Loving Dallas(73)

I stare blankly after her as she storms off and I slide my phone into my back pocket.

She’s right. Dallas Walker is replaceable. Hell, Dallas Walker doesn’t even really exist.

I glance at the leather pants I hate, the boots I never would’ve bought myself, and the torn T-shirt she said “enhanced my edge”—whatever the f*ck that is.

I don’t even know who Dallas Walker is. And I don’t think I even like his ass.

“You all right, kid?” Jase Wade kicks my boot, startling me out of my stupor. “ ’Cause Lantram wasn’t entirely out of line for once. You have seemed pretty f*cking out of it since we left the States.”

“Yeah. I’m great. Jet lag,” I lie. Mexico was a blur. Canada was a blink. I just played my first show in Rio and I can’t remember a single second of it.

“Nothing to do with a certain redhead we both know?”

His mention of Robyn surprises me and brings out a primal surge of protectiveness. “I know her a hell of a lot better than you do.”

Wade laughs at my outburst. “Easy, killer. I know you do. That wasn’t my name she was shouting across the airport. I gotta say, after a scene like that, I’m kind of surprised you made it here.”

“Why wouldn’t I be here?”

“Honestly? Girl looked like she was about to propose to you. I figured you’d be on your honeymoon by now.”

I snort, but there’s a part of me that wishes he were right. Brazil is beautiful. Colorful and vibrant like Mandy promised. But all I can think about is the way Robyn came alive in New Orleans. How she’d dance in the streets here, too, and moan about the food in a way that would have me hauling her back to our hotel room at lightning speed.

If I don’t tell someone, I’m going to explode before sound check.

“She’s pregnant,” I say quietly so none of the road crew members hear. “With my baby.”

“Ah. Congratulations.” Wade claps my shoulder hard and shakes my hand. I feel the maniacal grin spreading across my face.

“We’ll find out the sex of the baby this weekend. She’s going to text me the ultrasound photo.”

At that, he frowns. “Text, huh?”

I nod. It sucks but what else can we do?

“You know, I got a lot of updates about my daughter via text message, too.” He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “That she was taking ballet. When my wife found out she was allergic to strawberries. Several years’ worth of school pictures. Dance recital videos.”

He lets out a low sound, laughter devoid of humor, as if he’s forgotten I’m even in the room.

“Hell, I even got the ‘Jase, I want a divorce and full custody’ update via text message. Gotta love technology, right?”

I don’t miss his hidden meaning. “You trying to tell me something, Wade?”

“Not at all.” He shakes his head like he feels sorry for me. “I’m too busy trying to figure out what the hell you’re still doing here.”

“She told me to come. She said not to put my dreams on hold for this and that she’s fine. She can do this part without me.”

Again he gives me this look, like I’m a complete and total dumbass.

“I got news for you, kid. She can do all of it without you. The part you were needed for has already come and gone, so to speak.” He claps me on the shoulder again and turns to leave. “Have a good show. And when you get that text message telling you that she’s moved on, found someone who’ll hold her hand during the ultrasound and be there when she hears the baby’s heartbeat for the first time, call me and I’ll buy you a beer.”

“That won’t happen to us. She understands. We got this.”

“Then do something for me. Picture her sitting all alone in the waiting room watching all those moms-to-be with their husbands next to them. Imagine what that must feel like for her. Picture her going into labor while you’re onstage somewhere and no one can get in touch with you to tell you until after your show. Picture your kid’s first birthday party and imagine attending it via FaceTime on your phone because you’re in some godforsaken city three thousand miles away.”

Christ. I can picture all of that. His words come to life behind my eyes and there’s a pang deep in my chest.

“Now picture her face. Picture her raising your child by herself while you live your dream. Picture her seeing thousands of fans commenting online about how badly they want you and posting pictures of you with them in bars and buses and at parties. Tell me that girl understands. She’s a tough chick. Maybe she does understand. But just because she understands doesn’t mean she can live that life. It’s lonely and most women don’t do lonely well. For that matter, who does?”

“I have been picturing that,” I practically yell at him. “Every second of the damn day and night. It’s why I look like a member of the living dead onstage. But what am I supposed to do? Just walk away from everything I worked for? Give up my dreams to sit in waiting rooms and at birthday parties? Because I’m thinking I could give my kid a hell of a lot better life on this income than if I go home to Amarillo and work in construction. I don’t see you running home to the missus.”

Shit. That was low. The guy told me about his divorce and his ex-wife getting remarried recently. But I can’t help it. I’m in an impossible situation and I know it.