by Mia Kayla
We came together in blissful rapture with me biting down hard enough on his lips to prevent myself from screaming.
And, just as I came down from my high, his words registered in my ears.
Did he just utter those words? Was he for real, or was it only in the heat of the moment?
I held on to him, arms around his neck, legs wrapped around his waist. And I decided I never wanted to let him go.
“Tell me, it’s only ever going to be me.” I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stop the words from flying out. My grip tightened around him.
Sadly, a knock on the limo window had him pulling out of me so abruptly, I felt cold and empty. Our eyes locked, and he cupped the side of my face. I read an intensity in his eyes that was mirrored in mine.
“It’s only ever going to be you.”
I leaned into his touch, but then the knocking on the door heightened, and he straightened and tugged up his pants. After he pulled me up, I readjusted myself in my seat, and after one peck on the lips, he opened the door.
“I’ll see you later. All right, Sunshine?”
And then he was gone.
I blinked at the door he’d slipped through and wrapped my arms around myself to bring back the warmth in my body.
With Hawke, when I was with him, I was on the highest of highs, but when we weren’t together, I was in the lowest of lows.
I knew I had to take control of this situation. Put myself more in the driver’s seat. I needed to take care of myself because no one else would.
The night passed by me in a blur. In one moment, I had entered the stadium, and in what seemed like the next minute, I had left and was in the limo, heading back to the hotel after the concert.
I could feel the high of the boys as they chatted away. I assumed this was how it was when you went on tour—the excitement of being in a new country, the new material, the screaming fans.
Hawke stayed close beside me, his knee touching mine, but he seemed distant. Not to the rest of his band, but to me. He hadn’t looked at me when he entered the room or touched me or kissed me on the lips.
He just bent down, and with his crooked smile, he asked, “Did you like the concert?”
I answered with pure honesty, “It was amazing!” Because it had been, and if my departure tomorrow hadn’t been weighing on me, I would’ve been just as excited as all the fans who had filled the stadium.
That seemed to satisfy him, and he turned to Cofi and talked about their last song of the night, the closing of the concert.
I exhaled a shaky breath.
This was it. The end.
With Hawke, I never knew where I stood. He had said, when he was with me, he was with only me, but tomorrow, he wouldn’t be with me.
So, it made me wonder, Will he be with someone else?
But he’d said…he’d said he loved me, and it was only me. Those were the words I wanted to believe.
My stomach churned, as though food were stuck in my intestines, but I shook my head, forcing the feeling away. There was nothing I could do. This was the nature of his life. This was how I had met him.
Hawke intertwined our fingers when we exited the limo and entered the hotel. That touch was all I craved. All I longed for. It was my last night with him, and I was determined to make every second matter. But I hadn’t expected the whole band to follow us to our room.
A forced smile was stuck on my face. Funny how I’d mastered the fake face over the years—during my cooking final at culinary school when the chefs had to taste-test our food to the aftermath of my mother’s death to now where our hotel room was filled to the corners packed with people.
When I stepped into the main living area, it was as if I were on the set of a music video.
The music blasted on high in the background, the bass of the song thumping against my skin. Half-naked women swayed around the room, like puppies in a crate.
Who let these people in?
The band dispersed, greeting the strangers in Hawke’s penthouse. What I hadn’t counted on was Hawke doing the same. He left me standing in the middle of the room, alone, while he walked across the living room area to greet a couple I didn’t know. One guy had his hair slicked back into a short ponytail with a beautiful blonde pressed up against one side and a leggy brunette on the other. A group had formed around Hawke, waiting for their turn to greet the rock star.
After five minutes, I plopped my butt on the closest thing next to me, which was a low circular couch by the television. Over the next hour and a half, I experienced the true life of the rich and famous. The bar was covered in bottles of expensive hard liquor, while the center table of the room was loaded with joints and powder and pills. I was straight-up in my own theater, watching the scene unfold before my eyes.
I wanted to raise my hand, call a time-out, and retreat to my apartment in Chicago, but I couldn’t. My only savior was Hawke, who had come over twice to ask if I was okay, but he was beyond inebriated. I’d been watching him closely. He hadn’t taken anything, but he kept pounding back the drinks, as if it were water and there was going to be a drought.
After an hour of no Hawke, I stood. I’d had enough. My flight would be leaving at eight in the morning, meaning I needed to be at the airport at six, meaning I needed to get some sleep. I staggered into our bedroom and was shocked to see multiple people having their own personal party in the room.
Two girls in Daisy Dukes were on our bed—fully clothed, thank goodness—making out in front of a stranger who seemed to get a kick out of getting the two girls to kiss.
I rushed to retrieve my backpack from the closet and slipped one strap over my shoulder. My eyes searched for a safe haven, anywhere, but there was nowhere to go.
Even our balcony was occupied, crammed with at least a dozen people in a space made for six. I padded across the plush carpet, my Converse indenting a path to my decided destination where I could get some peace and quiet—the bathroom.
I shut the door and locked it. Then, I chucked my backpack on the floor and threw some towels inside the massive tub. Once I had a good amount of cushion, I stepped into the cloud of towels and laid my head down. That was when the loneliness hit.
Highest of highs and lowest of lows—that was how I felt when I was with Hawke.
Heat formed behind my eyes. I wondered if he’d even remember to wish me good-bye. My eyes shut, and I forced myself to sleep and dream of when I’d had the best time of my existence, just hours ago.
Numerous times during the night, people banged on the door, wanting to use the bathroom. I refused to answer. There were three other bathrooms in the penthouse; they could use one of those.
When the doorknob jiggled and the door unlocked and creaked open, I jumped up in the tub.
“Sunshine.” Hawke had one arm slung over Tilton’s beefy shoulder. It was as though Tilton was keeping him upright.
I hopped out of the tub and rushed over to grab Hawke’s other side.
“I think I partied way too hard, Sunshine. Not…feeling well.”
He reeked of alcohol and smelled like cigarettes. I stripped him of his wet shirt—maybe from sweat or, more likely, someone had spilled something on him.
“You’re going to take advantage of me now?” His crooked smile made my heart hurt, like pins being jabbed into a pincushion. Then, he passed out.
I stared up at Tilton, about to freak out. “Did he take anything? I mean, is he on anything?” God, I knew nothing about hard-core illegal drugs. In that aspect, I was totally out of my element. There was a first time for everything, but I wasn’t about to jump on board with this first.
Tilton shook his head, and my whole body relaxed.
“He just needs sleep.”
“Hawke.” I patted his cheek.
His head lolled from side to side.
“Hawke, do you want water?”
I glanced at the door behind me, hearing loud laughter, which only meant the party was still going on, full force.
Hawke
was out cold, so I nodded to the tub where Tilton lifted his almost six-foot frame into the oversized basin.
When Tilton shut the door behind him, I ran over to make sure it was locked, and then I glanced down at my watch. Only three more hours until I had to head to the airport.
My feet shuffled against the cold marble floor, and I sat against the edge of the tub.
Hawke’s chest lifted when soft breaths escaped him. He stirred in his sleep, and his eyes fluttered open and shut. “Sunshine?”
He extended his hand, and I intertwined our fingers. I decided, for the few hours that I could, I would lie next to him, so I slowly got into the tub filled with towels instead of bubbles and nestled against his warm skin.
“Mmm,” he muttered, pulling me close.
His skin was clammy to the touch.
I pulled back and studied his face. “You okay?”
“Too much,” he slurred.
I didn’t know what he was talking about, but I doubted he did either. He seemed incoherent, and his words made no sense, even when they were strung together.
“Too much,” he whispered.
“Too much what?” I brushed his blond hair away from his face. Too much alcohol, work, life?
“Do you want water?” I asked.
He didn’t respond.
“Stay, Sunshine.” His facial features scrunched together. “Please.”
He was dreaming. He had to be.
I put one finger on his lips. “I can’t.”
The lines in his face eased, and I snuggled close to his chest. It wasn’t the most comfortable of poses, but I was determined, hugging him tightly.
“Stay,” he said again, repeating the word he had said earlier.
“Why?” I whispered against his neck.
His forehead creased again, and my stomach clenched as I watched him.
“Lonely,” he whispered. “Need you.”
I held my breath at the intensity of his words. He was adored by millions, could have anything with one word, yet he was lonely?
And, finally, I understood.
He didn’t trust the people around him, and in the brief amount of time I had spent with him, I realized why. He was the bank, bringing in money, fortune, and fame. Everyone around him received the same by association. Nothing was as it seemed; no one was genuine.
“I’m trying…” he said, his words muffled.
I threaded my fingers through his hair, feeling his silky blond locks slip through my fingertips.
“Trying to what?”
“Trying to stop…be better.”
I strained my ears to listen. He was mumbling, and I couldn’t make out what he was trying to say. But then I made out the words that caused my heart to swell.
“Better…better for you.”
When his whole body relaxed, I knew he was out. I tried to readjust his arm, so I could get into a more restful position, but he was dead weight, so I settled for uncomfortable so that I could stay near him. With one long exhale, I kissed him on the lips.
I fell asleep on a bed of clouds, nestled against the chest of a man I was falling for.
Who was I kidding?
I had already fallen. Hard.
The banging on the door woke me from my sleep. I rubbed my eyes and jumped to a sitting position.
My watch said ten o’clock. “Omigod!” I leaped from the tub and opened the door, surprised that I hadn’t tripped over my own feet.
Tilton’s seven-foot frame stared me down, his face stoic.
“I missed my flight,” I said, my pulse beating in my throat.
By the look on his face, he already knew. His response? He turned around and walked out of the room. Typical Tilton move.
When a strangled-animal sound came from behind me, I turned. Hawke was hunched over and had his hands over his eyes. I approached at a slow pace.
With one eye open and the other one squinted, he stared up at me. “Morning, Sunshine.” His crooked smile made an appearance, even through his hangover pain.
“I missed my flight.”
He stood, still shirtless. The sunlight coming in through the window highlighted the black art against his toned tan chest. He stepped out of the tub, rubbed his face, and said, “I’ll call in the jet.”
“Aren’t you guys leaving today?”
They were going to head on to their next leg of the tour—London.
“Another jet,” he answered, reaching for his phone in the back of his pocket.
And, just like that, my crisis was averted. Money knew no limits.
The next hour moved like we were on fast-forward. Hawke had scheduled the jet to leave at the same time they would be leaving from Paris—Le Bourget, the private airport we had flown into. There was nothing for me to pack. Everything I had brought was in my one large backpack.
When I exited the bathroom and stepped into our suite, my eyes widened, taking in the scene. I had expected a trashed hotel room, given the amount of people partying and jumping on the bed last night, but no, the place was immaculate. In our room, the bed was made, and all the pillows were placed where they should be. Fresh flowers were back on the tables. The only remnants of last night were five large garbage bags in the foyer.
Chaos followed these boys everywhere, but I guessed there was damage control trailing right behind them.
Cofi strolled into the room, followed by AJ, the bass guitarist, and Max the lead guitarist.
“Sunshine, you ready for London?” Cofi asked.
“No, she’s going home.” Hawke shut him down quick as he bent down to zip up his suitcase. “She’s leaving when we leave.”
“Are you bored with Hawke already?” The guys laughed behind Cofi. “Because, if you need a change of scenery…”
Hawke jerked upright and shoved at Cofi’s chest. “Quit it. Let’s go.”
The action was so sudden, I flinched.
Hawke grabbed my hand in a possessive manner—one that had my insides singing because, for a moment, I felt like I belonged to only him.
The boys trailed behind Hawke, and once we hopped back into the limo, the chaos of the crowd erupted again. I swore, these fans never took a day off. Police cars surrounded us and escorted the limo the rest of the way to the airport.
Alan was in the car this time, reciting the band’s itinerary for when they landed in London. AJ seemed like the only guy paying attention while the rest of the men sat back, uninterested. When I tried to meet Hawke’s eyes, they were fixed outside the window, as though he were thinking deeply.
When Tilton opened the door and it was time to say our final good-byes, my heart sank like an anchor in the ocean. This hurt. To look at him hurt. To breathe the same air hurt. Everything hurt.
Since we were not officially together, there was no guarantee that he was going to ever call me again. I could just ask him, but I was afraid of rejection, afraid to seem too needy, afraid to show him that he affected me in ways I didn’t want to admit.
Laughter erupted from the band, including Alan. Cofi must have cracked a joke, but I hadn’t heard it.
“All right, so…” I dug my feet into the gravel and inched toward my rock star. “I just want to thank you for yesterday and for bringing me to Paris.” So much emotion leaked from my voice that I felt self-conscious, so I stared intently at the ground, unable to meet his eyes.
What Hawke did next surprised me. Without warning, he lifted my chin, wrapped one arm around my waist, and kissed me—mouths closed, no tongue. No words needed to be said as a strong emotion passed from him to me, one where I knew I would be missed.
All I could hear was the roar of the airplanes’ engines in the background and the beating of my heart in my ears. And all I could smell was Hawke’s scent, his musky, masculine cologne and his unique signature.
The kiss was long. He didn’t release me until the guys started clapping.
And, when he did, he said, “I had the best time, Sunshine.” Then, he stepped back, shoved his hands in his p
ockets, and walked away.
I didn’t know if he was saying good-bye. He hadn’t asked for his phone back, yet he hadn’t said he was going to call this time. I waited and waited for him to turn around, but he didn’t. I finally let out a low breath and turned toward my destination, my own private jet.
I had a lot to think about during my flight home. Putting my racing thoughts on pause, I fell into a deep sleep.
When I awoke, we were already pulling into Schaumburg Regional Airport, a private airport in a suburb about forty-five minutes outside of the city of Chicago. I’d had the craziest dream—one where I was in Hawke’s arms, and it was just the two of us, sitting in the open at an outdoor café.
I sighed loudly. Only in my dreams.
Chapter 13
The next week flew by super quick. I immersed myself in work and television and everything non-rock-star related.
Hawke had texted at random times. No calls, just random texts since I’d last seen him a week before. I waited for those texts and hoped for some calls. Somehow, I believed that things between us would change because I thought we had shared something special in Paris, but it didn’t.
As the September leaves covered the trees in a burnt red and deep orange, I thought of him nonstop, which only fueled my sullen mood. I told myself it would pass. That our love affair had been brief and without promises. There was no way to know what the future held for us, and that was something I couldn’t change.
So, I decided to drown myself in work. I wiped the sweat from my brow and discarded my white apron into the hamper in the locker room. Being back to my normal life and routine had me wondering if my time in Paris had all been a dream.
“Shift’s over. You’re out of here, BFAW!” Candice patted my back and threw on her white apron.
“What?” I laughed, shaking my head at Candice and her acronyms that she would make up on the fly.
She playfully hit my shoulder. “Best Friend at Work, duh.”
I smiled at her silliness. How was I supposed to know that?
When a phone rang in my purse, my breath hitched in my throat. For a few seconds, I stared at my black fold-over purse on the ground. It was Hawke. It had to be.
