My fingers aren’t tracing arbitrary circles anymore. They’re following the intricate lines of the tattoo that covers his inner forearm. The one that says “Lark” in script.
“Promise me something,” I say so low I don’t know if he can hear me. “Promise me no matter what, you’ll never lose that guy, the one you really are.”
His arms tighten around me like a reverse hug and I’m not sure which one of us needs it more.
“I’ll try not to.”
25 | Dallas
NOT GOING TO MAKE YOUR SHOW THIS WEEKEND. HAVE TO WORK. Couldn’t get anyone to trade shifts. Sorry, man.
Gavin’s text reads like a load of bullshit.
I heavily suspect the coward is avoiding my sister, but I’ve vowed to let her be a big girl and not interfere with her personal life so I text him back that I understand and that I hope he can drop by the after party.
After five straight weeks on the road, we’re playing in Dallas and it feels kind of good to be home or close to home at least. It’s nice to see familiar landmarks and highways anyway.
Today I’m doing radio interviews in Dallas. I text Dixie while I wait in the lobby of KGBX, reminding her that her and Robyn’s mom’s tickets will be at will-call and that the backstage passes will be with them.
“Dallas Walker,” a rail-thin slip of a woman in a pencil skirt calls out. “They’re ready for you. Come with me.”
I stand and follow her down a dim hallway to the recording studio. The publicist Mandy put me in touch with pulled some strings to get me on the nationally syndicated Ricky Ray show while I was in town. It’s a huge opportunity, but I’m nervous because I have no idea what he’s going to ask. Ricky is known for asking the tough questions and I’ve been strictly instructed not to answer any involving Jase Wade or his personal life.
My palms are slick so I wipe them on my jeans before shaking the hands of the folks who greet me when the receptionist opens the door.
“Dallas Walker, nice to meet you,” a smiling brunette with headphones on tells me. “Just have a seat right there.” She gestures to an empty seat on the edge of the L-shaped table. “Be sure you speak clearly into the mic.”
“Got it.”
“He can manage, Kim. That’s what he does for a living,” the man on the other side of the table says. “That’s Kim Le. I’m Ricky Ray.”
I nod at Kim and then reach across a switchboard and shake his hand. “Nice to meet you both. Thank you for having me today.”
“Thanks for joining us. We’ll just chat. Forget the listeners. Let’s just shoot the bull like old friends. Sound good?”
“Yes, sir.”
“First rule of shooting the bull, no ‘sirs.’ ”
I nod, feeling like a complete jackass. “Got it.”
A tall blond woman with angular features steps into the small room. “We’re on in five, Ricky,” she tells him.
“Let’s do this,” he says, putting in earbuds like the ones I was given.
I press mine into my ears and they fill with the sound of someone counting down. “On in five” apparently means five seconds in radio time.
“We’re back with Ricky Ray, Kim Le, and up-and-coming country music sensation Dallas Walker,” Ricky says in a completely different voice than the one he used to greet me. “Thanks for joining us, Dallas.”
The chorus of “Better to Burn” plays briefly.
“Thanks for having me,” I say into the silver microphone attached to a long metal arm in front of me.
“So you’re from here in town I hear.”
It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “Yes, si—uh, yes. I am. From Amarillo actually.”
Austin originally, but I don’t feel the need to clarify because it would open a door to my past I have no intention of walking through on the radio.
“You had a band there, didn’t you?”
I shift in my seat and it rolls slightly backward. I stop myself before I answer with “yes, sir.” “Yeah. My sister and a buddy of mine played around for a while.”
“Just played around?” Ricky glances down at several sheets of paper laid out before him. “It says here you took third place in last year’s state fair sound-off and that your band, Leaving Amarillo, recently played in Austin MusicFest.”
Swallowing hard, I nod even though I know I’m supposed to verbalize my answers.
“Austin was a good time. I met my manager there. If I hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”
It’s a lame-ass attempt at redirecting, but it’s all I got.
“Well, thank goodness for Austin.” Kim breaks in, possibly because she’s the closest to me and can likely see how twitchy I’m becoming. “Touring with Jase Wade must be amazing. Has that been a life-changing experience?”
I grin at her, thankful for the change in topic. “It has been. Jase is an impressive performer and I’ve learned a lot being on this tour. It’s an awesome opportunity and I’m grateful to get to be a part of it.” Most of that is true at least.
“You already have quite a large fan base—much larger than most new artists,” Ricky says, eyeing me as if wondering how I tricked people into listening to my music. “Do you attribute that to your time with your band? Have Leaving Amarillo fans followed you over into your solo career?”
I shrug. “You know, it’s hard to say. I mean I hope so. It’d be great if they did since it’s pretty much the same sound.”
Ricky smirks as if I’m full of shit.
“Well, not exactly the same. You had a fiddle player in Leaving Amarillo, right?”
Son of a bitch. Why this guy wants to talk about the band so much is beyond me. But like a dog with a bone, he doesn’t seem to want to let go.
“We did. My sister is a very talented violinist and fiddle player. She’s been playing since we were kids.”
“She didn’t want to come along on the tour?”
More like the label wouldn’t have ever allowed her to.
Guilt seeps into my pours, thick like lead that weighs me down. I take a deep breath before answering in order to maintain my composure. “We had a loss in the family. She had other priorities to handle when this opportunity presented itself.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Kim says, earning herself another grin.
Ricky doesn’t offer his condolences. “So you’re out on the road, right after a devastating loss in your family, without your band. That takes dedication.”
I’m a big boy. I can listen between the lines. What he really wants to say is that I must be some special brand of selfish asshole to leave my grieving sister and my band behind.
I can’t even argue with him so I just nod. “I think dedication is important when it comes to making it in the music business. The window of opportunity is fairly small, so I had to jump when it opened.”
“Definitely,” Kim says, chiming in to agree with me.
“And your band didn’t want to jump with you?”
I grip my knee tightly under the table to keep myself and my temper under control. Telling Ricky Ray to fuck off on national radio would probably not go over well.
“It had a lot to do with timing. Both my sister and my drummer had other obligations they needed to see to at the time.”
Kim’s voice is more curious and less accusatory when she inquires about Leaving Amarillo. “Do you think y’all might ever get back together? Or is Dallas Walker a lone road warrior from here on out?”
Good question. “I wish I knew the answer to that.” I focus on the mic in front of me. “Right now I’m just taking it one day a time.”
“One show at a time,” she corrects playfully.
“Exactly.”
“We posted about your visit to the studio today,” Ricky breaks in. “On our Facebook page. The most frequent comments we’re seeing are from local listeners wondering why you left your band to go it alone when it seemed like the natural next step would be for Leaving Amarillo to be on this tour instead of Dallas Walker. What would you say to those critics?”