by Mia Kayla
His tears. My tears.
His hands. My hands.
His clothes. My clothes.
We met where passion forgot pain.
Chapter 10
It was over as fast as it’d started. Hawke on top of me, me cradling him between my legs, ending with me in his arms. He pulled me into him, spooning me from behind. His tears had ceased, but mine continued. But harder and for a different reason—guilt.
I could’ve stopped him. I had a voice. I could have said no, but he was in pain with an ache so strong, something that I understood. And he had said I was the only girl he’d ever loved, the only person who mattered. Through his deep-rooted miserable sobs, I had wanted to console him, ease his anguish, and I’d wanted to ease mine, but we’d taken it too far.
They said it took one moment, a split second, to make a decision that could change the rest of your life, and I knew I had made mine. The instant I’d let Hawke take me I knew that my future—the one I had hoped to have with Josh—was over.
My cries turned into sobs, and sobs turned into hiccups. I knew Hawke was asleep from his soft breaths against my neck. In that moment, I hated myself. For betraying Josh, for not fighting hard enough for the both of us. I hated that one second that I could’ve taken another route, and I hadn’t.
I glanced over at Hawke. His face was still beautifully perfect, just as it was pictured on every poster or best-selling magazine adorning the walls of millions of women. But it was no longer what I wanted.
He’d said he loved me, but the fairy tale of me and the rock star, married with kids and on tour, in a mansion, was not something I longed for.
In that brief moment of passion, I had felt nothing.
A constant knock on the door forced me to sit up on the bed. My breathing slowed as I slipped out of bed, walked out of the bedroom, and down the foyer to open the door. My eyes took in the sexy brunette in a fitted black halter-top dress.
She walked straight past me.
“Hey!”
I tried to stop her, but she strolled toward Hawke’s bedroom, ignoring the fact that the thin fabric of the sheet was covering my naked body, ignoring me completely.
She knows where his bedroom is. She’s been here.
“Excuse me. Who are you? What are you doing here?”
She approached his bed, dropped on all fours, and reached for something under the bed. After pulling out a small black purse, she stood and flattened her hands down her dress. She peered at Hawke soundly sleeping on his stomach, ass cheeks on display.
“I have to admit, he’s a fucking fine specimen. Not to mention, great in bed.”
Her words were like a sledgehammer slamming against my skull, causing me to stagger back.
“Don’t look at me like that.” Her tone was suave and smooth, matching her demeanor. “Let me guess. You met him at a concert.” She paused, waiting for me to confirm, to heighten the blow when she already knew. “Now, you’re special. You mean something to him, right?” She let out a low laugh and slipped her bag over her shoulder. “We’re not special. I was here to help him forget today. I’m sure you were here to do the same thing.” She tipped her head in my direction. “The difference between you and me is that I get paid, and I’m good at what I do.”
I held my stomach, feeling unsteady. I had no words, and I doubted my ability to speak.
My facial features fell because I couldn’t hold up my poker face any longer, and then I saw it—pity. I read the pity in her eyes. And I knew why. She had come here, fully knowing what the real deal was, where I had been played—played like a sad song.
“Just telling you how it is. It’ll save you girls a lot of heartbreak later. My company’s very discreet and tight-lipped about all our clients. That’s why he’s been a client of ours for years. I mean, it’s my first time with him, but I’ve seen his file.”
My body visibly shook, every one of my muscles trembled. Bile formed behind my throat.
“He never wants the same girl. He wants a different girl every few weeks. Just like clockwork.” She walked past me, her words fleeting and without malice, which made the hurt in my arms, in my head, in my chest worse.
I didn’t have time to see her walk out before I ran to the bathroom, dropped to the floor and dry-heaved over the toilet as hot tears streamed down my face. Nothing was coming out. I stuck my finger down my throat to throw up because, sometimes, throwing up when I felt sick to my core made me better. But nothing was coming out when I wanted everything to come out—the dirt, the guilt, my endless believing heart.
The satin sheet lay below my feet as memories of our months together flew past me like a bad dream. I’d wanted to believe him, so I had. The heart and mind had wanted to believe what they wanted to believe, giving into his tales to be happy, but that happiness had been fake because that happiness had been built on lies.
I stood, needing to get out of this place. After rushing to the bedroom, I staggered mid step, seeing him sleeping on the bed. I slipped on my clothes, and another rush of unease filled my belly. My hands cupped my mouth as I rushed to the bathroom…again.
I needed something, anything, to curb this foul taste in my mouth. I pulled open the drawers, looking for toothpaste or mouthwash, something. But then the tears ceased, and my stomach dropped and kept going. Or maybe it was my heart. Who knew? But I heard the crack when it tumbled onto the marble.
Two quarter-sized plastic bags with white powder sat next to a vial with multiple needles. Prescription drugs were laid out in the drawer.
The lies were endless, the deceit infinite.
My pulse skyrocketed. I’d never experienced a full-on panic attack, but I was sure that was what I was going through now.
My vision blurred, and the next thing I knew, I was frantically searching through Hawke’s suitcases in his bedroom. Underneath his clothes were more of the same things—packets of white powder, vials of liquid, and needles. A ton of needles. And condoms, enough to screw an army of groupies, which I was sure he’d done.
My body temperature elevated, and hot sweats flushed every millimeter of my skin.
My jaw clenched. The muscles in my neck tensed, sweat forming at my brow. Manic deep breaths shook me. I was going to be sick. Again.
This time, I swallowed back the bile that crept up my throat and forced my feet to steady.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid girl!
I wanted to pull my hair out. I was so stupid.
In the next second, I didn’t think. I just reacted. My hands moved of their own accord, and I scooped up all his shit and rushed to the bathroom. It looked like I was the head of a drug cartel as I laid everything at my feet. Then, I began to get rid of everything, emptying the powder and the prescription drugs and vials into the toilet and flushing. Like I was a madwoman, I was just dumping and flushing, dumping and flushing.
There was probably over a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of drugs here, but it didn’t matter. I was sure he’d get more.
I was on my knees, dumping the last of the drugs when he walked in. His eyes widened at the mess.
“What are you doing?” His face turned to panic as he reached for me.
I shoved at his chest, going ballistic. “You’re a fucking liar! Liar!” I screamed. “I hate you. I hate you!” Tears coursed down my face, and I hated that he was seeing me cry, yet I couldn’t stop the tears from falling.
He let me push him and yell, and he didn’t say one thing during my tirade, which only confirmed that I was right. He was still using.
When I was done screaming, my throat burned like I’d drunk acid.
He came toward me, his eyes cautious and guilty. “Sunshine, calm down.”
“Fuck you!” I backed away slowly, so he could see and feel the anger emanating from my every pore. I didn’t need to tell him about his female visitor because I was done. “I don’t want to hear your lies anymore. I don’t want anything to do with you. You are scum. You are nothing to me.” I raised my chin, my eyes never leav
ing his.
The look on his face told me that my words had gutted him, but I kept going because he had played me for a fool. All this time.
I took in a deep breath through my nose, regaining control. “You contact me, I swear to God, I’ll tell the world. I’ll sell our story to the paparazzi. All of it. I’ll make millions, and they’ll love every word.”
He took another step, his hand outstretched.
Palms up, I screamed, “Don’t touch me! You don’t deserve to touch me. I hate you. Do you hear me? I. Hate. You.”
My eyes filled with a hatred so strong, I was shaking.
When I rushed into the bedroom, Hawke followed.
Tilton was there to greet me, probably alarmed from all the commotion.
“Sunshine…” Hawke called out my name.
But I blocked out his voice. I wished I could erase the sound, his tone, his everything from my memory.
I moved past Tilton to reach for my purse and shoes by the bed.
After slipping on my Converse, I rushed toward the door but not before Hawke’s hard tone called out, “Tilton.”
One word, and the big beast was in front of me, blocking my path to the exit. I flipped around, one hand fisted against my purse, the other tightly clenched at my side. Neck taut, eyes fuming, I dared him to stop me from leaving.
“NDA, Tilton.”
It took a few moments before the acronym registered. Nondisclosure agreement.
I blinked a few times, unable to fathom what was happening. Who was this guy that I’d thought I knew?
I held my chin high. “I’m not signing one,” I said with such force and such certainty that he had to know that blood would be shed before I signed any piece of paper. I would have no freedom from him then. If I didn’t have this to hold over his head, I’d never get him to leave me alone.
I wanted nothing from him, nor did I want to be involved in his lifestyle, the glamour that was made-up fairy tales. Everything I had experienced with the rock star was laced with drugs, partying, and an endless life of shed tears. I would no longer fall for his lies, feel pity for him. He was beyond saving because he was the Devil himself. I could take control of my own life, and Hawke was no longer a part of it.
“Don’t contact me. Ever,” I said coolly. “Or I’ll go through with my word.” I glowered, my eyes conveying the fury within me. “You wouldn’t know what love is. You don’t know love.”
“Sunshine”—his shoulders curled in over his chest, and his tone visibly shook—“don’t.” His eyes were begging, trying one more time.
But it was fake. And his voice no longer affected me.
I turned to leave and walked out the door, never looking back.
I made a solemn vow to myself. I would never, ever see Hawke again.
Chapter 11
My head rested against the headboard of my bed, feet over my comforter, as I held an opened envelope in my hand.
I got in.
Into Le Cordon Bleu.
But that wasn’t what was in the forefront of my mind.
“Call him.” Chloe pushed my cell toward me, but all I wanted to do was lie in my bed. Forever. “It’s been weeks,” she said, as if I needed reminding.
What did she want me to do? Beg for him back? I didn’t deserve him. He’d never forgive me. I’d never forgive myself.
“I’m not calling him.” My voice was fragile, shaky, just like my insides. “He deserves so much better than me.”
She nodded. “That, he does, but I hate seeing you so miserable, and from his texts, I know he’s miserable, too.”
I peered up at her, my eyebrows pulling together. “You’ve been texting him?”
“Yes.” Blunt, honest, and to the point. “And he’s been texting me back.”
Jealousy spiked within me. They were strictly friends, but envy filled my veins. I wanted Josh texts. Happy, silly, emoji-filled texts.
“What has he said?” I didn’t want to be curious, but I wanted to know everything he had been doing. Every single thing.
I wanted him to sing horribly in my ear. I wanted him to hold me and utter his crazy, corny lines.
Heat formed behind my eyes. Just when I thought I had cried all my tears, there were more. All because of my own stupidity.
Her lips pursed together, as though she were thinking about something in her head. “He doesn’t ask about you. And I know why.” She angled closer, her eyes thoughtful. “It’s because it hurts too much, I’m sure. I know heartbreak. It hurts. Everything hurts. Even when he hears your name, it hurts. More so when he says it.” She put a consoling hand on my shoulder, her eyes firmly meeting mine. “And, if he doesn’t ask about you, that doesn’t mean that he’s not thinking about you. In my opinion, if he’s not asking about you, he’s thinking about you more.”
My chin dipped into my chest, guilt rising within me. “I messed up. So bad, Chloe. I go back to that one second every single day. That one nanosecond when I felt sympathy and sadness, and in that one brief moment, I fell weak.”
She blew out a breath, and I knew she understood. “You’re dumb and naive, and Hawke played the right cards. I’m not saying he wasn’t depressed about his mother’s death. I’m saying that he used your compassion, knowing you had a boyfriend, and seduced you anyway.”
I shook my head, not wanting to relive one of the worst nights of my life. “Enough.” I dropped my gaze to my purple comforter. “I’m not going to play the victim here. I’m an adult.” It took two that night. “I’m the stupidest blonde on the planet.”
After a beat, she pulled me into her. It was what I needed. The comfort of her warmth and her consoling words to relieve me, like they always did. She was my angel on earth.
“You’re going to do what I told you years ago,” she said softly. “You’re going to get up, and you’re going to live.” She kissed my forehead then.
She had repeated the words she had said when my mother died. After her death, Chloe had functioned as my rock, repeating those words to me like a broken record until I finally believed it.
“Live. But not too wildly this time.” She tucked an escaping strand of my hair behind my ear. “The best thing that came out of this situation is that stalker-rocker of yours is out of your life. For good.”
I couldn’t agree with her more. Though the anger inside me had not subsided. The more I thought of Hawke, the more the hatred within me grew. The drugs. The women. The lies. And I had believed them all.
I shook those morbid thoughts out of my head. I needed to move on before it made me sick, before I sank into a hole so deep, I’d never get out.
After Chloe pulled the blanket over our knees, she grabbed the remote. “Sex and the City?” she asked with her signature Chloe smile.
My shoulder bumped against hers. “Yes. Nothing a little HBO and Carrie Bradshaw can’t fix.”
I needed laughter and sunshine to break my mood.
I craved Josh’s sunshine, but that sun had set and would never rise again.
After the third episode of Sex and the City, I slipped out of bed to use the bathroom. When I was on the toilet, Chloe’s box of tampons on the floor caught my eye.
I blinked.
And held my breath.
Counting the days until my next cycle.
Then, it hit me.
Like a boulder against a building, taking it down and leaving destruction behind.
I was late.
Very late.
My legs shook when I stood. Then, full-body tremors took over.
“Oh, please, no,” I begged, hopping on both feet.
I paced the small room, back and forth, forth and back, with no destination in mind. Then, I dropped to my knees, searching under the sink for a pregnancy test. Chloe was always safe, but for some reason, she always thought she was pregnant.
I pulled out a test from the three-pack box and waited.
Drank the sink water.
And waited some more.
Both of my hands were p
ressed against my head as I hovered over the sink.
When the urge came, I peed on the stick that could potentially alter my future.
I waited.
One stripe.
Then, two.
Two lines. Lines that altered my culinary career and my whole life.
I blinked, but the outcome didn’t change.
In the next second, I stood, and then I crumbled to the ground. There was an intense ringing in my ears, a pain spreading to my chest, lungs, throat, and feet.
This was not happening.
Not. Happening.
How could I be so stupid? After that crazy night with Hawke, I’d gotten tested. I was clean. I hadn’t contemplated being pregnant.
Who knew how much time had passed, but I stayed motionless in the same spot.
The banging on the bathroom door would not relent.
“Open up, Sammy! What the hell? A girl has to pee, too!” Chloe continued banging on the door.
The sounds of her voice and the hitting of her fist against the wood were numb in my ears. All I heard was the deep boom of my heartbeat. All I felt was the sweat on the inside of my palms. All I could see through my blinking eyes was the pink. Two stripes. Not one. On my pregnancy test.
Pregnant.
The lock of the door jiggled before she exploded into the bathroom. Her eyes dropped to me on the ground, her angry face changing a second later once she took in my reaction. Then, she glanced at the white stick I was squeezing between my fingertips. Her fist flew to her mouth. “No,” she uttered.
I brought my knees up to my chest in the middle of the bathroom floor and rocked back and forth, clawing at my cheeks.
Immediately, she dropped beside me. “How late?”
I couldn’t form words, let alone breathe.
“Sam.” The stress was audible in her tone. “How late?”
The back of my throat felt dry, as though I had swallowed sand. “Two weeks,” I whispered.
Then, she asked the question that sliced my insides.
“Do you know whose it is?”
Fresh tears formed beneath my eyelids.
