by Mia Kayla
I stared at the mural on his back, noting the perfection of tribal art that made up the words Def Deception. My face fell, and all of me wanted to wrap my arms around him and tell him I was sorry again, but that would only make things worse. Ultimately, I’d crossed some invisible line that I shouldn’t have.
I stood and retrieved my clothes that were scattered on the floor. “I’m sorry.” The words flew out automatically, and I cringed.
“Stop saying you’re sorry!” he roared, turning toward me. His face pinched with irritation.
I flinched and slipped on my clothes and shoes, reeling in my own feelings because I understood. She’d hurt him. The tabloids made it seem as though his mom was the victim, but he was the injured one.
I was going to say more. I wanted to say that I was sorry he was hurting, that I was sorry I had stuck my nose into something that was none of my business. He was a stranger to me, as much as I was a stranger to him.
It still ached to talk about it, but I found the words coming out of my mouth anyway. I slouched on the bed and murmured, “My father abandoned my mother and I right before I went to college. Upped and left us for another woman. But, before that, he had torn my mother down, bit by bit, and before she…” My voice trailed off. I breathed through my next words, forcing down the ache in the center of my chest, biting back the lump in my throat. “I’m sorry doesn’t make it better; I get it. But maybe coming from someone who knows what it’s like when your parent just leaves you behind…” I shrugged, unable to finish.
Our eyes locked, and I read the ache and torment and memories in his eyes, a pain so familiar to mine that I had to tear my gaze away.
I slid my mini purse over my shoulder and walked to the door.
When my hand went for the knob, Hawke was already beside me, his eyes torn and hands at my waist. “Don’t go,” he said, whisper soft.
“Why?” My voice cracked with emotion, and I searched his face for an answer.
He could have picked anyone. I was sure women were camped outside the hotel, even in the wee hours of this morning.
His eyes broke right before he said, “Because…I’m lonely.”
And then my heart cracked, split in two by his words. He was adored by millions around the world, admired by all those in his industry, yet he was lonely. It made no sense.
Nothing was ever as it seemed, was it?
His fingers found mine, warm and soft and pleading. “Stay.” He let out a jagged long breath. “Tell me about him.” There was a need in his eyes that told me how badly he wanted to hear my story.
I’d spoken to numerous counselors, but talking it out with people I could relate to had always helped the most. It was the best kind of therapy.
“I’ll tell you about my scum if you tell me about yours.” I threw him a weak smile.
His lips pressed together in a rigid grimace, and for a second, I thought he’d deny my offer, but he nodded and led us back into the room.
My stomach tightened in a double knot because I knew I’d have to recall memories I’d been pushing down for so long. I bit my thumbnail and sat on the edge of the bed, watching him as he went through the dresser. He threw one of his T-shirts in my direction, and I caught it midair.
When he went to the bathroom, I slipped out of my clothes, into his shirt, and under the covers to get comfortable.
He hopped back into bed beside me, and although we were both in the room, in the same bed, where I could feel the warmth from his body radiating against my skin, a familiar icy sensation spread through my heart. The chill formed every time I thought about my childhood. The distance between Hawke and me was palpable, like I could taste it, feel it, touch it.
If he was lonely before, I doubted I was making it better because I felt the same.
I held my breath and was the first to break the silence because I needed to get the words out. “He was verbally abusive over the years—not toward me, but toward my mom. When he lost his job, it got worse. I remember times…” I swallowed and paused but needed the next sentence to come out. “He’d be so out of it that I’d walk into a room, and he wouldn’t even see me. So out of it, he couldn’t even answer her when she asked what he wanted for dinner. He drank himself to oblivion every night. Every. Single. Night.”
Anger filled his eyes. Eyes that held pain and rage behind his fame. “Why didn’t you just leave, the both of you? Get up and walk out on him?”
My stomach hurt, physically hurt, but I knew this kind of ache would never go away. “Because I loved him; we both did.” I tore my gaze away from his. My voice was soft as I whispered, barely audible, as if the words were only for me to hear, “And because…because she wouldn’t leave. She didn’t want to give up on him, and I didn’t want to give up on her.”
I’d seen my father destroy her until he’d left her in a pile of ashes, unrecognizable. She hadn’t left him because she couldn’t. Because her love was deep. Her love was unconditional. Her love was strong. But not strong enough to keep him from leaving.
I clenched my jaw. Good God, it had been years. Years since it had happened, yet the pain was still so fresh, like an open wound. And reliving the past forced me to rip the Band-Aid off, causing the hurt to surface, forcing me to see the blood.
It was only when I heard the hardness in Hawke’s tone that I turned back to face him. “Everyone knows I emancipated from my mother when I was sixteen. That’s no news. No one knows what she’s like in real life.” He ran one hand through his hair, sighing up at the ceiling, unable to look me in the eye. “She’s sold her sob story to every tabloid outlet that’d pay her. The good mother who helped Def Deception rise to greatness.” He clenched his hands together, his knuckles white from the tension.
“She’s telling everyone we had practiced in her garage, and when we hit it big, we kicked her to the curb.” The distant look in his eyes had the hair on the back of my neck standing at full attention, like needles on a porcupine’s back. “Did I ever tell my side? Like how, when we rose to fame and she had access to everything, she lived in excess. How she liked to shoot up in front of us and then beat me because I was her kid and she had the right. How about when she cut herself and almost committed suicide in front of me?” His voice shook with rage, the type of anger that could not be contained.
“Hell no, I didn’t. Because it’s none of anyone’s fucking business. They all think they know my story…me.” He pounded his chest. “But they don’t. They don’t! I don’t owe anyone anything. Not one fucking—”
I threw my arms around him, needing him to stop, needing him to calm down, needing him to forget, because I knew what anger could do. It could choke the life out of you and keep you from living and moving on. Even though it still hurt, I’d stopped being angry with my father a long time ago. What was left in his wake was only the raw pain and sadness. He had hurt my mother, and my mother had wronged me in ways she didn’t even realize.
I pushed those memories down. All the way down to the pits of hell because that was where I had to go when I recalled those memories.
His body was tense, but I held him in silence because, sometimes, that was all anyone needed. Slowly, his shoulders relaxed, and he ducked down to rest his chin against my shoulder.
When his lips touched my skin, I peered up at him. He lifted his head and kissed me, slow and sensual at first but building into a roughness that scorched my insides.
When he guided me onto my back, I didn’t resist because I knew this was what he needed. And maybe I needed this, too. We both needed to forget.
I stopped in front of my apartment and let out a huge breath. Hawke’s bodyguard, Tilton, had dropped me off. With the limo gone, I took in my five-story apartment building.
Last night almost seemed like a crazy dream, but I knew it wasn’t because every single one of my muscles hurt from exhaustion—or what I’d like to say was sexhaustion.
With a tired but happy sigh, I walked through the door, took the elevator to our floor and strolled to our unit. When I
opened the door to our place, Chloe stood from the couch, eyes wide and questioning. Voices from the television played in the background.
“And? So?” Her eyes gleamed with the kind of excitement seen in the eyes of a child, full of questions and wonder.
But what I had to tell her was not for children to hear.
I threw my purse on the counter and tried to bite back my grin, but failed. “We had mind-blowing, spine-tingling sex, and I’m glad you convinced me to give the no-attachment experience a try.”
She squealed and tightly gripped my hand like a vise. That was what best friends were for, after all. She tugged my hand toward the couch with such force that I almost tripped.
“Everything. I want to hear everything—from what he smelled like to what you two talked about. Every single thing!”
I pulled my knees up, hugging them against my chest. There were some things I couldn’t tell her, of course. The intimate details that Hawke had revealed were not meant to be repeated. “He was sweet and rough and talented and, O-M-goodness, so unbelievably hot. I still can’t believe last night happened.”
If Chloe had not been there to witness it—well, the before-sex part—I doubted anyone would believe me.
She shook her head and straightened. “The sex! I want to know about the sex.”
I shifted with unease and bounced on the cushions of our gray microfiber couch. Usually, I was always on the receiving end, hearing about Chloe’s great adventures in the sack. Now that it was my turn to share, my cheeks warmed.
“I don’t have a lot of experience in this field, but yes”—I nodded profusely—“he made me come multiple times.” I wasn’t an easy comer either. I had faked it one too many times with my ex-boyfriends, but Hawke…I knew he was experienced because sex with him had not disappointed.
“Is he going to call you?” she asked, breaking me from my sex-filled thoughts.
I chewed on my bottom lip and let out a low sigh. “He has my number, but I’m not going to hold my breath.” I sounded confident, but it broke my heart to hear myself say those words out loud.
I shouldn’t pretend that it was more than it had been, and I shouldn’t hope for more, but I was me. Because of my broken home and messed up childhood, hope was all I had. Marrying Hawke Calvin and sailing into the sunset would never happen, so I needed to stop believing that it would.
Changing the subject, I tilted my head and asked, “Hey, what happened with Cofi?”
She reeled back, her eyes narrowing, her smile disappearing. “That asshole invited another girl to play, and sorry”—she screwed her face and wrinkled her nose, as though there were garbage nearby—“I don’t share.”
Apparently, Cofi was a player, big and bad and without apology. I’d known guys like him in high school. Those were the type Chloe had always been attracted to, not me. I preferred the good boys who ended up breaking my heart.
“What a jerk.”
Cofi was a cocky jackass. Cliché as it seemed, all rock stars were probably the same, but I’d like to believe Hawke was different.
“Yeah, he is, but forget Cofi. We’re talking about Hot Hawkey.” She pinched my side so hard, it made me yelp. “I’m pinching you, so you know it actually happened. You, my best friend, slept with the lead singer of Def Deception.” She lifted her hands in the air. “Touchdown, girl! If this is the last thing you do on earth, you have it made! Ah!”
I chuckled. “I highly doubt I have made it quite yet.” As great as last night had been, I had higher hopes than banging an über-hot rock star. “But, yes, it’s definitely something I am going to tell my grandkids someday.” I squeed, my knees bouncing with excitement.
“Their ears will bleed!”
“That’s the goal.” I laughed, and we high-fived. “And, now, real life hits. I have to get to work in a few hours.”
She groaned, and I scrunched my face and then dragged my butt into the shower.
Back to reality.
Chapter 5
When I finally arrived at Sheldon’s Italia, I shuffled into the locker room, slipped on my white apron, and strolled into the kitchen. The sight of the kitchen—the white linoleum flooring, the stainless steel industrial appliances, a hanging rack with dangling pots and pans, and three oversized sinks.
I let out a happy sigh. I loved this place. I loved the people. I loved my job. This was where my life was. This was where I shone as Samantha Clarke, pastry sous chef extraordinaire.
Baking had been my thing with my mother during her better days. She had been my partner in crime when we set up our makeshift bakery in our kitchen. It was our way to make a few extra bucks, selling baked goods to our neighbors.
“Yo, Sammy, you made it.” Todd’s voice snapped me from my thoughts.
I glanced down at my watch, noting I was only a few minutes late. “Yes, and I’m ready to rumble.” I averted my gaze.
Last time I’d seen Todd, he’d asked me out on a date, which had caught me by surprise. I’d told him I didn’t want to mix business with pleasure since we worked together, but that still hadn’t made anything less awkward between us.
“That’s my girl.” The way he’d said it dampened my mood.
If I could wish for a spark between us, I would. But my insides didn’t flutter every time he talked, my knees never felt weak when he walked into a room, and he didn’t give my heart the bumpety-bumps.
“Is it crazy busy out there?” I asked, finally looking up.
As he was over six feet tall, I had to crane my neck to look up at his face. His short brown hair was parted to the side, his glasses at the tip of his nose. “Not too bad.”
With one weird wave of my hand, I said, “Okay, better get to it before boss man, Kyle, has my head.” I smiled and walked toward my station.
With everyone busy working, I heard the chaos of the kitchen—the loud voice of the head pastry chef, the clanging of pots and pans, the fryer sizzling in the background, and the shuffle of people’s feet. Every scent imaginable bombarded my senses—garlic and ginger and basil and rosemary. When I moved closer to my station, the scent of cinnamon, pumpkin spice, and cocoa entered my nose.
I smiled. The happy mojo that always hit me when I was here filled my veins. All that time baking in my mother’s kitchen and at the local culinary school had led to this.
Candice—my cute coworker with her long, curly black hair and hips that didn’t lie—stepped into my line of view, handing me a list of orders. “I’m cooking a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies. Take them out in five minutes. I’m all caught up, so I think you’re good with the new orders.”
Candice was also my partner in the kitchen. She was the first sous chef on duty. When she wasn’t working, I was, and vice versa.
“Sam! I need two chocolate soufflés!” someone yelled in the background.
“So”—Candice smiled with her natural full cheeks, as though she were storing food for the winter like a chipmunk—“did you find a date?”
I walked to the fridge where I took out two ready-made soufflés and placed them in the oven. Candice had prepared the soufflés in batches this morning.
“No, not yet. I think I might go stag.” I shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll meet someone at your wedding.” A part of me even hoped for it.
The heat from the oven caused me to sweat, which dampened my shirt. I swiped my hand over my forehead to wipe off some of the sweat forming at my brow.
“I found my wedding dress.” Her eyes lit up with an inner glow.
Candice had known her fiancé forever—since high school—and they’d been engaged for almost a year.
I reached for her hand and squeezed tightly. “That’s awesome, Candice. You’ll make one beautiful bride.”
The smile she sported was contagious.
Her upcoming nuptials was the highlight of the restaurant’s year. Practically the whole cook staff had been invited. The event would be black tie. Everyone here had been talking about what they were going to wear. Me, on t
he other hand? I still didn’t have shoes to match a gown I’d bought online.
“I seriously cannot wait,” she squeed.
“Sam!” Kyle peered over in my direction. “Those soufflés?”
I gave him a thumbs-up. “Already in the oven, boss.”
Kyle, the gray-haired old man who was my boss, tipped his chin and continued along.
My phone buzzed in my back pocket. When I saw the text from the unknown number, I almost dropped my cell from shock.
I’m thinking of you, Sunshine.
I would have sworn on my dead grandmother’s grave that I would never hear from Hawke again. Maybe I had hoped, but here he was, texting me.
My shaky hands gripped the phone tighter, so I wouldn’t drop it.
I texted him back with a smiley face.
I’m awfully tired at work because of you.
Hawkeypoo, I silently added.
Goodness. I’d just nicknamed him.
This was bad. Way bad. Over-the-top bad.
Do not have hope, Samantha. Do not have hope.
Candice snapped her fingers in front of my face. Snap. Snap. Snap. “Earth to Samantha.”
I blinked back to the present and stuffed my phone back into my pocket even though I was holding my breath, hoping it would buzz again.
Candice bounced on her toes. “Before you know it, it will be here—the wedding.”
I nodded, but I had checked out of the wedding talk. I needed to immerse myself in work today because I didn’t want to be that girl, waiting for a call that wasn’t going to happen.
Been there. Done that.
“You going shopping for your shoes soon?” she asked.
“Maybe after work,” I said distractedly.
Maybe that would also keep my mind off a certain rock star who was still in Chicago.
After work, I ended up at the dreaded department store. I blinked as I took in the rows of shoes lining an aisle at Nordstrom. Shoe shopping was more Chloe’s forte, not mine.
I had one real pair of heels, and they had green polka dots. Quirky and fun. I’d worn them with my floral dress for my high school graduation and rocked them well. My favorite pair of shoes was my yellow Converse that I wore nonstop, but I couldn’t wear those to a wedding.
