I lower my battered and exhausted body into a kitchen chair and place my elbows on the sticky table. Propping my head in my hands I decide the only thing I can do is just wait for Dallas to call me back. Maybe he can figure out a way to get Dixie to talk to me. Maybe he can tell me what I should say, help me figure out how to tell her that I love her more than anything in this world but that I love her enough to know that I am not what’s best for her.

She was beyond amazing, the epitome of an incredible performer last night, and she needs to follow her dream, not stay here in this nothing town waiting on some local piece of shit who will never get his act together. But I know her. I know exactly how deep she is capable of loving and forgiving. She would wait. For me. Forever if needed.

When we were kids, my stuff tended to break on a regular basis. My bike, my shoelaces, my book bag. You name it, mine was crap. It wasn’t secondhand, it was fourth or fifth or sixth hand, usually donated from the local Junior Leaguers, Goodwill, or a counselor digging through our school’s lost-and-found box.

Dallas is one of those people who are constantly in motion and typically he slows down for no one—though I suspect that is changing these days. But Dixie always waited for me without fail. She never once left me behind.

I’d tell them to go on without me while I dealt with my mess and time and time again, I’d look up to see her bending down to help me.

Acidic pain stings my eyes at the montage of memories playing in my sleep-deprived head. Dixie at nine years old handing me food from her parents’ funeral reception. Thinking of me, a stranger, in literally her darkest hour. Dixie at eleven, giving me half her sandwich at lunch when she found me smoking to cure the edge of hunger behind a rotting oak tree. Dixie at thirteen helping me fix the chain on my bike when it broke and Dallas sped off without me. Dixie at fourteen, leaving a party with her friends to come hang out with me while I cried and raged on like a lunatic when my mom nearly OD’d for the second time. Her face, her beautiful heartbroken face a few months ago when she realized I was home and hadn’t called her.

It dawns on me that that night was the last time she played music live until now. And I ruined this show, too, by bailing on her when she needed me. She’s always been there for me and I’ve done nothing but cause her pain. I’ve used her like the other women in my life, just in a different way.

I drag her down.

I drag the band down.

The only two people in the entire world who try to pull me up, and all I do is yank them into the pathetic pit of Hell that is my world.

I saw the love shining in her eyes at the bar, the excitement glowing on her face, and the joy beaming out of her eyes. She loves to play music. She loves to perform.

Worst of all, she loves me.

She’s the only reason I even know what love is.

And I have to break her into a million pieces.

Sitting there at the dirty kitchen table, I know it as sure as I know my own name. It will be the only way to make her let me go. To make both of them finally let me go so I can slink back into the gutter, where I belong.

I’ll have to use her one last time.

13 | Dixie

“SO YOU THINK it was the blonde? The same one you saw him with a few months ago?” Robyn sits on my bed hugging a pillow to her chest and waiting for me to answer.

“That’s what the barback said. His boss said he left with a woman; the barback piped up and said a belligerent blonde he knew was making a scene and asking for him.”

“That’s fucked-up, Dix.”

I pick at the fringes on the edge of my favorite pillow. “I know.”

“Especially since he made such a scene right before with the kissing and all that. It’s like he wants to stake his claim on you for the world to see, keep every other guy away, but then he can’t deal with the rest of what comes with that.”

“I know.”

She tosses her hands up and the pillow tumbles down her lap. “I mean, seriously! What the fuck is his damn deal?”

“Your kid’s first word is going to be a swear word if you’re not careful.”

Robyn glares at me. “Do not change the subject, Dixie Leigh Lark.”

“Sorry.”

She rests her back against my wooden headboard and sighs. “I’m sorry, too. He just frustrates the hell out of me.”

“Ditto.”

“I mean, the way he was watching you like a hawk at the wedding and the reception, the way he has always watched you as if you are his and only his and he is protecting you from all the world’s evil—it’s beyond infatuation. It’s like, I don’t know . . . borderline obsession. Then he just straight-up bails without so much as a word—with another woman! That plus the not calling you when he was back in town, this pregnant lady’s patience is running slap out.”

I smile because Robyn is so . . . Robyn. If she’s your friend, she is one hundred percent committed. She is angry on my behalf and I don’t know if it’s the pregnancy hormones or what but I’m pretty sure she’s angrier than I am.

I don’t even know if I’m angry. I’m just sad. Hurt. Confused.

The show was beyond incredible. It was one of the best nights of my life and I felt so alive. All I wanted when it was over was to see him, to wrap my arms around him and celebrate my euphoria from performing. I wanted to tell him that I was ready for the band to get things going because I finally feel like me again.

But he was gone. Just . . . gone.

“This isn’t okay, Dixie,” she says, a warning edge to her tone as if she thinks I don’t realize this. “I see you over there working up a million excuses, but it’s time for him to grow up. He needs to understand that he can’t just pick you up and set you down whenever he feels like it.”

“I know,” I mumble, closing my eyes and burrowing back down in my covers.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

I’m expecting it to be something about Gavin so I’m confused when it’s not.

“Have you ever thought of moving into the master bedroom? I mean, all the upgrades to this house are beautiful and this room is nice and it’d make a great guest room. But it’s your childhood bedroom, love. You’re a big girl now and the big bedroom is just sitting empty.”

I glance around my room. Faded lavender walls sparsely adorned by white weathered wooden shelves my grandmother refurbished to match my headboard. Old desk my grandfather gave me to do my homework on.

“Huh. I guess I never really thought about it.”

“Can I tell you why I think that is?” Robyn looks nervous, like she’s worried her answer might hurt my feelings.

“Shoot.”

She takes a deep breath and I can see her mentally organizing her thoughts the way only she can. I suspect all information in her brain is color-coded and cross-referenced.

“Dix, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I think you’re kind of living in the past. Please know I say this with love, but honey, you’ve outgrown it and that’s okay. You need to move into the current century and I think the reason you haven’t done anything about that is because deep down, you know this is a temporary pit stop in your past. Eventually you are going to have to face the fact that you were born to perform. You need it. The world needs it. I know it’s hard to let the past go—hello, I married my high school sweetheart. But sometimes it’s necessary.” She sighs and pats my hand gently before continuing. “Dallas and I had to grow up, we grew apart, and then we grew together. We are still growing, in friendship and in love and as people. In my case, literally.” I smile when she pats her expanding belly. “I want that kind of love for everyone, especially for you. But I can’t stand to see you hurting like this, stuck like this, bogged down by the past. Your face last night . . . you were so excited when you came offstage and my heart broke for you when I watched you realize he wasn’t there. You just . . . you were crumbling. Piece by piece. I could see it. Dallas could see it. Everyone with eyes could see it. You kept the mask on for us, but I want you to know that you can break apart. You can fall down. We will be there to pick you back up. I promise.”