Missing Dixie (Neon Dreams #3)(34)

“I think he just . . .” I search for the right words, but how do you explain what’s going on in your head when you can’t even understand it yourself?

“ . . . needs to make an actual choice. It’s time, Dix. For what it’s worth, I think he loves you as much as he is capable of loving another person, but he made his choice last night and for whatever reason, it wasn’t you.”

A thick knot of emotion keeps any more excuses from escaping.

“I’m sorry,” Robyn says while patting my hand. “I don’t mean to say that it will be easy, because I know it won’t. But it’s time to move forward. With or without him.”

I nod because she’s right. “I know.”

Robyn stands to leave but then she stops abruptly. I have a mini panic attack that she’s going into preterm labor or something but she gives me a sad smile.

“Remember Billy Gleason? From middle school?”

I nod. “Yeah, the freckle-faced * who heard the boys shortening my name and started calling me ‘Dicks’ and drawing penises all over my stuff.”

Robyn laughs softly. “Yeah, him.”

“Dallas heard him teasing me and beat the crap out of him. He was suspended for three days and Papa was superharsh on him those days, making him do slave labor at home from dawn till dark.”

Robyn nods. “Yeah, about that. It wasn’t Dallas who beat him up. Billy, I mean.”

I feel my forehead wrinkle in confusion. “Yes, it was. Busted him up pretty bad, actually. He had to get stiches in his cheek and lip and eyebrow, if I remember correctly. Billy carried my books and my lunch every day for weeks and pretty much spent the remainder of sixth grade apologizing to me.”

Robyn looks at me like I am clueless. “I know. I remember. But it wasn’t Dallas that made that happen.” She tilts her head to the side as if contemplating not telling me the rest. But then she finishes. “It was Gavin. Dallas took the fall because Gavin had already been in trouble one too many times that year.”

I feel as if my entire life has been a lie.

“Seriously?”

She nods. “Seriously. And there have been . . . other things, other times when Dallas took the fall for him because he thought he was doing the right thing. But you and I both know that won’t be possible forever.”

“What are you say, exactly?”

“I’m saying that there is a darkness in Gavin, a side of him that is dangerous to people who care about him. To Dallas and to you. He hurt that kid, badly. For teasing you. And he let Dallas take the blame and deal with the consequences.” Robyn continues before I can argue. “Gavin’s always had it rougher than any of us, but you need to know, Dixie, that his salvation is not on your shoulders. The battle he’s fighting this time is his and his alone—and hopefully he’ll conquer his demons, but if he doesn’t . . . you will be okay and we will be here for you. And him.”

I glare at her steadily until she finishes her statement.

“Sometimes even things done with the best of intentions can wound and destroy. Sometimes the darkness wins. That’s all I’m saying. I just worry is all.” She shrugs almost imperceptibly and then adds, “We’ll leave you be, but call us if you need us, okay?”

I nod and with that she leaves my room and closes the door behind her.

Now I’m the one left in darkness.

I wake to loud knocking on my front door. Sitting up in my bed, I glance over at my phone and see that it’s after two in the morning.

Something’s wrong.

I don’t know how I know, but I know it even before I’m fully conscious. Stumbling to the door, I mutter inaudibly to my late-night visitor to hold the hell on. I’ve barely registered the figure standing in the door way before I open it.

His scorching hot mouth fastens to mine. It’s a kiss and then a lick and then a hard pull of my flesh into his mouth. It’s a familiar mouth, one that affects even more parts of my body than he’s actually touching.

Before I can say a word or mutter in either protest or approval, his hands grip my ass and I am lifted onto him. My legs instinctually wrap his waist and the burning kiss continues as he carries me to my bedroom. It’s dark in the house so he’s making his way through by memory.

Heat sears my back—hot enough that I’m slightly concerned my mattress is on fire when he lowers me roughly onto it.

Is this a dream? Am I awake?

Using both hands, I reach for his face and drag his mouth to mine. Immediately I know that I am not dreaming. The Gavin in my dreams tastes only like Gavin, like mint and sometimes a faint hint of tobacco even though he quit smoking. This Gavin tastes different.

The liquor on his breath is so strong I’m instantly drunk at the first touch of our tongues.

It’s an addicting flavor, Gavin and stout whiskey.

He tears his shirt off over his head and my brain tries to warn me, to remind me about something. I’m mad at him. Or I’m supposed to be mad. Or . . . something. But there is only heat and need and skin.

So much skin.

I fell asleep in my threadbare Civil Wars T-shirt and he’s wearing only jeans that scrape roughly against my exposed skin.

His strong hand assaults my bare breasts. One, then the other. Rubbing hard then tugging gently on each nipple until the ache in them rivals the one between my legs.