Missing Dixie(22)

My panties—what was left of them—were in his pocket. I saw the corner of them. I was going to tell him but the opportunity didn’t exactly present itself.

If I’m being truthful? I’m just catty enough to hope the blonde finds them.





8 | Gavin

THREE DAYS GO by and nothing.

I thought I’d see her, run into her, something. I even took my mom’s barely running Oldsmobile to the McKinleys’ to get an oil change in case she was hanging around.

Dallas is going to be pissed that I haven’t discussed the battle of the bands with her. I want to. I do. I just don’t want to appear like someone trying to talk her into something. The last thing I would want would be for her to think the whole spiel about getting my shit together is to bully her into participating in the battle.

I care about that, too, but nowhere near as much as I care about her. She can say f*ck the band for all I care, as long as she allows me to be in her life.

I have a plan, one that does not involve the band at all. Basically I have to finish paying the penance for what I did the year she was in Houston. Then, once that’s all squared away here in a few weeks, I’ll tell her about it and how I’ve successfully completed all required conditions of my probation, and once it’s over, I just want to take her on a date. A real date. Dinner, a movie, a long walk where I grovel and beg for forgiveness for any and all pain I’ve caused. But first, I want to be her friend again.

I wouldn’t trade my memories from Austin for all the money in the world. But if I said I didn’t have regrets, I’d be lying.

Dixie deserves better than a hot f*ck in a Days Inn. Granted, it was the hottest night of my life, but still. She deserves dinner, and candlelight, and romance. Most of all, she deserves honesty. I have so much I have to come clean about but with the battle and Ashley and my mom disappearing for days at a time, telling her now would ruin everything. I need time, time for her to see me as her friend again and not just the guy that screwed her and then screwed her over. Then and only then can I tell her everything, and if the pieces all fall apart, I’ll be there, as her friend, to put them back together. My hope is that once she knows everything, processes it, and, okay, maybe hates me with the fire of five Hells, she’ll eventually understand why I did what I did and forgive me. Then maybe we can be . . . more. I hope. God, I f*cking hope. This girl makes me hope like a madman.

So far this all seems feasible. For the most part. With a few exceptions.

Jaggerd is a jagged f*cking thorn in my side. He may have nailed Cassidy at Dallas’s wedding, but his entire demeanor changed at the sight of me and there is definitely still some love for Dixie Lark left in his system.

I recognize the gestures. Squared shoulders, tense jaw, refusal to break eye contact even after it’s appropriate to do so.

Territorial. Protective. Possessive.

He’s like a stand-in for Dallas but in Jaggerd’s case his connection to her is physical, not biological. Which in turn makes me a raging meathead tempted to pound the shit out of him just for good measure.

Cavemen had it so much easier. Dude encroached on your territory? You straight-up killed his ass. Or beat him so bad he hoped like hell never to cross paths with you again.

I should’ve been born in the prehistoric era.

As it is, McKinley and I sort of circle each other. He comes in the bar sometimes, sits as far from me as possible. We both politely refuse to acknowledge the other’s existence with anything other than grunts and short nods. Both of us pretend not to hate the other, as if we don’t feel intimidated or threatened in any way. This is the socially acceptable version of caveman behavior, I guess.

When I go in to get my oil changed, I check my phone a few more times than necessary and he stares under the hood like he’s examining a labyrinth.

“Saw the flyer at the bar.”

I glance up from my phone as if I forgot he was even there. “Oh yeah? Which one?”

“The one about the battle of the bands.”

“Yeah. That’s coming up soon.”

McKinley wipes his hands on a cloth and slams the hood closed. “You and Dallas going to enter?”

I tuck my phone into my back pocket. “The band is considering entering.”

“The band as in Dixie?” He says this as if he knows something I don’t.

“The band as in the three of us. Why? You gonna come out and show your support?”

He huffs out a laugh. “Tried that once. Didn’t end so well.”

No shit. More like he showed his ass. Dude got six sheets to the wind and showed up and made a scene. Dallas had to escort him out to keep me from knocking his ass out. He said some very unflattering things about Dixie, and she was his girlfriend at the time. My blood pressure spikes just thinking about it.

“Yeah. I remember.”

He snorts. “I bet you do.”

“You got a problem with me, McKinley? ’Cause if I’m honest, I’m not your biggest fan. But I’m not really losing any sleep over whether or not you plan to start me up a fan club, either. In some way, I think that makes us even.”

He regards me warily for a full minute before responding. “You hurt her. You’re still hurting her. And I have a feeling the little detour you took on your way home after the wedding has more to do with you wanting her to play in the battle than trying to patch things up.”