Loving Dallas(68)

“See?” I say, gesturing wildly toward his retreating figure and nearly knocking my water over. “There are other fish in the sea. Smoking-hot fish, mind you. Gavin Garrison can suck it.”

Dixie takes a bite of her wrap, eyeing me speculatively while she chews. “You’re really worked up today. What’s going on with you?”

Crap. We’ve reached the portion of the lunch date that’s about me.

“Eat a little more. Then I’ll tell you.”

“Robyn Breeland,” she begins, setting her wrap down harshly. “If you invited me here to tell me you have a deadly disease or something awful and are just stalling for time by messing around about the waiter then I—”

“No, it’s nothing awful.” I sigh. “Well . . . I don’t think it’s awful anyway. Your brother might feel differently.”

“My brother?”

I push my spirally pasta salad noodles around with my fork. “He and I have kind of been seeing each other casually during the tour. Since we were together so much anyway, it just sort of . . . happened.”

“Feel free to spare me the details.”

“No problem.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So . . .” Dixie prompts. “Now you realize you’re in love and you want to tell him that he’s the one and you plan to spend the rest of your life with him making lots of pretty babies for me to spoil?”

Score one for her. “Um, well . . . you got one part right.”

“You’re in love?”

I shrug. Yeah, I am. I always have been. But I don’t think that necessitates a formal announcement.

She tries again. “You plan to tell him he’s the one? Because you know how he is. Just because he might not say it doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel the same way.”

“That’s not it. Not exactly.”

“So then . . . babies?” Her eyes light up and her mouth drops open.

“Just the one, I hope. At least, there was only one on the ultrasound, thank goodness.”

Dixie makes an “ahh” sound that causes several people nearby to turn and look at us.

“Shh. Keep it down. I didn’t plan to tell the whole restaurant.”

“Oh my God.” Dixie clasps a hand over her mouth. Another “Oh my God” still escapes, though it’s muffled. Tears shine in her eyes.

“You’re going to make me cry again,” I say, because she is.

“Oh my God, Robyn. I’m so happy for you. For both of you.” She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand, which causes my tears to fall because I’ve been so worried I forgot to be happy. Seeing her be happy makes me realize that Dallas be damned, I can be happy, too. “What did Dallas say?”

Well . . . I was happy for a second at least.

“He doesn’t exactly know yet.”

Dixie releases my hand. “Holy shit. I know before he does? Nice. But uh, you should probably tell him. Like sooner rather than later. He leaves for Mexico on Monday I think.”

I nod. “Mexico. Then Canada. Then Brazil, I think. I’m going to. I just . . .”

“You’re scared. I can understand that. But you still have to tell him.”

“What if he hates me, Dix? You know him. You know he won’t want this. He’s living his dream right now. How am I supposed to tell him I’m about to turn it into a nightmare?”

“You stop right there, lady. No one calls my niece or nephew a nightmare. And as far as my brother goes . . . you might be surprised. Dallas is a lot of things. Driven. Stubborn. Sometimes downright obnoxiously overprotective. But he’s a good man. And family matters to him. Maybe more so since we hardly have any left.”

“I know that. I do.” I take a few steadying breaths. “That’s my other fear. That his values will cause him to leave his dreams behind to be with us. Then what? What happens two or three years from now when he resents us for costing him his dream? Can you imagine Dallas without music? Working some nine-to-five dead-end job he hates? Because I can and it isn’t pretty. I won’t do that to him.”

Dixie looks so deep into my eyes I fear she can see my soul.

“Robyn,” she says slowly. “You didn’t see his face when he learned about your mom’s cancer. It broke him, knowing you didn’t trust him enough to tell him the truth that summer.”

I might not have seen his face that night, but I saw it a few days later and I remember how furious he was.

Dixie continues before I can say anything. “And for the record, he wasn’t the only one who was hurt by that.”

The pain is evident on her face and my shoulders sag beneath the weight of it.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve told you, both of you. He was just so excited about that summer and I didn’t want to take that away from him.” The same way I didn’t want to put a damper on the international leg of his tour now.

Remembering what he told me, about how he bombed his few performances that summer because of me, I feel myself sinking into the hopeless pit of despair. If I don’t tell Dallas he’ll be hurt later and if I do tell him now he’ll be distracted on the road. Either way, I’m repeating mistakes I don’t know how to avoid.