by Caisey Quinn
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 relationship. That was the word Katie used earlier. She’d told me that if anyone could handle an “unconventional” relationship 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 shines 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 bump, 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.
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 bitch 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 dick if I weren’t so wiped out.
Fucking 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 sexy 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 dick.
“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 sex of our baby.
She sounded so damn 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 fucking mistake. I’ll be damned 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 hell I can make that appointment tomorrow.
“Sir,” I practically yell at the driver, a nervous-seeming gray-haired man who do
esn’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 fucking 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 sex 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-assisting skills.”
I smile. “Thanks, roomie. I’ll keep that in mind.”
A pang of loneliness hits 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 shit 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 flashing 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 passed 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, wishing my band were there? Wishing 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. Fuck this.
Dallas Walker died in that car, but Dallas Lark is alive and well.
I’ve been settling for some half-ass version of my dream, a pathetic piece of it instead of the real deal.
I want to make music and record an album, but I want to do it with my band. And more than any of that,
whatever I do with my life, I want Robyn Breeland beside me. I want us to raise our kid together. I want to be the kind of dad my father was, and his father before him. I want to be at the birth and all the birthday parties after that.
I can’t do that from a different country.
Paramedics are surrounding us and only some of them speak English.
They climb in to help us out. The driver is disoriented so they put him on a stretcher.
A blond girl who looks barely old enough to drive a car places butterfly stitches down my arm in the back of a funky-looking ambulance.
“There. That’ll hold until we get to the hospital.” She looks into my eyes. “Sir? I need to ask you a few questions. Do you know what day it is?”
“Um, Thursday?”
She gives me a smile and a nod. “And do you know your name?”
I glance down at my new stitches as she wraps my arm in gauze. Something Afton Tate says comes back to me. He said if I let Mandy and the industry change me, then I didn’t really make it big—someone else did. He was right.
“Lark,” I tell her. “My name is Dallas Lark.”
And I’m not going to the hospital like she thinks. I’m getting the hell out of here. I will be damned if my girl is going to text me the sex of our baby. I will be at that appointment tomorrow come hell or high water.
41 | Robyn
“SWEETIE, COME ON NOW. YOU HAVE TO EAT SOMETHING. YOUR mom is worried sick and frankly so am I.” Katie is holding a bowl of soup but I can’t even imagine putting the broth in my mouth. “Whether you’re hungry or not, the baby needs nourishment.”
“I have to call his sister. She needs to know. It will be on the news soon and what if she—”
“One of Jase’s PR people already called her, Robyn. I talked to her last night. She’s worried, too, but she’s okay. Relax. They are doing everything they can to find Dallas. We can go to Amarillo and see her after your appointment. But first, eat.”
I stare at the fleshy noodles swimming in the soup. There is a human being growing inside me and no matter how I feel, it’s not okay to let my baby go hungry.
