The Complete Rockstar Series (90 page)

“Thanks,” I tell the nurse, holding my breath until she finally leaves the room. I fumble for the bedside phone and dial Gavin. Sadly, it’s the only number I know by heart. He answers, his voice hesitant, probably because he doesn’t recognize the number.

“Hello?”

“Gav, it’s me.”

“Hawke?” I hear a muffled sound and Gavin shouts to whoever is in the room with him. “Hey guys! It’s Hawke.” His breathing returns to my ear. “Where are you?” I wince at the worry in his tone.

“I’m in the hospital.”

Thirty minutes later, the entire band storms into my hospital room in a flurry of noise and activity. Everyone is talking at once, half of them asking how I’m doing, the other half yelling at me for being so unbelievably thoughtless and selfish.

“Guys.” I try to get everyone to quiet down. Their voices are making my head throb. They continue arguing, thoroughly pissed at me for taking off and getting injured—for going alone, for fucking up, for existing—hell, for everything. I’m surprised I’m not being blamed for sinking the Titanic and causing world hunger, what with the huge list of accusations being flung at me. “Guys,” I repeat, to no avail.

“Shut up!” Everyone’s heads, including my own, whip around when Ross steps into the room and shouts.

“Out!” he snaps at my bandmates. No one moves, still dumbfounded at the sound of Ross raising his voice. My uncle is a pretty gentle guy, easygoing, calm. Until you push him over the edge. Right now, I’d say he’s waaay over that edge. “Move, now!”

Gavin, Dax, and Adam trip over each other to get to the door. Ross follows, closing it, trapping me with him in the tiny, and getting smaller by the minute, hospital room.

Instead of yelling, telling me what a disappointment I am, how I fucked up and screwed the band by getting injured, Ross takes out his phone and drops into the requisite blue vinyl chair next to the bed. “I have to give a press release. You’re going to miss tonight’s concert, maybe the one in Seattle tomorrow as well. Your doctor said you have a mild concussion on the back of your head and three broken ribs. Do you want me to tell the media the extent of your injuries, or do you want me to leave it vague?” He starts typing out an email.

My mouth falls open in shock. “You…you’re not mad? You’re not going to yell at me?”

He’s here to formulate a press release?

Ross closes his eyes for a moment, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, and sighs before meeting my gaze. “Hawke. Henry…” I flinch at his use of my name, his brother’s, my dad’s name. “Is there anything I can say to stop you from doing something like this again?”

I don’t even have to think about my answer. “No.”

“Is there anything I can say to get you to talk to a professional about everything you’ve been through?”

“No.”

He sits back in the chair and spreads his hands wide. “So… Tell me, what’s the point of lecturing you? I love you. I care about you. It hurts to watch you suffer, but you’re an adult and I can’t control you or make you come to terms with what happened to your family.”

Somehow, his words, though intended to let me off the hook, make me feel worse than if he actually did yell and lecture. It’s like Ross has given up on me. I don’t know why it upsets me—he should give up on me. I’ve given up on me.

“Thanks.” I pull at a thread on the so-thin-it’s-nearly-transparent fabric of my blue hospital gown.

“No problem,” Ross replies.

B
y the time
I’m released, get back to the hotel, and have a brand new phone in my hands—courtesy of someone’s assistant running to a nearby electronics store—it’s nearly six p.m. Gavin offered his phone to call Abby, but I refused. I want to be alone when I call her. Right now, everyone else is at the arena, prepping for the concert with a backup drummer while I’m lying in bed, achy and feeling like shit warmed over.

Abby answers on the first ring, her voice hoarse with the distinct sound of someone who has been crying. “Hawke?”

“Hey.” Jesus, I’m such a fucking asshole. “I’m sorry, Bee.”

Nothing. The silence goes on for so long I check to make sure we’re still connected. “Abby?”

I hear a stifled sob. “Hawke, I can’t…” Abby sniffs and I know she hasn’t
been
crying, she’s
still
crying. From the raspiness of her voice, I’d bet she’s been at it for a while.

“Can’t what, Bee?” My ribs are on fire and my head is killing me, but what hurts the most is the knotting, twisting, icy feeling in my gut. Dread churns in my stomach, fiery acid only it’s cold—like frostbite from the inside.

“I’m done, Hawke. We’re done. I can’t do this anymore.”

My empty, blackened heart stops. All of the blood in my body drains from my head; combined with the painkillers they gave me, it leaves me dizzy and unable to respond. The icy sensation in my midsection spreads, replacing the blood in my veins with wintery darkness. A shiver travels down my spine and goose bumps rise all over my body.

“So anyway,” Abby holds back a muffled cry. “Take care of yourself. I love you.”

The call disconnects and I’m left sitting on the bed, clutching the phone, stunned. Abby was probably the last thing on earth keeping me somewhat sane, and now she’s gone. My only tether to reality just snapped, leaving me to drift through life alone.

Life, what a fucking joke. What I do isn’t living, it’s existing. And I can’t even do that right.

“
H
ave
you had any mood changes this week, Justin?”

“Nah. I’m okay.” The young man slouches down in his chair. As usual, he begins picking disinterestedly at a loose thread on his jeans.

“All right.” He does look better today. It’s been a few weeks since the day he came in disheveled and not taking his medication properly. Today, he’s well dressed, clean, his eyes and skin are healthy and clear. “What about your medications? Are those working out for you?”

Justin shrugs, staring out the window of my office. Sometimes he gets like this, withdrawn, quiet. It could be nothing, it could be something that happened in his personal life that upset him, or it could be the beginning of a mood shift toward depression. I haven’t seen him since that last visit—his psychiatrist and his parents had him admitted to a hospital for a week or so to straighten out his meds and get him stable before letting him go home.

“I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” His head whips in my direction and his mouth curls in a scowl. “I’m sick of doing this. Sick of talking about this shit. I want to be normal. I want a girlfriend and to be able to finish a fucking semester of college without falling apart and being locked in a mental hospital! I’m done.” Justin springs out of the chair, whirls around, and leaves the office in a cloud of frustration.

“Well that’s just great,” I murmur to myself.

My assistant, Laura, comes into the room, her face a mask of concern. “Is everything okay? Justin just stormed out of here and he looked upset.”

I stand up and move to the chair behind my desk to enter notes into Justin’s file. “He’s having a bad day, Laura. It’s fine.”

Her brows pull together. “Are you sure?”

I wave her off. “I’m sure. Thanks. Just let me know when my next patient is here.”

“No problem, Abby.” I can tell she doesn’t agree with my assessment that everything is fine, but she leaves the office, closing the door behind her.

Justin is a good kid, he’s just tired—tired of doctors, of medication, of being a prisoner of the unpredictable whims of his brain. It’s tough to be treated as though you’re sick when physically, nothing appears to be wrong with you. He’s strong, he’s fit, he’s a handsome young man, yet he’s capable of falling to pieces over something that wouldn’t make most of think twice—a look from a stranger, a bad grade on a test, a fight with a significant other—any of those things can send him spiraling into a free fall that he has absolutely no control over.

It happened to my brother and countless other people with mental health issues. I only hope I’m not losing Justin. That he’s willing to fight for himself alongside me fighting for him.

I
must have been
nuts to suggest being friends with Hawke. I’m not sure if my mouth worked faster than my brain or if my brain simply shut down at the sight of his beautiful face and lean tattooed body, but when Hawke appeared in front of me at Dax and Kate’s house, my only reaction was the primal need to grab on tight and never let go.

My mind is definitely confused, no doubt. The professional counselor in me is standing with her arms crossed, tsk-tsking at my obvious lack of concern for my mental well-being, knowing the past will most likely repeat itself. The human being in me sees a man she used to know, sees how much damage still lies beneath the hardened facade, and is desperate to be there for him when he needs someone.

The woman in me? She’s the one who scares me. She’s the one who will bring this entire idea of being “friends” with my ex crumbling down at my feet. Because the woman in me is still deeply and hopelessly in love with Henry Walker Evans.

I pull into the underground garage of the address Hawke gave me and stop at a small keypad. The metal gate slowly rises when I punch in the six-digit number he sent in a text message this morning after I asked if he wanted to hang out today.

“Where are you, four twenty-five?”

I circle the garage, looking for the parking spot assigned to Hawke’s condo. My phone beeps with an incoming text right as I pull into the space and turn off my car.

Hawke- you lost? ;)

Laughing, I get out and push the button for the elevator. Once inside, I respond.

Me- on my way up. Space 425 was hard to find

A new text immediately follows.

Hawke- you’re smart. I knew you’d find it.

By the time the doors open on Hawke’s floor, I’m grinning like a fool. Yes, we had a lot of problems in our relationship, and yes, I’ve spent the last few years focusing on the negative. But it wasn’t all bad. It’s things like this this that made me fall in love with Hawke. He’s funny, charming, and sometimes even a little shy. We had fun together.

When I reach Hawke’s front door, I exhale and run my hands down my front, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from my silk tank and skinny jeans.

“You can do this.”

Even though my stomach is twisted in knots and I want to run in my wedge heels for the safety of the elevator, I lift my hand and knock. The door opens and every single doubt I had, every worry, turns to dust at my feet.

“Abby!” Hawke is grinning ear to ear and it’s so natural when he grabs me and pulls me into a hug, I don’t have to think twice about melting into his broad chest. The door is open and we’re standing halfway in and halfway out of his condo, but I could care less. I bury my face in his neck and inhale his familiar scent.

After an eternity, yet not nearly long enough, Hawke releases me and steps back. “So, ummmm,” he fumbles for words and his cheeks turn pink. “What did you want to do? We could get lunch or go to the beach.”

I step inside the sleek condo, unsurprised at the sparse and empty feeling of the space. Hawke never owned anything other than what was necessary and wasn’t one for sentimental or decorative objects. Knowing about his family, I now understand why he doesn’t want to get attached to anything or anyone.

“Abby? Did you hear me?”

I jump when Hawke gently touches my arm. “Sorry, I was spacing out.” Now it’s my turn to blush. I feel guilty for knowing Hawke’s past without hearing it come from him, and thinking about it while standing in front of him makes me feel even worse. I paste on a way-too big smile. “Let’s eat,” I suggest. “I’m pretty hungry.”

Hawke smiles back, but it’s not as genuine as the one he gave me a few minutes ago. “Okay. We can figure out where on our way to the car.”

One awkward elevator ride later, we’re pulling out of the garage in Hawke’s humongous Mercedes SUV, headed toward a restaurant he said was really good.

“This isn’t the kind of car I expected you to drive,” I admit, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“What did you expect?”

“Honestly? Either a really fast sports car or a motorcycle.” I caress the buttery soft leather seat. “Not this massive mom-mobile.”

Hawke makes a weird face and bursts out laughing. It’s the most beautiful sight I’ve seen in a long time. His head is thrown back and he has to clutch his stomach with one hand, keeping the other on the wheel.

“Hey, watch the road.” I try to sound annoyed, but it comes out as more of a strangled attempt not to laugh.

“Oh god,” he wheezes, still hysterical. Tears stream from his eyes and he’s gasping for breath.

“Hmph. It’s not that funny.” I cross my arms over my chest and jut out my lower lip in a pretend pout.

At a red light, Hawke takes off his glasses and wipes his eyes. “God, Abby. You’re too much. This isn’t a mom-mobile. It’s a Mercedes G-class and I have to drive this thing because of the paparazzi. It’s big, has dark windows, and drives like a tank.” He puts his glasses back on and turns toward me. The wide grin slowly melts off his face. His gaze goes from playful to intense, holding me captive in the enclosed space of the SUV. Hawke parts his lips, his breath hitching as he speaks. “I missed you.”

A honk lets us know the light changed. Hawke reluctantly pulls away to focus on the road. I put my hand on his leg and give it a light, affectionate squeeze. He gasps almost imperceptibly and the urge to slide my hand up his thigh becomes nearly overwhelming. I snatch my arm back before I do something stupid, like grope my “friend’s” crotch.

“I missed you too, Hawke.”

He nods, but doesn’t glance over in my direction for the remainder of the drive. Just as I did in New Jersey, I study his handsome profile, remembering every part of his face, every silky spot I’ve kissed, the rough stubble I used to drag my fingers over and the nearly invisible scar running through it. Intense emotions swirl inside me, love and lust thrumming hot through my veins.

It’s useless to deny. I’m still just as irrevocably in love with Hawke as I was seven years ago. The only difference this time is we’re friends, not lovers, and this time, I won’t have the strength to walk away.

I pull the SUV into The Black Barn, a small, family-owned pub in WeHo just a few miles from my place. There’s no valet, which is one of the reasons I like coming here. It’s unpretentious, has good food, and the paparazzi don’t seem to know it exists. I hurry around to open Abby’s door and help her down from the truck. Her shoes are pretty tall and the SUV is a good distance from the ground. All I need is for Abby to twist her ankle because I’m a shitty date.

But this isn’t a date.

The thought hits me like a punch to the gut. Do I want it to be a date? We’re friends, right? I agreed to it at Dax and Kate’s even though I knew it would be difficult to be around Abby platonically. But this is what she wants, and I’m willing to take whatever scraps of attention she throws my way. Besides, I’m still a fucked-up asshole. Nothing has changed. Why I have to keep reminding myself of that is a mystery.

I open the door and hold out a hand. Abby’s eyes flick from my face to my hand and back. Her mouth quirks up in a small smile as she slips her soft hand into mine. The contact reignites the fire that began in the car when Abby squeezed my thigh. I swear my dick hasn’t been that hard in a long time.

“Thanks.” Our eyes meet, our heights nearly even with Abby wearing tall heels that make her legs look sinfully long.

I realize I’m still holding her hand and yank it away. Fuck. She’s got me all tangled up and confused. I need to get my shit together or this friendship is going to be over before it can start. Embarrassed, I clear my throat. “So, how’s work? I assume you’re a counselor now?”

Of course, I already know that she got her PhD and has an office in the city. No way will I admit to cyber-stalking Abby on and off over the years.

“I’m a clinical psychologist, actually.”

I open the door to the restaurant and follow Abby inside.

“Hawke! Great to see you.”

“Bob, how’s it going?” I greet the tall, gray-haired man with a handshake that he inevitably turns into a hug and an air-kiss on my cheek.

“Great, as always.” Bob releases me to turn his full attention on Abby. He takes her in and his eyes go wide. “And who’s this gorgeous lady who is clearly too classy for the likes of you?”

I roll my eyes. “Bob, this is Abby Kessler. Abby, this is Bob Darling. He owns this shack.”

“Shack?” Bob makes a rude sound and pushes me aside. “Don’t listen to him, Abby.” He pulls her into a hug, giving her the same air-kiss treatment he gave me. “This is a superb eatery. I allow him in even though he’s not classy enough to eat here.” Bob is grinning and Abby is trying to hide her amusement behind her hand.

“Fine. You’re classy and I’m the dregs of society,” I deadpan. “Can we eat?”

“Of course. Don’t be silly.” Bob puts his arm around Abby’s shoulders and leads us to my usual table. It’s tucked in a corner and can’t be seen from most of the other tables.

“Thanks, Bob.” I drop into the booth opposite Abby.

Bob leans in close to Abby, giving me a mischievous look while he mock-whispers to her. “Listen, honey. I don’t know you, but you must mean a lot to Hawke for him to bring you here. I’ve never seen him with anyone but his uncle and that gorgeous Gavin Walker.” He flutters his lashes dreamily when he mentions Gavin.

“Okay, thanks a lot, Bob. Mission complete. I’m embarrassed as hell. You can go now.” Heat floods my cheeks. If looks could kill, Bob would be dead from the dark glower I shoot his way.

He merely raises an eyebrow before turning to leave. “Have a nice lunch, you two.”

“Sorry about him,” I mumble, still feeling the sting of humiliation from Bob’s verbal diarrhea.

Abby giggles. “It’s fine, Hawke. He’s hilarious. I know he’s only teasing.”

I give her a sad smile. If she only knew how true his statement about her is. She does mean a lot to me. She always will.

Somehow, we get through lunch without too many awkward glances or pauses in conversation. There are a few brushes of feet under the table that make my dick hard all over again, but by the time we’re ready to leave, I manage to have myself under control.

When we stand up, Bob rushes over, looking completely freaked out. “Hawke, I’m so sorry. Someone must have leaked it to the press.” His hands are frantic, gesticulating all over the place.

I put my hands on Bob’s shoulders. “Calm down for a minute. What are you saying?”

Bob winces. “There’s a bunch of reporters out front, cameras and everything.”

Abby gasps and I instinctively pull her in close, tucking her under my arm.

“Shit.” I try to think of a way out of this. I don’t want Abby exposed to those unethical sharks. Not only could she get injured by their pushing and shoving, but she doesn’t need to be subjected to their questions or have her image printed all over those crappy rags, especially linked to a tabloid fuckup like me. “Is there a back door?”

Bob nods, his expression becoming less panicked. That’s good. Someone needs to be calm because I am freaking the fuck out inside. I turn to Abby. “Stay next to me, close.”

“What are we doing?” she asks, her voice wavering.

“Trying to give them the slip, honey,” Bob answers for me. He has us follow him through the busy kitchen, drawing open-mouthed stares from the employees. “Here.” Bob pushes open a service door at the end of a short hallway.