Loving Dallas(76)

I can handle this. I can. I have to.

But Lord help me, some of these women are insanely gorgeous. Very soon I am going to look like I swallowed a basketball. I already have a bump, one I can’t hide much longer. And Dallas is going to be surrounded by perfection.

I need to hear his voice. Need to hear him tell me good night. I pull up his name on my phone and listen to the ringing.

When his voice mail picks up, I open my mouth but nothing comes out.

I won’t do this. I won’t be the pathetic girlfriend at home making him feel guilty because she misses him. Besides, it’s not just about me anymore. I can’t keep doing this. The last thing I want my kiddo to see is Mommy sitting around pining for Daddy.

“Sweet dreams, baby,” I say into the phone as new pictures pop onto his page.

I hope he does have sweet dreams. But I have a feeling I’ll be having nightmares.

I curl up to my pillow, trying not to dwell on the fact that even though I’m technically already one myself, I need my mommy.





38 | Dallas

TIMING WAS THE THIRD MOST IMPORTANT THING I LEARNED about playing music. Nana would reiterate its importance to Dixie and me over and over during our piano lessons.

Papa taught me about patience and persistence, but Nana taught me about timing.

“It’s not enough to just play the right notes,” she’d say. “You have to play them at the right time, play them when you feel them and not a second sooner.”

Timing.

It could be a bitch sometimes.

Robyn and I keep missing each other.

We’ve both called. Left messages. Texted.

But every time I have a free minute, she’s in a meeting or in bed. The times she’s tried to call I’ve either been tied up in interviews or sound checks or trying to catch what little sleep I can between shows.

Now I was up in bed failing at sleeping again, knowing I’d have to be at the airport heading to London in a few hours, but unable to really rest until I heard her voice.

I listen to the last voice mail she left until I fall asleep. “Sweet dreams, baby,” her sultry voice says over and over. I’d get a hard dick if I weren’t so wiped out.

Fucking timing.

We’re heading to a private airstrip in Brazil to catch the flight to London when I’m checking my phone messages. I keep expecting some major backlash from firing Mandy, but so far no one has said a word. I suspect she hasn’t told anyone yet and I don’t even want to think about what she might have planned to try to convince me to change my mind. I’m cringing at the vast possibilities when I see that I have a voice mail from Robyn.

I’ve been aching to hear her voice since she left me a very sexy erection-inducing “sweet dreams” voice mail that I played repeatedly last night. But when I press play this time the sound that fills my ears tears at my chest instead of my dick.

“Hey, babe. It’s me.” My girl sounds tired. More than tired. Drained. Weary and exhausted. “I just wanted to let you know that the ultrasound is tomorrow and the doctor said if the baby is turned the right way we’ll be able to tell if we’re having a boy or a girl.” She pauses before continuing. “I’ll try to call you when I find out. The appointment is at three in the afternoon so I’m going to leave work a little early. I can’t remember which time zone you’ll be in by then but I guess if I can’t reach you I’ll text. Oh, and I told my mom and she’s very happy for us. I hope everything is going well in Brazil. I love you.”

I love you.

She loves me.

Loves me enough to raise our child on her own, to sit through appointments and ultrasounds by herself while I go out and live my dream, or some distorted version of it anyway.

My strong independent girl . . . is going to text me the sex of our baby.

She sounded so damn tired. Like she needed me there to rub her feet and hold her in my arms and tell her to take it easy since I know she won’t unless I’m there but I’m not there. Because I’m here.

I can hardly keep track of where “here” is anymore.

I have to make my own choices, just like my granddad said. More important, I have to stand behind them, live with them. I keep thinking about what she said in the airport, about not making the same mistake she made all those years ago. Every choice has a consequence and my brave girl risked it all to tell me the truth.

Now it’s my turn. I’m going to fight for her, for us. I’m going to be there, with her, where I belong.

I can’t get on another plane and leave my entire world behind. I did that once before and it was a colossal f*cking mistake. I’ll be damned if I make the same one again.

I tap on the back of the seat in front of me. “Sir. Could you turn the car around, please? I need to go to the actual airport instead of the private one.”

I try to search international flights to see how soon I can get home, if there’s any chance in hell I can make that appointment tomorrow.

“Sir,” I practically yell at the driver, a nervous-seeming gray-haired man who doesn’t speak English. “Can you take me to the International Airport of Brasilia instead?” I’m reading the flight schedule on my phone as I make my request.

He turns to look at me, and I glance up. I see it before he does. The truck in front of us is stopped already for whatever reason. And we’re going to plow directly into it.