It’s beautiful. But is it enough? Am I happy?
Being a clinical psychologist with a PhD, one would think I could figure out what’s missing from my life, what causes the hollow ache in my chest when I’m alone, but it’s like my old boss used to say: “Doctor, heal thyself.” We never want to look too closely at the reflection in the mirror. What if we don’t like what we find?
I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts, looking for someone, anyone, to call for a night of fun. My old coworker, Rena? No, she’s a newlywed and won’t want to leave her husband. Helen, a woman who used to live next door to me in my condo in Malibu? No, she’s always way too descriptive with her sex life, and not in a Sex in the City girl-bonding way. It’s more of a shut up before I have to bleach my brain of the graphic pictures you’re describing kind of way.
My finger hovers over a number I never erased but haven’t dialed in years. For all I know, he changed it eons ago and I’ll get a dry cleaner’s somewhere downtown. I can’t count the number of hours I’ve stared at the contact information, never gathering the courage to hit send. Instead, I’ve been content to remember the fun times we used to have when we were together. In these memories, I conveniently choose to forget all of his self-destructive behaviors. Ones which, if you believe the gossip magazines, he still has to this day.
I down the rest of the wine and push the green button before I can talk myself out of it.
The phone rings once… twice… three times until voice mail picks up.
“Hey.” My body tenses at the sound of his familiar voice. It vibrates down my spine, where a pool of warmth spreads over my skin. “This is Hawke, leave a message.”
My fingers fumble with the phone before I clumsily hang up.
Crap!
I toss the phone on a nearby table and clutch my chest where my heart is hammering. I honestly didn’t expect the number to be the same. Who manages to keep the same phone number for almost ten years, let alone after rising to the level of fame that Hawke and the rest of the guys have found?
Memories of sitting close to Hawke, our arms and knees brushing, electricity crackling between us, assault my mind. I close my eyes and picture it as if it were just yesterday. Hawke’s handsome face and those stunning multicolored eyes looking fondly at me from behind thick, black-framed glasses.
No. We were never meant to be. We were so wrong for each other. I was right to walk away.
The pain in my chest reminds me that breaking it off with Hawke didn’t stop me from getting hurt.
Shaking and upset, I try to distract myself by reading, watching TV, cooking dinner, online shopping… anything and everything possible. When nothing works, I change clothes and go for a run on the beach, cranking up the music and pounding out five miles, and still can’t rid my mind of Hawke’s beautiful face, strong profile, and swaths of colored ink trailing down his arms.
“Way to go, Abby. You’re officially a head case.” I snort and take a quick shower.
As I get ready for bed, I check the time— eight p.m. That’s eleven in New Jersey. Would Kate still be awake? Last time I saw her she was four months pregnant. Now, she’s closer to eight months, and as friendly as an irritated badger every time I talk to her. Before I can overthink the situation, I take my chances and call my best friend, who lives thousands of miles from me on the East Coast.
“Abby! I’m so glad you called!” Kate is perky and excited. Far from the sleepy, grumbling person I expected to answer.
“Huh? You are?”
The phone is muffled for a moment and I hear Dax speaking in the background, then Kate replying to him sharply.
“Sorry,” she huffs, exasperated.
“What’s going on? Everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Dax is just driving me mental! His overprotectiveness is going to send me over the edge.”
I grin at her frustration. Knowing Dax—her enormous, hot-tempered husband—he’s likely threatening anyone who comes anywhere near his pregnant wife.
“I bet he is,” I chuckle.
“It’s not funny, Abby!” Kate whines, her British accent as endearing as ever. “He doesn’t want me coaching until after the baby is born. It’s ridiculous!”
“What does he think will happen?” I picture Kate arguing her point, big belly protruding, while her six-foot-three-inch monster of a man scowls and crosses his arms over his wide chest.
“Who bloody knows?” Kate is sure to be throwing her arms up in the air, accentuating her irritation. We lived together for years while we were both in college here in southern California, so I’m well acquainted with her quirks. “Maybe he thinks the baby will fall out onto the pitch and get punted into the goal.”
Dax immediately replies loud enough for me to hear. “That’s not funny, Kate! Fucking hell!” I laugh at Dax’s disgusted voice in the background.
“Oh bugger off, Dax! I’m only joking!” Kate yells back.
“I can call at a better time.” I hold in my amusement to keep Kate from getting angrier.
“Don’t you dare,” Kate snaps. She lowers her voice to a whisper. “Then I’ll have to deal with the angry beast in the next room.”
“All right, all right. How is the baby doing?”
“The baby is big. Enormous. I feel like a… a… what are those big gray whale things that look like seals?”
“A manatee?”
“Yes, that. I feel like a manatee. A big bloated one.”
I roll my eyes and smile. “I’m certain you don’t look like a manatee, Kate.”
“Hmph. I don’t want to talk babies, Abby. Your life must be more fun than mine. What’s going on in sunny California?”
“Not much. Not much at all. I’m sure even pregnant, your stories are better than mine.” I can’t keep the unhappiness out of my voice.
“Abby. That doesn’t sound like you.” Kate must shift or climb into bed, because I hear her grunt and the rustle of fabric as she settles in place. “Tell me why you’re down.”
I sigh. “I didn’t call to have a pity party, Kate. Well… maybe I did, but not the way you think.” I walk over to the windows and watch the sun as it sets over the Pacific, streaks of purple and orange and red reflecting off the water. “I’m just bored, I guess. Or lonely. I don’t know, Kate. All I do is work and come home. That’s it. I have nothing else in my life.”
“You have your family,” she reminds me.
“Yeah, I do.” The dull stab of long-buried pain cramps my stomach before I can force it away. I never told Kate about Nick. I never told anyone, not even Hawke.
“You have me. You could always take a break, come visit to help me get ready before the baby is born.”
“You don’t need me in the way—”
“Are you kidding? I have no bloody clue how to take care of a baby, Abby! I could use all the help I can get gathering all the gear a baby needs. Nappies and bouncers and all that junk. I haven’t even started on the nursery.”
“Maybe,” I reply just to get Kate off the topic.
Naturally, she’s as relentless as ever. “No maybes. Come visit me. It’s been ages since you’ve been. Next week is my last week of work. That gives me four weeks off before the baby comes. I need help decorating and planning, you need time off. Call me when you’ve booked your flight.”
“But—”
“Nonsense. Bye, love!”
Kate disconnects before I can say another word.
I guess I’m going to New Jersey.
Hawke
“Christ, Dax. What the fuck? Are you having one baby or an entire litter?” One foot in the front door and I realize I’ve walked into a nightmare. I glance around the room at the towers of boxes, brightly colored plastic toys, and stacks and stacks of pink fabric folded up on the huge leather sectional.
Dax glares my way, his brow pulling low over his dark eyes. “Don’t be a wanker. This…” A huge hand waves at the piles of baby related crap, “is all Kate and Abby.”
My shoulders tense when Dax mentions Abby. Dax continues staring as I struggle to come up with a response to finding out that the gorgeous, tan, and blonde girl I loved a lifetime ago is somewhere in this house. With me.
“Abby? She’s here?” My voice cracks and I have to clear my throat in order to not sound like a pathetic loser. I think about Abby, her skin, her smile, the way she felt beneath me, and my pulse kicks up a notch.
“Well, she’s here, but her and Kate are out shopping right now, so they’re not here.”
Blessedly, Dax looks back at the mountain of stuff. He either doesn’t notice the flush of heat on my neck under the tattoos, or doesn’t care. Either way, I’m glad he keeps quiet.
“So,” I grumble, pretending my mind isn’t filled with thoughts of Abby and the faint beachy scent that always seemed to surround her. Will she smell the same? “What’s the plan here?”
When Dax found out I was heading to New York for a few days, he called to see if I would help out with getting the nursery ready for their impending arrival. He didn’t mention Abby in any of our conversations. Not once.
Dax reaches into a brown plastic bag with a familiar orange logo on the side and hands me a paintbrush. “Now,” he raises an eyebrow, “we do whatever my wife says.”
“Fuck, seriously, Dax?” I stare at the brush and spot three cans of paint stacked next to a horrific primary-colored nightmare of plastic and buttons and various baby implements, and cringe. Thrusting the brush back at him, I blurt out, “I don’t paint. You’re loaded. Hire someone to do this shit.”
Dax, towering over my modest five-foot-ten-inch frame, curls up the corner of his lip and growls. “Listen.” A thick finger stabs into my sternum, and I have to grind my teeth together so I don’t take a swing at a man who could quite easily pound me into the ground without breaking a sweat. “Kate doesn’t want strangers in the house poking around while she’s pregnant, and I happen to agree with her. You said you would help, so shut yer gob and follow me.”
He spins on his heel and picks up all three cans of paint in one big hand, stalking down the wide hall of their huge but well lived-in home. “Adam will be here after lunch!” Dax calls out over his shoulder. “Don’t tell him he’ll be painting or the lazy bastard won’t turn up!”
Fuck me. Painting, a pregnant Kate, a bitchy Dax Davies, Adam’s teasing, and Abby fucking Kessler. This is going to be a train wreck.
Two hours later, I’m covered in gray, cream, and turquoise paint, drips and splatters all over my clothes and skin. Adam, the lazy prick, finally arrived about twenty minutes ago, just in time for cleanup.
“Dax! Where’s the remote for your stereo?”
Dax, as big and scary as he is, has recently developed a bizarre penchant for 80s British Pop. New Order’s “Blue Monday” is currently blaring from the house-wide stereo system.
“Adam, don’t fucking touch my music!”
I roll my eyes as they bicker like an old married couple. It’s entertaining on my best days, but today? Not so much. It’s irritating as fuck.
“So, what’s your story?” Adam asks as he bangs the top down on one of the paint cans with a huge rubber hammer.
“What do you mean?”
While Adam works, I snatch a wet rag off the floor and scrub at a stubborn blotch of paint on the back of my hand. Frustrated when it won’t come off, I rub harder, desperate to rid myself off the gray drip that bisects one of my tattoos—the small, barren branches that represent my nonexistent family tree.
The memory of being in total darkness with warm wet splotches all over my skin creeps in, unwelcome and grisly. I shudder, tossing the rag to the ground once the paint is gone, the spot now replaced with an angry red welt.
“What do I mean?” Adam asks, giving me an incredulous look. “I mean, why are you in New Jersey? Besides acting as menial labor for that tosser over there.” He gestures toward Dax, who scowls in return.
I hesitate telling them why I was passing through New York, not in the mood for another lecture about my “risky behaviors” at the moment. If the two of them knew I was planning on jumping a flight to the Bahamas to do a famous free dive at Dean’s Blue Hole and then scuba dive in the underwater caves, they would badger me until I changed my mind. Which I won’t.
Instead, I save my sanity by being vague. “Nothing specific.” I shrug.
Adam shoots me an odd expression. “You flew across the entirety of the United States for nothing specific?”
“Fuck off, Reynolds.”
Adam opens his mouth to give me hell when the front door to the house slams shut and a loud female voice barking in a British accent travels down the hall.
“Dax! We need help bringing stuff inside!”
“Christ,” Dax grumbles. He wipes his hands on paint-splattered athletic shorts and walks over to Adam and me. “The girls are back. C’mon and help me bring in the mountain of useless baby shite they bought.”
My heart stutters and I trip on my own feet. I’m about to come face to face with Abby for the first time in years and I’m not sure how to act, what to say, or what to expect. I’m not even sure how I feel about seeing her again, especially after the way things were left so long ago.
Adam shouts from the front room. “Evans! Get your useless arse out here!”
The insult jolts me out of my own head. “Coming!” I pray I don’t sound as nervous as I feel.
Shit. I can step out of an airplane at fifteen thousand feet, no problem. Climb the side of a steep cliff? No big deal. But the thought of holding a normal conversation with my ex, the very sexy, highly intelligent, now PhD-holding Abby Kessler, has me freaking the hell out. I’ve always regretted ruining our relationship, not willing to let her get close enough to really understand me.
Well, that and the fact that I’m a fucked-up mess with enough demons to keep me that way for the rest of my life.
Inhaling deep, I follow Adam and Dax toward the front door. Time to face the past.
Abby
“You okay?” Kate’s protruding belly bumps into me as she attempts to pull the boxed-up infant car seat out of the trunk of her SUV.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.” I swat her hands away, tugging the enormous box to the back edge of the tailgate. “You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep lifting heavy things, Kate.”
“What’s this about you lifting stuff?” Dax comes into the four-car garage, his displeasure with his wife evident in his dark eyes.
Kate backs away, putting her hands on her hips. “What? I’m pregnant, not an invalid, Dax.”
He slides his arms around her shoulders and drops a kiss on her head. “I know, angel. I just don’t want you to do anything strenuous. The doctor said no heavy lifting.”
The love in their eyes as they stare at each other is clear. I look away. Not only is the moment private, but I’m also filled with a profound sadness. No one has ever gazed at me that way. Well, Hawke came close, but there was always something in those unusual eyes holding him back.
“Abby!” Adam Reynolds, charming lead singer for the guys’ very successful band, hurries over to take the bulky car seat from me. “Good to see you, love. But leave the big things to us men.” He winks, then promptly fumbles the box, dropping it on the cement floor of the garage with a loud thwack.
“Christ, Adam!” Dax booms.
Kate smacks her husband’s abs, scowling. “Leave him alone, Dax! He’s helping.”
Dax grimaces. “Yeah, helping to break everything.”
Adam laughs, breaking the thick tension. “Fuck off, Davies.”
I’m sure I look ridiculous, my eyes bouncing back and forth between Dax and Adam. They’ve always been this way, arguing and picking on each other. It reminds me of my brother, Nick, during the good times. Before his illness took over his life, we used to bicker and laugh.
“Are you guys going to pick that up or just leave it on the ground forever?”
Electricity skitters down my spine at the sound of Hawke�
�s teasing voice. Oh my god. I close my eyes and silently curse my best friend out. Kate didn’t mention Hawke would be here. Am I ready to see him again? To find out if he’s finally dealt with any of the myriad of issues he used to hide behind a pair of unnecessary glasses and a slew of tattoos?
No, but it’s too late now.
Slowly, I turn around. When I lay eyes on the man I used to love, everything else fades away. He looks the same, yet different. More tattoos, a few more lines around his beautiful eyes—heterochromia—I looked it up once. One eye is light brown, one blue, and both are fixed on me.
“Hi.”
That’s what I come up with to say after almost seven years apart? Hi?
“Hey,” he mumbles, his gaze dropping to the box on the ground. “I’ll get this one, Reynolds. Since it seems your arms are too spindly to hold on to it.”
Hawke scoops up the large package and quickly leaves the garage. I stare after him, wondering if that was perhaps the most awkward conversation to ever take place.
“Let’s get the rest of the stuff. Ugh, my feet are so swollen. Abby?”
Kate’s voice pulls me from my daze. “Sure. You probably need to lie down and put your feet up.” I give her a weak smile, one she can tell isn’t genuine, if the confused look on her face means anything.
Once everything is in the house, Kate immediately announces how hungry she is.
“Hawke, can you and Abby run and pick up some dinner? I’m calling an order into Gino’s.” She has her phone to her ear and turns her back on us, effectively dismissing us to do her bidding.
Really, Kate?
I’m going to kill her for this. She knows what happened between Hawke and me way back when and is putting us together on purpose. Forced into a car alone isn’t exactly how I want to reconnect. Not after so long and not after the way we left things when we broke up.
The Complete Rockstar Series Page 88
