Phoenix Reborn (2 page)

A
shling froze mid-stretch, her already large eyes widening. She hadn’t heard that name uttered in some years, though she saw it almost daily. In writing, everywhere she turned, on cinema marquees, in newspapers, online. There was no avoiding it.

Hawke Turner was the golden boy of Woodland Creek, a claim to fame of sorts for the town. He’d left when he was a teenager to pursue a career in film, and he’d made it with great success. In fact, Ashling had watched him a few nights earlier in a romantic comedy which she’d rented on pay-per-view, though she would never have admitted such a thing to Ranach or anyone else.

But long before Hawke’s career had begun, before the awful night that had changed everything, Ashling had shared a close bond with him. All their young lives they’d been classmates. And as a freshman in high school, Hawke had often sat with her outside at lunch, chatting with her, asking questions about her thoughts, her aspirations. He’d always seemed genuinely inquisitive, genuinely caring.

And she’d always liked him for it; after all, a shy girl’s greatest ally was a friendly boy. It didn’t hurt, either, that he was handsome, even then. Over time, though she’d never expressed the words out loud, her feelings for him had developed into something like first love. Each day she’d anticipated seeing him at school, her young heart fluttering whenever he walked into the room. Days when he was away sick always felt as though something had been temporarily removed from her being.

He had been her hero, that boy who was so attentive and so caring. Her saviour. And for a time, he’d seemed fond of her, too.

Adults always said that children and teenagers didn’t understand love. But Ashling had been convinced otherwise during those years. In truth, she had cared deeply for Hawke in spite of her youth. And never had she felt that way about anyone since. She’d had boyfriends; she’d experienced the pleasures of sexual intimacy. But no man had caused her heart to dance in her chest as he had.

And so, when things had gone south on that infamous night so long ago, her withdrawal from her peers and from society had broken her heart. Because she’d lost him too. As she’d done with everyone else, she’d pushed him away, retreated from him, from herself, from everything.

She would never forget the moment when Hawke had seemed to realize that they were no longer to be friends. From across a crowd she’d seen him looking at her, his eyes sad, confused, questioning. And she’d known that he felt it, as the others did it. Fear, disgust. Loathing.

She knew then that he would never come and sit with her again. And soon after that he’d gotten his first acting job, which had meant that he had moved away from Woodland Creek. That was the last that Ashling had seen of him.

And now, after years, there was no hope of reigniting that friendship. A girl who could do what she’d done tended not to have a great number of friends — particularly not famous ones.

As the memories reeled in her mind, Ashling remembered that Ranach had just spoken.

“Hawke is coming here?” she said, her heart accelerating in her chest. “Why on earth would he even be in Woodland Creek?”

“Well, he was born in this town, after all. Even movie stars like to visit their families.”

“Yes, but he can afford to fly them anywhere in the world. Surely…”

“Perhaps he simply misses the place. I know that I would, if I were gone for a long time.”

For years she’d avoided reading about Hawke in newspapers or looking him up, not wanting to know what it was that she’d lost in that fateful moment eight years earlier.

But for whatever reason, he’d been on her mind of late. And the film that she’d watched had been her link to him; a reminder of another era. Watching it had brought on painful memories, but it had also satisfied a long-developing curiosity. She’d heard, of course, that he was doing incredibly well. And a part of her was proud of him for it, for getting out of Woodland Creek and for carving such a name for himself onto the world’s consciousness.

And she’d discovered that as well as everything else that he’d become, Hawke had grown into an incredibly handsome young man, his dark hair still thick and unruly, his face expressive, lips kissable, not to mention apparently sought after by every Hollywood starlet.

One scene in particular had caused Ashling to hit the pause button, her heart once again surging inside her chest just as it had done in her younger years. In the scene he’d been standing in a bedroom, shirtless, wearing only boxer shorts. His abdomen had looked as though it had seen more workouts than most Navy Seals. He was, without a doubt, a thing of exquisite beauty, and for a moment she’d wondered how life might have been different, if only…

If only so many things had never happened. Too many to count.

“You and he were quite close at one point, were you not?” asked her mentor, raising an eyebrow inquisitively, as though in the midst of reading her thoughts. As always, Ashling felt certain he already knew the answer to his question. He was only asking to pull her out of the invisible shell that she used for armour.

“Close? Sure, when we were about twelve,” she said, avoiding any mention of the incident that had occurred during her teen years — the incident that had ensured that her social life would come to an abrupt and painful end. “It’s not like we’re in touch now.”

“Well, you will be back in touch soon enough. He’s on his way over.”

“What? When? Why?” Ashling found herself wondering how much of the studio’s dust and grime had settled on her face. God, she must look awful. She was suddenly sorry to have worn an old pair of torn jeans and a dark grey sweatshirt that she’d owned in high school. But then, if Hawke was like most men, he would remain oblivious to her choice of wardrobe, and likely wouldn’t be any the wiser if her face weren’t immaculately clean.

“Why didn’t you tell me he was coming over?” she asked, wiping her forehead with a ratty sleeve.

“Because if I know you at all, I can predict when you might panic — as you’re doing now. As for your other question, he’ll be here at any second.”

And, as if on cue, the doorbell rang.

“Well? Aren’t you going to answer it?” asked Ranach, smiling sweetly. Ashling glared at him before taking the few steps to the door. Cruel, cruel mentor. There was no doubt in her mind that he’d somehow orchestrated this deliberately. Though what his motivation was, she couldn’t guess. Ranach was a lot of things, but he wasn’t generally sadistic.

She opened the door with one hand, running her fingers through her slightly tangled mess of auburn hair with the other. And there he stood; tall, handsome, Hawke.

If she hadn’t known him as a child, she would never have believed that his name could be real. It had always seemed designed for someone who might end up in a hall of fame; you didn’t name your child Hawke unless you expected him to go places.

In so many ways, he looked exactly like the boy that he’d been at sixteen. Except for the stubble and the height, of course. And the newly-developed muscles that Ashling knew were hidden beneath his light sweater and jeans. His shoulders had broadened, his torso tapering to a narrow waist. Clearly, he devoted a certain portion of his life to workouts. And it paid off.

Now that he was as famous as anyone on the planet, well, it seemed odd to be standing face to face with him. Fame made people rise to levels that made them seem untouchable; spectres who walked on another plane of existence. They became fictional creatures, even.
Unicorns.
The day that Hawke Turner had made his first appearance on a tabloid cover was the day that he’d altered in Ashling’s mind into a person she’d never known, and now she found herself wondering if it was a hologram that stood before her.

But he was really there. He was really in Woodland Creek, if only temporarily. And the young man who’d been wandering across her television screen so recently smiled at her from the other side of the screen door, his teeth gleaming an impossible white against dark stubble.

“Ashling Jones,” he said.

She froze for a moment, unable to utter the name that perched, waiting, on her lips. Somehow, letting it loose would mean acknowledging that he was really standing in front of her. In truth, she was surprised that he remembered her name, as though fame should wipe a person’s memory banks clean.

“Hawke,” the young man continued, gesturing to himself as though speaking to a chimpanzee who hadn’t yet grasped the English language. “My name is Hawke Turner.”

“I know,” Ashling replied at last, laughing. “I know who you are, of course. I remember you.”
How could I possibly do anything but?

“Oh, good. I thought I’d become all forgettable,” he said, his smile still intact. Those teeth — how did he get them so white? “I’d hate for
you
of all people to forget me.”

“What are you doing here?” Ashling asked, even as she registered the significance of his last statement. “I must admit, you’re the last person I expected to see today.”

“Young Mr. Turner is here to collect a necklace that I was repairing for his mother,” said Ranach, who leaned in front of Ashling and pushed the screen door open, glaring silently at his employee for her failure to show their guest a proper welcome.

Hawke stepped inside and Ashling backed away, feeling mortified to be so star-struck in front of a former classmate, let alone a former close friend.

“Is it finished?” asked Hawke, turning to Ranach.

“Absolutely,” said the silversmith, reaching over to a nearby table and extracting a silver chain from a box. He handed it to the young man, saying, “I hope she’ll be happy with it.”

“I’m sure she will be,” said Hawke. “Thanks so much for doing this on short notice.” He turned to Ashling. “So tell me, how are you? What have you been doing with your life for the last eight years?”

“Oh, this and that,” she said. “I work here. In Ranach’s studio downstairs, making trinkets and thingies.”
Trinkets? Thingies? Way to impress him, Ashling, you idiot.

“Thingies? That’s great. I’ve always wanted to know how to make a thingie. I took a course in thingie-construction at university, but I’m afraid that I got an F on the doowhacky exam.”

“Well,” replied Ashling, relieved that he seemed to have remained the same old Hawke, “thingies are, of course, not quite up to your level of glamour, but we take what we can get here in Woodland Creek.” Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Ranach making himself scarce by heading for the kitchen.

“My life is far from glamorous,” Hawke retorted. “Busy, after all, isn’t a synonym for ‘exciting.’ But it’s an interesting life, to say the least.”

“Well, you’re famous, anyhow,” said Ashling. “The town must be freaking out that you’re here.”

“God, I hope not.” Hawke pushed his fingers through the thick hair at the back of his head. “I have no interest in being fawned over. By strangers, anyhow. I don’t suppose I’d mind being fawned over by you, Ashling. You’re looking awfully good.”

The young woman felt her cheeks go hot and cursed them for it; no doubt Hawke could see the crimson shade that had permeated her flesh. How on earth had he done this to her with only a few words?

“I’ll bet you say that to all the ladies,” she said, attempting to tease him. But the words came out earnestly.

“I really don’t say any such thing to all the ladies. I’m not so smooth as the characters I play,” he replied, laughing. “I used to have such a crush on you, you know. I’m not play-acting. I always knew that you were destined for great things, too.”

Did he really? No. No way. He was being friendly and overly kind, because he felt bad for her. Surely that was all. She chose to change the subject, rather than test his gifts for charm further. “So...are you just in town for a visit? I mean, I haven’t seen you in years. I thought you’d disappeared for good.”

“I’m here working for the next couple of days, actually,” he said. “Shooting a few scenes from a film set in small town America. You should come have a look at the set. We’ll be on High Street tomorrow, and probably for the next few days. After that I’m hoping to take it easy for a little while and to catch up with this place. But seriously — do come by and say hello, would you?”

“Really?” Ashling realized immediately that her voice had gone up by about half an octave. This was not exactly playing it cool. “I mean, maybe I will. You know, if I’m not too busy.” She wondered if her attempt to sound uninterested was working.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, go to the bloody set!” shouted Ranach from the kitchen. How the hell had he heard so clearly?

“I’d really like it if you did.” Hawke was standing closer now, his eyes looking down into hers. He was taller than she remembered. And he smelled…well, he smelled like a
man.
Musky, delicious, sexy. He was no longer the boy she’d known. In almost every way he’d changed. If it was even possible, he’d improved. He had the air of experience about him, of knowledge. And his closeness meant that Ashling wanted quite desperately to touch him, to feel that body of his through his sweater. Good lord, he was divine.

She wanted to smile, to think how many young women would have killed to be in her position. But she wasn’t like other women, after all.