True Abandon

by Jeannine Colette

  “I went in for surgery. You said you’d be there when I got back.”

  He’s calm—too calm and too controlled for my liking. All while I stand here completely dumbfounded.

  “You flew all the way to Hawaii to tell me you’re upset I wasn’t there when you woke up from anesthesia?”

  Unfazed, he stares.

  I stare back.

  He settles back on his heels, letting me know he’s willing to stand here all night if he has to.

  In the hospital, I carried an air of authority—I was in the position of power while he was rendered immobile. But here, now, this man in front of me is neither the boy of my youth nor is he the patient who lay in a bed in pain and in need of my help.

  No. Here is a tall, viral man.

  His six-foot-two stature is overpowering in the large space.

  His presence, commanding.

  His look, disarming.

  And the way he makes the hair on the back of my neck stand straight and my stomach flutter is more than I can take.

  “Are you Olivia Benson?” I ask, now realizing how dry my mouth is.

  His full lips spreading to showcase that damn smile I hate.

  I stomp my foot. “Is this all a game to you?” My voice echoes over the marble.

  He levels his gaze. “No game.”

  “Then what is this?”

  “This is me finishing what we started.”

  I reach for my throat with one hand and wrap my other around my stomach.

  This can’t be happening. Jackson Davis cannot be sabotaging my life again.

  This was my fresh start—the third in twenty-five years. He can’t keep appearing in my life and forcing his hand.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “What am I doing, Trish?” His words are a dare.

  “Destroying my life.”

  It’s hard to miss the tick of his jaw and widening of his eyes. “Is that what you think I came here for?”

  “If not to cause more damage, then what?”

  “To make it up to you,” he says with a slight rise to his voice. The calm and cool demeanor fading before me. His fists clench as he pulls in his lower lip, those brows furrow deep. “You think you know everything, but you’re wrong. Seeing you in the hospital…” He takes a deep breath and looks down as if recalling a memory. “It’s all I’ve been able to think about. Waking up and seeing you for the first time,” he pauses. “It was surreal.”

  Those caramel-colored eyes find mine again. They’re glazed with a look so severe it almost reads as remorse as he continues, “But then I saw the look on your face and knew you weren’t the same person. The once boisterous and fun girl with the most beautiful laugh was gone.”

  “I’m still fun. It’s just you I can’t stand to be around.”

  He flinches as if my words are daggers thrown into his heart.

  Feeling myself gaining control of the conversation I ask, “So you had an epiphany. Why wait seven months to track me down?”

  “As you recall, I was injured.” He holds up his arm that was once broken and now bears a red scar splicing down the skin below his elbow. “Plus, I had to finish up some things with work.”

  “You have a job?” I ask rather rudely.

  “False Accusations is a legitimate band. I couldn’t leave them high and dry.”

  I cross my arms and lean my head to the side. “Like they left you the night of your accident?”

  “Trish,” he warns.

  “Jax,” I challenge. It’s the most brazen I’ve felt since walking through the door tonight. “So, what now? You’re on hiatus?”

  “I quit. Thought you’d be happy.”

  “Why would I care?”

  “No reason.” He purses his lips and looks back at me. His chin rises again and appraises me.

  This chess game he’s playing will easily be lost.

  By me.

  I throw my arms up in the air, “Whatever reason you’re here for, it’s been noted, and you can leave now.”

  His hand skims along the glass of a nearby table. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  I drop my arms in exasperation. “Why the hell not?”

  His fingers stop moving. “I’ve sinned, and I’m ready to repent.”

  Repent? Oh, for the love of God. “And what am I supposed to do? Forgive you? You show up after all these years, and I say ‘It’s okay, Jax. You were just an idiot kid who didn’t know what he was doing.’”

  “I want you to get to know me, now, as a man.”

  I hold a finger up to him. “No.”

  “Yes.”

  Shaking my head, I state, “You can’t force me to spend time with you.”

  “Yes, I can,” he retorts with a wink and flicks a gaze around the room. The fourteen-hundred-square-foot Pele suite with a king-size, master bedroom, living room, lanai looking on to the Pacific Ocean, and…

  Realization strikes.

  “Oh no.” I put both hands up in the air and start to back away. “No, no, no, no, no.”

  He smiles.

  “You’re sick,” I state.

  He strides toward me, each step more purposeful than the last. “Seven days and seven nights of personal concierge service.”

  I continue to back up. “You’re insane.”

  “Sit back and relax at our five-star, luxury retreat while your every need is met,” he recites the words from the hotel’s website.

  My heels continue to move back. “I don’t know what you think this service includes, but it’s not—” My back hits the wall.

  “Not what?” His palms are pressed flat against the wall by my head, his body pinning me in.

  I gasp at the proximity.

  The buttons of his shirt are level with my eyes. The fire of the dragon peeks out the top of his collar. From his strong legs encasing me, and the well-defined upper half of a man who clearly treats his body like a piece of art, paired with the intoxicating smell of warm honey radiating off his skin, I am trapped by the power of a man who is holding me still yet not one single part of his body is touching me. Not one, tiny inch.

  I look up and am a breath away from lips whose kisses are still ones I dream about. I dare myself not to, but I find myself looking further up, and my heart stops at the look he’s giving me—the heated one of a man who is fixated on the one thing he wants. The determined, yet yearning gaze of someone who has been deprived for years. The look of someone who is staring at what he needs.

  My body ignites.

  From the tips of my fingers to the swell of my chest, right down to the simmering of my core reacting to having this hard, powerful body so close. It’s a feeling so intense, do direly missed—and so very, very dangerous.

  I tilt my head to the side causing Jax to lean in and whisper into my ear, his breath hot against my skin.

  “There once was a time you looked at me like I was your savior. Now your eyes scream in disgust. Where you once melted, now you flinch beneath me. I did that to you, and it kills me.”

  He pushes off the wall and stalks back to the middle of the room, his chest heaving. I was so concerned about my physical reaction, I didn’t even notice he was having one of his own.

  “I’m not the monster you think I am.” It takes me a moment to process the words. I must take too long to respond because he adds, “Tomorrow is a new day.” Jax walks into the master bedroom suite closing the door behind him.

  Part of me wants to follow him, knock on the door and yell at him to finish what he started. The other part wants to run away and hop on the next flight back to New York.

  I don’t do either.

  Instead, I stand here, confused and frightened as hell.

  Confused because I still don’t fully comprehend what Jackson Davis is doing here, back in my life.

  And frightened because, despite the past, I can’t help the way he makes me feel in the present.

  …

  “Trish, is that you?” Kelli’s voice calls out from her bed
room.

  “Yeah. It’s me.” I close the front door of our condo and drop my bag on the ground. I pad over to the kitchen and open the refrigerator.

  “I thought you were going to Duke’s?”

  I reach for a bottle of water and open it against the bottle opener that’s nailed to the wall. “Wasn’t in the mood.” I’m taking a long swig when I hear a thump and then muffled voices. I lean toward her room to get a better listen. “Do you have company?”

  Her door swings open. “Hi.”

  She hops out. Her hair is a disheveled mess and the hem of her shirt is barely covering her boy-short panties.

  I look over her shoulder towards the room. “Who’s inside?”

  “A tourist. He was my three o’clock cut and style.”

  With a slam of my bottle the counter, I hiss at her, “What did I tell you about sleeping with your clients?”

  She grabs my drink off the counter, takes a giant gulp, and wipes her mouth with her forearm. “It’s only frowned upon if it’s on hotel property. What I do in my home is my business.”

  I take the bottle from her hands. “You don’t know anything about him. He could be a predator or a thief.”

  “And you could be a tad bit overdramatic. What’s with you anyway?” She waves a hand at me. “You’re extra, you know, you today.”

  I fall back against the Formica countertop. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

  Kelli stares at me, her eyes squinting with an air of judgment.

  I shrug my shoulders and say, “My clients this morning didn’t tip.” There’s no one reason why I’m not telling her about Jax. It just isn’t something I want to talk about right now.

  “After all you went through to give them the sickest honeymoon ever?” She twists her face in annoyance. “Damn those rich bastards. They’re the cheapest of all. You did everything for them. That’s a real bummer. You deserve better.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I mean it! You need more of a backbone. I’m sick of people taking advantage of you. You’re way too good for that nonsense.” She places a reassuring hand on my shoulder and gives it a little shake. “I love you like a sister. Someone messes with you, they mess with me.”

  Her comment makes me roll my eyes as she pulls me in for a hug. Our moment of sisterly bonding is interrupted by a man’s grunt. “You coming back to bed, Kimmy?”

  “It’s Kelli,” she shouts over my shoulder toward her room. “Let me get one more ride out of him, and then I’m kicking him out.” She releases our hold and turns back to her room.

  “I’m dead-bolting my door,” I call out to her.

  “There’s a fresh can of mace in your top drawer,” she says as she closes her door.

  Blowing out a large puff of air, I practically deflate against the refrigerator. Kelli’s giggle pours through the walls, followed by a man’s moans.

  I toss my bottle in the recycling container and walk into my room, closing the door behind me. I don’t deadbolt it, but I do grab the mace from my dresser and place it within arm’s reach—a girl can never be too safe.

  I slide the glass door open that leads to the covered lanai off my room and breathe in the scent of the coconut trees and the fresh ocean of nearby Poipu Beach.

  Kelli originally picked out a condo on the north side of the island. After some research, I learned that while the rent was great, the condo was a forty-five-minute drive from the hotels we were working in. The long commute paired with the fact it was in the country side with no fast food chains or stop lights made it a no-go for me. If I was moving to Hawaii, I needed to be near civilization.

  Our new home is in Koloa, a perfect location for us to travel to work, the beach, shopping complexes, and restaurants. There are plenty of homes around us, and the people are friendly.

  My room is light and bright. Even on my most anxiety-laden days, I give a long stretch, take in the gorgeous sky outside, and feel rejuvenated. The fact I haven’t had many nervous ticks and twitches since being here is not lost on me. It’s as if this place is so far away from my old life in Virginia, far away from my second life in New York, that I can finally be free.

  That was before Jax walked back into my life. I kick my garbage can over in frustration. I’m biting my nail as I fall onto my bed and open my laptop. It’s been months since I looked him up. I thought I was past this, yet here I am Googling his name.

  The first thing I see is False Accusation hit the Billboard Hot 100. It’s pretty high on the chart, but still. That’s a huge feat for a band that’s had mild success the last few years. I haven’t listened to the radio at all since being in Hawaii, and the music we play at the hotel is very Jack Johnson/Jason Mraz-ish. Dixie-style rock & roll isn’t exactly the type of music the Kauai Princess plays for their guests.

  A few articles talk about Jax’s accident. One states he was “gripping to the last strands of life.” It’s overly dramatic, but I guess that helps sell albums.

  While he was recuperating from his “near-death” experience, one of their songs hit a heavy rotation and found a following over the winter. Another article shows how the lead guitarist, Jax Davis, quit the band and was quickly replaced.

  I tug on my braid as I scroll through the article. Why someone would quit a band, when it’s finally experiencing success after years of hard work, is beyond me. That just shows the kind of person he is. Someone who will walk away from any committed relationship and leave someone else to deal with the fallout.

  I close my laptop and walk back out onto the lanai and lift my head to the night sky. Without the light pollution I’ve grown accustomed to in New York, I can see every star. I find the brightest one, close my eyes, and make a wish.

  I wish Jackson would leave tomorrow. I wish he would walk away, and I’d never see him again.

  For some reason, I don’t think this wish is going to come true.

  chapter SEVEN

  Driving down Lihue Road, my Jeep Wrangler glides on the freshly paved street. The scent of oleander growing on the side of the road has a bubblegum undertone—interesting for the rose-like flower that’s powerful enough to kill.

  I park my car in the employee lot of the Kauai Princess. The building doesn’t look like much from the street, but once someone walks up the path to the main lobby with its vibrant archways, botanic gardens, and exotic birds, they’re immersed in a tropical paradise. Even the grounds around the service entrance are perfectly manicured.

  Walking to the front desk, I fidget with one of the three bracelets I’m wearing around my wrist.

  “Aloha! Don’t you look adorable today?” Lani coos as I approach. “How do you get your hair like that?”

  My hair is half up, half down, and it looks like I’m wearing a crown around the top of my head. Pieces of my hair are pulled through the braid and down to create a waterfall effect.

  “I’ll show you. It’s easy.” I fix the leaves on a floral arrangement on the counter. “I got your text last night. Did Kal really try to juggle fire rings?”

  During my restless sleep last night, I received several drunken pictures from Lani.

  “Kalino was wasted.” She looks at me with a slow smile that builds. “Heard he finally got the nerve to ask you to drinks.”

  I wince. “He told you about that?”

  Her almond eyes smirk. “Poor boy is broken-hearted.”

  “And this amuses you?”

  She runs her nails down her ponytail. “I told him not to. But he has a mind of his own. He’ll learn.”

  “Learn what?”

  “Ku’ia kahele aka na’au ha’aha’a,” she practically sings.

  I raise a brow in interest.

  She flips her hair behind her slender shoulder and says, “A humble person walks carefully as not to hurt others.”

  With a shake of my head, I back away from the counter. “Someday, I’ll be able to make sense of your crazy Hawaiian proverbs.”

  “Then you’ll love this one, “My Man-ah Licky Mah HooHannah Lasta N
ighta!” she says with waggling brows.

  It takes me a moment to understand the gibberish coming out of her mouth. “Ohhh.” I scrunch my nose and hold my hands up. “TMI, Lani. T-M-I.”

  She points at me accusingly. “I’m gonna get you liquored up again just so I can hear more of your insane stories. It’s always the quiet ones…”

  My head falls into my hand with a shake. This is why I don’t drink. Whenever I do, I develop the mouth of a sailor and a truck driver combined.

  With a deep breath, I stand straight and announce, “I’m going to work.”

  “Don’t forget, you have your hula lesson with Tutu tonight.”

  A few months ago, I mentioned to Lani I wanted to learn how to hula. Turns out, her grandmother, Auli’i, is a respected hula instructor on the island. She’s been giving me private lessons at her home followed by tea and conversation. Spending time with Auli’l is something I look forward to every week.

  “I’ll be there,” I say as I walk backward, away from the desk.

  “And, Olivia Benson is by the pool in Cabana Four. I’m a little confused by the name, but wow, can we have a conversation about how phenomenally gorgeous that man is. He has tattoos, which I’m not usually into, but on him, they’re like these dark and dangerous pieces of art that scream, ‘I’m a sex maniac.’”

  I snap my fingers in front of her eyes to pull her out of her nymphomaniac daydream. “You always call me when a Pele guest has a request.”

  “He told me to let you sleep in. Apparently, you had bags under your eyes yesterday.”

  With hands on my hips and pinched lips, I ask, “Is this your observation or his?”

  “His,” she states matter-of-factly. “And I agreed. You looked like you needed some moe moe.”

  I stick my tongue out at her. While moe moe was a no-no for me last night, Lani does not need to know that Olivia Benson, aka Jackson Davis, was the reason I didn’t get any sleep. In an ideal world, no one needs to know he and I have a history. That would lead to questions, and questions always beg for answers.

  Out the back, double, sliding, glass doors, I head to the back of the hotel.

  A hotel is only as good as its pool, in my opinion. And this hotel has the best. Not only is it large, but it’s in the shape of a flower. The center has island palm trees and loungers for guests to relax. The petals are individual pools separated by bridges that lead to the island. The back three petals feature oversized Polynesian columns adjoining the hotel with hot tubs secluded inside each. The front three petals overlook Kalapaki Beach and Nawiliwili Bay.