The Complete Rockstar Series (83 page)

“Fuck.”

I breathe deep, leaning against the brick wall to steady myself. Jesus, it’s been a while. I used to carry a pocketknife everywhere I went so I could make small cuts along existing scars. It was just too messy, too noticeable to everyone when you’re always covered in bloody bandages. I hate the questions, the looks, the inevitable pity. Burning is so…
clean
.

It takes three more frustrating tries to spark the lighter. I shove my arm over the flickering blue flame, holding my breath in anticipation. Exquisite, white-hot pain scalds my skin. The heat blooms from the small spot and flows out through my veins in a rush of euphoria. I exhale, groaning in pleasure, letting the fears, the guilt, the crushing pressure of the ever-present burden on my shoulders, burn away with the scorching flame of the fire.

When my field of vision begins to shimmer at the edges, I breathe in. Immediately, I taste the sharp tang of charred skin and hair.
Shit
. Startled, I drop the lighter and it clatters on the ground. The enormous blister on my arm screams angrily. I look at the spot and wince. Damn. I burned deeper than I usually allow. It happens if I’ve let the anxiety and darkness build up longer than I should. That’s when I get carried away.

My phone buzzes and I startle out of my trance. Time to go onstage.

Lightning fast, I roll down my sleeve, wincing when the fragile, singed skin pulls tight, and snatch the lighter off the ground. When I kick the brick away and walk inside the club, I feel weightless, free, unencumbered by darkness and depression, my two consistent companions. My problems with Abby fade away to insignificance, and I wonder why I ever worried.

When I catch sight of Abby standing in the dressing room with Kate, I grin. Instead of freaking out, I pretend the distance between us never happened by greeting Abby with a hug. She sinks into my arms and I inhale her familiar scent. It hits me hard because I’m still buzzing from my self-inflicted high. When I finally release her to step back, the damaged skin catches on my shirt and I stifle a cry from the excruciating pain that shoots up my arm. Abby notices something is wrong. Her beautiful smile falters and her kind expression turns confused. Beautiful blue eyes glisten wetly.

The look on her face, knowing I put it there, has the darkness roaring back in. Abby deserves so much better than me—a guilt-ridden, fucked-up loser with serious emotional baggage and a death wish. I proved it when the second she got a glimpse of my true damage, I literally kicked her to the curb. Ross was right to institutionalize me after the accident. Unfortunately, four years later, I’m still as fucked up as I was the day I went in.

Abby doesn’t back down. Instead, she puts a hand on my arm and squeezes gently. She smiles and suddenly, I don’t care. I don’t care that I’m a sick twisted fuck who should be locked up. I don’t care that I’ll probably wreck this perfect, innocent girl with all of my dark shit. She makes life bearable when without her, it isn’t. I don’t know why Abby pushes the demons away, why her smile sends a jolt of happiness through me every time I see it.
True
happiness, something so rare in my life I can’t help but cling to it, reach out and latch on to its source with all of my strength. I don’t know what it is about Abby that makes me want to
live
.

I only know that I want her to be mine, even if it wrecks us both.

I’ve fallen into a routine destined to torture my already fragile ego. Hawke and I are speaking again, but we’re not as close. He keeps me at arm’s length even though we hang out more than we used to. Whenever he asks to get together, I never hesitate to say yes despite the warning bells in my head tell me I shouldn’t.

I can’t help myself. I
need
to see Hawke, not only because I crave the heat between us, the spark that brings part of me to life, but also to make sure he’s made it through another day unscathed. Hawke doesn’t bring up the incident at the tattoo parlor and neither do I. I’m afraid if I do, he’ll react the same way and shut me out again, and that’s a chance I’m not willing to take.

Over the last few weeks, we’ve reconnected to become pretty good friends. Adam thinks it’s funny, with me being tan, blonde, and brainy and Hawke being pierced, tattooed, and in a band. He calls us opposites. I prefer to think of us as complimentary, each of us bringing something to the table that the other one needs or is lacking.

Of course, Hawke doesn’t know that what I’m lacking is
him
, physically, that is. He’s completely clueless to my hopeless attraction and clearly doesn’t reciprocate. Every time we touch, either accidentally brushing fingers or when Hawke puts his hand on my back to guide me through a parking lot or crowded room, my body explodes with desire. Heat shoots down my spine in a fiery ripple from my head to the bottom of my feet.

Since Hawke obviously doesn’t feel the same, his touches meant to be platonic, and I’m not willing to risk our friendship, every minute spent with him is pure torture. Being friends means I get to hang out and talk to Hawke, joke around with him, watch his tattoo collection grow, stare at his beautiful face, and then sit back and watch as he hooks up after each show with girl after nameless girl.

Girls who aren’t me.

If I had any experience with men at all, I’d have the courage to simply do what the others do—walk up to Hawke, bat my eyes, whisper in his ear, and disappear somewhere to have some fun. But I have little experience with dating and zero with sex. Having my first time in the filthy back room of some club with a guy I like way more than I should isn’t ideal, but I’d do it with Hawke. He’d have to make the first move, and so far he’s shown no signs of wanting me that way.

So here I am, at yet another after-party. This time at the guys’ apartment, permanently relegated to the dreaded “friend zone.”

“Do you need another drink?” Gavin asks, pointing at my empty cup.

I hesitate, my eyes flicking up to find Hawke across the room, a slutty-looking blonde wrapped around his gorgeous body. My heart trips up, clenching painfully in my chest. No matter what the situation or where we are, I’m aware of Hawke’s location at all times. It’s as if my body is responding to some silent beacon, Hawke pulling my focus like a magnet, even when I wish I could simply ignore him.

“Yes, I definitely need another.” I thrust my cup at Hawke’s best friend, not taking my gaze off of Hawke and his soon-to-be-newest conquest. Alcohol will dull some of the excruciating anguish of watching yet another hookup.

Gavin accepts my empty cup graciously to fetch my drink. “Coming right up.”

That’s it. Tired of being overlooked by the guy I’ve fallen hard for, I grit my teeth in stubborn determination. A quick scan of the room and I notice there are plenty of other men here tonight.
Available
men. If Hawke doesn’t want me, surely one of them does. Without a doubt I’m not thinking rationally, but I can’t take the torture anymore. Wanting something so badly only to watch someone else get it time and time again is too much to bear. Every time I watch Hawke take off with a girl, a shred of my dignity, along with a piece of my heart, disappears.

Gavin returns with my beverage, a refill of the blue liquid over ice that tastes like a really strong piña colada.

Good. I need it.

With a huge amount of false confidence, I pluck it from his hand and down half of it right away, letting the liquid fire burn its way down my throat. Gavin’s beautiful face falls, his full lips turning down in the corners as I demolish the beverage. I disregard his concern, edging past the confused bass player to approach an attractive guy I noticed earlier.

The guy grins when he sees me, revealing two adorable dimples and a set of perfect white teeth. “Hey, gorgeous,” he says, sliding a hand around my waist. It feels strange, wrong. I can tell it’s not Hawke’s touch and my body is very aware of the fact.

I shrug off my concern and smile back at the guy. “Hi.” Feeling ridiculous, I lean into him the way I’ve seen girls do to Hawke and flutter my eyelashes. Holy shit, it works, because the look in the guy’s eyes is purely carnal.

Perfect.

If Hawke’s getting laid tonight, so am I.

“Want to go somewhere more private?” Brandi, Brittany… whatever the girl rubbing against me is called whispers, sticking her tongue in my ear to show me exactly why she wants to leave.

A shudder rips through me and my cock gets hard. I curl my hand into her side and pull her flush against my body. I’m about to drag her into my bedroom, but out of the corner of my eye I catch sight of Abby crossing the room. When she stops next to Brad—a complete and total entitled douchebag who despite all of us hating him, somehow gets invited to every one of our parties—my spine stiffens in anger. Brad hits on any and every girl in sight, making sure to get them nice and drunk before fucking and chucking them. More than once I’ve had to listen to him describe his disgusting sexual escapades.

And now he’s talking to Abby with a lecherous smile on his stupid face. No, that’s not what happened.
She
went to talk to him. What the fuck?

“Hawke,” the girl at my side whines. She slides her hand across the front of my jeans, which sends another ripple of pleasure straight to my groin. Brad reaches out, his slimy arm wrapping around Abby’s waist, thumb skimming over her lower back, and I see fucking red.

Don’t fucking touch what’s mine!

The words roar through my head, the powerful force behind them surprising me.

“I’ll be right back.” I gracelessly untangle myself from Brittany/Brandi’s clutches with no intention of actually returning. She’s attractive, but she doesn’t smell right. Too much perfume, not the faint beachy and slightly floral scent that perpetually surrounds Abby, but only if you’re close enough.

Brad leans in to whisper something to Abby and I clench my jaw at the thought of him enjoying that delicious scent. It gets worse. I watch in horror as his hand slowly slides down to her ass.

That’s when I fucking snap.
Mine!

“Hey,” I cross the room, grab Brad’s shoulder, and shove him back. He stumbles, shocked, quickly composing his face into a mask of irritation.

“What the fuck, Evans?” Brad snarls.

Abby’s eyes are wide, ricocheting back and forth between me and Brad. Her luscious mouth drops open in surprise. “Hawke? What’s going on?”

I tear my eyes away from those sinful lips to glare at Brad, who seems beyond determined to piss me off further when I’m already hovering at the edge of the cliff.

“Go away, Evans. I’m talking to this nice
girl
.” This prick has no idea how close I am to snapping or what Abby means to me. The way Brad says “girl,” combined with the obvious “fuck off so I can get laid” look in his eyes, seals his fate.

Blinded by rage, I pull back my arm and drill my fist right into his smug face.

“Fuck!” Brad cries out. He touches his mouth to find his lip split open and bleeding.

“Oh my god, Hawke! What is your problem?” Abby shouts. I move to punch the bastard again, but Abby steps between us, grabbing my hand. “Stop!”

“Move,” I hiss, shooting a murderous glare over Abby’s shoulder at Brad, who is still holding his hand up to his mouth.

The rest of the room has gone silent, everyone stopping to stare at the disruption, eager to watch a good fight. Dax must have either left or is holed up in his room with Kate, otherwise he’d be right in the middle of things, using his enormous muscles and underground fighting skills to put an end to the confrontation.

“Don’t,” Abby begs, forcing me to look at her by stepping into my line of sight. When I meet her eyes, shimmering with tears and betrayal, all of the rage I felt for Brad turns into frustration with Abby for drinking and putting herself in the situation with Brad to begin with.

“Leave,” I bark at Brad, pointing at the front door. Before she can protest, I grab Abby’s wrist and haul her to my room. She stumbles behind me on her high heels. Using my foot, I slam the door shut with a bang.

“Ouch, Hawke!” Abby twists out of my hold, turning to glare at me. “What is your problem?”

“My problem?” I shout. “I’m not the one getting drunk and letting Brad
piece-of-shit
Vargas touch my ass!”

Her mouth drops open and her eyes bulge. “Are you kidding me right now?”

I step forward, crowding her in a corner of the tiny space I share with Gavin. “Oh, I’m far from fucking kidding, Abby. He’s a slimy douchebag who wants nothing more than to get you drunk and fuck you.”

“So what? It’s none of your business who I sleep with!” Abby puts her hands on her hips and scowls. It’s almost adorable, until she continues her rant, going straight for the jugular. “I don’t say anything about the whores you bang every night!”

Anger, shame, raging desire—they all battle inside my chest, clashing until they detonate in a huge fireball of uncontrollable emotions. “I don’t want them!” I shout, my hands going to my hair, fisting huge hunks.

I step closer, Abby’s back now pressed against the bathroom door. I lean forward, dropping my hands to cage her in on either side of her head. Her breathing picks up and I drop my gaze to drag up her sinful body, ending at her heart-stopping eyes. “Don’t you get it, Abby?” My voice lowers as I finally confess what I’ve held inside for too long. “I don’t want Brad touching you. I don’t want anyone touching you!
I
want you. You’re
mine
.”

Abby gasps, either in shock at my declaration, or with desire. I don’t wait to find out because at that moment, I lean closer, letting my hips press against hers so she can feel
exactly
how much I want her. Abby’s eyes fall to my mouth, her thick lashes fluttering against flushed skin. When her pink tongue darts out to lick her lips, any remaining willpower I possessed dissolves into nothingness.

I tilt my head to see if that mouth tastes as sweet as she smells, but Abby holds me back with a hand to my chest. A fist squeezes around my heart.
Of course
she doesn’t want me. Why would she? I’m a fucked-up mess and she knows it.