Loving Dallas(60)

Robyn is staring dazedly at me so I set my dinner on my plate and push it to the side.

“Robyn?”

Suddenly she shakes her head as if shaking herself out of a daydream. “Yeah, um, I mean no. No, I’m not coming on the international leg of the tour. But wow. That’s . . . big news. Congratulations.”

“I can’t believe no one told you.” This doesn’t make sense. I heard Mandy and a few others talking about it. They mentioned Midnight Bay partnering with similar companies overseas. How do I know this and she doesn’t?

“I knew Jase’s tour contract was extended,” she says slowly. “I was out sick for a bit and must’ve missed the announcement that they’d added you on to that leg of the tour as well.”

“I would’ve asked how you’ve been feeling, but you look like you feel one hundred percent better.” Or she did at least, until I mentioned the international tour dates. Now she’s kind of pale and looking like she might be sick again. “You’ve been with the tour this long, I can’t imagine they’d want to send anyone else.”

I should just say it. I should just come right out and tell her the truth. I don’t want to go to all of these new places where I’m going to be a fish out of water without her. The memory of the night in New Orleans is burned into my memory—and not just because of the sex—though, good Lord, I think records were broken and laws of gravity were defied. But the city came alive for me because of her. I want her with me. Always.

The startling realization leaves me sitting there stunned.

“We have marketing associates who specialize in those areas—speak the languages and know the trends—much better than I ever could. I could ask, but they wouldn’t send me. If they did, I’d just be in the way.”

“You’re never in the way, babe.” I try to catch her gaze, but it’s focused on some point past my left shoulder. I glance in that direction but all I see is her spare bedroom door and it’s closed. “You all right?”

“Yeah, um, yes. I’m fine,” she answers too quickly. But then she returns her attention to her food and we eat in awkward silence. Or I do at least. She barely touches her chicken.

“You all done?” she asks once I’ve cleaned my plate. “I’m kind of beat. Being sick took a lot out of me.”

I nearly get whiplash from the sudden turn of events. “I thought you invited me over here to tell me something. If it wasn’t congratulations on the extended tour, what was it?”

Robyn pulls back and glances at the door. She’s either ready for me to vacate the premises or anticipating that I will bolt after she tells me whatever she needs to.

“Dallas,” she says softly. “I do need to tell you something and you might not like it.”

“Okay.” I stand in case it is something that makes me want to leave, but now I feel like I’m looming over her, intimidating her. Being sick did take a lot out of her. Looking closer, I can see that she’s lost at least five or ten pounds. Crouching into her personal space, I lower myself onto the wooden pallets she’s refurbished into a coffee table and place my hands on her hips, pulling her to me. “What is it? Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Her body is rigid in my arms, which is so completely unusual it causes me to take my hands off her.

“It’s this,” Robyn says, gesturing between us. “I can’t do this anymore. Not with you.”

Before my brain catches up, I have a physical reaction that I have very little control over. My heart pounds harder, my hands tighten on her waist before I release her. My mouth is dry and my brain empties of all coherent thoughts.

“I don’t know that I understand exactly.”

But I can see it in her eyes. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, she’s quitting on us. Quitting on me.

Again.

“Robyn?”

“I’m sorry,” she says, turning her head a second too late. I already saw the tears. “It’s not because I don’t care about you, Dallas. You know that I do. It’s just—”

“Is your mom all right? Don’t mess with me, Robyn. Don’t do this shit to us again. If she’s sick, you can tell me.”

She shakes her head quickly. “No. It’s not my mom. She’s fine. Promise.”

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 f*cking 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 f*cking 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 f*cking? You’re my muse. How about you let me squeeze a few more songs out of this?