“And the others?” My voice is leaving me as I yank my phone out of my purse.

My clumsy fingers drop my phone and Katie steps around and hands it to me. “Robyn . . . I have to tell you something. It’s about Dallas.”

No. No no no.

This isn’t happening. My Dallas, my sweet backward-ball-cap-wearing boyfriend from high school, the handsome man who exuded so much raw masculinity I was liquid in his hands every time he touched me, the famous musician who charmed a diner full of little girls, the father of my baby, he has to be okay.

He has to be.

“Breathe, Robyn,” Katie says, wrapping an arm around me. “They didn’t say he was hurt or anything. It’s just that he isn’t accounted for.”

“What does that even mean?”

I’m losing my shit in front of both of my bosses, but they’re still busy with the man on the speakerphone.

“It could mean anything. Maybe he’s fine and didn’t need medical attention.”

Or maybe he’s dead.

No, he can’t be. I would be able to feel that, wouldn’t I?

My hands are shaking, or maybe that’s my knees. All I know is that the world is moving too fast and I want to get off this ride right this second.

“Let’s get you home, okay?” Katie’s eyes are wide with concern and I watch helplessly as she motions Drew over.

“No,” I practically yell. “I’m staying right here by this phone until they say he’s okay.”

“We’ll keep you posted, Robyn,” Drew promises. “Go home and try to rest and I swear, the second we hear anything, you’ll be the first person I get in touch with. Cross my heart.” He makes a motion over his heart.

“He has to be okay,” I tell Katie as she practically drags me out of the building and to her car. “He has to be.”

40 | Dallas

THE FIRST THING I’M AWARE OF IS THE BLOOD. IT’S WARM, TRICKLING red trails down my arm.

I can’t feel my fingers.

This is not good.

The driver is unconscious with his head on the steering wheel. There’s blood seeping into his hairline from a gash in his forehead.

“Hey!” I shout, because I’m afraid to move for fear I’ll do myself worse damage. “Hey, we’re in here!”

In my head all I can think is We’re not dead over and over. And I can see it, what I walked away from, what I’m risking losing forever flashing behind my eyes.

It wasn’t my life that flashed before my eyes, not the one I’ve been living.

It’s the one I’d miss if I died, or if I let my career come first.

“Everyone okay in there?”

The voice comes from the sunroof. A golden-haired guy has his face shoved into it. “Help is on the way. Just sit tight.”

“What happened?”

“There was a car accident up ahead,” golden-haired guy from the sunroof informs us. “You all ended up in the pileup.”

“Sir, sir? Can you hear me?” I reach forward to nudge the driver but I catch sight of the gaping laceration that has practically ripped my Lark tattoo in half and I almost lose consciousness.

I’m sitting there, stunned, and staring at my torn tattoo for what feels like eternity as the rest of the world falls away.

Lark.

It’s my last name.

My family name.

The one my kid will have if Robyn will allow it.

The one she’ll have if she’ll have me.

My head is spinning but even though my vision is blurred, everything else is in high definition.

My parents died, my grandparents even passed away, but I still have family and that’s what matters.

Dixie. Robyn. Gavin.

My unborn peanut.

They’re my family.

And I’ve walked away from them for what? To nearly die in a car accident in a foreign country? To be onstage night after night alone, wishing my band were there? Wishing my girl was in the audience? To sit in bars and diners by myself thinking of a woman who’d make me order something healthier because she wants me to live longer?

No. Fuck this.

Dallas Walker died in that car, but Dallas Lark is alive and well.

I’ve been settling for some half-ass version of my dream, a pathetic piece of it instead of the real deal.

I want to make music and record an album, but I want to do it with my band. And more than any of that, whatever I do with my life, I want Robyn Breeland beside me. I want us to raise our kid together. I want to be the kind of dad my father was, and his father before him. I want to be at the birth and all the birthday parties after that.

I can’t do that from a different country.

Paramedics are surrounding us and only some of them speak English.

They climb in to help us out. The driver is disoriented so they put him on a stretcher.

A blond girl who looks barely old enough to drive a car places butterfly stitches down my arm in the back of a funky-looking ambulance.

“There. That’ll hold until we get to the hospital.” She looks into my eyes. “Sir? I need to ask you a few questions. Do you know what day it is?”

“Um, Thursday?”

She gives me a smile and a nod. “And do you know your name?”

I glance down at my new stitches as she wraps my arm in gauze. Something Afton Tate says comes back to me. He said if I let Mandy and the industry change me, then I didn’t really make it big—someone else did. He was right.

“Lark,” I tell her. “My name is Dallas Lark.”

And I’m not going to the hospital like she thinks. I’m getting the hell out of here. I will be damned if my girl is going to text me the sex of our baby. I will be at that appointment tomorrow come hell or high water.

41 | Robyn

“SWEETIE, COME ON NOW. YOU HAVE TO EAT SOMETHING. YOUR mom is worried sick and frankly so am I.” Katie is holding a bowl of soup but I can’t even imagine putting the broth in my mouth. “Whether you’re hungry or not, the baby needs nourishment.”

“I have to call his sister. She needs to know. It will be on the news soon and what if she—”

“One of Jase’s PR people already called her, Robyn. I talked to her last night. She’s worried, too, but she’s okay. Relax. They are doing everything they can to find Dallas. We can go to Amarillo and see her after your appointment. But first, eat.”

I stare at the fleshy noodles swimming in the soup. There is a human being growing inside me and no matter how I feel, it’s not okay to let my baby go hungry.

I close my eyes and gag on several bites. “That’s the best I can do for now,” I tell my roommate. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. You did your best. Let’s get some clothes on so you can get to your appointment.”

I shake my head. “I can’t go. I was supposed to text him a picture.”

I look at my phone. Nothing. I’ve texted, I’ve left a dozen messages telling him to call me, that I love him and need to know that he’s okay.

No response.

Now I know how he felt when I blew him off before. The only difference is, he knew I was alive.

After Katie helps me get dressed and puts me in the car, the tremors come back. Instead of crying, my body has decided to do this weird seizing that scares Katie half to death.

“Even if you don’t want them to tell you if you’re carrying a boy or a girl today, it’s good to check on the baby. And I’d like to see if they can give you something mild to calm your nerves while we wait for news.”

Her knuckles are white on the steering wheel. I’m stressing her out and I feel bad but I can’t hide this. I’ve always been so good at hiding my emotions, keeping up the tough-chick exterior, but I can’t anymore.

“Did I ever tell you why we broke up?” My throat is raw and my words are raspy.

Katie glances over at me. “No. I don’t think so.”

I lean my head against the window, agitated that the sun has the audacity to shine today. It’s cold out, but the damn sky couldn’t even cooperate with my gloomy mood.

“I was supposed to go on a six-week summer tour with his band, help with their outreach and social media and such.” I close my eyes. I can still remember it so clearly. I was so excited about the road trip. We’d both been so busy—me with school and him with odd jobs and the band—we were looking forward to the time together. “I had a music mix made and everything. A lifetime supply of beef jerky. All the road trip must-haves. That was supposed to be an epic summer.”