But I can see it in her eyes. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, she’s quitting on us. Quitting on me.
Again.
“Robyn?”
“I’m sorry,” she says, turning her head a second too late. I already saw the tears. “It’s not because I don’t care about you, Dallas. You know that I do. It’s just—”
“Is your mom all right? Don’t mess with me, Robyn. Don’t do this shit to us again. If she’s sick, you can tell me.”
She shakes her head quickly. “No. It’s not my mom. She’s fine. Promise.”
Well, that’s a relief. But there’s still something.
“Is there someone else?” Maybe I shouldn’t ask, because truth be told, I really don’t want to hear the fucking answer. But at the same time, I need to. She and Wade have been awful cozy at the past few shows and at the party in Nashville. If she’s decided to take the clean slate over the guy she has history with, I have some news for her about the cleanliness of that particular slate.
“No. Not exactly. There’s just—” Robyn stops midsentence, her eyes widening, and I’d give my favorite guitar to know what’s going on in her beautiful head. “You’re right. There is someone else. Someone whose needs I have to put before my own. I’m sorry.”
Fuck his fucking needs is what I want to say. But I don’t. Because what the hell can I say? Hey, Robyn, could you do me a favor and hold off on moving on until this tour is over so we can keep fucking? You’re my muse. How about you let me squeeze a few more songs out of this?
I stand up because her apartment suddenly feels tiny even though it isn’t. I need some distance. With her intoxicating floral and honey scent infiltrating my brain, I want to beg. My primal urges tell me to fight for her, to make promises I can’t keep. But I won’t do that to her.
“Dallas,” she begins but I can’t listen to her tell me about her new guy. How he’s great and he wants the same things she does and didn’t we say this was casual anyway?
“It’s fine. Thanks for letting me know. I was supposed to check in with Mandy about some possible shows I might be doing on my own in smaller venues after this tour ends and I completely forgot to touch base with her. I’ll call you later.”
Robyn follows me to her door. I want to scream at her, ask her why she looks so damn sad if this is what she wants? She found someone else and no longer has to settle for the pathetic parts of a relationship I’m able to give. She should be happy.
“Wait, please,” she says, her green eyes filling with tears. “At least let me—”
“There’s no need.” I give her the best smile I can manage. “Come on, babe. We both knew this was coming sooner or later. This was casual, right? Temporary. I’m glad you found someone willing to be a permanent part of your life. I’m sorry I couldn’t be.”
Her mouth drops open and pain ripples across her pretty face, a quick flash that hit just when I said the word temporary. It thunders into my chest at the same time, the jagged knife of the lie I tell in my tone. Like I don’t care. Like it’s not killing me where I stand to think of another man—any other man—touching her. Holding her. Calling her his.
“No matter how many guitars you own, you’ll always have a favorite,” my granddad used to say. “It probably won’t be the most expensive one, or the one with the richest sound. Likely it’ll be the one with all the scratches and the nicks in the wood. It’ll be the one that’s been with you the longest, the one you know inside and out because you’ve put it through the most hell.”
He was right, and not just about guitars.
I have to get out of here before I hit something and Robyn owns a lot of fancy breakable shit. Most of which I suspect she created herself.
Because she is amazing like that. And I am losing her. Again.
No. I’m letting her go. Because it’s the right thing to do and because I’m leaving the country. I’m not exactly ideal boyfriend material.
“Goodbye, Robyn,” I tell her, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek even though my body begs for more.
I don’t look into her eyes as I leave. I can’t. Seeing even the tiniest hint of regret in them would break me. I’d lift her sexy ass off the ground and carry her back to her bedroom like a caveman. What I’d do to her body would make it impossible for her to even think of another man touching it ever again.
My fists are clenched so hard I’m losing feeling in my hands so I decide to walk around for a while before going back to my cold, empty hotel room.
I want to fight.
I want to fuck.
And most of all, I want someone else to hurt as badly as I do.
My phone rings and it feels like the universe has sent me an answer.
“Hey, Mandy. I was just about to call you.”
Mandy’s room is only a few down from mine. I pace the hallway twice before knocking on her door.
This is stupid.
She’s my manager.
But she has made it abundantly clear what she wants so maybe I should give it to her. This is all I’m ever going to get, right? Meaningless fucks and empty orgasms. Plus, at least I know she won’t go to the media. My career is just as important to her as her own.
Once I’ve made my mind up and worked myself up good by imagining bending her tight, bare ass over her bed and fucking her hard and fast, I rap hard on her door.
“It’s me,” I say.
“Well, hello there, me,” a man’s voice says when the door opens. Jase Wade smirks at me. He’s naked except a pair of black boxer shorts.
The image of him with Robyn in Nashville, side by side, heads bent together in intimate conversation, fills my mind until I see bright blinding red.
He’s got to be the someone else. He’s the only other man I’ve ever seen her so much as speak to. I’ve seen him whispering things to her that made her blush. And here he is fucking my manager on the side.
I swing before deciding to, connecting with the left side of his face, and he staggers back before coming at me full force.
He can bring it. I’m ready for the impact. Hell, I’m craving it.
The crack of his fist into my jaw is welcome relief from the pain I’d felt when Robyn told me she had someone else. I shove hard in hopes of backing him up enough to give me room to swing, but the motherfucker wraps me in a bear hug and slams me against the wall.
He hits me again and I laugh when I taste the blood.
“The fuck is wrong with you, man?”
He’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have.
“Dallas? Jesus Christ!” Mandy calls out, stepping out of her room in a black silk negligée that barely covers anything. “What in the world are you doing?”
“You’re a fucking piece of shit,” I say to Jase Wade. “Do you just fuck everyone in your damn path?” I shake my head in disgust, which makes me feel slightly dizzy.
“I never knew you cared so much,” Mandy says, stepping around him.
I spit out a mouthful of blood, causing her to jump back. “I don’t.”
“You need to get out of here. There’s paparazzi up my ass everywhere I go,” Wade tells me. The concern in his voice is genuine. And confusing. “Go get cleaned up and meet me down in the bar in ten.”
“Go to hell.”
“You need to chill the fuck out, man. And we need to get some shit straight before I end up dumping your body in a deserted alley in another country. Bar. Meet me. Ten minutes.” He points a finger at me before going back into Mandy’s room.
I right myself against the wall and ride out a wave of debilitating nausea. I’ll give him this much, dude hits like a fucking freight train.
“I really hope this isn’t about the scrawny redhead,” Mandy sneers at me. “Seriously, Dallas. I thought you were smarter than this.”
“She’s twice the woman you are. And probably a hell of a better lay. Maybe we should ask Wade.”
The slap comes, sending my ears ringing so hard I don’t hear her comeback.
“Let’s go, Casanova,” Wade says, charging out of the room and dragging me down the hall by my shoulders.
“Get your damn hands off me.” I shrug out of his grasp and he glares at me.