Chapter 25 – Dallas
I’m not thrilled about being back in Los Angeles already. Especially not on the day after Thanksgiving.
It’s not that I don’t think the city has its charms, especially during the holiday season, but everyone here is so.
.. loud. It feels like they’re all trying to prove something to the people around them instead of embracing their individuality and uniqueness.
It’s a constant grab of attention, a search for purpose and a loneliness that permeates your soul during the process.
I believe that people in LA can be divided into two groups: those born and bred under the lights of Hollywood, who made it their identity, and those who came here searching for one.
Either group was no longer my style but realizing now that I'd been doing the same thing by moving to Texas, searching for meaning and purpose, shifted my perspective on the hyper-citizens of California.
Maybe I wasn’t so different from them after all.
I look down at Paloma and squeeze her hand tight to my side as we exit the plane.
Caramel, brown eyes, hair pulled up into a messy bun on top of her head while she types out a text message ferociously.
She could be at ease anywhere, which is vastly different from the insecure girl she’d confessed she was when she first started writing to me.
I’d always felt that she was much more confident than I was though I hid that insecurity behind my paper, pen, privilege, and hundreds of miles.
“Oh. My. God. Are you Dove from Dove by her side while witnessing her live out her dreams.
It seems her fan base is mostly younger women, which makes sense given what she’d shared with me last night about the theme of her songs.
Ballads around female empowerment and independence resonated deeply within them but there was something for everyone.
I was proud of the role model she was for these young women who looked up to her and didn't want to tarnish that image by being seen with her in public yet, so I tried to hang back while we navigated the bustling airport, and she interacted with her fans.
“Things are changing, though,” she shares as soon as the van pulls away from the curb, “it seems like I’m a drawing an older demographic at my more recent concerts. Men and women.”
“Always good to expand, right?”
She nods and smiles as she continues to gaze out the window. Though I wasn't thrilled about being back in the city, I worked to hide my displeasure because I can sense that Paloma enjoys living here.
“Are you happy to be back?”
She shrugs, “You don’t see me getting attacked like that in Lonestar Junction.
I like living in Los Angeles for the most part.
It’s where I record. Where I feel like I really grew into becoming a woman and discovered who I was.
But in other ways, I don't like it. I’ve always felt like there were two sides to me.
One that belongs in Texas, and one in California and for some reason, people can’t embrace both. ”
“Nothing wrong with feeling you don’t belong in one place.”
She squeezes my hand again as we pull up to the all brick studio where she said we were meeting with her manager before tonight’s concert.
Any doubts I had about how much time I’d spend with her while subbing as security detail are quickly dispelled as Bex greets us impatiently when the van doors slide home.
“Let's go, Dove,” she says breathlessly as she carts Paloma out of the van and directly up the walkway to the door.
“Wait, Bex, this is my… friend who is filling in for security tonight, Dallas Golden.”
Bex gives me a quick once-over and a curt nod, making it clear that she won’t be giving her approval for Paloma to show any interest in me beyond being her bodyguard.
I want to tell Paloma she’s my girlfriend, not my friend, but even though I’m a possessive, alpha male, I’d never do anything to jeopardize her image and now isn’t the time for this discussion.
“Nice to meet you, Bex” I state firmly, leveling her with a cool stare that I hope conveys my desire to protect Paloma's image while also alerting her that I don’t plan on going anywhere now that I’m back in her life.
“Yep,” she states back with a quickness before turning her attention back to Paloma and dragging her inside.
Paloma shoots me an apologetic look over her shoulder and mouths I’ll text you while I hang back by the van.
“Is her manager always like that?” I ask the driver. His name tag simply states, Blade. Dove mentioned he was one of the guys on her security detail who’s been with her since she was nineteen-years-old.
Blade shrugs, “She’s got a job to do, and that’s managing Dove. And she does it well.”
I nod as I watch the two of them disappear inside. She might be managing her career well, but who was concerned about managing her heart?
“What do you usually do when you’re in a city before a concert?” I ask Blade, looking for a distraction from the jealousy flaring within me.
Blade smiles widely. “Depends on the city. But in LA, I usually go to the Museum of Death.”
"Lead the way," I gesture as I hop into the passenger seat of the van.
Three hours later, and an alarming amount of dark conversation with a guy named Blade, we’re headed back to the venue where Dove and the Valor will be performing tonight.
I’m not one to be freaked out by much, especially not by death, an inevitable part of everyone’s life and something that has surrounded me for well over a decade, but Blade enjoyed the Museum much more than I’d anticipated he would.
To top it off, he told me it was his fifteenth visit as we were leaving.
There wasn’t that much to see, so I couldn’t fathom going back more than once, maybe twice to visit.
The thought of a guy with a low-key obsession with death hanging around Dove, both unnerved me and oddly made me feel like she was safer than I initially thought she’d be in the hands of her security detail.
The guy was obsessed with death; he probably wouldn't have any fear of dying in order to protect her.
By the time we arrive at the venue, sound check is already underway. We meet up with a group of other individuals contracted to provide security for the event, get our uniforms and badges and then are briefed on the duties while we familiarize ourselves with the facility.
“You’ll be at the front,” Blade instructs, showing me where I’ll be positioned for the night.
“Dove’s request,” he says without another glance before he takes off in the opposite direction, weaving through tech support and other individuals working to make sure the venue is prepared and ready for tonight’s concert.
I’m eager to see Dove, having not seen her since this morning when we drove straight to the airport, but I respect her space as she navigates this world.
Dove exits the stage, mouthing a few refrains of her lyrics playing over the speakers while effortlessly going through her dance movements.
She’s stunning, her body moving gracefully to the beat in a shimmery black dress that falls just below her butt, fringed with red, swaying tassels, and paired with black combat boots.
With her black diamond-encrusted microphone, she spots me in the sparse crowd and shoots me a wink, flicking her hair over her shoulder.
She then stomps to the opposite end of the stage, dips low again, and mouths the lyrics.
I’ve heard her passion for singing in the words she’s written to me for years but seeing it in person is something entirely different. She’s made for this. And I swear, watching her rehearsal, I will never do anything to harm her dreams or her reputation.
After she wraps up her rehearsal—where I mostly admire how effortlessly she moves and sexy she looks—she heads backstage.
Blade finds me again, giving me further instructions before the crowd begins to trickle in.
I hate not being able to go back to see her, touch her, or be near her.
But instead, I remain firmly at my post at the front of the stage, my back to the performers as the opening acts take the spotlight.