I stare at the ocean, unable to meet Gavin’s eyes. He swipes his towel off the ground, shoving it into his bag. I’m fully expecting him to storm off and leave me stranded here. I wouldn’t blame him if he did. Instead, he drops to his knees and grabs my hand.
“What—?”
Gavin opens my palm and puts the stone in the center, curling my fingers around it and holding them shut by wrapping both of his hands around mine.
“You need it more than me now.” He lets go and climbs to his feet. “I’ll meet you at the car.”
Gavin trudges across the sand, hitching his surfboard under his arm. I turn back to watch the waves crash on the beach, dark green and swirling with white foam tips. They call out to me as the ever-present anxiety raises its shadowy head. I tighten my fist around the smooth object, determined for once to beat back the blackness inside. If not for me, then for Gavin, for Abby, for everyone I’ve failed.
My throat tightens as the fear continues closing in. Somehow, I swallow past the rising swell of panic until my pulse is no longer drumming in my ears. I squeeze my hand and hold Hannah’s stone for the first time in over ten years.
Maybe I can do this.
Abby
I’ve got to be crazy to be diving headfirst into dating, but I know it’s the right thing to do. It’s way past time I move on and find someone to spend the rest of my life with. Someone who isn’t running away from me at every turn. Someone I don’t need to “fix” to make up for my failures with my brother.
I stand in front of the mirror in my bedroom for what feels like the millionth time in the last ten minutes. Hair? Check. Hanging in perfect blonde waves. Clothes? Check. Sexy but not slutty light blue halter dress. Face? Meh. Makeup light and in place without smudges, but the expression on my face is pathetic. In fact, it’s downright depressing.
I look sad, something no amount of makeup will fix.
Discouraged, I force my legs to turn around and march out of the bedroom so I can stop obsessing. Instead, I get my phone from my purse to continue a different obsession. My finger hovers over the contact info for my date. I run through all the different reasons I should cancel. Mostly, because I’m a mess and clearly in no condition to go out tonight. When I notice the time and realize he’ll be here in fifteen minutes, I freak out.
Too late. I’m going on a date whether I like it or not.
I’m contemplating having a pre-date drink to calm my nerves when the doorbell rings.
Crud. He’s early.
I shove the half-empty bottle of wine back in the fridge and smooth out my dress. Taking a deep breath, I put on my best smile and open the door, only to have the wind knocked out of me.
Holy crap, it’s not my date.
Hawke is standing on my front step. “Hi,” he says quietly, his eyes darting all around, never quite landing on me. His hands are stuffed into his pockets, his shoulders hunched over.
After an uncomfortable silence, I push past the shock and find my voice. “Hawke? What are you doing here?”
He glances up and chews on his lip ring. “Can I come in?”
This is not a good idea, but I can’t leave him out on my front step. Paparazzi could have followed him over, or heck, they could still be following me even though I haven’t seen them in several days.
“Sure.” I step back so he can enter, making sure to keep a respectable distance between us. Friends distance.
Hawke walks into my tiny living room slash kitchen, looking around as if he’s never seen the inside of my house before. He has yet to actually make eye contact with me or tell me why he’s turned up unannounced on a Saturday night.
Since it doesn’t seem like he’s going to be speaking anytime soon, I decide to go first. “What do you need, Hawke? I’m going out in a few minutes, so if you have something to say, say it.”
My no-nonsense tone gets through to him, because he finally meets my gaze. Those two-toned eyes flick up and down my body, sending a flush of warmth across my skin.
“You look nice.”
I want to smile, to say thank you, to laugh and joke like we used to, but I can’t. I have to stay strong so I can move on. I’m done letting Hawke suck me in only to spit me out in pieces.
“What. Do. You. Want?” I repeat, crossing my arms over my chest. I glance at the clock. Crap. Ezra is going to be here any minute. Hawke hesitates again, and I lose what little remaining patience I had. “Listen. I’m waiting for someone who is due to arrive any second. You need to leave. We can talk tomorrow.”
I move to open the door when Hawke is suddenly at my back. “Who’s coming over?”
“No,” I snap, spinning around to meet Hawke’s scowl. “You do not get to ask me that.” I stab his chest with my finger.
Hawke opens his mouth to argue and the doorbell rings. Oh my god. This is so awful.
“Great.” I turn to Hawke, throwing up my hands. I thrust a finger in his face. “Don’t be an ass.”
His frown deepens and my eyes are drawn to the shiny metal in his furrowed brow. God, I’m such a sucker for those piercings. Heat sparks at the base of my spine, the flames licking up my back inch by inch until I feel like I’m on fire. The doorbell rings again, tearing me from the wave of lust about to crash over me.
“Be nice,” I hiss through clenched teeth before opening the door and smiling at the man on my doorstep. “Hi, Ezra. Come on in.”
“Hey, Abby. You look gorge—”
Ezra halts in his tracks when he spots Hawke hovering at my side. Hawke is giving Ezra a glacial look that would make any serial killer proud.
“Sorry.” I step between the two men. “Ezra, this is my friend, Hawke Evans. Hawke, this is Ezra Thorpe.”
Ezra extends a hand, which Hawke reluctantly shakes.
“Hawke was just leaving,” I tell Ezra. I grab Hawke by the arm and pull him toward the door.
“Wait,” Ezra holds up a hand. “Are you the Hawke Evans from Sphere of Irony?”
“He really has to go,” I interrupt, all but shoving Hawke out the door.
Not to be dissuaded, Hawke turns to face Ezra. “Yes. That’s me.” He flicks his eyes up and down, taking stock of Ezra, sizing him up I’m sure.
Ezra is no waif. He’s tall, maybe six feet, all lean muscle, with short brown hair styled into a tousled mess. He has several tattoos decorating the visible skin of his forearms. I blush when I realize that based on the two men in front of me, and the few I’ve dated in the past, I have a “type.”
“Cool.” Ezra grins and Hawke’s scowl turns murderous.
“Anyway, I’ll talk to you later. Bye!” I push a gaping Hawke onto the porch steps and shut the door behind him.
My heart is pounding against my ribs. I lean my forehead on the doorframe to get myself composed, but all I can think about is the way my body burst into flames just from Hawke’s proximity. He doesn’t even have to touch me to get me going.
“So, how do you know the drummer from Sphere of Irony?”
Ezra’s voice reminds me that I still have a date tonight. Thanks to Hawke, now I’m thinking about him naked and my date probably has about a million questions.
Damn.
Hawke
“Want another?” Dax dangles his beer in front of my face. “I can have the staff fetch you one.”
“Nah.” I sink back on the comfortable lounge chair by his hotel’s pool and people-watch from behind my dark sunglasses. We’re partially hidden by a large cabana, but not completely. I’ve caught a few guests pointing at us and sneaking pictures.
“We’re all going out tonight, you coming along?” he asks, pulling my attention from a couple of college-aged girls who I can tell are working up the courage to approach us.
“Where are you planning to go?” The three girls giggle and keep sneaking glances our way.
Fuck, I hope they don’t come over. I’ve been in a shitty mood ever since Gavin’s verbal lashing the other day. That combined with coming face to face with Abby’s douchebag of
a date has me acting like an asshole pretty much nonstop. Something about that guy rubbed me wrong. It was the look in his eyes. I can’t put my finger on it, but I don’t trust him at all. I was tempted to follow them to make sure he didn’t touch Abby with his slimy hands, but decided that sounded crazy and went home to sulk instead.
“Adam was invited to some big party for the newest Warren Hotel club opening here in LA. Victory? Vector? Versus?” Dax shakes his head. “Bloody hell, I don’t know. Some ‘v’ name I can’t recall. Anyway, you remember Adam’s friend Sydney? It’s her launch party.”
“Sydney Tannen?”
“Yeah, that’s her name.”
My heart sinks. Of course I remember her. My parents were at her house, her famous parents’ house, the night of the accident. Pretending nothing is wrong, I answer Dax. “I didn’t know she was still doing work for the Warren.” Dax shrugs at my statement. “Sure, why not?”
All I have planned is a night of torturing myself with images of that asshole Ezra rutting on top of my Abby like a pig in heat. Fuck! I fist my hand in my lap, pissed at Abby for going out with that dipshit, pissed at myself for getting pissed, and pissed at life for shitting on me so spectacularly.
Plus, she’s not mine.
The only benefit to my now murderously dark mood is that my scowling manages to scare away the trio of tittering girls. They stare at me wide-eyed and gaping as I fantasize about dismembering Abby’s date. Soon after, they pack up and leave the pool area. Thank god. I couldn’t deal with squealing fans today.
Well, at least something went my way. And I only had to contemplate homicide to make it happen.
* * *
Why the hell I agreed to this is beyond comprehension. Sitting at home, gouging my own eyes out with a broken drumstick would be more pleasurable than this. I’m sitting in the VIP section of a fancy new club, watching Ezra the douchebag touch Abby all night while he shoots disgusting leers at every woman in the place. The backless, microscopic dress Abby is wearing has my dick hard enough to pound nails. Combined with the red-tinged fury surging through my veins from that asshole’s hands all over her while his eyes are all over anything in the room with a pair of tits, I’m an enraged mess.
Mine!
The unwelcome thought pulses through my subconscious.
I down another shot of whisky and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand while staring daggers into the back of Douchebag’s head. I should have anticipated Kate would invite Abby to this thing. By the time I noticed Abby in the club, I already had a few drinks in me and was feeling belligerent enough to stay and torture myself instead of ducking out early to spare myself the rage-inducing visuals.
Douchebag’s hand glides down the exposed skin of Abby’s back to rest at the base of her spine and I tense up, clenching my shot glass so tight I’m shocked it doesn’t burst into a thousand pieces.
“Hey!” I hold up two fingers for the bartender in the VIP lounge. In less than a minute, another double whisky is placed in front of me.
“Haa-aaawke.” A flirty, feminine voice sings my name.
I toss back the drink and tilt my head to see who’s joined me at the bar. My eyes go wide when I see Jessica Hamby standing next to me, a complete knockout in her bright red dress. Jessica from the flight to Colorado. Jessica who I fucked every way possible on every surface of my house in Boulder. Jessica who is a demure, eyelash-fluttering media darling in public and a seductive vixen with a very dirty mouth in private.
“Jess.” I let my eyes roam slowly up and down her body, taking in every curve, each one wrapped up like a gift in the tight red bandage dress.
Jessica leans into my shoulder, stealthily sliding her hand into my lap to give my crotch a squeeze. “How have you been?” she purrs.
I shudder from her touch, spinning my stool to face her. Jess steps between my legs and drapes her arms around my neck.
“I’ve been very bad. You?” Her pink tongue pokes out to wet her lips in a calculated move. As sexy and hot as she is, my eyes are drawn over her shoulder. I hold my breath when I find Abby staring back at me. The hurt look on her face makes me want to shove Jessica away, grab Abby, toss her over my shoulder, and drag her somewhere private where I can pin her against the wall, drive into her slick heat, and claim her for myself.
I’m about to make an excuse to get rid of Jessica and do just that when a head of brown hair blocks my view of Abby. Ezra pulls Abby close and leans down to kiss her. Abby doesn’t look very excited to be kissing her date and angles her head so I can still see her eyes, which are fixed on mine as Douchebag puts his disgusting mouth on what belongs to me.
“Hawke? Are you okay?”
Jessica’s voice tears my attention from the nightmare unfolding a few yards away. “Yeah. Fine.” I flick my gaze from Abby to Jessica and back. Abby looks upset, but makes no move to distance herself from her dickhead date. I’m pissed and hurt and slightly drunk, so of course, I make everything ten times worse.
I meet Jessica’s heated gaze head-on. “Wanna find someplace private?”
She gives me a wicked grin and reaches for my hand. As I lead her to the bathroom, I catch a glimpse of Abby’s tight frown and feel like the world’s biggest asshole.
If I’m going to go down, I’m going down in flames. I throw my arm around Jessica’s shoulders and land a sloppy, wet French kiss on her that she enthusiastically returns.
This time, I don’t look back.
Abby
I wake up way too early. My head aches from lack of sleep over the past week. I rub my eyes and get out of bed and get dressed, exhausted but determined to not lie around depressed.
On Saturday, after watching Hawke disappear with a perky little starlet only to come back a while later disheveled and grinning from ear to ear, the rest of my night went downhill quickly. My stomach wouldn’t stop knotting up and I wasn’t in the mood to dance, especially not with Ezra constantly pushing my boundaries with his wandering hands and mouth. By the time Ezra dropped me off, my mood was black. He was under the assumption that he was going to be invited to spend the night. His expectations pissed me off, especially after ignoring my wishes and groping me relentlessly for several hours, so I ended things with him instead.
I shuffle to the kitchen and start a pot of coffee, waiting impatiently for it to brew. On Wednesdays, I don’t see patients until noon, so I usually get in a long run in the morning. Today, I’m too tired and unmotivated. Justin was a mess yesterday at his appointment, still troubled, his moods unbalanced. I put a call in to his psychiatrist to discuss his medications, but never heard back. Worrying about Justin is only piling on top of the stress I already have in my life—Hawke, Ezra, my brother’s death… I need a break.
The coffee finishes brewing and I pour a huge cup, adding cream and sugar before taking a much needed sip. Maybe I should take a vacation. Perhaps somewhere relaxing and tropical. I gulp another mouthful of coffee and let the warmth spread through my system.
Mmmmmm, what would I do without coffee? Maybe I should go to Costa Rica. They make great coffee there.
I’m sitting on my deck, enjoying my second cup of coffee while fantasizing about relaxing in a hammock on a beach in Costa Rica, when I hear a car’s tires crunching on my gravel driveway. The cottage is small enough to hear the doorbell ring from out back, even with the sliding glass doors closed.
If that’s Hawke again, I swear I might have a nervous breakdown.
I put my mug on the kitchen counter as I make my way to the door, steeling my nerves to face Hawke for the first time since Saturday night. Some friends we turned out to be. He won’t call me back, and I can’t even be in the same room as him without burning up with either lust or jealousy.
Hands clenched, back tense, I fling open the front door, ready to have it out with the first guy I ever loved. Heck, the only guy I ever loved.
Only it’s not Hawke on my front step.
Hawke
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
I hurl each of my drumsticks at the padded wall of the studio at Ross’ house, where they bounce noiselessly to the floor.
It’s been five days since I saw Abby at the club. Five days of dealing with the deep-seated self-loathing, made worse by my own stupidity. Fucking Jessica in the bathroom didn’t make my feelings for Abby lessen. Pretty much all it did was cause Abby to actively avoid me for the rest of the night.
Now, because I don’t want to let anyone down by scratching the itchy, crawly sensation burrowed deep under my skin with my usual reckless behavior, I can hardly sit still. The amount of anxiety coursing through my veins is begging me to get up and do something about it.
Ross doesn’t care if I come and go to use the studio at his house. He’s used to me keeping strange hours. I check my phone to discover it’s already six in the morning. I’ve been here for five hours, trying unsuccessfully to beat the blackness out of my mind by pounding endless rhythms out on my drums.
Hours of playing and I still feel the suffocating stranglehold of my demons, tightening around my neck like an invisible noose, sucking the air from my lungs, the light from my soul… If I even have a soul left inside my hollow chest.
I fist my hair and stand up, so frustrated I begin kicking the stool repeatedly while cursing nonstop at the top of my lungs. “Son of a bitch!” I grab the metal legs and swing the stool at the floor, slamming it down again and again until the vinyl pad snaps off and it’s just a misshapen hunk of metal.
My hands fall open, letting the remains of the stool slide to the ground. There are deep cuts on both of my palms, blood trickling down to pool on the black rubber soundproof mat.
Images of the accident flash behind my eyes… my sister, Hannah. I collapse to my knees and wail, a long, primal, agonizing howl until I’m wrung dry. Panting, I curl up in a ball and let the misery overtake me. Eleven years and this is the first time I’ve allowed myself to grieve for my family without turning the blame to myself.
Wreck: Hawke Page 18
