Silence pervades the dark room, neither of us having anything to say. And what would we say? That was one of the top three fucks of my life. The other two also belong to Abby. We can work out everything in the morning. For now, I’m content to let my mind rest, and drift away into a deep sleep.
Fuck!
I wake up in a pool of sweat, my pulse racing, my heart working so hard it’s painful. Sitting up, I grab the sides of my head and run my fingers through my damp hair.
Fucking nightmares!
It’s difficult to expand and contract my lungs as I try to calm my breathing before I hyperventilate. Gulping down air, I roll out of bed in a panic, scrambling to find my clothes in the dark. Lightheaded and on the verge of flat-out losing my shit, I pull on my jeans and shirt and stuff my feet into my shoes. As quietly as possible, which seems fucking loud as hell in the silent room, I slide open the closet door and grope around until my fingers find my duffel bag.
When I open the bedroom door, a shaft of light from the hall casts a faint glow across Abby’s sleeping form.
She’ll fucking hate me when she wakes up, but I can’t stay here. I can’t think. All I know is I have to get away. The pictures in my head are suffocating, slithering around my neck and pulling tight like a noose.
I allow myself one last mournful glance at her beautiful face and what we could have had before I close the door and leave.
84
Abby
Three months later
I can see Dax’s head above the sea of photographers as the pack makes their way through baggage claim at LAX. Actually, it’s the forceful way he’s speaking that first gets my attention in the crowded airport.
“Move! Now. Or I’ll pound you into the ground.”
The paparazzi buzz loudly, eager to snap photos and film Dax’s red, scowling face. I bounce on my toes, hoping to catch a glimpse of my best friend somewhere in the mass. The chaos makes my stomach cramp with nerves for her and the baby.
“Back the fuck off! If you touch my wife or daughter, there won’t be a barrister in the world who can save your arse!”
I recoil from the viciousness in Dax’s angry voice. Not that I blame him. Poppy Mirin Davies is only eight weeks old and according to Kate, Dax’s overprotectiveness grew exponentially after the baby was born. I watch his facial expressions and wonder if he’s going to have a nuclear tantrum right here in baggage claim.
Kate, huddled under Dax’s arm and surrounded by three huge bodyguards her husband hired while she was still in the hospital recovering, glances my way and grins. Poppy is swaddled in her arms and covered with a light blanket to shield her face from the swarm of flashes and nosy photographers.
“Keep moving,” Dax grumbles when they reach me. I pivot on my heel and follow them out of the terminal, into a waiting SUV.
“But my car—”
Dax snarls, turning to grimace out the back window at the paparazzi who are scrambling into cars in an attempt to follow us. “I’ll have security come back and get it once we get to the rental house.”
Kate finishes strapping Poppy into a waiting car seat. “There,” she smiles, throwing her hands up in the air. She gives the sleeping baby a kiss on her forehead and slumps back against the headrest. “Don’t ever fly with a baby,” she groans.
I laugh. “She’s gorgeous, Kate. I can’t wait to hold her.”
The SUV hits a bump and the baby’s arms shoot out to her sides, her little fists curled up tight. Thankfully, she doesn’t wake up. Her fuzzy blonde head rubs against the car seat and she settles back down.
“She’s a good sleeper,” I comment.
That earns me dual scowls, one from Dax and one from Kate.
“Fuck no!” Dax chuckles. “She’s up all bloody night! This…” he points at the car seat, “is how she is all day. When we want to sleep, she screams her head off.”
“Oh. Well, I’m sure she’ll get better.” I wince when Kate narrows her eyes at my useless platitudes. “Anyway,” I wave them off, “when do you start recording, Dax?”
Dax and Kate are in LA for a while to record Sphere of Irony’s latest album. “Monday.” He scowls and pulls his vibrating phone out of his pocket. “Fucking Zane.” Dax furiously types a response.
Zane is Dax’s personal assistant. The poor guy. Not only does he have to deal with Dax’s mood swings, but Adam used to borrow him all the time as well.
“Adam and Ellie arrive Saturday,” Kate says, her eyes closed. “I wanted to get here early to get settled in the house. She’s used to traveling with a baby so they didn’t want to come until last minute. Both of them hate LA. Plus, being newly pregnant, she’s been pretty ill.”
“She’s pregnant again?”
“Oops,” Kate murmurs when Dax glares her way.
I shrug. “I’m not telling anyone.”
Kate grins. “She’s due right after the Grammys. Ha! Good luck with that!” Kate cackles like a maniac.
“You’re not very supportive.” Dax chastises his evil wife, shaking his head.
“She knows I love her. Just better her than me walking that carpet like a beach ball.” Kate’s eyes light up with glee.
“You’re mean.” I gently shove her knee.
“Come to dinner Saturday, Abby. The place we rented has an unbelievable patio overlooking the city. It’s already turning cold at night in New Jersey, so I want to take advantage of a few extra months of good weather.” Kate waits for my answer while Dax goes back to tapping on his phone.
“Sure. I don’t have plans.” Which is sad, really. I tried dating, but after the whole thing in New Jersey with Hawke and him disappearing the next morning, my ego and my heart took a pretty big hit. I’ve stayed in most nights since then. The icing on the cake is that Hawke never called, texted, or made sure I was okay.
I shouldn’t be surprised he took off. Some things never change.
And you would think I would have learned by now. I’m a clinical psychologist. I studied people with issues just like Hawke’s. I’ve treated people like Hawke.
Einstein said the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.
I guess I must be insane.
Once I’m in bed after a long day visiting with Kate and getting my fill of the adorable Poppy, I revisit that night three months ago, just like I’ve done dozens of times since. Again I wonder if I should have mentioned I know about the accident that changed his life forever.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
On a logical level, I know I didn’t do anything to make Hawke leave in the middle of the night. I know better than to think it, yet no matter how much education I have on the subject, it’s hard not to take it personally when a man you used to love ditches you after sex. As a counselor, I’m upset that I didn’t at least try to discuss what happened between us when we were dating, or find out if he was any better at coping with his issues.
On top of that, I’m pissed at myself for falling right back into bed with Hawke without asking if he’s done anything over the last few years to deal with his grief. I would bet everything I own that he hasn’t, especially after the midnight escape.
No, it’s not right that I know the secret he kept hidden from me all those years ago. The incident that tormented him to the point of not caring whether he lived or died. Unfortunately, the media is nosy and intrusive, and the public insatiable when it comes to celebrities. Hawke and the rest of the band are A-list and very well known all around the world, therefore big targets. With the release of their first album after the U2 tour, they shot up the charts and won multiple Grammys, including Best New Artist. That pretty much sealed their fate as far as popularity, and they’ve never looked back.
After the Grammys, the guys became moving targets, appearing frequently in any and every tabloid magazine and TV show, hassled, interviewed, when touring, at public appearances, in private moments. I remember when they got Kate at one of her soccer games back in college, effective
ly driving Dax and Kate apart for years before they reunited.
My heart broke for Hawke when I read the article about the death of his family in a car accident. His mother, his father, and his sister all died when their car was sideswiped by a drunk driver, who also died at the scene. Hawke, who was seventeen at the time, was the only survivor. My skin crawled at the knowledge that this very personal incident in his life was exposed on the pages of some crappy magazine, the horrific details laid out as entertainment without a single thought as to how Hawke would feel about it.
I know how he would feel about it—and what having everyone know his darkest secret would spur him to do. It wasn’t that long after the article printed that Hawke was involved in yet another headline-grabbing incident, this time breaking his arm in a BASE jumping accident. The injury ended up pushing back the release of one of their albums.
What hurt the most about the revelation, besides knowing how raw the outright violation of his privacy made Hawke, was knowing he couldn’t confide in me when we were dating. Maybe things would have been different if I had known why he was so reckless with his safety, why he had such severe mood swings. Or maybe things would have been exactly the same.
I’ll never know. Plus, who am I to talk? I never told Hawke about Nick. It was too painful. Talking about my brother was like having my very soul yanked out of my body, torn to shreds, and stuffed back inside the hollow shell in a jumbled mess. It still is.
My heart clenches at the memory of my brother lying in the ICU, my parents sobbing over his lifeless form. I realize that maybe neither one of us has healed at all. Not one tiny bit. Maybe we’re both destined to be haunted by our pasts for the rest of our lives. Maybe we can’t be friends, and this entire thing will end up exactly like it did seven years ago.
Maybe it will, but even that knowledge isn’t going to stop me. Doctor heal thyself? Yeah, right. I’ll work on that in my next life. For now, I’m diving headfirst into an empty pool, praying I won’t split my skull on the concrete bottom, all for the chance to help my sometimes friend, my ex-lover, the without a doubt most important person in my life.
Hawke is hurting, and it will be worth every bit of pain I suffer if I can take away even just a little bit of his.
Hawke
“Can you guys stop sucking face for half a second?”
I fake a glare at my best friend, Gavin, and his boyfriend, an ex-FBI profiler named Mitch. I’m not actually mad—I mean, how can I be? If anyone deserves happiness, it’s Gavin. Especially after the way his dad treated him growing up and the more recent events involving a crazy, murdering stalker.
Gavin tears his mouth away from Mitch’s to raise an eyebrow at me while Mitch lifts a hand to his own face to hide his amusement. “Jealous?” Gavin asks.
I lean against the granite countertop in Gavin’s gleaming white and stainless steel kitchen and stare out the wall of windows to watch the Pacific crash against the beach. Gavin and I spent the early morning hours surfing the rolling waves. My eyes flick back to Gavin and Mitch. Grinning, I shake my head.
“Not jealous, dude. But we’re going to be late and Kate is going to have our balls. Personally, I have no problem letting her know we’re late because you two were all over each other.”
I smirk when Gavin inhales sharply and winces. Mitch’s mouth falls open at the betrayal. “You wouldn’t,” he says.
“You think I’m going up against Kate?” I snort. “Hell no! I wouldn’t hesitate to toss your sorry asses right under the bus.”
“Maybe you should finish getting ready,” Gavin murmurs to Mitch. Gavin turns and pushes his worried boyfriend toward the stairs. “Hawke’s right. She’ll kill us.”
Mitch scowls, but does as he’s told. He’s halfway up the stairs when he calls out, “You know Adam is going to be later than everyone.”
Once the door to the master bedroom closes, Gavin grins. “He’s right. Plus, even if we are late, once Adam strolls in an hour later, Kate will forget about us and be all over him.”
I laugh. “You do realize she does that because she loves giving him a hard time?”
“I know.” Gavin smiles and runs a hand through his unkempt blond hair. “Doesn’t make it any less entertaining.”
A few minutes later, Mitch’s heavy footsteps thump down the stairs. “Are we leaving?” He shoves his wallet into the back pocket of his faded jeans and checks a small black handgun before securing it in a holster on his ankle and tugging the hem of his pants over it.
“A gun? To a party at Dax’s?” I ask, gaping. “There’s going to be children there.”
Mitch shoots me a look. “After what happened with Gavin, I take my gun everywhere.”
Yesterday, I spent the night so I could surf with Gavin this morning. Now we have to drive separately since I have my car here. We head out to our cars as Gavin locks the house.
“Don’t argue with Utah about guns,” Gavin says, using his Point Break-inspired nickname for his boyfriend. “You won’t win.”
I nod, and honestly, I can’t blame Mitch for being overprotective. About six months ago, Gavin almost died at the hands of a psychotic stalker. That’s how the two of them met. When our manager and my uncle, Ross, hired Mitch to run private security and find out who was leaving the horrific notes and gory gifts for Gavin in our hotel rooms, backstage at our shows… everywhere. It was a very stressful time for everyone.
We end up thirty minutes late getting to Dax and Kate’s rental house. Traffic was horrific. Even on weekends you can count on at least one major incident on the LA freeways, if you’re lucky. That’s why I live in West Hollywood. It’s convenient. No way could I live an hour outside the city like Gavin, and now Mitch since he moved in a few weeks ago.
Mitch nods at the large, intimidating man guarding the front door. “Good. They have extra security,” he says approvingly.
We wait outside while the guy speaks to someone on a wireless link to confirm we’re on some list, which is ridiculous in my opinion. Who the fuck doesn’t know that Gavin and I work with Dax? After getting the third degree, we’re allowed inside.
“Gavin, Hawke, Mitch!” Ellie, Adam’s wife, greets us from the kitchen, where she’s wiping their daughter’s hands with a paper towel.
“Shit,” Mitch hisses, halting his steps. “Adam beat us here.”
“Damn. I forgot about El,” Gavin whispers back. “She always rides Adam’s ass to make sure they’re not late.”
Annoyed by the human roadblock, I push past the two men and greet Ellie with a big hug. “El, you look fantastic.”
She steps back and rubs her tiny belly, wrinkling up her nose. “I feel like rubbish. This pregnancy seems harder than my first.”
“Hak! Hak!” Sadie, Adam and Ellie’s little one, holds her arms out, impatient for me to pick her up.
I scoop the toddler up and swing her high in the air. She squeals and giggles uncontrollably, her silky dark hair tumbling around her face. “How are you, Miss Sadie?” She responds by blowing a raspberry at me and grabbing my glasses off my face.
I wrestle them back from what has to be the strongest toddler on earth, and tuck them in my shirt pocket so she can’t get her tiny hands on them again.
“You’re just like your daddy,” I chuckle. “Always getting into trouble.”
“I’m not always in trouble,” Adam announces, entering the house through the back door as Gavin and Mitch slip out. Sadie squirms and struggles in my grip, whining for Adam.
“Fine,” I pout, handing her over to Adam. “Leave me for another man. I’ll remember that, little one.” I touch my index finger to the tip of her button nose.
Sadie grins and promptly smacks her father in the eye.
“Ow! Buggar, Sadie!”
Ellie and I exchange glances and crack up. Adam shifts his daughter to one arm and rubs his eye with his free hand. “That’s not funny, you tossers. That bloody hurt.”
“That’s why it’s so funny,” Ellie giggles. “Come on, Hawke.
” She hooks her arm through mine. “Let’s go outside. The patio is beautiful and Dax has food on the grill.”
Grinning, I open the door for Ellie and follow her outside, Adam close behind with Sadie in his arms as he chastises her for punching him in the eye. The second I step out onto the flagstone patio, I stop dead.
“What the—?” Adam slams into my back, holding back a curse. “Hawke! Move your arse. I almost dropped my daughter, you numpty!”
I step aside to let him pass, but can’t pull my gaze away from the tall, willowy blonde across the patio, her back to me, leaning on the wrought-iron railing. Naturally, no one bothered to mention Abby would be here. Sometimes I wonder if my friends either love to embarrass me or if they flat-out know me better than I think, because on one hand I want to see Abby so badly it hurts, but on the other, I would never admit it to anyone, including myself.
“Hawke!” Dax booms, thumping on my back with his huge hand. “You made it!” I flinch from the heavy smack and tear my eyes from Abby to acknowledge my bandmate. He has a set of tongs in one hand and is wearing a black apron that says “I Rub My Meat” in bright red letters.
“Why wouldn’t I make it?” I ask, pulling my brows together.
Dax laughs. “Who knows? Why do you do anything you do? After bailing from my house a few months ago, I haven’t heard a peep from you. I never know what to expect when it comes to Hawke Evans.”
He turns back to the grill and pokes at the various items with the tongs. I duck my head to hide my embarrassment. Of course Dax would bring up me taking off in the middle of the night. He doesn’t know I left Abby in bed alone, but it hurts just the same. My friends don’t know what happened that night between me and Abby, but I know, and I feel like crap about it. Worse, I’m sure I hurt Abby in the process. And now she’s here.
Shit.
Deciding I have no choice unless I want everyone to see the uncomfortable tension between us, I suck up my pride, grab a beer, and cross the patio to join Abby.