Neon Dreams: Loving Dallas Part 28

I hope he does have sweet dreams. But I have a feeling I'll be having nightmares.

I curl up to my pillow, trying not to dwell on the fact that even though I'm technically already one myself, I need my mommy.

38 Dallas.

TIMING WAS THE THIRD MOST IMPORTANT THING I LEARNED about playing music. Nana would reiterate its importance to Dixie and me over and over during our piano lessons.

Papa taught me about patience and persistence, but Nana taught me about timing.

"It's not enough to just play the right notes," she'd say. "You have to play them at the right time, play them when you feel them and not a second sooner."

Timing.

It could be a b.i.t.c.h sometimes.

Robyn and I keep missing each other.

We've both called. Left messages. Texted.

But every time I have a free minute, she's in a meeting or in bed. The times she's tried to call I've either been tied up in interviews or sound checks or trying to catch what little sleep I can between shows.

Now I was up in bed failing at sleeping again, knowing I'd have to be at the airport heading to London in a few hours, but unable to really rest until I heard her voice.

I listen to the last voice mail she left until I fall asleep. "Sweet dreams, baby," her sultry voice says over and over. I'd get a hard d.i.c.k if I weren't so wiped out.

f.u.c.king timing.

We're heading to a private airstrip in Brazil to catch the flight to London when I'm checking my phone messages. I keep expecting some major backlash from firing Mandy, but so far no one has said a word. I suspect she hasn't told anyone yet and I don't even want to think about what she might have planned to try to convince me to change my mind. I'm cringing at the vast possibilities when I see that I have a voice mail from Robyn.

I've been aching to hear her voice since she left me a very s.e.xy erection-inducing "sweet dreams" voice mail that I played repeatedly last night. But when I press play this time the sound that fills my ears tears at my chest instead of my d.i.c.k.

"Hey, babe. It's me." My girl sounds tired. More than tired. Drained. Weary and exhausted. "I just wanted to let you know that the ultrasound is tomorrow and the doctor said if the baby is turned the right way we'll be able to tell if we're having a boy or a girl." She pauses before continuing. "I'll try to call you when I find out. The appointment is at three in the afternoon so I'm going to leave work a little early. I can't remember which time zone you'll be in by then but I guess if I can't reach you I'll text. Oh, and I told my mom and she's very happy for us. I hope everything is going well in Brazil. I love you."

I love you.

She loves me.

Loves me enough to raise our child on her own, to sit through appointments and ultrasounds by herself while I go out and live my dream, or some distorted version of it anyway.

My strong independent girl . . . is going to text me the s.e.x of our baby.

She sounded so d.a.m.n tired. Like she needed me there to rub her feet and hold her in my arms and tell her to take it easy since I know she won't unless I'm there but I'm not there. Because I'm here.

I can hardly keep track of where "here" is anymore.

I have to make my own choices, just like my granddad said. More important, I have to stand behind them, live with them. I keep thinking about what she said in the airport, about not making the same mistake she made all those years ago. Every choice has a consequence and my brave girl risked it all to tell me the truth.

Now it's my turn. I'm going to fight for her, for us. I'm going to be there, with her, where I belong.

I can't get on another plane and leave my entire world behind. I did that once before and it was a colossal f.u.c.king mistake. I'll be d.a.m.ned if I make the same one again.

I tap on the back of the seat in front of me. "Sir. Could you turn the car around, please? I need to go to the actual airport instead of the private one."

I try to search international flights to see how soon I can get home, if there's any chance in h.e.l.l I can make that appointment tomorrow.

"Sir," I practically yell at the driver, a nervous-seeming gray-haired man who doesn't speak English. "Can you take me to the International Airport of Brasilia instead?" I'm reading the flight schedule on my phone as I make my request.

He turns to look at me, and I glance up. I see it before he does. The truck in front of us is stopped already for whatever reason. And we're going to plow directly into it.

The last thought that flits through my brain before everything goes black is that I'm going to die without ever seeing my kid.

I'm going to die when I've only just realized I've been living my life all wrong.

The f.u.c.king irony.

39 Robyn.

"HEY," KATIE SAYS, POPPING HER HEAD INTO MY OFFICE. "I'M heading out and grabbing some dinner with Drew. I'll probably stay at his place tonight but do you want me to go to your appointment with you tomorrow?"

I close out my email because my eyes are crossing. It's finally here. Or it will be tomorrow anyway. The day I learn the s.e.x of my baby. "Nah. I was going to ask Dallas's sister to come. Or maybe my mom. She took the news better than I expected. But it's like you said. This isn't a conventional situation so I might as well get used to doing things on my own, right?"

"Robyn," Katie says softly, stepping all the way into the room. "I didn't mean it as a bad thing. I just meant-"

"It's not a bad thing. It's just . . . different."

Katie gives me a weak smile. "I can only imagine just how different it is. But I'm also here for you, if you need anything. And just because he isn't here doesn't mean you have to do everything alone. You have me, and Dallas's sister from the sound of it. And your mom, of course."

My mom was beside herself ecstatic about becoming a grandma. I was expecting a lecture, or at least a strict talking to about responsibility. All I got were happy tears and hugs and promises that she is going to be here for me every step of the way.

I nod. "Thanks. I appreciate that."

"I stocked the freezer full of ice cream last night, by the way. Help yourself," she says as she stands to leave. "Promise you'll tell me if there's anything I can do. I was my sister-in-law's Lamaze coach when my brother was serving overseas. I have excellent recommendations on my labor-a.s.sisting skills."

I smile. "Thanks, roomie. I'll keep that in mind."

A pang of loneliness. .h.i.ts me unexpectedly. Katie won't be my roomie much longer. She shouldn't have to be woken up all hours of the night by a screaming baby. She's not the one who got knocked up.

After shutting down my computer for the day, I grab my purse and head downstairs. Voices clamor up to me and I see a small crowd gathered around the front desk.

Alex and Bennett Martin are both standing with two police officers and a few girls from reception.

" . . . serious injuries," a voice from the speakerphone on the front desk says. "But we're trying to find out about Renee now."

"What's going on?" I approach the group carefully. I can't justify how I know that whatever's going on somehow affects me, but I do. I can feel it.

Alex Martin turns to me, but it's Katie's face I see. She's behind the group, standing with Drew, and she's pale, looking at me like she's afraid I might have yet another emotional meltdown.

"There was an accident on the BR-101. The convoy taking Jase Wade and his crew was involved. Renee Vasquez was among the injured, but she's getting medical attention and should be fine."

Renee is an international consultant for Midnight Bay. I've met her a few times but I don't know her well.

"And the others?" My voice is leaving me as I yank my phone out of my purse.

My clumsy fingers drop my phone and Katie steps around and hands it to me. "Robyn . . . I have to tell you something. It's about Dallas."

No. No no no.

This isn't happening. My Dallas, my sweet backward-ball-cap-wearing boyfriend from high school, the handsome man who exuded so much raw masculinity I was liquid in his hands every time he touched me, the famous musician who charmed a diner full of little girls, the father of my baby, he has to be okay.

He has to be.

"Breathe, Robyn," Katie says, wrapping an arm around me. "They didn't say he was hurt or anything. It's just that he isn't accounted for."

"What does that even mean?"

I'm losing my s.h.i.+t in front of both of my bosses, but they're still busy with the man on the speakerphone.

"It could mean anything. Maybe he's fine and didn't need medical attention."

Or maybe he's dead.

No, he can't be. I would be able to feel that, wouldn't I?

My hands are shaking, or maybe that's my knees. All I know is that the world is moving too fast and I want to get off this ride right this second.

"Let's get you home, okay?" Katie's eyes are wide with concern and I watch helplessly as she motions Drew over.

"No," I practically yell. "I'm staying right here by this phone until they say he's okay."

"We'll keep you posted, Robyn," Drew promises. "Go home and try to rest and I swear, the second we hear anything, you'll be the first person I get in touch with. Cross my heart." He makes a motion over his heart.

"He has to be okay," I tell Katie as she practically drags me out of the building and to her car. "He has to be."

40 Dallas.

THE FIRST THING I'M AWARE OF IS THE BLOOD. IT'S WARM, TRICKLING red trails down my arm.

I can't feel my fingers.

This is not good.

The driver is unconscious with his head on the steering wheel. There's blood seeping into his hairline from a gash in his forehead.

"Hey!" I shout, because I'm afraid to move for fear I'll do myself worse damage. "Hey, we're in here!"

In my head all I can think is We're not dead over and over. And I can see it, what I walked away from, what I'm risking losing forever flas.h.i.+ng behind my eyes.

It wasn't my life that flashed before my eyes, not the one I've been living.

It's the one I'd miss if I died, or if I let my career come first.

"Everyone okay in there?"

The voice comes from the sunroof. A golden-haired guy has his face shoved into it. "Help is on the way. Just sit tight."

"What happened?"

"There was a car accident up ahead," golden-haired guy from the sunroof informs us. "You all ended up in the pileup."

"Sir, sir? Can you hear me?" I reach forward to nudge the driver but I catch sight of the gaping laceration that has practically ripped my Lark tattoo in half and I almost lose consciousness.

I'm sitting there, stunned, and staring at my torn tattoo for what feels like eternity as the rest of the world falls away.

Lark.

It's my last name.

My family name.

The one my kid will have if Robyn will allow it.

The one she'll have if she'll have me.

My head is spinning but even though my vision is blurred, everything else is in high definition.

My parents died, my grandparents even pa.s.sed away, but I still have family and that's what matters.

Dixie. Robyn. Gavin.

My unborn peanut.

They're my family.

And I've walked away from them for what? To nearly die in a car accident in a foreign country? To be onstage night after night alone, wis.h.i.+ng my band were there? Wis.h.i.+ng my girl was in the audience? To sit in bars and diners by myself thinking of a woman who'd make me order something healthier because she wants me to live longer?

No. f.u.c.k this.