And for some reason, I did. I always had.
I watched in astonishment as the entire video played out as a live concert with girls dancing on stage—sometimes around the guys, sometimes in choreographed moves—rather than the story concept that was originally pitched to the guys from the director. The only time the girl even touched Dawson was in the opening scene. Throughout the video, Dawson’s face was contorted with heartache.
When the video ended, he said, “I was so stiff and unnatural when they tried to shoot the story scenes. I couldn’t fake one ounce of emotion. It really pissed everyone off. Time was short, so they decided to work around me and shoot just a performance of the song. Fan response to the idea of pulling dancers up on stage was so strong that they worked it into our live performances.”
“I saw that,” I mumbled. My head swirled with information. The combination of everything that happened over the past couple of days, my emotions and these new tidbits which contradicted what I thought I knew about the past couple of years made my brain hurt.
“In Austin,” he said.
“Yeah. When those girls came on stage, all I could picture was you taking the one dancing near you backstage and…” I couldn’t finish the thought. I didn’t need to. He knew what I meant.
“Never. The other guys did almost every show. Poor Maddox even fell in love with a few of them. But never me.” He pressed my backside more firmly against his crotch. “Someone who shall remain nameless wasn’t willing to rise to the occasion.” The tip of his nose traced along my jawline.
“Nameless but not unnoticed,” I teased as I wiggled against him, making him groan against my skin.
“Be still, woman,” he rasped. “We still need to finish hashing out everything.” He continued to mess around on his phone.
“What’s left to hash out? You didn’t cheat, and you didn’t move on.” After I said the words out loud, the weight of them burrowed in my heart. He never cheated. He hadn’t been with anyone in two years. Oh my gosh. Those two pieces of information made everything inside me go haywire.
“Well, you thought I ignored your messages and calls. And I thought you changed your number to be free of me and the drama I brought to your life. Remember those two assumptions we made?” he asked, kissing the top of my head.
My head bobbed up and down in response.
“I didn’t ignore your calls or texts or emails. I lost my phone. I didn’t find it until the tour ended and I was packing up my room on the bus. That’s when I got all your messages,” he mumbled.
“So, you just found out everything last month?” I asked in surprise.
“Yeah. I never got your new number until then,” he confirmed.
“And I never got your new number until Mom gave it to me last month during my visit home. She confessed that she didn’t give it to me back then because she didn’t think I could handle being in touch with you while things were so dire with my health. She saw the same photos I did, so she thought—”
“That I cheated on you and broke your heart,” Dawson finished for me.
I turned my head so I could look him in the eyes. “Yep,” I said, popping the p.
“I did break your heart.” His face was a mosaic of guilt, regret and heartache.
“We broke each other’s hearts. Without meaning to,” I offered simply. There wasn’t some big, convoluted thing that tore us apart. No huge act of betrayal. Just a couple of small, imperfectly timed circumstances. I laughed harshly, with no hint of humor in the sound.
“We were both wrong. Stupidly wrong. How the hell did we let something like a lost phone and unanswered messages drive us apart?” Dawson shook his head sadly. “Every promise I ever made you was broken because I couldn’t keep up with my damn phone. And because I didn’t say screw the recording contract and didn’t get on a plane to demand you talk to me. I’m so sorry, flutterby. Can you ever forgive me?” His eyes filled with moisture.
“Only if you can forgive me for thinking you’d tossed me aside for the glitz and wildness of the rock star life.” I wrapped my arms around his neck.
“Think if we forgive each other, we’ll forgive ourselves? Because I think that will be harder.” He rested his head on my shoulder.
“Only one way to find out. Let’s try.” Before he could protest, I spun around and straddled his lap.
“Flutterby, we shouldn—”
I cut him off by planting my lips firmly on his. His hands gripped my hips while my hands delved into his luxurious locks. My body scooched closer until my chest was pressed against his. As our tongues dueled, his fingers crept up the back of my shirt. Those calloused digits against my soft skin sent shivers across my back. The thin cotton of my leggings did little to disguise the heat pulsing from his cock. My heart and body were all for riding the Dawson train, but my head wasn’t quite ready to jump on yet. Two to one, though.
All aboard. Choo-choo.
All too soon, Dawson tore his mouth from mine. “We can’t,” he panted, his breath fanning my face.
My lips felt tender and swollen and so cold without his heat against them. “Yes, we can.”
“Pretty sure this won’t fit the description of taking it easy or keep your blood pressure low,” he said in a stern voice.
“But I need you,” I said with a pout.
He tucked me back against him in a non-sensual way. “I’m right here. And while I need you just as much, I can be patient. We have to wait for now. It’s always been worth the wait, right?” He cocked his head at me.
“Yes,” I agreed. Whenever we’d had to wait in the past, our joining had always been so much sweeter. “I think I need a cold shower now.”
My body vibrated with the force of his laughter. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea either. But I can probably give you a sponge bath.” His eyebrows waggled at me.
I swatted him on the chest. “I don’t think that will help calm down the need that’s racing in my veins.” Sliding backwards on his legs, I shifted to climb off the bed.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Gotta pee.” I swayed as I got to my feet.
“Whoa, there. Let me help you.” Dawson scrambled up behind me and led me to the bathroom.
I gripped the doorframe and smiled at him. “Thanks. I … uh … got it from here.”
“Oh yeah, sorry.” He dropped his arm from around my waist.
Once I stepped onto the cool tiled floor, I pulled the door shut behind me and flipped on the switch. Carefully, I shuffled over to the toilet to take care of business. Done, I stepped to the sink to wash my hands. When I caught sight of my reflection, I gasped.
“Everything OK in there, flutterby?” Dawson asked through the door.
“No,” I shrieked.
The door banged open as Dawson charged inside. Confusion covered his face as he stared at me. “What’s wrong? Are you dizzy? In pain?”
“Why didn’t you tell me I looked so hideous?” One cheek was a practice in abstract art. An ugly scab was on my forehead. My collarbone was bruised.
“I didn’t tell you that because it would be a lie.” He stared at my reflection, nothing but love and adoration in his gaze.
Turning, I planted my hands in the center of his chest and shoved him backwards. Caught off guard, he stumbled for a half-step before standing firm.
“Don’t look at me,” I mumbled as tears spilled down my cheeks.
Dawson reached for me, and though I tried to resist, my strength was already sapped.
As he cradled me close to his heart, he said, “I will never be able to resist looking at you. And I will always think you’re the most beautiful thing God ever created.”
I didn’t answer, choosing to let my self-pity leak from my eyes a little longer. When the tears finally slackened, I lifted my head from his chest.
“Better now?” he asked, tilting my chin up.
“A little,” I answered with a hint of a smile. “But I still feel pretty disgusting. I mean, not only
am I scabby and discolored, but there’s ick in my hair,” I whined as my fingers tried to gently comb through the area that was matted with dried blood. I dipped my nose into my shoulder. “And I reek of hospital.”
His chuckle vibrated me, making me giggle. “So, I’m hearing you want to get cleaned up?”
I nodded my head vehemently.
He eased us farther into the bathroom. Keeping one arm around me to hold me steady, he reached the other one out to lower the lid on the toilet. Carefully, he pressed me backwards until I was sitting.
He moved around my bathroom like no time had passed since the last time he was here, grabbing a couple of fluffy towels from the shelf and my loofa, body wash and shampoo from the shower. Then he squatted to peer in the cabinets under my sink. I watched in silence, trying to figure out what he was doing.
“Where’s that pan you use for cleaning?” he asked, rummaging around.
“Umm, it broke a while back, so I threw it out. Why?” I asked with a frown.
“How about a bucket? Is there one in the kitchen?”
“Noooo.” I had no idea what he was up to.
“No problem. I can use a pot.” He got to his feet.
“Are you planning to scrub my floor or something?” I peered up at him.
“No. Just you,” he said with a wink and slipped his arm around me to ease me to my feet.
“What are you talking about? I don’t need a pot to get clean. Are you sure you don’t have a concussion?” I teased.
“Sponge bath, flutterby. I would’ve thought with all the time you spent… you know… in the hospital the past couple of years that you’d be no stranger to the concept.” He moved us towards the door.
“Ah, negative, Ghostrider. You are not giving me a sponge bath. All that time in the hospital made me loathe them. I never felt truly clean after one. I can take a shower. By myself.” I jerked my arm from his grip and shuffled to the counter to get my shower supplies.
With a deep breath, I forced myself to move with sure, confident steps.
Dawson surveyed me, amusement causing his lips to quirk up. I leaned over the edge of the tub, trying to put my stuff back on the shelf. My body wobbled, and I collapsed to the edge. Dawson was by my side in an instant.
“Izzy, you can’t stand in the shower on your own.” He pried the loofah from my clenched fingers. “Let me help you.”
“I can’t,” I whispered.
“Why not, flutterby? I can behave. I promise.” He held up his fingers like a scout taking a pledge.
“It’s not that. I mean, yeah being naked and unable to do anything would be torture. Probably.” I smirked up at him.
“Is it because of what went wrong between us? Because you can’t see yourself with me since I didn’t fight hard enough?” Pain carved deep lines around his eyes and turned his beautiful lips down.
“No, I swear it has nothing to do with that.” I wrapped my arms around my middle, trying to keep all my important broken bits contained within me so he couldn’t see them.
His lips pressed into a thin line. “Complete honesty?” he asked.
Crap. We’d played that damn scenario so many times over the years. Whenever one of us called for complete honesty, the other had to answer the questions following the declaration completely truthful.
I nodded.
“If Beckett was here, would you let him take care of you?” his voice trembled, and he looked so vulnerable.
I drew a deep breath. “You can’t compare the two of you.”
“The hell I can’t. You don’t think I can take care of you as well as he can,” Dawson hissed. Agony and anger rolled off him in waves.
“Daw, Beckett is a doctor. He knows things. Has seen things. I wouldn’t have to worry about what he’d think,” I rambled, desperate to make him understand.
“You don’t have to remind me that he saw things. I get it. I hate it, but I get it. But whatever worries you have, let me ease them,” he pleaded with me.
I shifted my weight, so I wouldn’t fall from my perch on the edge of the tub. If there was anyone in the world I could trust, it was Dawson. Time, distance and heartbreak hadn’t really changed that.
Resigned, I sat up straighter and gripped the hem of my shirt. Lifting it over my head, I bared myself for an instant before clutching the soft fabric against my body. When Mom brought me clothes to wear home, she hadn’t brought a bra or underwear. So, without the shirt, my breasts were bare to him. And I was oddly self-conscious in a way I hadn’t been since we were teenagers.
Dawson’s eyes had gone wide, and the sound of his swallow was unnaturally loud in the small space.
“No one has seen outside of doctors and nurses… Not even my parents,” I murmured.
Dawson kneeled so he could peer in my eyes. “Seen what?”
“My scar,” I choked out as tears trickled from my eyes.
Dawson had written songs about my flawless skin. I hated the five-inch scar that ran diagonally along the right side of my abdomen. Reviled it with every fiber of my being.
His brow furrowed. “Your scar?”
I chewed my lip as my head tipped once. His hands rested on my knees, warm fingers gripping my muscles. I drew strength from his touch.
“From my surgery,” I whispered.
Understanding dawned on his face. “You don’t have to show me, if you’re not ready. But there is nothing that will make me see you as anything less than beautiful,” he assured me.
We sat there, frozen by my indecision. With a heavy sigh and a sad smile, he stood. He grabbed my bodywash and my loofah.
“I’ll wait outside. You can sit on the toilet and wash yourself up at the sink. It’s not ideal, but at least you won’t be in danger of falling, and you won’t be uncomfortable. When you’re done, put your shirt back on, and I’ll come help you wash your hair in the sink. Yell if you need anything.”
Without another word, he walked out and shut the door softly behind him.
I should’ve felt relieved to have dodged that bullet. Instead, all I felt was grief. Not over the flaw that marred my body, but over the hope in Dawson’s eyes that I managed to kill with my insecurities.
Leaning over, I turned on the sink and let the water get warm. I glanced in the mirror and peered beneath the outer layers, looking for the old me—the girl who’d retreated from the pain of life and heartbreak. Eventually, I saw a hint of her lurking in the depths. I’d get her back. Somehow, I’d pull the old me out of hiding. With a sigh of resignation, I shut off the sink.
Before I could think about it too much, I balled up my shirt. “Daw,” I called.
“You can’t be done already,” he said as he opened the door.
I threw my shirt at him the instant his head came into view, catching him by surprise.
As he lowered the wad of fabric that was my T-shirt from his face, I said, “I’m not done. I want to show you, and I want you to help me.” My voice was so soft, I wasn’t sure he heard me.
But he must have because he moved cautiously towards me, like he was approaching a skittish animal. It was probably a safe thought. I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t bolt myself. His eyes stayed focused on mine the whole time.
“Are you sure?” he murmured when he got close.
“I’m positive.” I unwound my arms from my torso, revealing my scar. He didn’t glance down. Taking his hand in mine, I tugged him closer. Once he dropped to his knees on the fluffy rug, I pressed a kiss to his fingertips.
“See,” I said when his gaze never wavered from my face.
That one word was apparently the permission he was waiting for because he cast his eyes downward. After a couple of seconds, I flattened his long fingers against that ugly expanse of skin. Tenderly, he traced the top edge.
“Does it hurt?”
“No.” Not physically at least. Just my pride. My self-image.
He drew a line down the blemish until it disappeared under my waistband. “I know you hate this mark, and you think I
should be repulsed by it. But honestly, flutterby, I have to admit that I love this mark.” He leaned forward and planted his lips on the imperfection.
“Huh?”
His mouth against my skin caused the wires between my mouth and brain to disconnect.
With a smirk, he rocked backwards. “Yeah. You see this scar right here,” he said as his fingers ran its length once more, “it saved your life. Without it, you wouldn’t be here anymore. So, I’m grateful for this visual reminder of how incredibly blessed I am to be sharing air with you again.”
♪ Alone with You by Carl Wockner
“You always did have a way with words,” I said gruffly.
“Not recently. Glad to see my skills are returning.” He hopped to his feet in one fluid motion. Efficiently, he got the shower set up again and the water heating.
He reached over his head to grip a handful of fabric and pulled his shirt off. I squirmed in my seat. That move still turned me on so much. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth as I watched the muscles of his back ripple. I got to my feet, ready to close the distance between us.
When he turned to face me, I couldn’t think at all. He was more beautiful than I remembered, more perfect than canvas and film had captured. My fingers shook as I reached my hand up to trace the new art adorning the area over his heart. “You had it done?” I asked in awe as I ran my fingertips over the tattoo I’d drawn for him before everything went to hell between us. It was my design—a tribal guitar wrapped with lines of sheet music. Notes dotted the coiling staff. Notes to our song. He hummed them as I traced over them.
“Did you find a shop overseas? I hope they were regulated,” I rambled, still a bit stunned that he’d permanently inked me on his skin even thinking I’d thrown us away.
“Stop worrying. I didn’t go in some sketchy tattoo parlor where they used dirty needles. A few months after I thought you’d given up on us, I had to fly to LA to sign some paperwork. I made an appointment at Inked Hearts,” he explained.
“Did the guy who did our thumb rings do it?” Subconsciously, I started twisting the metal band that now hid my permanent thumb ring.
Lyrical Odyssey Rock Star Series: Box Set 1 Page 64