have to look away.

I can’t explain it, but it hurts to see such blatant displays of affection when I’m consumed with this longing for a man who keeps his heart so closely guarded from me in particular. A man who is so close I can inhale him, smell him, and practically taste him. The heat radiates from his body and warms mine. If I leaned back a few inches I would be resting on his chest, a tempting thought that makes me hate myself. But I need the . . . contact.

I clench my hands around the neck of the bouquet and focus on smiling. On breathing. On keeping myself still where I stand and not dragging Gavin into a back room to force him to give me what I need.

Answers. Explanations. Himself.

“Okay, I think we’re good for now,” Jacqueline, the photographer calls out, finally allowing me to relax a few fractions of an inch. “We’ll get a few more at the reception and some as you leave for the honeymoon.”

So much for relaxing. I haven’t had time to mentally prepare myself for the reception. Dancing. Touching. Other women. Single women who will want to take their turn on the dance floor with Gavin so they can slip him their numbers while I watch.

I am better than this. I am not this girl anymore.

No one else has ever had this effect on me and it infuriates me that he does. Still.

It also doesn’t bode well for my ability to play music on the road with a single Gavin Garrison whom I bear no claim to. I nod and force a smile for Robyn and my brother before heading around behind the chapel and into the sprawling backyard, where guests are already mingling at the reception.

Robyn’s mom waves from the middle of a group of ladies about her age and I wave back, but I keep walking. What I need is in the back corner of the barn in Jag’s pants.

Once I reach the table where he’s sitting with his dad and his dad’s girlfriend, Gina, I set my flowers down and hold out my hand. With an eye roll I ignore, he hands over the shiny, silver flask.

“Pace yourself, crazy girl,” he warns low under his breath as I take my first swallow of gloriously burning liquid fire.

“Pacing is for sissies,” I mutter back before taking another drink. My heart pounds hard in my chest but the sweet burn distracts me from my oncoming anxiety attack.

“I’m guessing pictures went well?” Jag retrieves the flask of what I’m pretty sure is Jack Daniel’s from my reluctant hands.

“Fabulous.”

“The ceremony was beautiful,” Gina says softly. I recognize the way she’s looking at Jag’s dad. She’s wondering if they’ll ever have a ceremony like this one. I know the feeling. Maybe this is why so many people have sex at weddings—it makes you slightly desperate and strangely turned on.

“It was,” I say, because saying thank you feels like taking credit for something I didn’t really have much to do with. I didn’t actually pay much attention to the décor because I was busy keeping my shit together, but I did see tears in Dallas’s eyes when Robyn promised to make his dreams as important as her own.

Watching those two be so deeply in love is probably going to kill me. Particularly since I’m just a few strays away from becoming a lonely old cat lady at the ripe young age of twenty.

Or a groupie of a member of my own band.

Fuck.

Levi’s band launches into a song called “Love You Like That,” by Canaan Smith, and Gina drags Jag’s dad off to the dance floor.