Missing Dixie(41)

Gavin nods without meeting my eyes. “Okay, here we go. One, two, one, two, three, four!”

And away we go, to that magical place where we fly together and nothing can touch us because we are completely free.





16 | Gavin

I HAVE TO know what is written on her arms.

I have no right to ask. But it’s killing me not knowing.

I’ve never seen her do anything like that. Dallas has been known to get struck by inspiration and act a fool in order to find something to write with and on, but even he’s never written that much at once and not ever on his skin that I know of.

What inspired you, Bluebird?

I want so badly to ask her it distracts me from my cues. I was late on two solos already and Dallas is getting agitated.

I want to tell him that if we can just take a break so that I can get close enough to read what she wrote, I’ll be able to get my head on straight and do my job.

Her brother is curious, too, but he knows she’ll tell him later. I don’t have that luxury anymore.

Focus, f*ckhead. You have one job here. Play the damn drums.

Doing my best to keep her inked skin off my mind, I play for the rest of rehearsal without screwing up . . . much.

We don’t take a break. Drill sergeant Dallas has returned with a vengeance.

It’s comforting in a way, to know that here, even with everything that has happened, I still have a home. I still belong.

They really are my family, which is why I never wanted to cross the lines I can’t uncross. As much as I want to believe that, though, that it’d be for the best if I’d never been inside Dixie’s body, I don’t regret it. I only regret the pain I caused, the way I handled, well, everything.

When rehearsal ends I feel bereft. Hearing Dixie sing was soothing balm to my jagged wounds and now that we’re done, the rawness is returning.

I don’t want to be away from them, don’t want to go back to an empty trailer on the side of the highway, but Dixie has her shield up and I am fluent in reading her emotions. So I pack up quietly and head to the truck I borrowed from Mr. Kyung to get here.

“Hey, man,” Dallas calls out. “Want to get some food?”

I do. I want to have a meal with the only two people in the world who’ve ever given a damn about me. I want to sit and talk and crack jokes and hear Dixie’s laugh. I want it more than I want food or water or air. But the flash of pain on Dixie’s face hits me like a slap. “Can’t. I need to get back to the Tavern. Jake covered for me but I need to get going.”

“All right. Holler at me if you need anything.”

“Will do,” I call out before climbing into the truck. I’ve only just shut my door when the one on the other side opens.

“Give a girl a ride? I feel like playing some more so I thought I’d drop by the Tavern, too. Work this new song out on that piano.”

“I . . . you . . . uh,” I answer, but it comes out jumbled and all run together so it sounds like a grunted battle cry of some sort.

Verbal skills have vacated the premises.

“Yes or no, Gav? If you don’t want me to ride with you it’s no big. Dallas can run me by there or I can just work on the song at home.”

I have no idea how she can be so relaxed, so nonchalant after what I did, how I treated her.

I love you, Gavin. Bigger than your mistakes and bigger than the pain you cause me.

“No, it’s cool. I mean, yeah. Yes, you can ride—I can give you a ride . . . I can . . .”

Fuck it all.

“So . . . that’s a yes then?” She hangs on to the door as if waiting to figure out if she should climb in or slam it in my face.

I nod. Sentences are apparently outside my realm of capability at the moment.

Staring straight ahead, I force myself not to stare at her arms while she buckles in. Dallas doesn’t look thrilled as we pull past him but Dixie’s a big girl now. She makes her own decisions. Not necessarily great ones, but they’re hers to make.

“I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry that I hurt you, that I came there drunk, that your pain was some half-assed premeditated attempt on my part at setting you free from my bullshit. I saw today, though, that what Dallas keeps saying is true. I won’t ever really be able to cut either of you off because you’re my family and that won’t ever change unless either of you want it to.”

“We won’t,” she says abruptly. “Ever.”

I nod. Neither of us says much for a few minutes. It’s not uncomfortable silence, though, just intense and thick with emotions and words we aren’t ready to say just yet.

I sneak a quick look at her left arm but all I can make out are the words addicted and poison.

“Shoot,” Dixie says suddenly while looking at her cell phone in her hand. “I forgot. Crap. Can you just drop me at home?”

I turn the truck around and hop on a back road I know will be a shortcut. “Sure.”

“I’m so sorry. I hope I don’t make you late for work.”

“It’s fine. I don’t think the place will burn down without me.”

She laughs softly and the sound warms my chest. “I have this one kid . . . he doesn’t seem to like playing piano much but he shows up without fail. Barely talks, just kind of wanders over to the house. Reminds me of someone else I used to know.”