Sweet Ache

by K. Bromberg

  “I understand that.” My thoughts whirl over how lucky I am that even though Colton had a childhood full of inexcusable things, he always protected me fiercely. And in the same breath that notion makes me understand why he wants to protect Hunter the same way. “Why not just distance yourself? Let him trip and fall and have to deal with the consequences himself? Maybe he’ll appreciate everything you’ve done for him.”

  “In theory that works, but that’s not the promise I made to my dad.” Before he falls silent, I hear the conflicted love so raw in his voice it grates through it. “I’m all he has, Quin. He might be an asshole, he might try to hurt me, hell it probably makes me look like the biggest pussy in the world for not telling him to eat shit and die, but I can’t. When it comes down to it, he’s all I have left. He may be a manipulative fuck at times who deserves what he gets, but my mom would never forgive me if I cut him loose. And then what? I lose both of them and I’ve got no one? That scares the fuck out of me.”

  We fall silent again as I hear what he is saying to me. It seems to me he has no one already. The thought makes me so grateful he has the guys in the band to be there for him. But I understand the sibling bond. Colton and I are close and he’s adopted, so I can’t imagine the connection between two twins who underwent hell together. I don’t understand what Hawkin means about his mom holding on and it’s the second or third time he’s implied something is wrong with her without being more specific. I want to ask, want to understand his cryptic comments, but I let it go. He’s baring his emotions and there is no way I’m going to ask for more from him.

  I get his loyalty to his twin, understand his acceptance of being hurt while trying to make everyone else feel better, but it’s not his sins to atone for, they’re his father’s.

  “I know it makes no sense Quinlan so don’t try,” he murmurs once he infers my train of thought. “It’s my own fucked-up guilt over something I had no control over. I know that, but it doesn’t make me feel any better about the past. It doesn’t change my family dying that day. Dad was my idol—right or wrong or selfish or cowardly—he made me make promises to him … and I truly believe a man is only as good as his word.” His voice trails off again, leaving my heart somersaulting at his confession. I think he’s finished but I stay silent. Then he murmurs, “And I’m just trying to be the best man I can be.”

  I’m not sure if he says the words to me or to reassure himself, so I let the comment settle between us. I shift my body, our limbs still entangled, and I wonder if our hearts are slowly following suit.

  Doesn’t he get that he’s so much more than the little boy who made promises and the man who’s trying to keep them? Thousands see it. He holds them all spellbound with his music. Hopefully in time, he will too.

  The emotional overload of the day and the satisfaction of sating our desire together pull the ribbons of slumber until they wrap around our bodies, slowly tying us together until we succumb.

  Chapter 21

  QUINLAN

  “Read ’em and weep, boys!” I lay the three aces on the table to the curses of the guys around me.

  “Fuck, Hawke! Why’d you bring her?” Rocket asks tossing his cards down as I make a show of pulling all the chips in the pot toward me, playing it up as Hawke throws his head back and laughs. And it’s such a good sound after last night and the state he came to me in and the confessions of his past on his lips that I glance over and hold his eye, my own smile widening.

  “Ah, poor sports!” I grumble with a smirk. “Good thing we’re not betting on pink heart tattoos tonight or Hawkin right there just might be getting one!”

  Vince howls out in laughter that turns into a coughing fit when Hawkin gives him the evil eye. “What?” Vince says innocently before turning those hazel eyes of his back to me.

  Hawkin’s phone rings and breaks up the moment. He furrows his brow before he scoots his chair out to take the call. I watch Hawke’s broad back as he disappears into the darkness of the backyard, then turn back to three beseeching pair of eyes.

  “I want to see all of your hearts,” I tell them, pointing to my wrist so they understand what I’m talking about. I inspect them all, Vince’s is the smallest, Giz’s the largest. “What gives, Giz? You like pink or something?”

  “The right kind, in the right place I do,” he says with a raise of his eyebrows that causes me to blush.

  “He’s just gullible as fuck and will bet on anything,” Vince clarifies, earning the middle finger Gizmo lifts at him.

  “So tell me, boys, what’s the last thing you guys bet on?” The three of them fall silent as they glance at one another, and I realize that they think I can’t handle it. “Oh come on, I won’t be offended.”

  Vince clears his throat and looks down at his tattooed heart before looking back up. “Last bet was getting a woman into bed within a certain amount of time.” He purses his lips, eyes intense on mine, waiting to see my reaction.

  “Well, considering it’s you guys, a rock band with women who’ll spread their legs for you at the drop of a dime, I don’t get why it’s such a big deal. Besides, it’s not exactly something easy to prove. Anyone can stand on the opposite side of a closed door and moan, right?”

  Rocket abruptly scoots his chair back and excuses himself while Giz leans back, effectively removing himself from the discussion to let Vince and me continue. “You make a good point. That’s why this bet entailed that another member of the band be able to partake to make sure the parameters of the bet were fulfilled.”

  “Partake?” I say with a laugh, my mind firing suddenly and an alcohol-fogged memory coming to the forefront. Another night where Vince talked about threesomes. Is this something that’s a norm with the band? Is that what Hawkin’s used to? Is it something I have to do if I even have a chance at being on his long-term playing field?

  The idea is definitely a turn-on, no doubt—being with two men at the same time. My imagination toys with the thought momentarily before I remember that Vince’s eyes are scrutinizing my reaction.

  “You make a threesome sound so damn sexy,” I tease to dispel the sudden awkwardness I feel because I wonder just what he and Hawkin would be like together. “So who won?”

  “What are you guys talking about?” Hawkin asks as he walks up, pulling me from my lascivious thoughts and making me realize what a lucky girl I am to be sitting here right now. And shit, I’ve been with him all damn day—from going out to breakfast to pretending to be tourists and walking hand in hand along Muscle Beach where we people watched and laughed all day long—and the man still makes my heart stutter at his sex appeal and good looks. Because a man can be sexy or good-looking, but when he’s fortunate to possess both attributes and they’re all rolled into one package? This woman’s a goner.

  “The last bet you guys made,” I answer. Hawke coughs, choking on the sip he just took before shooting a warning glance over at Vince.

  “No worries, bro,” Vince says. “I didn’t spill our secrets. What happens in the band stays in the band.” He taps the neck of his beer against the one in Hawke’s hand. “It’s all good. How ’bout you?” He lifts his chin at the phone Hawkin sets on the table. “Everything okay?”

  “Fucking stellar,” he replies. “Hunter needs money.”

  “Hawkin, you can’t—”

  “Drop it, Vinny,” he snaps, silencing the conversation despite the glances some of the guys angle his way. I can tell he’s upset by something, but at least I have a much better understanding of the dynamic now. “Are we going to play or what?”

  The night wears on, hands are dealt, big wins and big losses are had, but I’m enjoying the competitiveness because it’s fun to see Hawkin around the people he’s most comfortable with. He’s definitely the closest to Vince, but the love he feels toward the other two guys is just as apparent. The band has invited me into their inner circle without the begrudgery I’d expected.

  We’ve all had some alcohol, and every once in a while Rocket disappears and comes bac
k with the distinctive scent of dope clinging to his clothes. I can see the distaste on Hawke’s face and the random disapproving glances his way.

  After the third or fourth glare, Rocket finally says, “Relax!” before tossing his cards on the table and scrapping his hand. “Don’t act like you’re the saint here. Back in the day you had no problem taking a toke.” They stare at one another in an unstated challenge. I’m slightly uncomfortable but notice that no one else at the table is even blinking an eye so this—either Rocket smoking a joint or him challenging Hawkin—must be a regular occurrence within their group hierarchy. “I’m not him and he’s not me, so knock it off, will ya?”

  And my assumption that Rocket’s talking about Hunter is confirmed when Hawkin’s phone rings again. He spits out a curse as he shoves the chair back with force. “He’s fucking everywhere,” he mutters as he stalks off.

  Rocket starts to stand to go after him, just like I want to. Then Vince advises, “Leave it, man. Hunter’s probably pulling his shit right now.”

  Rocket stands there in momentary indecision before shaking his head at Vince and following after Hawke.

  And the act makes me fall a little bit more in like with Rocket for worrying about Hawkin when he could have let it go. I’m not sure why it brings me such comfort. Probably because I can sense how much Hawke craves normalcy, and I love to see that he’s succeeded in surrounding himself with a family of his own creation.

  “Well, since it seems like we’re taking a break, I’m gonna take a piss,” Gizmo says as he knocks his chair backward before wandering inside.

  I watch him go and when I look back toward the table, Vince is eyeing me again. We stare into the silence for what feels like forever, snippets of Hawke’s conversation drifting over to us occasionally.

  “You know why he’s pissed, right?” Vince asks, clearly expecting an answer from me. He’s overprotective of Hawkin but I feel like I’m about to be tested and I’m not sure how I feel about it. The fact that he’s testing me though means he senses that I might be more than just a wannabe groupie.

  “I’m assuming he’s pissed about something with Hunter.” It’s a safe response on my part that causes Vince to drum his fingers on the table, an internal debate warring over his features as he decides how much to divulge.

  “You follow the rags much?”

  “You got a point, Vince? Because I’m sensing you want to get something off your chest. I’m worried about whatever is stressing Hawkin out, and honestly, I want to take him upstairs and have my way with him, so patience is not my virtue right now.”

  A grin spreads over his lips. “Well damn, woman. You sure know how to get a man’s attention.” And where a moment ago I was annoyed with him, he’s already won me back with his response. “Hawke talk to you at all about his drug charge a couple months back?”

  I glance down to his drumming fingers and then back up with a quick shake of my head. “Nah … I figured if he wanted to bring it up he would. His business.”

  He raises his eyebrows with a subtle nod of his head. “In a sense it’s a whole lot of people’s business…. Hawke won’t admit it, but he’s taking the fall for Hunter.”

  “What? Wait, I’m confused. How’s that even possible?” I ask, but Hawke’s confession about his brother last night rings in my ears, and before Vince answers, I know it’s true.

  “Same place, same time, identical twins although they’re anything but identical.” He shakes his head when I just narrow my eyes at him. “Shit, we can’t even tell them apart sometimes. They have their own style now, but when we were younger each would dress up like the other one, and we’d have no fucking clue until they started laughing. They know each other’s mannerisms, speech, everything … so as stupid as it sounds, it’s easy to believe how they could pull it off.” He takes a sip of his beer and tips the bottle toward where Hawke stands. “Look, Hawke’s complicated, stubborn, but he’s also loyal and family comes first. Always. Even if it’s fucked-up family.”

  “He told me about his dad,” I murmur and notice Vince widen his eyes and turn his head. “And Hunter and the band.”

  “Hm. Well, that should tell you something….”

  I can take his comment a few ways and I’m not sure which way I should. Is he saying it’s a big deal Hawkin told me because he doesn’t talk about his past and his confession means he really likes me? Or is he saying, see, he’s fucked-up, a head case from his childhood, and I should lace up my running shoes and run far away?

  I know which one I hope he’s saying but I’m uncomfortable now, talking about Hawkin and him not being here. The last thing I want is for a misconception to be made that I’m digging for info on him. I have a feeling that would end any chance of something more between us, so I just sit there, play with my poker chips, and wait out the silence.

  “Hunter’s had some run-ins with the law, a pair of drug convictions for one. Hawke won’t elaborate about what happened this time other than the two of them were at a party, he laid his jacket on a chair at some point, picked it up to go just about the same time cops showed up … and somehow the bag of blow was in the pocket and he was busted.” He waits for me to look up and see that he doesn’t buy Hawke’s story. “The way I see it, Hunter gets convicted again, he’s tried under California’s Three Strikes law and gets a lengthy sentence. I don’t know the details but I know that jacket isn’t Hawke’s, and I seem to remember seeing Hunter having one just like it. Hawke’s taking the fall to prevent destroying his family even further. Willing to risk himself to live up to the cruel promise the memory of his father makes him keep.”

  We sit there in silence as I gather my thoughts. “Why are you telling me all of this, Vince?”

  “Because I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Quin. It’s not a normal thing for Hawkin to let someone into this world of ours unless it’s for …” He stops himself, scrunching his face up, and the expression alone tells me where he was going with the statement.

  “Thanks but I get it. You’re rock stars, right? Women are willing and in abundance. No need to sugarcoat it.”

  His shoulders fall when he exhales the breath he’s holding. “Thank fuck you’re a cool cat, Q,” he says with relief. “I’ll cut to the chase. He agreed to do the seminar as a way to get in the judge’s good graces, hopefully a slap on the hand for his first offense after doing the lectures.”

  Puzzle pieces begin to fall into place for me. The answers in regard to his sudden appearance at school, his refusal to give me a straight answer as to why he agreed to do the lecture.

  “The thing is, doing the lecture doesn’t guarantee a lighter sentence. He won’t admit to anything, but I find it odd that out of the blue he’s making Hunter go to some kind of drug counseling. I swear he’s taking the fall for his brother and trying to use it as leverage to get Hunter to get help…. It’s fucked up.”

  Loose strings begin to tie and the picture becomes more and more clear. The only gray area is their mother but as forthcoming as Vince is being, that’s not something I’m going to ask about.

  So I look at Vince and twist my lips in thought. “And if Hawke goes to jail, then the band gets damaged too, right? Why are you telling me all this?” I stare at him, not liking what I think he’s asking of me. “Oh. I get it. You want me to convince him to turn his brother in so that the band doesn’t catch the fallout if he’s sentenced. I’m not a pawn. Ask him yourself—”

  “You think I give a fuck about myself or the band?” He pounds his fist against the table, which makes the chips rattle loudly as fury flashes through his eyes. “He’s like a brother to me! The band will be here for him regardless of what happens, so I suggest you take that accusation and shove it,” he says, his voice full of spite and his love for Hawke palpable.

  Chills race over my skin as we stare at each other in a silent standoff. I don’t know why I pushed that button of his when I already knew the answer. Maybe I just wanted to reaffirm what I thought about their bond. Maybe I like Ha
wkin way too much, and I want to make sure that everyone is looking out for his best interests since his own blood obviously isn’t.

  “Point shoved.” He breaks out in a ghost of a smirk at my response and I know he’s let my comment go. “It’s not my place to say anything, Vince. If the topic arises, if he tells me about it, then maybe … but as of right now he doesn’t even know that I know….”

  “True,” he muses as we hear laughter. I look over to see Rocket’s arm slung over Hawkin’s shoulder, their heads thrown back.

  They approach the table and Hawkin looks at me and then back to Vince. “You guys okay?”

  “We good here, Q?” Vince asks me with a knowing smile on his face.

  “We’re good.” I nod, our chat affirming that he most definitely has Hawke’s back.

  “Well hot damn! I think Trixie needs to show up and deal us a hand! What do you say, Giz? You in?” Vince asks as Gizmo walks out the back door.

  “Who in the hell is this Trixie?” Gizmo asks as he takes a seat.

  When he bends over to get the bottle opener for his beer, Vince leans over and whispers into my ear. “He has no clue you’re Trixie. We’ve been telling him she’s another piece that Hawke and me are playing with on the side.” When I frown at him, he just continues with Hawke snickering over his shoulder. “He’s the one who pulls all the pranks on us on tour, so we like to fuck with him when we can … so …”

  My eyes widen as I realize he’s asking me to carry on their charade, and I can’t help but laugh at poor, poor Gizmo. I glance back and forth between Hawke and Vince, their eyes begging me, and hell, I’ve had enough to drink, why not.

  “Hey, Giz?” I angle my head over to him sitting beside me. “You haven’t met my twin yet?”

  “Trixie’s your twin?” he says, the pitch of his voice escalating and his eyes lighting up.

  Turning my body toward him, I lick my tongue seductively over my bottom lip, push my chest out, and rub my legs up against his. “Yeah,” I say breathlessly, my fingertip tracing a line down his throat. “We’re kind of kinky and like to play together—tag team a man or two when we find the right ones. We’re a lot to handle, Trix and me.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he flicks his eyes over my shoulder to the guys who I cannot believe are not bursting out in laughter. “We’re identical except for one minor detail. Most men can’t figure it out after searching our bodies for hours. Do you think you could?” I lean in close and whisper in his ear, “Hmm. You’re pretty damn sexy. I really think Trix would like you. She loves tattoos. Loves looking up at a man covered in them while she’s sucking him off.”