13

by Rhonda James

  Me: I’m home. Feel like talking?

  I remained in that same spot on the sofa. Not moving. Scared of leaving the space where I’d last felt a connection between us. An hour came and went without his reply. Maybe he wasn’t coming back. Maybe he’d lost all faith in me. Maybe he’d never had any, and that’s why he’d begged me not to leave with Gavin. But I still didn’t believe what I’d done was wrong. I hadn’t actually chosen Gavin over Hawk. But maybe it had felt that way to him. The only way I’d ever know was if he’d come home and talk to me.

  Tired of waiting, I went upstairs to pack my suitcases. I figured if he returned later and I had this out of the way, we’d have all of tomorrow to talk and find out where we stood or if he felt this relationship was worth saving.

  I hadn’t brought much, so it didn’t take long to pack, and when midnight arrived, and he still hadn’t come home, I took a shower and called Mitch. He didn’t answer, so I left a message asking him to change my flight to tomorrow afternoon. If Hawk was that angry with me, I saw no point in sticking around. Maybe we’d get a chance to talk it out over the phone, after he’d had a chance to cool down.

  When my phone chirped, I lunged for it, hoping he’d texted me back, but it was an Instagram notification. I opened it, thinking I could waste another twenty or thirty minutes scrolling through my feed. What awaited me wasn’t a photo of my favorite designer shoes or a makeup tutorial I had to try. It was a photo of Hawk with another woman, but not just any woman. He was with Melody. I found myself laughing at the irony. I went off with my ex, and he stumbled right into the arms of his former lover. Nothing about that photo screamed ‘just friends’ to me.

  I was at home worried sick and waiting for him while he was out in the arms of another woman. I wanted to hate him, but my stupid heart wouldn’t allow it.

  My stomach was in knots as I dressed for bed. I wrung my hands and felt the smooth wood under my fingertips. I stared down at his ring and knew it was time to return it. When I slipped the ring off, the pale skin beneath it looked naked. Foreign even. It was a look I’d have to get used to.

  I padded over to his room and placed the ring on his bedside table. He hadn’t made his bed this morning, so his blankets and sheets were a tangled mess, the result of our morning lovemaking. I took a seat on the edge of the bed and ran my fingers over his pillow, wishing I could see his face one last time. Trace his dimples. Touch his heated skin. I opened the drawer of his bedside table, looking for the pad of paper he kept in there, the one where he jotted down lyrics and random To Do lists. I flipped through pages of notes, trying to find a blank sheet to leave him a note, and then paused when one sheet caught my eye. It was another list, but something told me this one was meant for me.

  13 Reasons You Should Stay

  1. I’m crazy about you

  2. I make you laugh

  3. You totally dig me

  4. My killer dance moves

  5. I play the guitar - I DESERVE BONUS POINTS FOR THAT ONE

  6. I’m pretty hot

  7. You’ve already met my family - AND YOU’RE STILL HERE

  8. No one makes me feel the way you do

  9. I SANG COUNTRY FOR YOU

  10. We look good together

  11. That thing I do with my tongue - YOU REMEMBER

  12. Because I’d be lost without you

  13. I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you

  What the hell was this? When did he write this? Did he really feel this way? Had he ever planned on showing it to me? Telling me how he felt? Would it change anything? Each reason alone was enough to make me want to stay, but no matter how badly I wanted to, I knew I couldn’t. I’d made a commitment to CBS. Not only that, but long ago, I’d made a promise to myself. A promise that I wouldn’t let anything come between me and my career. The life I’d been busting my ass for was about to take shape, and I owed it to myself to give it my all. Even if that meant I’d be blowing my shot with Hawk. I’d move to L.A. and throw myself into this role, and if the two of us were meant to be, we’d find a way to make it work.

  At some point, I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I remembered was waking to the sound of Hawk stumbling his way around the room. I heard the hiss of a zipper and a grunt as he struggled to take off his pants. There was a thud and then a slurred “What the fuck?” before I felt the mattress dipping under his weight. The strong scent of whiskey permeated the air, and I detected a perfume that wasn’t my own. His hand brushed over my side of the bed, and he sat up, surprised to find me there.

  He touched my face as though he suspected he might be dreaming and needed to know if I was real. “Hey, you. I need you.” His speech was slow and slightly slurred. I had no idea how much he’d had to drink. Probably more than I cared to know about. He kissed the line between my breasts, and I made no move to stop him. “I messed up.”

  I wasn’t sure what he was implying, but I wasn’t stupid. I could connect the dots. Between the picture, the whiskey, and the late hour, it all added up.

  The bigger question would be, why was I letting him kiss me? Why did I still want him when I questioned his behavior? The answer was simple. I wanted to wrap my legs around his waist and feel him inside me one last time. I was so deeply in love with him I needed that connection more than any explanation he had to offer.

  He pawed at my breast. Rolled the nipple between his calloused fingers. I lay spread eagled on the bed with him above me, looking way too sexy and more than a little drunk. His hair hung down over one eye, and his lips were damp. I wanted to rise up and bite those lips. Taste the whiskey on his tongue. Feel him moving inside me one last time. When he lowered his mouth to mine, I welcomed his kiss.

  We were a frantic mess of hands and lips and desperate moans. He placed kisses on my neck. Breasts. Belly. Clothes came off. Two fingers dipped easily between my legs, and I felt a warm rush of pleasure pooling in my belly. Slow, sensual strokes turned hungry and rapid until I bucked against him, chasing the euphoric bliss of that first orgasm. Our grunts and moans became a mixture of filthy words and empty promises.

  “That’s right, baby. Fuck my fingers.”

  “Right there. Yes.”

  “Don’t stop. Faster.”

  “You want more?”

  “God, yes!”

  “You are so beautiful. Come for me, baby.”

  The orgasm tore through me, and I didn’t have time to catch my breath before I felt him sliding inside me. We moved in perfect harmony. Masters of this ill-fated dance. He probably had no idea I was crying. Crying because I knew this would be our last time making love.

  A tearful confession. “I love you.”

  A grunt of acknowledgement.

  Ask me to stay. Tell me you love me.

  He moved faster. Drove deeper.

  I cried harder. He came with a grunt, whispering my name between delicate kisses.

  A quiet admission. “I’m so fucking crazy about you.” He cradled my face in his hands. Sadness in his eyes. “But I have to let you go.”

  Reluctant acceptance. “I know.”

  Good-bye.

  CHAPTER 30

  HAWK

  “Wake up, dickhead.”

  I cracked one eye open and found Sin sitting in the chair across the room, watching me sleep.

  “Go away, creeper. I’m sleeping.” I drew the covers over my head and closed my eyes. With the headache I was nursing, it felt better to keep them closed.

  I sighed in relief when I heard his retreating footsteps, convinced he was gone. If I was lucky I could grab another hour or two of sleep, and the headache would go away. I needed a clear head when I faced Sophie. I had a feeling I had some apologizing to do. I was still pissed about her leaving with that fucktard, but I probably shouldn’t have taken off the way I did.

  Angry footsteps approached the bed, and when I opened my eyes, I found Sin looming over me holding a giant bowl of what I presumed to be water.

  “Don’t even think about it,” I
warned, but my threat went ignored as he dumped the entire contents on my head. The freezing cold water hit my skin, and I leapt out of bed, water dripping down my back and face. “What the fuck is your problem?”

  He tossed the bowl aside and whipped out his phone. “What the hell is this?”

  I wiped a hand over my face and peered at the image on his phone. It was the photo I’d taken with Melody. The one I’d posted knowing Sophie would see it. I knew when she did it would make her decision to leave that much easier to live with. I’d given no thought to how it might hurt us both.

  I stomped to the bathroom and snagged a towel off the hook, patted myself dry. “Necessary action.”

  He scoffed and shook his head. “I won’t even pretend to understand your logic, but why don’t you try explaining it to me?”

  I blew out a heavy sigh and leaned back against the counter. “It was all supposed to be an act. We both knew that going in, but at some point along the way, she captured my heart, and by the way she looked at me, I knew she’d fallen for me, too. But I never told her how I felt.”

  “Why not?” he demanded.

  My response was a sarcastic chuckle. “Because I know Sophie. She loves with her whole heart, and asking her to give up her dreams for me was something I wasn’t prepared to do. So, I let her go.”

  “That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

  I shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter what you think. It was the right thing to do.”

  I shoved past him and headed back to my room. My gaze traveled the circumference of the room, landing on the bedside table. Amongst all the random crap that had gathered over the last few weeks lay a treasured object. The ring I’d given her. A pang of regret sliced through my heart when I imagined her slipping it off her finger and leaving it there for me to find. As much as it hurt, I still knew I’d done the right thing, and over time I hoped Sophie would understand my heart had been in the right place.

  He guffawed. “What about your dreams? Your heart? What does that make them?”

  I met his hard gaze and steeled my response. “Collateral damage.”

  “This doesn’t make any fucking sense,” he argued.

  “Maybe not to you, but it does to me, and maybe it will to Sophie. Speaking of which, I need to get my shit together and go find her. I can’t have her leaving without at least hearing me out.”

  He clamped a hand over my shoulder and offered a sympathetic smile. “She’s already gone.”

  ____________________________

  Sophie was gone.

  She’d left without a good-bye. No note. The picture she’d kept on her dresser. Gone. Clothes and toothbrush. Gone. All that remained was the scent she’d left on my pillow. The bed behind me was in a state of disrepair. Blankets tossed aside. Mattress shoved sideways on the floor. Pillows slashed and feathers every-fucking-where. The product of my complete and utter frustration.

  My head throbbed from the whiskey hangover, and my eyes hurt from fighting back tears I didn’t deserve to cry. I was pissed at myself for losing my cool and getting completely shit-faced. More pissed at how I’d acted with her when I got home. After the way I’d reacted to Gavin showing up and the fact I’d just spent five hours drinking with my ex, I’d had no right coming home and expecting sex. Yet she hadn’t stopped me. She’d offered her body willingly. Christ, I’d probably stunk of whiskey and another woman’s perfume. But nothing had happened between Melody and me, and I wanted to tell her that. I didn’t want her looking at the photo and questioning my faithfulness to her. As twisted as my logic might have seemed, I knew there would never be another woman for me. There’d never be another Sophie Banks.

  After a much-needed shower, I toweled off and spent twenty minutes standing in front of the empty sink where she always brushed her teeth. She’d only been gone a few hours, and I already knew I’d need to start using the other bathroom. Too many memories were made here. The shower where she’d told me about her tattoo. The mirror where we’d both watched when I’d taken her bare and filled her with my release. The trust she’d placed in me that night was enough to bring me to my knees. I stared at my reflection and feared there was no way she’d ever be able to forgive me.

  That made two of us.

  I went to the kitchen in search of coffee and took a seat at the empty table, staring over at the chair Sophie had occupied only yesterday. The house seemed dull without her presence. Less alive. I’d grown accustomed to the sound of her hair dryer and her incessant need to blast those damn country music playlists while she showered.

  I assumed she was on a plane somewhere over Texas right about now, eager to start her new life in L.A. Was she thinking of me? Did she hate me? Was she confused? God, I should have just said the words that had been on my heart. From the very beginning, I’d known how I felt about her. Had known it that first night when she’d laughed and called me her husband. Had known it the night I’d watched her from the other side of the bonfire. The first time I’d buried myself inside her and made her mine. And again last night when I was sitting with Melody wishing she were Sophie.

  My mind kept going back to that night in the bathroom when I’d fucked her without a condom. I’d never done that before, hadn’t even considered it. But I never questioned it with Sophie. I wasn’t looking for an accidental pregnancy, and I certainly wouldn’t want her to have to go through another loss like she’d already experienced. But I could definitely see myself raising a family with her. Give me a little girl who looked just like Sophie, and I’d walk away from everything. The music. My dreams. All of it.

  But could haves and should haves were a lonely man’s living hell.

  I figured I’d give her a day or two to get settled, maybe calm down, and then I’d reach out. Hopefully by then, I’d find the right words to say.

  Until then, I’d lose myself in the music.

  ____________________________

  The tour was in full swing. We’d visited forty cities over the last four weeks, and each venue we played had been filled to capacity. The rush was mind-blowing, and the prep for every show was intense. But we’d really come together as a team. We were more than a band. We were brothers.

  Between the shows and all the travel, I’d stayed busy, but Sophie was always on my mind. I tried reaching out to her, but she never took my calls. Never responded to any of my texts. For all I knew, she’d blocked my number and hadn’t seen any of them. But that didn’t stop me. Tori had been tight-lipped about the whole thing. She was upset with me for the choices I’d made, which I understood, and she was upset with Sophie for her unwillingness to hear me out. The only information Tori would give me was that Sophie seemed happy and had buried herself in her work. I guessed that was what both of us were doing. Taking all our anger and pain and channeling that into the one thing we could control, which was our craft.

  But I missed her every goddamn day. I was in love with her. And I hadn’t given up yet. I would bide my time and wait for the right moment.

  It was raining as the bus drove through Kansas City on our way to Austin, the next stop on the tour. Today was officially the first day of spring, and I’d thought of Sophie when I opened my eyes this morning. Who was I kidding? I thought about her all the time, but today especially because I knew how much she loved this season.

  Me: First day of spring, and it’s raining here. Not sure how you’re doing, or if you’ll even see this. I wanted you to know that you’re always in my heart, and I’ll be here if and when you’re ready to talk. I miss you.

  I sent the text, not expecting a response, then went online and ordered five dozen bouquets of daffodils to be sent to her apartment because to me, they represented happiness and renewal. Something Sophie had brought with her when she’d sputtered her way into my life.

  CHAPTER 31

  SOPHIE

  “That’s a wrap, folks,” the director yelled, marking the end of my first season as a regular on network television.

  The show
was a nighttime drama with a cast of fifteen, all supporting roles. That was one of the many aspects I loved about this cast; there wasn’t a single character who stole show. The show worked because our characters fed off each other and created the kind of angst and lust required to make the series a success. My character, Cassidy Raine, was a rising fashion photographer who captured the eye of one of her subjects. He posed for a book cover spread she was hired to shoot and started stalking her, and they ended up having this steamy affair. These two characters were raw, and the sexual energy on camera was off the charts hot.

  I took one final look around and discreetly pinched myself just to prove I wasn’t dreaming. I still couldn’t believe this was my life.

  I’d finally made it.

  Funny thing, I thought I’d be happier once my dreams came true.

  There was a flurry of activity on the set as cameras were rolled away and stage props were taken down. Little by little, my home away from home was reduced to a pile of fake walls and rolled-up carpeting. Over the last two months, we’d filmed five days a week, sometimes thirteen-hour days. The show was on its second season, coming off a pretty impressive debut, and the producers felt it was important we up the ante this season, hence the extra-long days. I hadn’t minded it, though. I loved the crew. Loved my co-stars. Since I was fairly new to the area, I hadn’t made a lot of friends outside of the studio. There was the one neighbor in my apartment building who signed for packages in my absence. The barista at my new favorite coffee shop. And I couldn’t forget the cute guy who delivered me Mexican food every time I had a craving, or a bad day, both of which had occurred far too many times over the last two months. Other than that, the only people I talked to were fellow cast members and the girl who worked the food truck on set and sold me my favorite croissants.

  Soon after moving to L.A., I’d had a long talk with Mitch, and we’d agreed it was time to address the issue of my ‘marriage.’ There had been a lot of speculation of divorce after the photo of Hawk and Melody had gone viral. Mitch and I had agreed it was getting a little tricky answering reporters’ questions about my rocker husband and whether or not he was cheating on me while he was out on tour. At my request, Mitch released a statement announcing our decision to separate.