Neon Dreams: Loving Dallas Part 27

His mention of Robyn surprises me and brings out a primal surge of protectiveness. "I know her a h.e.l.l of a lot better than you do."

Wade laughs at my outburst. "Easy, killer. I know you do. That wasn't my name she was shouting across the airport. I gotta say, after a scene like that, I'm kind of surprised you made it here."

"Why wouldn't I be here?"

"Honestly? Girl looked like she was about to propose to you. I figured you'd be on your honeymoon by now."

I snort, but there's a part of me that wishes he were right. Brazil is beautiful. Colorful and vibrant like Mandy promised. But all I can think about is the way Robyn came alive in New Orleans. How she'd dance in the streets here, too, and moan about the food in a way that would have me hauling her back to our hotel room at lightning speed.

If I don't tell someone, I'm going to explode before sound check.

"She's pregnant," I say quietly so none of the road crew members hear. "With my baby."

"Ah. Congratulations." Wade claps my shoulder hard and shakes my hand. I feel the maniacal grin spreading across my face.

"We'll find out the s.e.x of the baby this weekend. She's going to text me the ultrasound photo."

At that, he frowns. "Text, huh?"

I nod. It sucks but what else can we do?

"You know, I got a lot of updates about my daughter via text message, too." He rubs his chin thoughtfully. "That she was taking ballet. When my wife found out she was allergic to strawberries. Several years' worth of school pictures. Dance recital videos."

He lets out a low sound, laughter devoid of humor, as if he's forgotten I'm even in the room.

"h.e.l.l, I even got the 'Jase, I want a divorce and full custody' update via text message. Gotta love technology, right?"

I don't miss his hidden meaning. "You trying to tell me something, Wade?"

"Not at all." He shakes his head like he feels sorry for me. "I'm too busy trying to figure out what the h.e.l.l you're still doing here."

"She told me to come. She said not to put my dreams on hold for this and that she's fine. She can do this part without me."

Again he gives me this look, like I'm a complete and total dumba.s.s.

"I got news for you, kid. She can do all of it without you. The part you were needed for has already come and gone, so to speak." He claps me on the shoulder again and turns to leave. "Have a good show. And when you get that text message telling you that she's moved on, found someone who'll hold her hand during the ultrasound and be there when she hears the baby's heartbeat for the first time, call me and I'll buy you a beer."

"That won't happen to us. She understands. We got this."

"Then do something for me. Picture her sitting all alone in the waiting room watching all those moms-to-be with their husbands next to them. Imagine what that must feel like for her. Picture her going into labor while you're onstage somewhere and no one can get in touch with you to tell you until after your show. Picture your kid's first birthday party and imagine attending it via FaceTime on your phone because you're in some G.o.dforsaken city three thousand miles away."

Christ. I can picture all of that. His words come to life behind my eyes and there's a pang deep in my chest.

"Now picture her face. Picture her raising your child by herself while you live your dream. Picture her seeing thousands of fans commenting online about how badly they want you and posting pictures of you with them in bars and buses and at parties. Tell me that girl understands. She's a tough chick. Maybe she does understand. But just because she understands doesn't mean she can live that life. It's lonely and most women don't do lonely well. For that matter, who does?"

"I have been picturing that," I practically yell at him. "Every second of the d.a.m.n day and night. It's why I look like a member of the living dead onstage. But what am I supposed to do? Just walk away from everything I worked for? Give up my dreams to sit in waiting rooms and at birthday parties? Because I'm thinking I could give my kid a h.e.l.l of a lot better life on this income than if I go home to Amarillo and work in construction. I don't see you running home to the missus."

s.h.i.+t. That was low. The guy told me about his divorce and his ex-wife getting remarried recently. But I can't help it. I'm in an impossible situation and I know it.

Wade leans down, putting his face level with mine. "If I had it to do over again, I would run home before you could say my name three times fast. But you're right. These are the decisions you have to make. Sacrifices. No one said it would be easy." He straightens, nodding at someone who's entered the backstage area to announce that it's time for him to go on. "Good luck to you, kid."

I hear the unmistakable click of heels coming toward my room, then a knock rattles my door. I highly doubt I have groupies in Rio de Janeiro, so that only leaves one person.

"There you are," Mandy says, sliding open my door and slapping me with a hate-filled glare. I switched seats with my drummer on the plane so I didn't have to deal with her. She wasn't too thrilled about it.

"Here I am," I say evenly.

"So I heard you have big news. I'd say congratulations, but I figured we'd find another way to celebrate."

She pulls a bottle of champagne from behind her back and it's like a twisted scenario of when Robyn helped me celebrate "Better to Burn" going gold.

"Celebrate whatever it is for me. I'm pretty beat. Jet lag. You understand."

Her eyes narrow on me and she stalks over to my bed. I wasn't ready to discuss Robyn and the pregnancy so I've been avoiding my manager mostly. And I was angry about how she treated Dixie and afraid I'd lose my temper. But it looks like she's going to force a confrontation so it must be time to get it all out in the open.

"Dallas, I'm going to try my best to make something very clear to you." She sits down and I fight the impulse to shove her into the floor. "I have a very special relations.h.i.+p with my clients. One that allows me to become as close to them as I possibly can. It makes for a much more symbiotic relations.h.i.+p, in my opinion."

"Meaning you f.u.c.k all of them, right?" Afton Tate mentioned this to me on the unsigned artists tour. He turned her down so she wouldn't sign him.

"Meaning we don't keep secrets from each other. Meaning I know everything about their lives so that if they knock up some random hanger-on from their hometown I can do what needs to be done before it affects their career. Do you understand?"

"Wade talk to you?"

She nods. "He was my client once. He knows how important it is to me to know what's going on with my clients."

"For you to know about it, Mandy? Or for you to try and control it? Because the way I see it, you told my sister to sit out in Nashville, then you told my pregnant girlfriend to stay away from me. What I can't figure out is why you think either of those women is any of your business."

"You are my business, Dallas. So anything or anyone that affects you is my business. If I hadn't told your sister to sit out that number, you wouldn't be here right now. And if your girlfriend, or whatever she is, hadn't gotten knocked up and trapped you in a relations.h.i.+p, I wouldn't be having to try and contact every one I know who can help us frame this in a more positive light."

"Don't bother. Far as I'm concerned, you're fired anyway." I stand and walk over to the door. "Here. Let me walk you out."

Mandy stands, staring at me like I've said I want to rap folk music with a gospel choir. "Are you insane? Do you really want to throw all of this away? After how hard we've worked for this? You signed a contract. I can sue you."

"How hard I've worked, you mean? And no, I don't plan to throw everything away. Just you. Sue away, sweetheart."

I don't bother waiting for her witty comeback. I just guide her gently out of my room and close the door behind her.

37 Robyn.

SEVERAL WEEKS AFTER DALLAS LEAVES, MY BOSS MAKES A BIG ANNOUNCEMENT. The Martin family has decided to expand into more than just bourbon. They've partnered with a midsize rum distributor they'll be renaming Sunset Bay. Next up is a moons.h.i.+ne manufacturer they plan to call Moonlight Bay.

Everyone is ecstatic, hugging and cheering, and already chatter about who might head up the teams for the new companies is flooding through the conference room.

"You're the front-runner for the PR campaign on the expansion," Katie tells me as the conversations around us die down. "Drew said he overheard Mr. Martin talking about it this morning when he was taking some photos for the press release."

"Thanks for the heads-up." I should be thrilled. This is huge, even bigger than the promotion I've been vying for. Instead I just feel . . . overwhelmed. I still haven't told my boss I'm pregnant and I'll need to schedule my maternity leave. If I do that now, it's likely I won't get to head up this campaign or even be involved with it at all.

As the meeting comes to a close, I hear Mr. Martin call my name. I wait for the room to clear before making my way to where he stands. Thankfully, Katie hangs back with me.

"Good news," he announces with his booming voice as I approach. "The board voted and we want you to head up the campaign to promote the expansion. We need new logos, new label mock-ups, new banners on all the social media pages, and something huge to celebrate. I'm thinking a gala downtown. I'd like to see a list of ideas in my email inbox by tomorrow. And reach out to local vendors and see who might want to host exclusive previews of the bottles once we've updated the labels."

"Yes, sir. I'm on it." A cold, clammy sheen of sweat rolls down my neck to the middle of my back. "Thank you for the opportunity, sir." I smile at the executives standing beside him.

"Oh, and I'll need you to stay late this evening and then again tomorrow. We're doing a tasting of the new products after work."

"The new products?" I can literally see my worlds colliding. I've tried to keep them separate. In one I'm a successful marketing a.s.sistant and promotions specialist and in the other I'm an expectant mother. Now I have to figure out how to be both at the same time.

"The rum today and the moons.h.i.+ne tomorrow," he clarifies. "Call a local sandwich shop, that one we get those Italian subs from, and have them bring several platters over. We'll need something to soak up the liquor."

"Yes, sir." I'm frozen, stuck in place and unable to figure out what to say to avoid this impossible situation.

"Actually, Robyn, didn't you say you had that thing after work today? That new, um, cla.s.s? The one you can't miss?"

"Right," I say with a sigh of relief. "Wow. I totally forgot about that."

Mr. Martin looks skeptically at the both of us. "Cla.s.s?"

"Um, Spanish. I'm taking a Spanish cla.s.s at the university. I was hoping to branch out so I could be more of an a.s.set for our international clients." The lies are just spilling out of my mouth at this point.

"I can handle the tastings. And the sandwich order," Katie offers "I'll fill Robyn in once she gets home from cla.s.s."

I want to tackle-hug her right this second. Or collapse on her when the tightly wound strings of tension holding me together unravel.

Mr. Martin frowns. "Okay. I guess that will work. In the future, please let me know if you're taking any cla.s.ses that might interfere with your work schedule."

I nod quickly. "Yes, sir. I definitely will."

Like when I have to take that Lamaze cla.s.s. I am so screwed.

"Thank you," I whisper to Katie on our way out. "I owe you one. More than one."

"You're welcome. You know you're going to have to tell him eventually."

I swallow the lump in my throat. "I know. I will. I just . . . I need to tell my mom first. I keep thinking I can wait until Dallas gets home but they just added more dates to the tour and-"

My voice cracks as I try to choke out the words.

"Hey," Katie says softly as we reach my desk. "Just because your situation is unconventional doesn't make it impossible. My brother was serving overseas when both of his kids were born. He loves them, they love him. He and his wife are happy. People can make these types of situations work. They do it all the time. If anyone can handle unconventional it's you."

I try to smile but my mouth has other plans. "You're right." I pull it together the best I can. It's time to be a big girl and face facts. "But I need to tell my mom and Mr. Martin sooner rather than later. Dallas or no Dallas."

This is my life now and a baby isn't an accessory I can just add on. Everything in my life is going to change. It has to.

Lying in bed at midnight, knowing it's somewhere around four in the morning where Dallas is, I scroll through the few messages I have from him.

He didn't call tonight and I'm trying not to dwell on how few times we've actually spoken since he's been gone.

I don't know when I became this person-this woman who stays up late on a work night waiting for her boyfriend to call. I wasn't even this girl in high school. But then, he called when he was supposed to back then.

And he was five minutes down the road instead of on the other side of the world.

Katie's moving in with Drew and I'm turning her room into a guest room and what was once the home office into a nursery. I tried to put the crib together today and ended up crying in the middle of the floor surrounded by wooden pieces I wanted to light on fire.

My chest tightens as I realize this is my life now. Dallas's life isn't going to be conventional and neither is our relations.h.i.+p. That was the word Katie used earlier. She'd told me that if anyone could handle an "unconventional" relations.h.i.+p it was me.

I hope she's right.

I should be okay with this. Part of my job was to set up opportunities for him to get his picture taken with women who wanted to get close to him.

I try not to imagine Brazilian models fawning all over him but the image comes anyway.

Screw it.

I try to call him.

No answer.

I drift in and out of consciousness for a while until my phone buzzes in my hand.

Dallas finally texted.

Call you tomorrow. Show ran late. Love you.

Once my eyes have adjusted I text him back that it's okay and I love him, too. But I miss him, so I pull my laptop from my nightstand and pull up his fan page.

New pictures have already been added. He looks so handsome up onstage. The way the light s.h.i.+nes behind him makes him glow like an otherworldly being.

My larger-than-life Dallas Lark. I can feel my heart swelling with pride.

Below the official ones are some fan-posted ones.

Girls are draped all over him, hugging him, taking selfies with him, kissing him on the cheek.

I can handle this. I can. I have to.

But Lord help me, some of these women are insanely gorgeous. Very soon I am going to look like I swallowed a basketball. I already have a b.u.mp, one I can't hide much longer. And Dallas is going to be surrounded by perfection.

I need to hear his voice. Need to hear him tell me good night. I pull up his name on my phone and listen to the ringing.

When his voice mail picks up, I open my mouth but nothing comes out.

I won't do this. I won't be the pathetic girlfriend at home making him feel guilty because she misses him. Besides, it's not just about me anymore. I can't keep doing this. The last thing I want my kiddo to see is Mommy sitting around pining for Daddy.

"Sweet dreams, baby," I say into the phone as new pictures pop onto his page.