Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Dawson had always been an early riser. No matter how late his mama had him working at Honky Tonk Heaven, he always woke with the sun. Age hadn’t changed that. Four or five hours of sleep a night was more than enough for him.
Poppy said he had FOMO—the fear of missing out. But the only thing Dawson worried about missing out on was the quiet of the mornings when everyone in the house was still sleeping.
As a kid and teenager, he’d make himself a big bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and carried it out to the porch where he’d sit on the front steps and eat heaping spoonfuls while he stared off down the road, dreaming of the day he’d take it straight out of town.
This morning, he wasn’t thinking about leaving town and he wasn’t devouring a big bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Instead, he sat on the top step of the porch smoking one of the old cigarettes he’d found in his nightstand. He hadn’t thought cigarettes could go stale.
He’d been wrong.
After only a few puffs, he flicked the cigarette out into the dirt driveway where it lay smothering . . . similar to his thoughts.
He shouldn’t have danced with Magnolia. It had been a worse mistake than kissing her. There was something about holding her in his arms and gliding across the floor that had been much more intimate than kissing.
And maybe it wasn’t the dancing as much as the look Magnolia had given him when he’d told her about watching her mama dance. That look had connected with something deep inside him. Something he’d thought was long dead.
The need for a mother.
After all the years, that need was still there. His mama’s lack of attention and love hadn’t killed it. Forcing him and his siblings to work like dogs in her beloved bar hadn’t killed it. Years of living away from her hadn’t killed it. Nor had the controlling stipulation she’d put in her will.
All this time, it had just been lying in wait. When Magnolia had looked back at him with a mixture of happiness and pain after he told her the story of her mama dancing, his own desire for a mama’s love had come out of nowhere and flattened him like a Mack truck.
And brought up memories he’d buried deep.
Memories of him as a snot-nosed kid trying anything and everything to get his mama’s attention. The clump of wildflowers he picked by the river. The lopsided ashtray he’d made her in art class. Keeping his room spotless. Getting straight A’s in school. Telling her how pretty she looked.
He’d tried being the perfect kid . . . and when that didn’t work, he’d tried being the biggest hellion. Having his mama pissed off at him was better than no attention at all.
But he hadn’t even been worth her anger.
The day of the gas station robbery, he’d gotten suspended from high school for fighting.
He thought she’d blow up after they left the principal’s office for being pulled from her beloved bar.
But on the drive home, she’d said nothing.
Not one word. She’d just dropped him off at the house and returned to Honky Tonk Heaven as if nothing had happened.
That broke him.
That night, he’d taken Jaxon’s truck without asking permission and gotten drunk on a bottle of whiskey he’d stolen from the dancehall. But the whiskey hadn’t soothed the pain inside him. It needed to be burned out. And nothing burned hotter than rubber.
So, he’d driven to the gas station and doused the stack of old tires out back with the gasoline Jaxon kept in a can in the bed of his truck before setting it ablaze. He stood there and watched as the fire caught and towered toward the night sky before he hopped back in the truck and left.
Little did he know that someone had been at the gas station before him.
Someone who robbed the cash register.
Dawson had headed home where Jaxon had been waiting.
The emotion he’d wanted from his mama, he got from his big brother.
Jaxon had given Dawson hell for fighting and getting expelled, taking his truck without permission, and driving drunk.
Dawson had finally broken. Tears had streamed down his face, and he’d released all his pain in a mumble of drunken words .
. . while Jaxon had held him and then put him to bed.
When he woke up the following day, Jaxon had been arrested for robbing Mickey’s after Sheriff Gentry had seen his truck leaving the scene of the crime.
When his fingerprints didn’t match the ones found on the cash register and there was no other evidence connecting him to the crime, he’d been released.
But the damage had already been done. No one in town believed in his innocence and made it perfectly clear wherever he went.
It was the straw that finally broke Jaxon.
Two months later, he’d packed up and left Promise Springs.
Huck became manic, coming up with plan after plan of how to get Jaxon back home. Poppy became angry and inconsolable, like an injured dog that couldn’t stand anyone touching it. And Dawson . . . Dawson had almost crumbled beneath the weight of his guilt.
Was still crumbling.
As if his thoughts had conjured up his big brother, the Chevy truck Dawson had restored and gifted Jaxon drove over the bridge leading to the house. Since it was so early, fear had Dawson rising to his feet.
“What happened?” he asked as soon as Jaxon got out of the truck.
Jaxon slammed the door and moved toward the porch. He looked ruffled. Like he’d just rolled out of bed. “Nothing . . . well, not anything to freak out about. I just wanted to talk to you.”
That didn’t ease Dawson’s tension. There had to be a damn good reason for Jaxon to leave his pretty new wife on a Sunday morning when he and Dawson could talk later in the day. “About what?”
Jaxon stopped at the foot of the steps and stared up at him. “Tully’s worried.”
The tight muscles in his neck loosened. “Well, tell her there’s nothing to worry about. Y’all aren’t going to lose Honky Tonk Heaven.”
Jaxon’s eyes narrowed. “How’s that? You got a plan I don’t know about?”
Not one he was willing to share with Jaxon.
“Just thinking positive.”
“Says my most pessimistic sibling.”
Dawson shrugged. “Maybe I’m learning.”
Jaxon studied him. “From whom? Magnolia Hastings? Because that’s what has Tully so worried.” He rested his hands on his hips and sighed. “Dammit, Dawson. You could fool around with any woman in this town, and you had to pick Tully’s best friend. What were you thinking?”
Since Dawson had kissed Magnolia, he couldn’t deny the accusation. So, he remained silent. Which had Jaxon assuming the worst.
“I guess that was a stupid question. You never think. You just react without thinking about the consequences or the carnage you leave behind. And I’m tired of following you around and cleaning up that carnage.
” He jabbed a finger at him. “Leave. Magnolia. Alone. Do you hear me? You hurt her. You hurt Tully. And if you hurt Tully, I swear to God, Dawson, it will be the straw that breaks this camel’s back. ”
Dawson had already broken Jaxon, so he didn’t argue. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t been thinking the same thing. He needed to stay away from Magnolia. She was light and he was darkness. She dreamed of happily forevers and Dawson . . . had stopped dreaming completely.
“I plan on staying away from Magnolia,” he said.
“Then what was last night all about?”
“I was just teaching her how to two-step.”
“Then why was she so upset when she left? Tully said she was almost in tears.”
His gut twisted. He knew Magnolia had been emotional after they’d talked about her mama, but he hadn’t thought he’d brought her to tears. “Is she okay?”
“I don’t know. Tully is going to stop by and check on her later today. So what happened?”
“I made the mistake of mentioning her mama and how I remember her dancing at Honky Tonk Heaven.”
Jaxon studied him. “That’s all? There’s nothing going on between you two?”
He pushed away the memory of how it felt to kiss her pillowy lips. How it felt to hold her in his arms. “Nothing.”
“Good. Let’s keep it that way.” Jaxon turned and headed to his truck, calling over his shoulder. “Go back to bed and get some sleep. You look like hell.”
As soon as Jaxon’s truck disappeared over the bridge, Dawson sat back down on the steps.
He was contemplating retrieving the still smothering cigarette and taking a hit of stale nicotine when the screen door slammed behind him.
He turned to see Poppy standing there in one of her beloved Disney princess nightshirts.
It always made him smile when he thought about how much his hard-as-nails sister loved those cartoon princesses.
“Why do you do that?” she asked.
“Do what?”
She joined him on the steps, tugging the nightshirt over her bent legs. “Let Jaxon order you around without putting up any fight whatsoever.”
“You shouldn’t eavesdrop.”
“When it’s family, it’s not eavesdropping. There should be no secrets between siblings. And there should be no holding back your true feelings either. You need to tell Jaxon to fuck off.”
“He’s just making sure I don’t hurt Tully’s friend.”
“Which is bullshit! Magnolia’s a grown woman who can take care of herself. If she gets hurt, she gets hurt.” She looked out at the yard and swallowed hard. “It happens.”
He placed an arm around her and tugged her close, kissing the top of her messy bun. “Yeah, well, no one wants to see someone they love get hurt.”
She sighed and burrowed into his chest. “I know I’ve been a big ol’ sob story lately.”
“Not a big ol’. Just a little sob story.”
She slapped his chest. “The point I’m trying to make is that Jaxon has no right to tell you who you can and cannot hang out with. And why does he always have to make you out as the villain?”
“Maybe because I am the villain in Jaxon’s life story. I’ve given him nothing but grief.”