I need her.

She haunts my dreams and most of my waking moments.

Her whimpers, her breathy moans, her sweet, soft laughter.

She tamed the demons inside me, bringing them to heel with a gentleness I never expected them to submit to.

I fucking crave her like a desperate addict dying for his final fix.

I don’t deserve her.

I will only hurt her.

As if my every thought is written all over my face, Jaggerd McKinley meets my hard stare and gives me a look that says he feels my pain but tough shit because I brought it on myself. Dixie has once again confiscated his flask and he’s guiding her out of the party with a carefully placed hand on the small of her lower back.

One centimeter lower and he is a dead fucking man.

A powerful wave of adrenaline, testosterone, and primal territorial instinct hits me so hard I nearly stagger.

Only the image of breaking his hand slowly, bone by bone, brings me any sense of relief.

“Garrison? You good, man?”

Levi stands behind me looking both concerned and apologetic.

I clear my throat and nod. “I’m straight.” Glancing around, I realize the crowd has thinned considerably.

“Hey, for real, sorry about the bathroom. We just had that one quick break and I didn’t know—”

“Y’all done for the night?”

Fuck. How long have I been staring at Dixie? Apparently long enough for the band to call it a night and a middle-aged DJ to take over.

“Yeah, we are. Dallas was kind enough to give us the last hour to scope out the single girls. You know how chicks are at weddings.”

“Huh.” I regard him closely, contemplating this.

Is that what happened? Dixie was lonely because her brother was getting married and I just happened to be in the right place at the right time?

This is the problem with being a user. You know your own motivations and you project them onto others, assuming everyone else is like you.

But I know her. Don’t I? I did, anyway. Hooking up for the sake of hooking up isn’t really her style. Or it didn’t used to be.

Damn it. In my quest to get my shit together, I’ve all but shut her out of my life completely. It seemed like the best idea for everyone involved, but now I’m wondering if I’ve made a colossal mistake. Because watching her now, half-dancing with Jag on her way to congratulate the happy couple or say goodbye or whatever the hell, I realize that my little Bluebird is all grown up—and maybe, for the first time since we were kids, I don’t know who she’s become.

“Obviously that doesn’t include his sister. We all got the warning. And even if we hadn’t, we’ve all watched you plot McKinley’s murder for the last hour and a half, so you’re good, man. No one wants to die tonight.”

“What?” I tear my eyes from Dixie and return them to Levi. I forgot he was even still standing there, much less still speaking.

Damn attention deficit bullshit.

Levi looks at me like I’m high. I wish.

“Later, Garrison. Have a good night, man.”

“You, too,” I say absently as he walks away and I realize I’ve lost Dixie. She was right beside Dallas and Robyn and now she’s gone.

“Hey, you. I get off in half an hour.”

The voice is female and inviting. It belongs to an edgy-looking redhead in a server uniform. My hands are in my pockets and I realize I probably look nonthreatening for the most part, but I’m still loner guy at a wedding full of mostly happy couples. I guess that screams “dude looking to get laid.”

Which I usually am. Or I used to be.

“Good to know,” is all I say, because interested or not, there’s no sense in being hurtful.

And who am I kidding? I might be in remission but I’m not cured. The attention still tempts me, still begs me to do what I’ve always done. Compliment, flirt, tease, pull away, and make them come to me. On their knees.

My fists clench at my sides because I’ve worked too damn hard not to be this guy to let one woman and a stunted sexual encounter with the girl I love fuck it up.

“Want me to get you off in half an hour?”

Feisty, this one. She looks me directly in the eyes while she waits for my answer. A challenge in her sea-green stare tells me she’s a good-time girl up for anything and everything.

My cock twitches at her bold invitation and it’s like . . .

It’s like you’ve spent your entire life existing on sugar and empty carbs, cake and cookies, just because it was there and you had no restraint, and now another cupcake has rolled onto the floor in your direction and part of you thinks, Fuck it—what’s one more? But deep down you know you won’t be satisfied. There will be guilt. Shame and remorse. It’s wasteful, really. You’ve had a taste of the real thing. Been sated by gourmet steak and potatoes and indulged in perfection so everything else seems . . . slightly nauseating.

“Thanks for the offer. And please don’t be insulted—you’re gorgeous. Obviously. But I’m going to call it a night.” I nod toward where Levi is standing with his guitar player. “Lead singer is a decent guy. You should introduce yourself.”

Red is very confused by this. I am, too—a little. The old me would’ve told her to meet me out back or in the kitchen or wherever my mind could conjure up on the spot. Technically I should be cock-blocking the hell out of Eaton for his previous fuckup, but he was genuinely sorry and he’s the reason Leaving Amarillo got into Austin MusicFest to begin with, so in a weird way I kind of owe him. Guess this is the new me. Apparently I repay favors and shit. My addiction counselor would be so proud.

“Oh-kay,” she says slowly, with a noncommittal shrug. “Maybe I’ll do that. Your loss.”

“You’re absolutely right. Have a good night.” I nod curtly, dismissing her because I’m ready to be alone so I can figure out where the hell Dixie got off to. McKinley is dancing with the bride and Dallas is shooting the shit with his buddy the sound guy.

“Where did you go, Bluebird?” I mutter mostly to myself.

“Dance with me, drummer boy,” a voice calls out as I pass.

Well, shit. This time the woman making the demand is Robyn Breeland-Lark.

I may not be an expert on weddings, but I know you sure as hell don’t turn down the bride.

“Your wish is my command.” I smile and try not to bare my teeth at McKinley as he hands Robyn over to me.

She feels tiny and fragile in my arms and I’m almost afraid for her. She’s pregnant, something only a few people here know, which is nuts because Texas is Texas and shit gets around. Being privy to that delicate knowledge makes me feel like she’s made of glass, and I handle her accordingly.

“She’s outside decorating Dallas’s truck with lingerie and shaving cream and balloons and tin cans and all that silly, traditional stuff.”

“What?”

Robyn scoffs at me. “Come on, Gav. It may be my wedding day, so I’m a little distracted, but I know who you’re looking for. Who you’re always looking for.”

I smile in spite of the awkwardness of being busted. “Yeah? That obvious, huh?”

Robyn smiles and I realize she actually is glowing. I thought that was some sort of myth or a trick of lighting, but her skin seems to have a light of its own and it’s strangely comforting.

“Pretty obvious. You know what’s not obvious?”

“What’s that?” I spin Robyn in a circle and catch Dallas’s eye. He’s watching closely. I don’t know why this hurts my feelings, maybe because I just recently discovered that I have them, but it does. Dallas Lark knows all my shit and is on a first-name basis with my addictions and issues, but surely he knows me better than that. This is his wife, for fuck’s sakes, and if anyone knows how deeply in love I am with his sister, it’s him. But I see it, the wolflike glint in his eye warning me to behave myself.

“Why you don’t just tell her the truth?”

My heart stutters in my chest. This is Dallas’s wife and Dixie’s best friend I’m talking to. She knows all my secrets and is close with the one person I never want to know them.