“You’re…”
She grins widely, revealing perfectly straight white teeth, the kind that can only be achieved with expensive veneers, surrounded by thick red lips. Her dark eyes shimmer, black lashes framing them perfectly.
“Jessica Hamby,” she finishes, holding out a manicured hand. “And you’re Hawke Evans.”
I blink and take her hand, shaking it. Jessica makes no move to pull back from my grasp. Instead, she tips her head and gives me a knowing smirk.
Jessica Hamby. Hollywood’s latest “It Girl.” Gorgeous, curvy Jessica. Sitting next to me in first class, flashing fuck-me eyes my way and wearing a very short skirt.
I think I might have found a better way to get my demons out of my head. Half an hour into the flight, Jessica squeezes my knee and leans in. “I’m going to the bathroom.”
Oh yeah. This way is definitely better. Much, much better.
Abby
Work is long and I think I’m more anxious than half of my patients. I sent Hawke a text after reading the article, but haven’t heard anything back. When I checked my phone at lunch, I had missed calls from my mother, my brother Evan, and a bunch of unknown numbers, as well as several texts including one from Kate.
Nothing from Hawke.
I try not to let his silence disappoint me, but if nothing else, we’re supposed to be friends. He’s the one who invited me to the VMAs. I would think I at least rated a day-after phone call.
Whatever. I pack up my things and leave my office to head home. “Bye, Laura.” My assistant is on the phone so she gives me a tiny wave as I pass her desk.
Grateful the elevator is empty, I use the opportunity to lean against the wall and close my eyes. Exhaustion washes over me, making my limbs feel heavy and my mind drained. Maybe I’ll be so tired by the time I get home I won’t have the energy to worry about Hawke. The lobby, however, is buzzing with activity, which is unusual to say the least. Over a dozen people are crowded around the front windows.
“What’s going on?” I turn to George, the security guard for the medical office building. Only, he’s not at his desk. That’s odd. Oh well. I’m way too tired to care. I push past a large man holding an even larger briefcase and shove open the front door.
To land right smack in the middle of a nightmare.
“Dr. Kessler!”
“Abby!”
Paparazzi swirl around me in a hurricane of flashbulbs and frantic shouting.
“Are you and Hawke dating?”
“Is it true you’re engaged?”
“Are you Hawke’s therapist?”
“Did you get pregnant to trap him into marriage?”
I duck my head, fumbling in my purse for my sunglasses, if for nothing else than to block out the blinding flashes of the cameras.
“Dr. Kessler!” A large hand wraps around my arm and I attempt to jerk away. “Dr. Kessler, it’s George.”
I glance up to see George in his security uniform, towering over me with his six-foot four-inch frame. “George?” I squeak.
“I’ve been trying to get rid of them, Dr. Kessler, but they won’t leave. I was about to call you and tell you to go around the back… but I guess it’s too late.” He looks menacing and embarrassed at the same time.
“Get me out of here. Please.”
George nods, slinging an arm around my trembling shoulders. I’ve never been claustrophobic, but my sympathy for patients who suffer from the debilitating illness increases tenfold. My legs feel like jelly and I’m having a hard time dragging in a full breath of air.
“Get back!” George does his best to keep the paparazzi from crushing us, but it’s not nearly enough. One man can’t control thirty determined reporters.
By the time we reach my car, I’m stressed out beyond belief and tears are pressing hotly against the backs of my eyes. Somehow, George manages to finagle my door open and tuck me in safely. I thank him before peeling out of the parking lot with a loud squeal of my tires in my haste to put as much distance between the paparazzi and me as possible.
Once I’m away and as positive as I can be that no one is following, I pull into the nearest parking lot. The adrenaline that kept me on my feet and got me to my car has left me a trembling, anxiety-ridden mess. I clutch my chest, my heart pounding hard enough to feel beneath my hand. I gasp for breath and lean my forehead on the steering wheel, sobs ripping from my throat on each exhale.
It’s been a long time since I had a panic attack.
With fumbling fingers, I dig for my phone and dial Hawke’s number. Tears streaming down my face, I pray that he answers this time, needing to hear his voice, needing him to tell me I’m overreacting, that I’ll be okay. To calm me down from the overwhelming crush of anxiety. Once again I get his voice mail. Instead of hanging up, this time, I leave a message.
Teeth chattering, I fumble my way through. “H-hey. It’s m-me. I don’t know if y-you’re around or what, but t-the paparazzi found me at w-work and it was… it was awful. I know you said… Anyway. Okay. Okay. I’m sure you’re busy but if you could c-call when you get a chance. Bye.”
The phone falls out of my hands after I hang up, thumping to the floor mat. I mumble as I talk myself off the mental ledge I’m standing on. “Okay. It’s okay. They’ll lose interest. You can do this.”
It takes twenty minutes of rambling and deep breathing for me to get far enough back from that dreaded ledge to drive home.
Hawke
Tired from my flight home, I drop my bag on the foyer floor of the condo and trudge over to the fridge to get a beer. One in hand, I change my mind and grab the entire six-pack. After twisting off the cap, flicking it into the sink, I cross to the living area and fall onto the couch, letting my head drop back on the cushion.
In between sips of beer, I close my eyes and grin. Three days of fucking the sexy Jessica Hamby in every single room of my house in Boulder was exactly what I needed to get my head on straight. Hell, I didn’t even need to go rock climbing, which was the original reason for flying to Colorado in the first place. The rush of acrobatic, near nonstop sex almost equaled the high I get from hanging off a cliff ten stories off the ground, with nothing but a metal hook and some rope to catch me if I fall.
Almost.
The darkness is still there, even if it’s dulled. I can hear it. Shouting at me, eating away at my insides. I finish the beer and open another, quickly downing that one as well. I’m halfway through my third when the buzzer at my front door goes off. Fuck ’em. I’m busy getting hammered.
It goes off again, longer this time. Someone is pressing the button and not letting go.
“Son of a bitch!” I shove off the couch and stab the intercom. “What?”
“Hawke? It’s Kate. Let me in.”
I release the button. Kate? Why is she here? Whatever. I enter the code to let her into the lobby and prop my front door open an inch so I can flop back down on the sofa and continue drinking.
A few minutes later, Kate Davies appears in my condo, looking tall and athletic and super pissed off. Oh shit. “Kate? What’s going—”
I don’t get to finish my sentence, because Kate crosses the length of the room and lands a sharp kick to my shin. “You fucking bastard,” she snarls, catching me with another swift kick.
“Jesus, Kate!” I jump to my feet to avoid getting kicked again. Kate played soccer for the UK women’s Olympic team and now coaches for Rutger’s University, so her abilities aren’t to be underestimated. She’ll kick me black and blue if she chooses and there’s nothing I can do about it. Not unless I want her six-foot-three-inch, ex-bare-knuckle boxer husband ripping me to shreds.
“What is wrong with you, you bloody wanker?” Kate and I stand almost the same height. She doesn’t hesitate to go toe to toe with me, eyes blazing as she shouts.
“Christ, Kate. I have no idea what you’re talking about! Fuck!” I yelp when she lands another kick to my already throbbing shins. I climb up onto the couch where my legs are hopefully out of re
ach.
“Why haven’t you answered your mobile?”
“What?” My brain scrambles to put everything together. “Oh, it died and I didn’t have my charger.”
“What do you mean? Where were you?” Kate’s fists uncurl but her shoulders are still tense, ready to strike at any moment.
“I went to my house in Boulder. Shit. I don’t have to tell you where I’m going or what I’m doing, Kate.”
She scowls, those green eyes of hers cutting through me. “You’re right. You don’t. But you bloody well should have called Abby, you stupid git.”
“Abby? What? Why?”
“Oh my god, Hawke!” Kate turns away and paces the room, muttering something about men and idiots under her breath. “She needed you! Get a fucking clue and charge your mobile.” She climbs right up on the sofa with me, standing until our noses almost touch. “Don’t ever hurt my friend like this again or it won’t be me visiting you next time.”
I swallow, trying not to let her threat get to me. But I know she’s talking about sending Dax to beat my ass. “Don’t be ridiculous. Dax wouldn’t get involved,” I huff.
Kate’s eyes narrow and she jumps gracefully to the floor, her feet making no sound as she lands. “If Dax has to come home to this…” She gestures at herself, all angry and worked up, “every day. Believe me, he’ll do anything to make me happy again.”
Shit. She’s right. He would.
“All right, all right!” I hold up my hands in defeat.
“Good. Don’t be a fuckup, Hawke. Adam is enough to deal with. I can’t deal with you as well. Charge your bloody mobile.” With that parting shot, Kate walks out and slams the door, rattling the doorframe and leaving me wondering what the fuck just happened.
I pull out my dead phone and head to my office to charge it like Kate said. She’s scary as fuck when she’s angry. No way am I going to deal with that again. Or Dax.
Seconds later, my phone lights up with notifications. I scroll through, reading the first few, and squeeze my eyes shut.
Fuck.
Abby
Saturday rolls around and I still haven’t heard from Hawke. After he didn’t return any calls or texts on Monday, I didn’t bother to try again. I left the ball in his court and clearly, he has no intention of contacting me anytime soon about the paparazzi or the article or even the VMAs. I’m not chasing him around begging for attention.
After a long run on the beach and an even longer shower, my phone rings. For a few seconds, my heart soars, thinking maybe Hawke finally manned up and decided to call. When I see it’s Kate, I nearly choke on the despair. No matter how much I tell myself Hawke’s sudden silence doesn’t bother me, it does.
“Hello?”
“Abby. What are you up to this lovely morning?”
“I just got back from a run. Why?” I shuffle into the kitchen and pour myself a cup of coffee.
“Abby,” Kate says. “I’m only in LA for another week or so. The award show is over and the guys are almost done recording. I know the photographers must be getting to you by now. Do you want to discuss it?”
I sigh and put down my mug. “Kate, I really don’t want to talk about the paparazzi that have been stalking me everywhere I go. I’ve learned to deal with it and they’ve tapered off a lot in the last twenty-four hours.”
“Listen, Abby. Remember when they first found me at UCLA?”
I think back to college and that horrible time the paparazzi showed up at one of Kate’s soccer games. They caused a near riot and Kate ended up being benched. “Yeah, it was awful.”
“Let me help you deal with this. Come over and we’ll talk.” I hesitate, so she continues. “Besides, Poppy misses you.”
I laugh. “Poppy misses me, huh? She’s not even a year old, Kate. Poppy doesn’t know me from Adam.”
“Tosh. Of course she does. Adam’s a complete tosser and you’re not. Even a baby knows that. Come over, Abby. I’m at the Four Seasons, so it’s not far from your house.”
Grinning, I throw up my hands in defeat even though Kate can’t see them. “Fine. I’m leaving now.”
* * *
“So you haven’t heard from Hawke at all about the articles or the paparazzi?”
I shake my head and bounce Kate and Dax’s adorable daughter in my lap as she plucks bits of cereal off the kitchen table and stuffs the pieces into her mouth. “No. I told you that on Thursday.”
“That asshole,” Kate hisses under her breath.
“What?” I stop bouncing Poppy long enough for her to grab a hunk of my hair. “Ouch!”
“Hawke. I paid him a little visit yesterday.” Kate sits back in her chair, sipping her mimosa.
“Honestly, Kate! I can’t believe you did that.” I pry Poppy’s pudgy little fist open and extract my hair.
“What?” she exclaims, acting wide-eyed and innocent. “He deserved it, the stupid sod.”
“Deserved what? Oh no.” I remember stories of Kate laying into Adam back when he used to get drunk. Heck, I’ve seen her lay into Adam. It’s been years, but she was brutal. “You didn’t kick him, did you?”
Kate doesn’t get to answer, because Dax comes into the room, laughing loudly into his cell phone. He opens the refrigerator and pulls out a bunch of food, stacking it on the counter.
“No, he did. I swear!” Dax practically shouts into the phone.
Kate and I exchange glances. She shrugs, not wanting to continue talking about Hawke with her husband in the room.
Dax assembles a massive sandwich, slicing it in half with the phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder. “Adam, I’m telling you I heard a rumor from this guy I know and he confirmed it when I called to ask if it was true. He banged Jessica Hamby.”
In my peripheral vision, I see Kate’s mouth fall open. Ice trickles through my veins, making it seem too cold in the previously warm kitchen.
“Right, mate. Yeah. And on the flight to Denver, can you believe it? Lucky bastard.”
“What was that about being lucky, Dax?” Kate asks, her arms crossed over her chest.
His wide smile drops off his face and he covers the phone with his hand. “I didn’t say I want to shag Jessica Hamby on a flight, angel.”
“Uh-huh.” She glares at her husband.
His mouth drops as he realizes how far he stuck his foot in it. “Adam, I gotta run, mate.” Dax ends the call and grabs his lunch. “You know I didn’t mean it like that, angel. Hawke is the one who shagged that Jessica girl, not me.” Kate’s eyes harden and Dax stammers. “I don’t want to shag her… Shit.”
Kate frowns. “Dax. Do yourself a favor and leave.”
He moves faster than I’ve ever seen, sandwich in hand, and flees the kitchen.
The ice in my blood congeals around my heart, squeezing it tight in its cruel fist. I’m so stupid. Once again, I let Hawke Evans shatter me with his push and pull, his darkness and his light, his ability to keep me under his thumb with absolutely no effort on his part.
“That’s why he didn’t call,” I whisper. “He was too busy getting laid to be bothered with me and my ridiculous problems.”
Kate swoops the baby out of my hands, replacing her with a mimosa-filled champagne flute so I can bury my imminent meltdown under a tidal wave of alcohol.
“I think I need something stronger, Kate.”
“Right.” She leaps to her feet, puts Poppy in her high chair, and brings back a bottle of vodka, adding a generous amount to my glass.
I raise the flute to my lips. “Cheers.” It’s gone in three quick gulps.
Friends. If Hawke and I are only friends, then it’s time for me to get someone new in my life.
It’s time to get over Hawke Evans for good.
87
Hawke
“Those waves were killer!” Gavin says, dripping wet and out of breath. He brushes his hand through his hair, dropping onto his towel. When he finally gets settled, he digs his feet in the warm sand.
I lie back on my own towel
, covering my eyes with one arm to block the sun as I catch my breath. “They were.”
Topanga Canyon State Beach always has the best waves, but they come with a price. Even though it’s still early in the morning, the ocean is crowded with experienced surfers, everyone fighting for the perfect ride. It’s also a good place for Gavin and me because no one here pays us any attention, if they notice us at all. Not like the Malibu beaches where tourists and sunbathers outnumber surfers. We’d get mobbed if we tried to surf there.
“So…” Gavin says after a few minutes of watching surfers catch waves, doing expert tricks with their boards. “What the fuck has been going through your idiot brain lately?”
I sit up, glancing around to make sure no one can overhear us. Hardly anyone is sitting on the beach. We have a large area to ourselves.
“What the hell, Gav? What are you talking about?”
My best friend—the only one in my life who knows the real story about my parents and my sister, about the guilt that eats away at my soul—looks like he wants to punch my lights out.
“Shit.” He runs his hand through his blond mop of hair again and huffs out a laugh. “Mitch would kill me if he knew I was talking to you about this. He told me to, and I quote, ‘stay the fuck out of it.’”
I frown. “Out of what? Just say it, man. How long have I known you?”
“You’re right. We have known each other a long time. You were there for me when I needed someone. Which is why I have to be the one to talk to you.” Gavin reaches into his duffel bag, producing the small, heart-shaped rock I gave him over ten years ago when we were both messed-up teenagers locked in a mental institution.
I flinch back. The sight of my sister’s good luck charm sends a searing pain right into the hollow space where my heart should be.
“That. Right there, Hawke. That’s the problem. It’s been over a decade and you can’t even look at a rock without losing it.”