The Complete Rockstar Series (95 page)

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I shouldn’t pry Abby’s mom for information, but if I’m ever going to make things work with Abby, I need to know as much as possible. “Who’s Nick?”

Joan’s eyes lose a little bit of their spark and the smile she gives me is forced. “Nick was my son. Abby’s older brother. He committed suicide when he was nineteen.”

Holy fuck. A lot of things suddenly begin to make sense.

“Mom, I have to do this. I need a vacation. I can’t argue with you anymore.” I stand on tiptoes and yank at the duffel bag I stashed on the top shelf of my closet.

“Honey, you’re running away from your problems when you need to face them head-on.”

My fingers brush the edge of the strap. I try for it again, ignoring my mom’s lecturing even though I know she’s right. Finally, I snag the strap and the duffel comes loose, along with a cascade of other things I tossed up there and forgot about.

“Shit.” I drop the bag and remove the oversize sweatshirt that landed on my head. I stare at the garment in my hand. My eyes burn and my throat closes as I carefully, reverently run a hand over the tattered black material. It’s Hawke’s very first
Sphere of Irony
sweatshirt, one I used to borrow all the time. Without thinking, I press it to my nose, inhaling deep, but Hawke’s scent is long gone.

I remember curling up on his tiny bed in the room he shared with Gavin, Hawke wearing the sweatshirt while I traced the letters with my fingers. Of course, the touching and rubbing turned us both on, which turned into me pressed beneath him on the bed, clutching his shoulders as he drove us both to a spectacular orgasm. Afterwards, I snagged the sweatshirt off the floor and slipped it over my head, rolling up the sleeves so it would fit. Hawke teased me about stealing his clothes so I could keep him shirtless, which I agreed was my plan all along. I’d never been so happy in my life.

“Abby?” Mom’s curious voice rips me from the memories of the past. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing, Mom.” I drop the sweatshirt and throw the duffel on the bed. Upset, I start pulling things randomly out of drawers and stuffing them in the bag.

“Oh honey, it’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to cry and work through everything you feel.”

My mom puts a hand on my shoulder and I nearly break down. Holding back my emotions, I grab a pile of shirts out of a dresser and toss them on top of everything else. “I’m fine.”

Mom squeezes my shoulder. “Abby, you won’t ever be fine until you admit you aren’t fine.”

I peek over my shoulder, blinking away the moisture. “How did you get so smart? I thought I was the psychologist.”

My mom gives me a knowing smile. “When you’ve gone to as much therapy as I have, you pick a few things up here and there.”

My mom has been in therapy? I don’t know why this surprises me, but it does. When I think about it, it’s obvious. Of course she would need therapy. Her son committed suicide after a long battle with mental illness. The question is, why haven’t I been in therapy?

I turn around and face my mom. My beautiful, kind, loving mother. I don’t blame her for Nick’s death, so why do I blame myself?

“I think…” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I think you might be right. It’s time, Mom.”

She pats my cheek, her eyes glistening, and pulls me into a hug. Maybe I can still turn my life around, find happiness somewhere.

Maybe with Hawke.

I tap my fingers on the steering wheel as I stare at the little white beach cottage, trying to gather the courage to get out of the car.

“You can do this. It’s Abby.”

Saying the words out loud does nothing to calm my nerves. My heart is racing so fast, it feels like a herd of horses galloping across my chest. Anxiety blooms in my gut, pulling tight as it swirls and grows. I wipe my brow with the back of my hand.

“Jesus.” I’m so nervous I’m sweating. A trickle runs down my neck to the collar of my shirt. My eyes flick back to my fingers on the steering wheel, focusing on the inky black letters printed across both hands.

DRUM HARD

The H on my left hand covers a large scar where a piece of glass from the accident sliced open my index finger. Nausea burns at my throat. I have to concentrate to keep from puking in the Mercedes.

I can’t believe I’m afraid of Abby. It’s not Abby I’m afraid of, it’s rejection. Abby is good and kind and sexy and everything I’m not. What she ever saw in me is beyond my comprehension. But now that I’ve admitted how I feel about her, how I feel about getting better, I want to be with her for real, permanently, and I can’t wait any longer.

The sound of gravel crunching under my Chucks is magnified by the excruciating silence of the peaceful, sunny afternoon. I ring the bell and pray.

“
W
hat do
you mean you don’t know where she went?” I shout into my phone as I peel out of Abby’s driveway, the large tires of the G Wagon shooting gravel out the back in a wide arc.

“I’m saying, mate, that I don’t know where she went,” Dax repeats.

“Put your wife on,” I snarl.

“Fuck you,” Dax replies. “You’re not talking to Kate until you calm down.”

“Jesus,” I huff. “You’re right.” I take a few deep breaths, pushing back the near-incapacitating fear that Abby might be gone for good. “Okay. I’m okay.”

“You upset my wife and we’re going to have a problem, mate. I won’t hesitate to jump a plane back to LA to beat your arse.”

Before I can answer, Kate comes on the line. “Hawke? Are you okay?” She obviously overheard Dax’s end of the conversation because she sounds worried.

“Fine. I’m fine. Where did Abby go, Kate?” I grip the steering wheel with slick palms, maneuvering the SUV through the heavy traffic. Fuck! It’s Sunday, where the hell are all these people going?

“I swear, Hawke. She didn’t tell me. She only said she needed to get away for a while.”

“What does that mean?” I shout.

“I assumed it was on holiday. She hasn’t taken one in a long time,” Kate explains. “Don’t be cross with me, Hawke Evans.”

“Is he being a bastard to you, Kate?” I hear Dax’s angry voice in the background.

“No, Dax. Sod off.” I grin at Kate chastising the enormous man. She’s the only person who can talk to him like that and not get a mouthful of knuckles.

“I’m just worried about her, Kate. After the whole thing with Ezra she up and disappears. She’s…” I stop to inhale a shaky breath. “She’s coming back, right?”

“Oh love, of course she is. She’d have told me if she wasn’t.”

“Okay. All right, then, good. Good.” I say it more for myself than Kate.

“If I hear from her, I’ll let you know,” Kate says.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t give up on yourself, Hawke.”

I frown. “Don’t you mean Abby? Don’t give up on Abby?”

“Nope.”

The line disconnects.

M
y muscles stretch
and pull under the early morning sun. The burn feels good, invigorating, as if my body has been disconnected from my brain and I’m finally releasing the tension that’s been trapped in every cell. I haven’t felt this alive in a long time.

“Okay everyone. That’s it for this morning. Be sure to get some water and stay hydrated.” Lina, the petite yoga instructor, smiles at the class.

I sit on my mat and drink from my water bottle while staring at the beautiful tropical surroundings.

“Hey, Abby.”

I move over to let the tall, beautiful woman sit next to me on my yoga mat. “Hi, Felice.”

“It’s really quite a view, isn’t it?” She uses her green sports bottle to point to the brilliant turquoise ocean lapping at the base of our mountain retreat, beyond the barrier of the lush green jungle surrounding us.

“It is. I could stare at it all day.” I lean back on my elbows and squint to see my new friend. “This is my first time visiting Hawaii.”

“Me too. I really needed this.”

I nod, not wanting to pry. Every woman here has her reasons for coming to a resort that specializes in mental well-being. Some are very personal and not everyone wants to share with strangers.

“I did too.” I decide to open up, something my therapist has been urging me to do. “My brother, he committed suicide when I was fifteen.” Felice remains quiet, letting me speak at my own pace. “I became a clinical psychologist, thinking that if I fixed other people it would make up for not helping my brother.”

“You were very young, Abby.”

“I know. That’s why I’m here. To help my heart realize what my head already knows. His death was beyond my control. Nothing I did could have changed the outcome. It’s just…” I pause, trying to explain how I feel. “It’s harder to make myself truly believe it even though I know it’s not rational.”

“Who’s to say what’s rational, girl?” Felice pats my hand. “My mom was a cold, unloving bitch. I’ve kept everyone in my life at arm’s length to keep from getting hurt again. Other people aren’t my mother, but I treat them like they are. Doesn’t make sense, but,” she shrugs, “that’s what I do.”

Felice squeezes my hand and smiles. I smile back and take in the gorgeous surroundings again.

This was the best idea I ever had. I’ll do anything to get past Nick’s death, to honor his memory properly.

Anything.

The blackness, the thick shadows, both are nonstop to the point I can no longer ignore them or think about anything else. In the two weeks Abby has been gone, I’ve hardly slept, eaten, or done much of anything physical. My mind, however, won’t rest, won’t stop the barrage of images. Images of my family in the wreckage of the car along with the sinking feeling that I’ll never see Abby again. They’ve combined to turn me into a ticking time bomb.

Too agitated to sit and stare at the walls anymore, I pull on some clothes, grab my gear, and head out. When I get to the front door, I hesitate. I shove my hand down in the pocket of my loose cargo pants and curl my fingers around Hannah’s stone. Before I can change my mind, I remove the small rock, putting it in the glass bowl that holds my keys, and leave. She doesn’t deserve to have her memory tainted by me, by my screwed-up recklessness.

Down in the garage, I work quickly. I’ve already done all the research necessary. It’s simply a matter of choosing which of the many activities will bring me the biggest thrill, the highest high, the best adrenaline rush possible in order to wipe my mind free of my crushing guilt. I snap the hooks, locking my mountain bike on the rack on my SUV.

BASE jumping? Hang gliding? Both of those require other people, either as instructors or providing equipment. The demons are so loud, shouting and clawing at my insides to get free, that I know I need to be alone today. I direct the Mercedes to the freeway, but change my mind and turn into a small twenty-four-hour corner store before reaching the on-ramp to Interstate 10. There are a few last minute things I need to grab.

Ugh. Too late to hide my face—I realize I didn’t bring a hat or a hoodie. It’s dark outside, still a couple of hours or so until the sun rises, so I didn’t think about it. Inside the store is a different story. It’s brightly lit from dozens of hideous industrial fluorescents. Not even two steps in the door, the clerk’s eyes go wide when he recognizes me.

Shit.

Now in an even bigger rush to get the fuck out of here, I hurry to grab what I need—water, snacks, bandages, and a cheap LA Dodgers cap—and drop them on the counter in front of the gaping cashier. He rings up my stuff, his eyes continually darting to the left as he scans each item.

What the hell? Curious, I follow his line of sight to a magazine rack next to the cash register. The big yellow headline makes my mouth fall open in shock.

H
ollywood’s Good Girl
and Rock and Roll’s Bad Boy an Item

T
here on the
front page of a popular national tabloid magazine, in full glorious color, is a photo of Jessica Hamby on a red carpet next to a photo of me at a different red carpet event. They couldn’t find a photo of us together because there aren’t any.

“Fuck me,” I murmur.

The cashier’s eyebrows fly up under his shaggy bangs.

“Sorry.” I hand the cashier a twenty. “Don’t believe everything you read,” I say as I grab the plastic bag and case of water and dart out the door.

Fucking paparazzi! If Abby sees that article… I suck in a breath when it hits me like a punch to the gut. What if Abby left town because I was with Jessica at that party?

No. I shake my head, extinguishing that line of thinking. She wouldn’t do that. Besides, Abby had her own date that night. Plus, if Abby hated me, she wouldn’t have let me hold her while the police interviewed us. She wouldn’t have let me stay to wait for her mother to show up at her house.

Would she? What if it was simply her need to have
someone
to lean on, not caring who that someone was?

Fuming mad, I put the SUV in drive and pull out of the parking lot. For most of the nearly three-hour trip to Joshua Tree State Park, I fantasize about all the ways I can maim or injure the various paparazzi for intruding on my life. As if I don’t have enough shit to worry about. If they fucked up my relationship with Abby, I’d probably turn my fantasy of hurting them into reality.

After the band became famous, the media dug up and printed pictures of the car accident, ignoring the fact that actual human beings died that night. I lost everything and they turned it into two pages of entertainment. Two fucking pages. I didn’t think they’d ever hurt me as much as they did back then, but this? If Abby never speaks to me again because they falsely print I’m in a relationship with Jessica? I can’t even think of what I would do, I’d be so lost.

The sun is almost to the horizon when I reach the park. The sky is wide open here, with deep shades of navy and purple in the west. Pink and orange hues glow in the east where the sky meets the earth, casting a warm hue over the boulders and various rock formations. I quickly release my mountain bike from the rack and straddle it. With my pack strapped to my back, brand new hat and sunglasses in place, I head for the trails, determined to forget all the shit in my life for at least a few blissful hours.

“Dr. Kessler,” Justin says from the chair opposite mine. He’s looking better, marginally. At least his clothes and hair are clean. His body language, on the other hand, indicates he’s far from okay. Clearly agitated, Justin fidgets and twitches nonstop. “Where have you been?”

“I was on vacation, Justin.” I lay my hands flat on my lap so he won’t think I’m being defensive.

“Three weeks is a long time, Dr. Kessler.” Justin sticks out his lower lip, pouting. He’s so adorable, I want to scoop him up and cuddle him. Pet his head and tell him everything will be okay. But not only is it horribly inappropriate to do that to a patient, I
can’t
tell Justin everything will be okay. I don’t know what the future holds for him.

Inspired, I decide to try something different with this tormented young man. The truth.

“Well, Justin. To be perfectly honest with you, I was in therapy. That’s why I wasn’t here.”

Justin’s eyes narrow as they scan me up and down. “You’re awfully tan for someone who was in therapy for three weeks.”

I laugh, watching Justin’s pouty lips turn up in the corner. “It was a wellness resort for women, in Hawaii,” I explain. “We did a lot of outdoor activities.”

His eyes widen. “Wow, that’s so cool. Why hasn’t anyone ever suggested that for me?” Justin’s hands have stopped moving, his legs have stopped bouncing, he looks… hopeful.

“I’m not sure, Justin. I only recently found out about this place. I’m positive there are similar places for young people, or close to it. You should ask your parents and Dr. Mendel what they think.” I lean forward, nearly bouncing up and down with joy at the expression on Justin’s young face. “Why don’t I research wellness retreats and you talk to your parents, deal?”

Justin grins, the first real smile I’ve seen on his sweet face. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m helping Justin, a lost kid with a terrible illness, and not merely doing penance for the past, for Nick.

It feels good. It feels like…like the road to happiness.

“
Y
ou have
a lot of explaining to do, lady.”

I cringe at Kate’s harsh tone. “I know you were worried and I’m sorry. It was something I needed to do on my own, for myself. Without anyone else’s input.”

Kate huffs in disgust. “I’m not just anyone, Abby. I’m your best fucking mate. You know how worried we’ve all been?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think about it.”

“Right. Didn’t think about it. About us. Hawke was damn near to losing his mind, and you know how close he is to losing it on a good day. You vanishing nearly sent the poor bloke over the edge.”

I wrestle my emotions for a moment, determined not to let my worries about Hawke chip away my progress. I can’t go there. Not yet, anyway.

“Where the hell were you?” Kate asks before I can collect my thoughts.

“Oh. Ummmm, I was in Hawaii.”

“What?” I pull the phone away from my ear.

“Kate, you’re going to bust my eardrum.”

“You bloody disappeared without a word and you were on holiday in Hawaii?”

“Not a holiday, Kate.” I sigh and fall into a comfy chair tucked in the corner of my bedroom. “I went to a mental health resort.”

Silence.

“Kate?”

I hear a sniff on the other end of the phone. “Kate? Are you still there?”

“I’m here,” she whispers. “I’m just so bloody happy that you finally did something to get your head on straight.”

“What?”

How did she know anything? I never told her about Nick, I’m sure of it.

“Abby, it’s obvious you have some issues. I mean, your main goal in life is to help everyone but yourself. In college, you spent most of your time either trying to fix my self-esteem issues, or fix whatever the fuck Hawke’s issues are, or the kids at the center.”

“I-I didn’t—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Abby. I’m just chuffed you spoke to someone. Did it help?”

I’m floored that Kate’s known all this time I was struggling when I thought I hid it so well. I choose my words carefully.

“It did. I’m mad at myself for not going sooner. I know what I have to do to get my life on track.” There. I told her and didn’t have to lie to Kate or explain too much about my plans.

“Good. I’m happy for you then.”

Will Kate still be happy when she knows what I’m going to do? I guess I’ll find out, because I have to move on with my life and I can’t do that until it’s done.

All I can do is pray I have the strength to actually go through with it. After hanging up with Kate, I set up at the kitchen table with my laptop and finish a few notes for work. Restless, I pour myself a glass of wine and surf a few news websites. The entertainment section of one draws my attention. I click on the link, knowing what I’m about to see is likely going to solidify my resolve to do what’s necessary in order to have a healthy future.

The bold color photos take my breath away and leave my heart stuck in my throat.

No more. I can’t take any more.

Loud banging wakes me from a fitful sleep. I glance at the clock next to my bed. Ten fifteen. Slivers of light peek around the edges of the window shades. So ten fifteen in the morning, then.

I roll to a sitting position and groan. My hands are scraped, bruised, and stiff as a board when I flex my fingers. The banging grows louder.

“Jesus.” I throw off the sheet that tangled around my legs during the night and stand up… only to nearly collapse to the floor. “Fuck!” My knees and lower back ache bone-deep, and the muscles of my thighs and glutes scream in protest when I catch myself on the tall dresser.

The noise level outside my door gets so loud, I’m worried a neighbor will call the cops. Better not be the fucking paps out there. In only my briefs, I limp down the hall and put my eye to the peephole.

“I can see your damn shadow, Evans. Open the fucking door.” Gavin’s overprotective boyfriend, Mitch Hale, is on the other side of the door, his expression thunderous.

Shit. Mitch used to be FBI and now he does private security. He also loves CrossFit, is several inches taller than me, and way, way more muscular. Bonus fact, he actually killed a man to defend Gavin.

As much as I don’t want to talk to Mitch, I can’t not open the door. He’ll stand out there shouting all damn day. Resigned to having what looks likely to be a not-so-nice encounter with my best friend’s significant other, I flip the locks and Mitch storms in.

“You fucking prick!” Before the door can even shut behind him, Mitch is up in my face, his mouth pulled back in an angry sneer.

“Can I at least put some pants on before you dismember me?” I ask wearily.

Mitch steps back and crosses his arms over his wide chest. Large biceps stretch the sleeves of his T-shirt. Fuck. He’s not as big as Dax, but he’s still bigger than I remember.