Missing Dixie by Caisey Quinn
Dedication
For you, because you shattered me into a million pieces and forced me to put myself back together again. I would’ve given you anything—but I will give up my dreams for no one.
Epigraph
“In the end, we are all just humans . . . drunk on the idea that love, and only love, can heal our brokenness.”
—F. Scott Fitzgerald
Prologue | Gavin
“I NEED A Michelob Light, two Jack and Cokes, a bourbon on the rocks, and a Sex on the Beach,” a waitress named Kimberly calls to me over the crowded bar.
“Yes, ma’am!” I shout over the din while filling the order quickly, tossing an umbrella into the fruity drink and briefly wondering what the hell kind of group orders such random drinks. It’s an odd number, so probably not a double date.
Once Kim’s tray is full, she takes off into the crowd and I take a few more orders from patrons sitting at the bar. The house band announces that they’re taking a break and I’m grateful that the bar is full enough to keep it from being quiet.
Silence has always been my enemy. Hence why I play the drums, the loudest, most deafening musical instrument in existence. They’re the only things that drown out the sounds in my head. Once my customers and waitresses have been taken care of, I do a quick wipe-down of the bar and restock the highball glasses.
It’s in the brief moment when the raucous chatter dies down enough that pool balls can be heard knocking together that the music begins.
Someone is playing the piano, the old Wurlitzer that sits abandoned in the back corner of the Tavern. It’s not the music itself that stops me where I stand. It’s the way it’s being played. Effortless yet meticulous, a combination that I’ve only known one musician in my entire life to be capable of.
Glancing in the direction where the melody is drifting from I notice I’m not the only one mesmerized by the sound. Half the bar has made their way to the back corner to get a closer listen. My boss, a perpetually red-faced man named Cal, is going to kill me, but I have to see. I have to know if it’s her. My body propels itself around the bar just as a voice from my right calls my name, startling me out of my trance.
Turning, I look directly into a pair of gleaming green eyes beneath a perfectly even bob of blond hair.
Ashley Weisman stands across from me in her pencil skirt and oxford dress shirt with two too many buttons undone to be here for professional reasons.
“You’ve been avoiding my phone calls,” she says evenly.
“Been busy.” Huffing out a breath, I place my hand gently on her elbow and attempt to steer her toward the exit.
Stilettos planted firmly on the liquor-sticky floor, she purses her full red lips at me and glares into my eyes. “You can’t ignore me forever. I’m your attorney. Besides, what’s the rush, Gavin? Not even going to offer me a drink? What kind of bartender are you?”
“One who doesn’t have time for this right now. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I can’t explain it, but deep in my soul—if I have one that is—I know exactly who’s playing the piano behind me. I don’t know why she’s here, I don’t know if she knows I work here, and I sure as hell don’t know if she’ll want to see me. What I do know is that she and Ashley cannot cross paths right now. Not yet. Not before I’ve told her everything.
“I think I’ll take the drink now, thank you very much.” Twisting out of my reach, she hops up onto a bar stool and steadily ignores the scowl on my face.
The music continues swirling around us and all I know is right now, I need to know who is playing that damn piano.
Clenching my fists, I walk around behind the bar and wait for her to tell me what she wants.