Page 29 of The Burdens We Share (Satan’s Angels #3)

I keep my voice low, “I’ll sleep if you agree not to sleep on the floor and you sleep in the bed too. It doesn’t have to be a whole thing.”

He frowns at me, looking strained. “Why do you insist on torturing me?”

I tilt my head at him, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize caring about your well-being is torture. Next time, I’ll be sure to encourage you to sleep outside on the balcony with no pillows and no blankets.”

Dallas looks suddenly like a moody teen as he reaches down and grabs our pillows from the floor.

He tosses his over to the opposite side of the bed and places mine beside me.

I take that as a win and lower myself, plopping my head against the pillow.

I watch as he walks around the bed and slides in beside me.

The bed is a king so there’s plenty of room between us.

I reach for the lamp on the nightstand and turn it off, encasing the room in shadow.

None of us says a word and I try to fall asleep, but the events of today have my mind running rampant.

It feels like off-key instruments are playing a really shitty tune in my head on a loop.

I try to reposition myself a few times, but I never feel comfortable enough to actually fall asleep.

Dallas is completely still wherever he is and I hear his soft breaths and wonder if he’s sleeping.

I can’t see him in the dark of the room, so I whisper really quietly, “Dallas?”

A moment later he answers, “Yes?” His tone is impatient as if I’m annoying him.

I want to hear more of his voice. I need something from him to distract me from what happened today, from what could have happened if he wasn’t here with me.

“Tell me something about you,” I demand.

Part of this is coming from me needing a distraction, but the other part of me has been dying to know the man who knows so much about me yet shares so little.

He sighs, “What do you want to know?”

I grin as I realize he’s giving me what I want. “Do you have any siblings?”

“I have a younger brother,” he answers.

For some reason, I thought he was an only child. “What’s his name?”

“Travis.”

“How old is he?”

“Twenty-four.”

“Are you close?”

I can hear the smile in his voice, “You ask a lot of questions.”

I laugh softly, “I’m taking advantage of the opportunity to. You never tell me anything about yourself.”

He doesn’t argue because he knows it’s true. “Are you close with your parents?” I ask.

“My dad and I don’t really talk,” he explains and I frown. I’d give anything for another few minutes with my father and Dallas has a living, breathing father that he just doesn’t talk to. Does he even realize how lucky he is to still have his dad?

I ask, “What about your mom?”

It’s like a chill runs through the air because he goes utterly silent and darkness seems to swallow the room up in a way that the dark of the night can’t.

Just like that, I know the openness between us just now, his willingness to open up to me, is gone. I sigh as guilt threatens to eat me alive. I didn’t mean to push him too far, I just wanted to know more about him.

I accept that I won’t hear another word from his mouth tonight, but he stuns me completely when he asks, “What’s with the cowboy hats and the boots you wear?”

So he does want to talk to me, just not about that sensitive topic.

I smile softly as I answer even though he can’t see me, “My dad’s dream was always to become a famous rockstar and to do it all in Texas.

He wanted to move there and do all of that, but then he met my mom and then I came along, and the things he wanted for himself got put on the back burner.

” A wave of sadness washes through me as I add the last part.

“Then he died and that dream died with him.”

“I’m sorry,” he says in a low voice. It’s unusual for Dallas to show emotion, but I can hear it in his voice. He truly is sorry for me.

“It’s okay. I made it my whole life’s mission to achieve his dream since he never got to. It always made me feel like I was honoring him,” I explain.

He asks, “Did your father teach you to play?”

“He did. He taught me everything I know.”

“Do you still plan on finding your way to Texas?” He asks, curiosity in his tone.

I shrug even though he can’t see me, “I don’t know. I was never supposed to stay in LA for long, but that was years ago and I can’t ever see myself leaving. Maybe one day I’ll just get a nice vacation home there and stay from time to time.”

“If you do, I can recommend some nice places for you to visit,” he responds.

I furrow my brows. I didn’t peg Dallas for a tourist. “You’re familiar with Texas?”

“I’m from there,” he explains.

Holy shit. I had no idea Dallas was from Texas. I guess that would make sense now that I think about it since his name is literally Dallas. “You are?”

“I was born and raised in Austin. My parents decided to move to California when I left for the military and then when I came back, I moved to California to be closer to them,” he explains.

I smile at how much information I’m getting from him. “I’ve only ever visited for shows and appearances. I never got a chance to enjoy Texas. Tell me about it.”

“You would love Austin’s livelihood. It’s bustling with bar life, comedy shows, music performances, all sorts of things. You can never truly be bored there,” he recites and it sounds as if it’s all coming from fond memories. He adds a moment later, “Tell me about your dad.”

That request catches me off guard. I don’t get the chance to talk about my dad often.

Sure, I’ve spoken to the girls about him from time to time, and my mom will bring up fond memories sometimes, but I don’t get to reminisce often because it makes my mom sad and my friends didn’t know my dad.

“He was an amazing father. Have you ever met someone and thought, ‘That person was put on Earth to be a parent?’ That was my dad. He loved us so much, I don’t even think he knew what to do with all of his love.

He was so patient with me, teaching me to play guitar, and when he wasn’t teaching me, he would play for me and write me little songs.

” I smile at the memory. “For my sixteenth birthday, he told me he was gonna take me to Texas with him. We were gonna go for a visit together, just the two of us, and he was gonna play guitar at some bar he managed to get a live performance at. He wanted me to go and play with him and he even got me the pink boots and hat that I wear to this day. I was so excited to live his dream with him, you have no idea.”

I feel tears forming in my eyes at the end of the story. “But he died three days before we were supposed to go.”

Dallas reaches out and places a gentle hand on my cheek the way he’s grown to make a habit of, one I can’t say I don’t like. “He would’ve been so unbelievably proud of you, Ivory.”

A tear spills from the corner of my eye and lands on my pillow. “Thank you,” I whisper.

The room encases in silence and my eyelids start to grow heavier. As I drift off into sleep, I still feel Dallas’ hand on my cheek.