Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Magnolia stood on the bed, trying to peek into the little pink birdhouse she’d hung in the corner of the ceiling for Charlotte.
The spider didn’t appear to be in it. Unless she was hiding in a dark corner.
Magnolia had just lifted her cellphone to turn on the flashlight when it rang.
Startled, she jumped back and stumbled over a pillow, landing on her butt on the mattress.
Once she stopped bouncing, she answered.
“Have you seen or talked to Dawson?” Tully asked.
“Not since he dropped me off this afternoon. I’ve been waiting for him to call me about Wilbur.” Her heart sank. “Oh, no. Did Wilbur die?”
“No. Dawson said he came out of the surgery just fine.”
Magnolia was relieved . . . and more than a little annoyed Dawson hadn’t called to tell her. “So why are you looking for Dawson?”
“He left Sunday dinner before we even finished dessert. Now he’s not answering his phone. Jaxon, Huck, and Poppy say that’s just how he is. He occasionally needs his space. But I’m worried. He seemed upset when he left. So, if he does call you to tell you about Wilbur, will you have him call me.”
“Of course. In fact, why don’t you give me his number, and I’ll keep trying to get ahold of him.
” She had given him her phone number but hadn’t thought to get his.
If she had, she would have already given him a piece of her mind.
Something she intended to do right now. But when she called the number, it went immediately to voicemail, and the inbox was full so she couldn’t leave a message.
Not one to give up, she texted.
Where are you? Your family is worried. And why didn’t you call me and tell me Wilbur came out of surgery okay?
When he didn’t reply, she texted again.
I can do this all night, you know. I don’t need people to participate to have a conversation. Example: every conversation we’ve ever had.
Nothing.
Maybe his lack of response had to do with spotty cell service.
But what if it didn’t?
She tried again.
I’m going to assume you’re not answering because something happened today at Tully’s that upset you.
Rather than verbalize it, you internalized it.
I get it. I don’t know how many times I’ve internalized hurt with my daddy just so I wouldn’t make him responsible for my pain.
Even though, I guess some of it is his responsibility.
Unfortunately, that makes for a lot of unresolved issues.
And believe me, I have an entire mental closet of unresolved issues with my daddy.
And with my mama too. Which is why I think I can’t remember anything about her.
I guess what I’m trying to say is join the club.
You aren’t the only one who struggles to release their pain.
But at least some of us are trying to figure out how to release it.
We’re not just ignoring texts and sobbing in our beer.
She pushed send and then cringed when she saw the mile-long text.
She had really spilled her guts this time.
She could almost picture him rolling his eyes as he read it.
And what was she doing? If Dawson wanted to disappear for a while, why did she care?
His family seemed to think it was perfectly normal.
She stood back up on the bed to continue her search for Charlotte when a text came in.
whisky not beer
She couldn’t help the feeling of relief that spread through her. Relief that was followed by concern. She quickly texted back.
Whiskey? What happened to the man who didn’t drink?
She watched the bubbles dance before her phone pinged.
you can only enturnalize intermalize shit whatever the hurt got too big
Those last five little words stood out from the other jumbled text like a neon sign. The fact that he’d finally acknowledged he hurt made her own heart hurt.
Where are you?
not sure lots of bras
Bras? Or was that another misspelling? Brass? She googled both Texas bars with brass and Texas bars with bras. Surprisingly, both types of bars popped up. Numerous bars with plenty of brass fixtures and one country dive bar with a row of women’s bras hanging above it.
She knew exactly which one Dawson was at. Especially since that one was only twenty minutes away.
Booby Trap was nothing like Honky Tonk Heaven. It was dark and dirty with sticky floors and a strong scent of stale beer and body odor. After seeing the row of motorcycles parked out front, Magnolia was prepared for the rough-looking patrons.
The guy working the front door looked like he’d just escaped from prison. He had a nasty-looking scar running at an angle by the edge of his right eye and wore a black leather motorcycle vest that showed off his massive, tattooed arms.
And yet, his light blue eyes were kind.
“I think you might be in the wrong place, honeybee.” His gaze swept over her hot pink sports tank, leggings, and neon running shoes. Yeah, she probably should have chosen a different outfit. “The Pilates place is down the street. Although it’s not open this late.”
“I’m here to pick up a friend. I saw his truck parked out front, so I know he’s here.”
He slipped off the stool he straddled and stood. He was big—tree-trunk big. And even with the scar, strikingly handsome with his rugged features and wavy black hair. “Tell me what he looks like, and I’ll find him for you.”
“Oh, no, you don’t have to leave your post. I can—”
A loud cheer cut her off and she turned to the bar where it had come from. Amid the people crowded around it, she spotted Dawson’s head of burnished golden hair.
“There he is!” She sidestepped the tattooed tree and headed over to the bar.
“Excuse me. Can I get through here?” She didn’t know if it was her inappropriate bar attire or her manners, but the crowd of rough-looking people parted for her like the red sea.
She gave them thank you smiles as she moved through.
Her lips turned to a frown when Dawson came into view.
He sat on a barstool, surrounded by women all yelling, “Do me!”
He held up a hand and addressed the women, his speech slurred just enough to indicate how drunk he was. “Ladie-s-s . . . ladies-s-s, one at a time, please. You can’t crowd an artist.”
They all stepped back, except for the tall redhead standing at his side. She stuck out her abundant breasts that were close to popping out of her tight midriff top and shot him a sultry look. “Mine is a front clasp so it won’t to be as easy as the others.”
Dawson gave her a lopsided grin. “I never did like easy.” As Magnolia watched in horror, he blew on his fingers before slipping them down the redhead’s low neckline.
A second later he withdrew his hand and smiled smugly.
The woman’s eyes widened as a purple strap slipped out of her sleeveless top.
She grabbed the strap and wiggled her arm out, then jerked the bra free from the other sleeve and waved it over her head, her unfettered breasts bouncing.
“He did it!”
As the crowd cheered, the women closed back around him with chants of “Do me!”
Annoyance was too mild a word for what simmered inside of Magnolia, and she thought about leaving the lecherous fool right where he was.
But she couldn’t do it. Not when he was obviously drunk.
And not when these women acted like they were about to eat him alive.
She wouldn’t leave a drunk girlfriend so she couldn’t leave a drunk male friend either.
But it turned out that the women surrounding him weren’t quite as gracious as the men had been. When Magnolia tried to get to Dawson, they turned on her like a pack of she-wolves.
“Wait your turn, bitch!”
“No cuts, Blondie!”
An extremely muscular woman in a black T-shirt and ripped jeans grabbed her arm. “Yeah, back off, Fuckin’ Yoga Barbie!”
Magnolia figured she was about to get her butt whupped when the doorman showed up and gently moved her behind him with a tree trunk arm.
“Don’t start any shit, Dez. I don’t want to have to throw your ass out like I did last night.”
“Fuck off, Steele! She’s taking cuts.”
“She’s his wife.”
Since the woman could easily tie her into a pretzel, Magnolia was smart enough to go along with the lie. She peeked around Steele’s muscled arm.
“Sad but true. I keep thinking my beloved husband is going to stop slipping his hands down other women’s shirts, but it’s obviously an addiction.” She shrugged. “And what can you do? When you love a man, you love a man.”
Dez released a long sigh. “Well, shit. I was looking forward to winning a bet with that hunk of a man because I’m not wearing a bra. But I don’t trespass on another woman’s property . . . at least not without permission.” She lifted one thickly lined eyebrow.
Magnolia gave her a sympathetic smile. “Sorry, but I’m not good at sharing.”
Dez snorted. “Just my luck.” She bellowed over the heads of the women crowded around Dawson. “Move, bitches! Wife coming through!”
The women quickly stepped back and made a path to Dawson, who had swiveled on his stool and was staring at her with a confused expression.
“My wif—”
Before he could give them away, she stepped between his spread knees, looped her arms around his neck, and kissed him. He tensed for only a second before his hands settled on her hips and he deepened the kiss with a hot slide of lips and a deep sweep of whiskey-flavored tongue.
She had never been the type of person who enjoyed public displays of affection.
But Dawson’s kiss erased all thoughts of the crowd surrounding them.
All she cared about was the way his hungry lips made her feel.
Like she was his oxygen tank and without the connection of their mouths he wouldn’t be able to breathe.
And damn if she wasn’t feeling that way too.
Like kissing him was something she needed to survive.
The thought had warning bells going off in her head and she pushed out of his arms and stepped away.