“I don’t give a shit about my blood pressure right now.” His eyes widened at my use of a cuss word. I blushed in shame. I rarely ever cussed. I tried not to ever let my emotions get the best of me. But I was failing miserably.
“Dawson, this is a conversation we need to have if we’re going to move on from everything in any capacity. Whether it be as friends, as everything or as nothing, we both need the closure,” I pleaded.
“I can’t watch you get hurt,” he croaked.
“Not dealing with this hurts worse. It has hurt every day for the past two years. We both screwed up back then. Gave up too easily, didn’t fight hard enough, moved on without properly ending things.” My chest heaved.
He tugged me into his arms. “Deep breaths. Slow your heart rate down, then we’ll talk. I promise.”
His heartbeat filled my ear. I concentrated on it, inhaling with every two thumps of his heart. Eventually, the thundering of my own slowed to a regular rhythm.
“For the record, I didn’t move on,” he said softly against my hair.
I pulled back. “I saw the photos. I even emailed you the one from the tabloid that shattered my heart and convinced me you were done with me. You were kissing another girl.” The ache in my chest grew just like it was yesterday. “The girl who took my place in your music video,” I finished on a whisper.
“That photo had to be old. I swear, it was not a new picture of me,” he tried to defend himself.
“How can you be so sure? There were lots of photos in the gossip rags where your arms were around groupies. How can you possibly remember each girl you screwed, let alone kissed over the past two years?” Blood rushed in my ears, making it hard to hear. My vision swam.
“I am a thousand percent sure that the photo was old because there has been no one since you,” he said quietly and calmly.
I had to have heard him wrong.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
Once the whooshing in my head stopped, I said, “What?”
“There. Has. Been. No. One. Since. You,” he emphasized each word. He leaned forward, making me slide backwards. “Since I kissed you goodbye in Europe, these lips haven’t touched anyone’s lips or other body parts. Not unless you count the little girl I kissed on the cheek at the children’s hospital in Vietnam.” He thrust his pelvis against the juncture of my thighs. “And this cock hasn’t been inside anyone else, in any capacity, since you got off my tour bus two years ago. Every single piece of me from the random thoughts in my head, to the beats of my heart, to the lyrics of my soul, to the DNA in every cell of my body belongs to you. Only you. That includes my kisses, my affections. Those things weren’t mine to give away. No matter what poor imitation of you was trotted out in front of me.” His hips circled against my center seductively again.
I moaned at the contact but frowned over the words. It was impossible. “H-how is…” I stammered unable to coherently speak my thoughts.
“What’s wrong, flutterby? Cat got your tongue?” he teased as his finger stroked my cheek.
I nodded, making a chuckle burst from him, shattering the tension sizzling between us.
“You want to know how I managed to go two years without hooking up with anyone when sex is constantly thrown at me?” he asked so easily.
I nodded again. At least my brain was working a little.
“The first year was easy. I kept holding out hope that when all the scandal died down, you would reach out. I didn’t even notice the women Lila posed me with for publicity photos. I always stood there stiffly. Detached. Anyway, after a year with no word from you, I did try to erase you from my mind,” he stated openly.
A tear trickled out of my eye over his admission that he’d tried to eliminate me from his thoughts. He thumbed it away.
“But even drunk and high, I couldn’t get out of my head and heart enough to seal the deal with anyone else. When each attempt ended in embarrassing failure, I stopped trying for the most part. Every so often, I’d think maybe it had finally been enough time. But her scent or her sound would be wrong. Her skin wouldn’t feel right under my fingers. It seems that loving you is written in my DNA, and I don’t have the power to erase that.”
My heart wanted to believe him. But my head was cautious. “What about the picture of you kissing the girl from the video?”
“I swear on every note of music I will ever create, that I did not kiss anyone after you. Not even in that music video. I couldn’t do it. Have you even watched the video?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Someone texted me the video before it even released. But I only watched long enough to see some girl who wasn’t me grinding against you while you played the song that used to get me so worked up.” I blushed, remembering.
He dug into his jeans pocket and produced his phone. His back settled against the headboard.
“First of all, I don’t know who sent you that video since I didn’t even have your new number. We’ll talk about that in a minute. But whoever did it was trying to hurt you, hurt us. Come here.” He drew me across his lap.
While he’d been talking, he was searching for the music video on YouTube. Moisture blurred my vision like a Pavlovian response as soon as the first note played. His eyes stared into mine. “Trust me,” he begged.
And for some reason, I did. I always had.
I watched in astonishment as the entire video played out as a live concert with girls dancing on stage—sometimes around the guys, sometimes in choreographed moves—rather than the story concept that was originally pitched to the guys from the director. The only time the girl even touched Dawson was in the opening scene. Throughout the video, Dawson’s face was contorted with heartache.
When the video ended, he said, “I was so stiff and unnatural when they tried to shoot the story scenes. I couldn’t fake one ounce of emotion. It really pissed everyone off. Time was short, so they decided to work around me and shoot just a performance of the song. Fan response to the idea of pulling dancers up on stage was so strong that they worked it into our live performances.”
“I saw that,” I mumbled. My head swirled with information. The combination of everything that happened over the past couple of days, my emotions and these new tidbits which contradicted what I thought I knew about the past couple of years made my brain hurt.
“In Austin,” he said.
“Yeah. When those girls came on stage, all I could picture was you taking the one dancing near you backstage and…” I couldn’t finish the thought. I didn’t need to. He knew what I meant.
“Never. The other guys did almost every show. Poor Maddox even fell in love with a few of them. But never me.” He pressed my backside more firmly against his crotch. “Someone who shall remain nameless wasn’t willing to rise to the occasion.” The tip of his nose traced along my jawline.
“Nameless but not unnoticed,” I teased as I wiggled against him, making him groan against my skin.
“Be still, woman,” he rasped. “We still need to finish hashing out everything.” He continued to mess around on his phone.
“What’s left to hash out? You didn’t cheat, and you didn’t move on.” After I said the words out loud, the weight of them burrowed in my heart. He never cheated. He hadn’t been with anyone in two years. Oh my gosh. Those two pieces of information made everything inside me go haywire.
“Well, you thought I ignored your messages and calls. And I thought you changed your number to be free of me and the drama I brought to your life. Remember those two assumptions we made?” he asked, kissing the top of my head.
My head bobbed up and down in response.
“I didn’t ignore your calls or texts or emails. I lost my phone. I didn’t find it until the tour ended and I was packing up my room on the bus. That’s when I got all your messages,” he mumbled.
“So, you just found out everything last month?” I asked in surprise.
“Yeah. I never got your new number until then,” he confirmed.
“And I neve
r got your new number until Mom gave it to me last month during my visit home. She confessed that she didn’t give it to me back then because she didn’t think I could handle being in touch with you while things were so dire with my health. She saw the same photos I did, so she thought—”
“That I cheated on you and broke your heart,” Dawson finished for me.
I turned my head so I could look him in the eyes. “Yep,” I said, popping the p.
“I did break your heart.” His face was a mosaic of guilt, regret and heartache.
“We broke each other’s hearts. Without meaning to,” I offered simply. There wasn’t some big, convoluted thing that tore us apart. No huge act of betrayal. Just a couple of small, imperfectly timed circumstances. I laughed harshly, with no hint of humor in the sound.
“We were both wrong. Stupidly wrong. How the hell did we let something like a lost phone and unanswered messages drive us apart?” Dawson shook his head sadly. “Every promise I ever made you was broken because I couldn’t keep up with my damn phone. And because I didn’t say screw the recording contract and didn’t get on a plane to demand you talk to me. I’m so sorry, flutterby. Can you ever forgive me?” His eyes filled with moisture.
“Only if you can forgive me for thinking you’d tossed me aside for the glitz and wildness of the rock star life.” I wrapped my arms around his neck.
“Think if we forgive each other, we’ll forgive ourselves? Because I think that will be harder.” He rested his head on my shoulder.
“Only one way to find out. Let’s try.” Before he could protest, I spun around and straddled his lap.
“Flutterby, we shouldn—”
I cut him off by planting my lips firmly on his. His hands gripped my hips while my hands delved into his luxurious locks. My body scooched closer until my chest was pressed against his. As our tongues dueled, his fingers crept up the back of my shirt. Those calloused digits against my soft skin sent shivers across my back. The thin cotton of my leggings did little to disguise the heat pulsing from his cock. My heart and body were all for riding the Dawson train, but my head wasn’t quite ready to jump on yet. Two to one, though.
All aboard. Choo-choo.
All too soon, Dawson tore his mouth from mine. “We can’t,” he panted, his breath fanning my face.
My lips felt tender and swollen and so cold without his heat against them. “Yes, we can.”
“Pretty sure this won’t fit the description of taking it easy or keep your blood pressure low,” he said in a stern voice.
“But I need you,” I said with a pout.
He tucked me back against him in a non-sensual way. “I’m right here. And while I need you just as much, I can be patient. We have to wait for now. It’s always been worth the wait, right?” He cocked his head at me.
“Yes,” I agreed. Whenever we’d had to wait in the past, our joining had always been so much sweeter. “I think I need a cold shower now.”
My body vibrated with the force of his laughter. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea either. But I can probably give you a sponge bath.” His eyebrows waggled at me.
I swatted him on the chest. “I don’t think that will help calm down the need that’s racing in my veins.” Sliding backwards on his legs, I shifted to climb off the bed.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Gotta pee.” I swayed as I got to my feet.
“Whoa, there. Let me help you.” Dawson scrambled up behind me and led me to the bathroom.
I gripped the doorframe and smiled at him. “Thanks. I … uh … got it from here.”
“Oh yeah, sorry.” He dropped his arm from around my waist.
Once I stepped onto the cool tiled floor, I pulled the door shut behind me and flipped on the switch. Carefully, I shuffled over to the toilet to take care of business. Done, I stepped to the sink to wash my hands. When I caught sight of my reflection, I gasped.
“Everything OK in there, flutterby?” Dawson asked through the door.
“No,” I shrieked.
The door banged open as Dawson charged inside. Confusion covered his face as he stared at me. “What’s wrong? Are you dizzy? In pain?”
“Why didn’t you tell me I looked so hideous?” One cheek was a practice in abstract art. An ugly scab was on my forehead. My collarbone was bruised.
“I didn’t tell you that because it would be a lie.” He stared at my reflection, nothing but love and adoration in his gaze.
Turning, I planted my hands in the center of his chest and shoved him backwards. Caught off guard, he stumbled for a half-step before standing firm.
“Don’t look at me,” I mumbled as tears spilled down my cheeks.
Dawson reached for me, and though I tried to resist, my strength was already sapped.
As he cradled me close to his heart, he said, “I will never be able to resist looking at you. And I will always think you’re the most beautiful thing God ever created.”
I didn’t answer, choosing to let my self-pity leak from my eyes a little longer. When the tears finally slackened, I lifted my head from his chest.
“Better now?” he asked, tilting my chin up.
“A little,” I answered with a hint of a smile. “But I still feel pretty disgusting. I mean, not only am I scabby and discolored, but there’s ick in my hair,” I whined as my fingers tried to gently comb through the area that was matted with dried blood. I dipped my nose into my shoulder. “And I reek of hospital.”
His chuckle vibrated me, making me giggle. “So, I’m hearing you want to get cleaned up?”
I nodded my head vehemently.
He eased us farther into the bathroom. Keeping one arm around me to hold me steady, he reached the other one out to lower the lid on the toilet. Carefully, he pressed me backwards until I was sitting.
He moved around my bathroom like no time had passed since the last time he was here, grabbing a couple of fluffy towels from the shelf and my loofa, body wash and shampoo from the shower. Then he squatted to peer in the cabinets under my sink. I watched in silence, trying to figure out what he was doing.
“Where’s that pan you use for cleaning?” he asked, rummaging around.
“Umm, it broke a while back, so I threw it out. Why?” I asked with a frown.
“How about a bucket? Is there one in the kitchen?”
“Noooo.” I had no idea what he was up to.
“No problem. I can use a pot.” He got to his feet.
“Are you planning to scrub my floor or something?” I peered up at him.
“No. Just you,” he said with a wink and slipped his arm around me to ease me to my feet.
“What are you talking about? I don’t need a pot to get clean. Are you sure you don’t have a concussion?” I teased.
“Sponge bath, flutterby. I would’ve thought with all the time you spent… you know… in the hospital the past couple of years that you’d be no stranger to the concept.” He moved us towards the door.
“Ah, negative, Ghostrider. You are not giving me a sponge bath. All that time in the hospital made me loathe them. I never felt truly clean after one. I can take a shower. By myself.” I jerked my arm from his grip and shuffled to the counter to get my shower supplies.
With a deep breath, I forced myself to move with sure, confident steps.
Dawson surveyed me, amusement causing his lips to quirk up. I leaned over the edge of the tub, trying to put my stuff back on the shelf. My body wobbled, and I collapsed to the edge. Dawson was by my side in an instant.
“Izzy, you can’t stand in the shower on your own.” He pried the loofah from my clenched fingers. “Let me help you.”
“I can’t,” I whispered.
“Why not, flutterby? I can behave. I promise.” He held up his fingers like a scout taking a pledge.
“It’s not that. I mean, yeah being naked and unable to do anything would be torture. Probably.” I smirked up at him.
“Is it because of what went wrong between us? Because y
ou can’t see yourself with me since I didn’t fight hard enough?” Pain carved deep lines around his eyes and turned his beautiful lips down.
“No, I swear it has nothing to do with that.” I wrapped my arms around my middle, trying to keep all my important broken bits contained within me so he couldn’t see them.
His lips pressed into a thin line. “Complete honesty?” he asked.
Crap. We’d played that damn scenario so many times over the years. Whenever one of us called for complete honesty, the other had to answer the questions following the declaration completely truthful.
I nodded.
“If Beckett was here, would you let him take care of you?” his voice trembled, and he looked so vulnerable.
I drew a deep breath. “You can’t compare the two of you.”
“The hell I can’t. You don’t think I can take care of you as well as he can,” Dawson hissed. Agony and anger rolled off him in waves.
“Daw, Beckett is a doctor. He knows things. Has seen things. I wouldn’t have to worry about what he’d think,” I rambled, desperate to make him understand.
“You don’t have to remind me that he saw things. I get it. I hate it, but I get it. But whatever worries you have, let me ease them,” he pleaded with me.
I shifted my weight, so I wouldn’t fall from my perch on the edge of the tub. If there was anyone in the world I could trust, it was Dawson. Time, distance and heartbreak hadn’t really changed that.
Resigned, I sat up straighter and gripped the hem of my shirt. Lifting it over my head, I bared myself for an instant before clutching the soft fabric against my body. When Mom brought me clothes to wear home, she hadn’t brought a bra or underwear. So, without the shirt, my breasts were bare to him. And I was oddly self-conscious in a way I hadn’t been since we were teenagers.
Dawson’s eyes had gone wide, and the sound of his swallow was unnaturally loud in the small space.
“No one has seen outside of doctors and nurses… Not even my parents,” I murmured.
Dawson kneeled so he could peer in my eyes. “Seen what?”
Songs of the Heart: Lyrical Odyssey Rock Star Series Book 3 Page 20
