Missing Dixie (Neon Dreams #3)(26)

Turns out babies are expensive.

I’ve told him repeatedly that even after the renovations to the house and the money I spent on equipment and licensing needed for starting Over the Rainbow, I still have royalties leftover from what Capitol paid for Better to Burn. But we are Larks and Larks are stubborn.

I want to be ready for this. I want to stand up there with my band and own it like I should’ve done in Nashville instead of letting a bitchy manager get in my head. But so much is still uncertain. This life, in this house, my meager existence, it’s safe. Safer than the road, than hotel rooms with Gavin and nights of watching groupies fall all over him. And truth be told, I like giving music lessons. I look forward to it and it makes me happy.

“It sounds like a huge opportunity, Dallas. I’m interested, but you know I have a lot going on with Over the Rainbow and—”

“Dixie, if we win this thing, you can have half the money to incorporate OTR and hire more instructors. If we tour, you could visit inner-city schools during downtime and give group lessons. I have thought about this and I don’t want to take anything away from you. I swear. I don’t even care about the money at this point. We’ll survive. What I want is our band back. I never should’ve walked away from it, never should’ve left you when you were hurting. I should’ve been there for you.”

Tears well in my eyes because I can hear them in his voice. “Well, shit, Dallas. Now you’re making me cry. Stop that.”

“Sorry. I’m not trying to upset you or manipulate you. I really will love you just the same if you say you’re not into this at all. But I had to ask. Technically, Gavin was supposed to ask but I’m getting used to him chickening out when it comes to you.”

Maybe he’s right. Or maybe Gavin was going to play another hand—the “I know you want me” hand. Was he going to screw with me like that? Pretend he wanted to be with me, eventually, when he’s done with the blonde, to get me to go along with this?

My emotions twist into an intricate knot in the pit of my stomach.

“I need some time to think about it. Either way, we can still do the warm-up gig. Go ahead and confirm.”

My brother barely suppresses a yelp of joy. Gavin says we don’t have poker faces. He’s right. We don’t. But he sure as hell does.

“Awesome. I’m so glad you’re on board,” he tells me on a huge sigh that sounds like relief. “I’ll text you all the details and the competition info with my thoughts on the songs we should play as soon as we hang up.”

“ ’Kay. Love you, big brother.”

“Love you, too, Dixie Leigh.” My usually closed-off brother is overflowing with the emotions. I like it. It’s different, but I like it.

After we hang up, my phone buzzes in my hand and texts from Dallas come in one after another.

My vision blurs trying to read it all.

Dallas has really put a lot of thought into this. I agree with all but one of his song choices and I text him back to tell him so. I’m a little surprised when I notice the excitement and anticipation welling up inside me.

I want this. I want to do this.

Moreover, I want to win.

At the edge of my awareness, there is still that same nagging concern that is always there. The thought of playing music with Gavin feels like facing a giant mountainous incline the world expects me to climb. One with terrain I have no clue how to navigate and haven’t had time to train adequately for.

I shake my head and stand. This isn’t about Gavin Garrison. This is about my band—a band I am just now acknowledging is as much mine as Dallas’s or Gavin’s.

I can do this. I have loved. And lost. I have grown. I am stronger.

I’ve learned a few vital lessons over these past few months. It’s not knowledge and experience that helps us to grow and mature.

It’s pain. It’s damage. It’s recovering from it. Surviving it.

I am stronger because I had to be. I’ve been hurt so many times. By life, by death, by love, and by loss. I am happier because I’ve known profound sadness, wiser because I’ve made epic mistakes and learned from them. But I am still standing.

Damn straight I am.

Oz sits faceup on the kitchen table and I run my fingers over his strings. “You ready for this? Want one more run at this thing? Think we’re ready?”

The buzz of electricity hums through my fingertips like an answer and it ignites every cell in my body. I am grinning like a maniac as I use my ancient laptop to research the competition.

I’m still smiling when my next student rings the doorbell. I have survived everything in my life so far—this won’t kill me.

At least I hope it won’t.





10 | Gavin

“GARRISON! HOW MANY times do I have to tell you? No personal calls at work.”

My boss looks sunburned 365 days a year. He’s turning a deep shade of crimson nearing on blood violet while he goes off on me.

“I mean, you’re the bartender. Get it? The name says it all. Bar and tender. As in tender of the bar, as in the * that holds up the line because he’s on the phone instead of pouring drinks. When you don’t pour the drinks, I don’t make the money. I don’t make the money, I can’t write you a paycheck. Got that?”

“Cal? Not to be a smartass, but my phone call probably won’t last half as long as that speech just did.”