Wreck: Hawke

by Heather C. Leigh

  “Mmmmmm.” His low rumble vibrates against my flesh as his talented tongue works to bring me to the brink. When he flicks that wicked metal stud across my clit, I shatter, unable to hold back the loud cries as I explode into a thousand shards of light, convulsing as he wrings every last bit of pleasure from my body.

  Chest heaving, my skin slick with sweat, I lie limp on the tangled sheets. A tearing sound combined with Hawke’s weight shifting on the mattress brings me back to hazy reality. I watch, entranced, as he rolls a condom down his intimidating length. My pulse picks up again, thrumming in my neck.

  Hawke rests on top of me, propped up on his elbows, giving me a soft kiss. He takes my hands in his, weaving our fingers together on either side of my head. Our eyes stay locked as he breeches my body, the sharp sting drawing a hiss from my lungs.

  “It’s okay.” Hawke continues murmuring reassurances as he pushes further. I bite my lip to keep from screaming. One strong thrust of his hips and my eyes water from the pain. “It’s okay. That’s the worst of it.” Hawke gently kisses both of my eyelids, giving me a minute to adjust to the unfamiliar invasion. When my breathing evens out, he lets go of my hands to lift up and brace himself on the mattress. “Now, it only gets better.” He gives me a wicked smile and slowly pulls out before driving forward, burying himself deep.

  “Oh god.” My eyes nearly roll up in my head at the exquisite pleasure. He does it again and again, picking up the pace as my words turn into one long moan.

  “You feel so fucking good, Abby.” Hawke’s breath is hot against my neck as he continues thrusting. A tingling sensation begins to build, quickly spiraling into a pulse of intense pleasure. He hits the spot over and over while devouring my mouth with his. “Jesus, Abby. I’m so close. God, baby. I can’t hold back.”

  Hawke plunges in hard, slamming into me at the perfect angle. With a gasp, my entire body convulses and my toes curl into the sheets.

  “Fuck!” Hawke’s hips falter and he closes his eyes as his head falls back. Two more deep thrusts and he lets out a groan so sexy I swear it intensifies my orgasm. Spent, he collapses on top of me in a sweaty heap.

  I gently comb back his damp hair with my fingers, staring at his beautiful face. Eyes closed, lips parted as he catches his breath, I take in every detail, every nuance, memorizing it so I’ll never forget this moment.

  The moment I fell in love with Henry Evans.

  Hawke

  “What has you smiling?” Gavin pushes me out of the way so he can be front and center before the mirror in our tiny bathroom.

  “Nothing.” I grab my toothbrush, squirt on a glob of iridescent blue toothpaste, and shove it in my mouth.

  Gavin picks up a black container. In the mirror, I watch his eyebrows pull together. He holds up the tub, grinning. “Hair product? Were you using hair product?”

  My mouth full of foam, I garble out an irritated response.

  “What?” Gavin tosses the container on the countertop and leans on one hip, waiting while I spit and rinse.

  “I said, fuck off.”

  Laughing, Gavin follows me into our cramped bedroom in the Los Angeles apartment we share with Adam and Dax. It’s a dump, and yes, I could have stayed with Uncle Ross as long as I liked, but I had to get out. My skin literally crawls when I’m not doing something or going somewhere, and living up in the Hills wasn’t as convenient as living in the city.

  “Come on, Hawke. Do you have a date? Oooohhhh,” Gavin’s eyes widen. “Who are you going out with? Tell me, you sneaky bastard.”

  I yank a shirt off a hanger in the microscopic closet I have to share with Gavin, the clothes whore, and button it up. Gavin is burning holes into my head the entire time I get dressed.

  “Jesus, Gav. You’re not going to leave me alone, are you?” I sit on the edge of my bed to lace up my black Chucks.

  When I glance up at my best friend, he’s shaking his head. “No, I’m not. You never go out on dates.”

  “Shut up. I get laid whenever I want.” I snatch my wallet off the dresser and shove it in my back pocket.

  “I never said you don’t get laid. I said you don’t go on dates. You date about as much as me, which is never.” Gavin narrows his gaze, trying to figure me out. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  No way am I jinxing everything with Abby by telling Gavin I had sex with her. Instead I shrug, sliding wordlessly past Gavin and out the door. This conversation is weird and uncomfortable and I’m done.

  “Hey,” he calls out as my hand lands on the knob. “Whoever the girl is who has you smiling like that, she must be special. Have fun.”

  I twist my head and get a look at Gavin, all dressed up to go somewhere. He has the gray, heart-shaped stone I gave him in his hand, worrying it between his fingers. A lump forms in my throat. Seeing Hannah’s stone brings the guilt back in an excruciating torrent. It’s why I couldn’t keep my sister’s good luck charm. Besides, Gavin needed something to hang on to more than me. There’s still hope for him to have a normal life.

  “You have fun too,” I tell him earnestly.

  Gavin grins, assuming that at least one of use will get laid tonight. I’m determined to show Abby a good time, so I don’t know if it will be me.

  Strangely, I’m okay with that.

  5

  Abby

  Being with Hawke, officially, has made me happier than I’ve been in a long time. He’s sweet and attentive when we’re out, dirty and insatiable in bed. On the flip side, being with Hawke has made me a complete and total nervous wreck. He’s easily agitated, anxiously drumming his fingers on anything and everything. He goes into dark moods with seemingly very little provocation, and when pressed, gets pissed off and refuses to tell me why he’s upset. Plus, I discovered a very disturbing habit of his.

  Hawke is an adrenaline junkie.

  If an activity has the potential to hurt, maim, or even kill him… he’ll embrace it wholeheartedly. As a student of psychology, I know Hawke has a whole host of issues that have led him to be so reckless. I just don’t know what those issues are. As a girlfriend who cares about him? He scares the ever-living shit out of me on a regular basis. And whenever I bring it up, he explodes.

  Like now.

  “Abby, I’ve told you before, this is what I like to do. It’s how I blow off steam. I need it, it’s a part of me, and you’re not going to change it.”

  I bite my lip as Hawke grabs his climbing gear and shoves it into a pack. My heart is racing, fear trickling into each of my limbs, making them feel heavy. The thought of Hawke slipping and falling off a mountain to be crushed at the bottom of some random ravine has me nearly hyperventilating.

  “If you would only tell me why—”

  Hawke spins around to face me, his features contorted into an alarming mixture of fury and shame. “Goddamn it, I said leave it alone!” He steps forward and I instinctually step back. The hostility radiating off him scares me even though I know he’d never hurt me—physically, that is. “I’m not fixable, Abby. I’m not one of your broken kids at the center and I’m not your psychology project. I’m fucked up.” Hawke takes his fist and pounds it against his chest, slamming it into his sternum with each word to punctuate his statement. “I. Am. Fucked. Up.”

  Hawke’s voice nearly cracks on the last word. His shoulders heave with the effort to contain his emotions. I shrink back at the verbal slap, the hot sting of tears pressing against the back of my eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I-I just want to help.” It’s Nick all over again. Refusing to tell anyone what was causing his pain until it overwhelmed his poor mind, driving him to do the unthinkable. “I don’t want to lose you.” I sniff, holding back a sob. My throat burns when I swallow down the overwhelming grief.

  Hawke’s eyes soften, the defensive spark in the blue and brown irises replaced with quiet remorse. He lifts a brightly colored hand, giving me a glimpse of the tattoos he recently had inked on the back and down his fingers. Sliding his hand around the back of my neck, Hawke
pulls me forward to press our foreheads together.

  “You’re not going to lose me, Abby. I just… I need this. I can’t explain it.” I start to speak but he cuts me off. “Okay, that’s not true. I could explain it, but I’m just… I’m not ready. I may never be ready. Can you accept that?”

  I exhale, not wanting to let him go but unwilling to tear us apart by forcing the issue. And it would tear us apart, no doubt. Hawke is not a man you can bully, trick, or force into doing or saying anything against his will.

  Having no other choice but to lose him, I nod. “I guess I can do that.”

  He grins and pushes his glasses up onto the top of his head. I’ve tried them on before and know for a fact they’re not prescription, so I have no idea why he wears them. It’s just one more mystery locked in the Hawke Evans vault, the answers to which I may never get.

  Hawke leans in to kiss me, brushing his lips against mine. I open my mouth, always eager to take as much as Hawke will give me. He plunges his tongue inside, dragging his piercing across the sensitive surfaces of my mouth. I shudder, the tremor rippling down my spine, sparking the embers of desire.

  He hooks his other arm around my waist, tugging me up against the length of his body. Moaning, I reciprocate by hooking a leg up on his hip and grinding down on the growing thickness in his athletic pants. It’s not often Hawke wears something other than super-tight skinny jeans, so I take advantage of the loose, slippery material, sliding my hand inside the elastic waistband to grip his heavy erection.

  “Fuuuuck.” Hawke tears away from my mouth to bite and lick my neck and throat. “Jesus, Abby. You feel so fucking good.”

  “Mmmmmm, Henry.”

  When I use his real name, Hawke bucks his hips, thrusting his smooth, hot length through my tight fist. He moves his lips to my ear, his breath coming in quick bursts across my skin.

  “Shit.” He pulls back, gripping either side of my face to stare into my eyes. “I have to go.” I squeeze his cock and his eyes nearly roll up in his head. “Fuck it. I’ll just be late.”

  Hawke throws me down on the bed and begins shucking clothes as fast as he can.

  I know I just manipulated him to get a few more precious moments before he leaves to endanger his life by hanging on the side of a cliff, but the thought of letting him go scares me to death.

  Hawke

  I’m exhausted and my entire body hurts, but my mind is still thrumming with excitement from my three days of rock climbing at Joshua Tree National Park. I limp into the bedroom and toss my pack on the floor, collapsing onto my bed. I just need to close my eyes for a few minutes before getting ready for the show tonight in West Hollywood.

  “Hawke!” My eyes fly open when Dax bursts into the room, shouting my name.

  “What’s up, man?” I clear my throat and rub the heels of my hands into my eyes, groggy from sleep. When I shift in bed, my ankle throbs, a reminder of the past few blissful, adrenaline-filled days.

  “Get up, lazy wanker.” Dax’s mouth turns down in the corners. “Did you forget about our gig?”

  “No.” I sit up and notice it’s dark outside. “Shit. I must have fallen asleep. What time is it?”

  “Seven. Get your bloody arse up and ready.” He kicks the end of my bed with his massive booted foot, rattling the frame.

  “Okay, okay. I’m coming.” I swing my legs over the side of the mattress and hiss when my ankle protests the weight.

  “What the fuck?” Dax’s eyes narrow, flicking down to my injured ankle and back up. “What the bloody hell did you do?”

  “Fuck off, Davies.” I wave him away. “Get out so I can grab a shower.”

  He crosses his arms over his wide chest, huge biceps straining at the sleeves of his T-shirt. His dark eyes bore accusatory holes into my head. “Are you going to be able to drum with that?” Dax points at my swollen, eggplant-purple foot.

  “I said it’s fine,” I snap. “It’s not my bass foot, so stop nagging me like a bitchy wife.”

  I snatch up a towel and push past my bandmate, ignoring the sharp spike of pain that shoots up my leg. Dax stops me with a massive hand to my chest. Even the most intimidating glare I can conjure up does nothing to affect Dax’s angry countenance, not that I thought it would. Before moving to LA with his friend and our other bandmate Adam, Dax was a very successful underground fighter in London. Not much will put him off, certainly not me. What with him having a good five inches and sixty or so pounds on my much smaller frame.

  “What?” I snarl, mimicking Dax’s rigid posture. I must be eager to get the shit beat out of me if I’m going toe to toe with Dax.

  He shakes his head, still frowning. “Nothing. Just get yer shit together, yeah? We’re off in ten.” Dax storms out of my bedroom, slamming the door as he goes.

  Shit. It’s going to be a long-ass night.

  * * *

  Our set goes exactly as expected—perfect. Adam charms the audience with his good looks and smooth voice, Dax and Gavin rock out on their guitars, and since my injury is a non-issue with it being my non-drumming foot, my riffs are spot-on. I’ll admit, by the end of the show, my ankle is killing me. The effects of the euphoric high I achieved over the past few days are quickly tapering off, leaving me in my usual post-adrenaline funk.

  I stagger to the dressing room to grab a bottle of water, wincing in pain, and am swept up in a flurry of concerned girlfriend.

  “Oh my god, what happened?” Abby runs up, one hand covering her mouth, the other trembling at her side. Big blue eyes shine wetly as they flick from my foot to my face and back.

  Fuck. The last thing I need when crashing is Abby freaking out and emotional. When I twisted my ankle, it never occurred to me how she would react. I was so focused on letting the pain and the danger take me away from myself that her response—and frankly, her feelings—completely slipped my mind.

  “Abby—”

  “You…” She suppresses a whimper. “You fell off a cliff?” Her voice is strangled.

  “No,” I shake my head. “Let me sit, okay?”

  “But, your foot.” Her face flushes deep scarlet. Moisture appears from nowhere and overflows from her eyes, streaming down her cheeks. In the background, I hear Gavin shuttling everyone out of the room. Silently, I thank god Kate isn’t here tonight. She’d kick my injured ass for making Abby cry.

  I collapse onto the beat-up old couch shoved into the corner of the tiny dressing room. “Abby, honestly, it’s nothing. I’m tired and achy and not really in the mood to discuss it.”

  I watch, part of me morbidly fascinated, part of me horrified, as sweet, innocent, kind Abby morphs into a complete stranger. Her nostrils flare, her full mouth ticks up in a frightening scowl. Gorgeous, loving blue eyes harden to ice and small, delicate hands curl into fists.

  “You’re not in the mood? You’re not in the mood?” she shrieks. “I’m sorry, but fuck you, Hawke.”

  My mouth drops open in shock. I’ve never heard Abby curse. Not once. She’s one of the most compassionate people I know, never a bad word to say about anyone. And isn’t it just wonderful that the target of her unprecedented fury is me.

  “You shut me out,” she continues. “You push me away. I know almost nothing about you except that you’re in a band, you like drumming, and you could apparently care less if you live or die!” Her chest is heaving, her breath hitching on each inhale as she chokes back sobs.

  I sink further into the couch, feeling like a piece of shit because she’s right. I’ve known all along that I was going to ruin her—wreck her with my fucked-up behavior and even more fucked-up head.

  “I care about you. I love you,” she says. I startle at her declaration, but I’m too flabbergasted to respond. “I watch you torture yourself every day, struggling with whatever it is you’re dealing with, but it’s killing me, Hawke.” She points at my foot. “This? This compulsion to live dangerously? It’s eventually going to kill you. I’ve seen it! I’ve lived through it. I can’t do it again.”


  I swallow thickly, not knowing what to say. I can’t stop doing what I do. I need it too much, the escape, the moments of glorious fucking silence from the guilt. With Abby in the picture, my escape hurts her as much as not escaping hurts me. I’m in a no-win situation. Damned if I do and damned if I don’t.

  “I’m sorry,” I croak out.

  Her anger slips, showing me one of the most heartbreaking expressions I’ve ever seen. “No you’re not,” she whispers. “You’d do it again tomorrow if you could.”

  She’s right. I would.

  All I can do is hold open my arms, giving her the choice. To stay with me and all my screwed-up, crazy shit, or leave and find someone she deserves. Someone who won’t make her cry, who won’t shit on her feelings by putting his own needs first. I should end this, man up and let her go.

  But I’m nothing if not a selfish bastard, and there’s something about Abby Kessler that helps make my dark thoughts seem a little less daunting when she’s around. As much as I should let her go, I won’t. I can’t. Just like the danger and adrenaline, I cling to anything that blurs the pain of the constant mental anguish.

  Abby finally sobs, and my heart breaks for her. For the agony I put her though. Without warning, she jumps onto my lap, clinging to me desperately. I bury my nose in her hair, inhaling the beachy, floral scent I associate with Abby.

  “I love you too,” I whisper, shocked at my admission as it falls out of my mouth.

  Abby cries quietly into my sweat-soaked shirt as I hold her tight, counting down the minutes until she gets sick of me and my shit and leaves me for good.

  What will I do when that happens?

  Abby

  I pack up the files and start cleaning up the refreshment table in the back of the counseling center’s group therapy room. Crumpled paper cups and crumbs litter the surface. I swipe all of it into the industrial-sized garbage can that sits less than a foot from the edge of the table.