Savage Collision: A Hawke Family Novel (The Hawke Family Book 1)

by Gwyn McNamee

  Maybe because we the way we left things yesterday felt so cold and final. When I managed to drag myself up off the bathroom floor and take a quick shower, I returned to find the bedroom, and the condo, empty. Even Princess was MIA, and I still haven’t heard from Savage.

  The ringing stops and I let out a sigh of relief, setting my phone on the counter to unpack my bags and get the Prosecco chilled. No sooner do I close the door to the fridge when the shrill ringing starts again.

  She’ll just keep calling.

  “Hey, Skye.” I try to put some cheer in my voice, but it sounds fake, even to my own ears.

  “Danika, what the hell is going on?”

  Crap. What did Savage tell her? Time to play dumb. “What do you mean?”

  “Savage says he’s not coming to family dinner tonight. He sounded off, but not sick. Something is going on and Gabe is keeping his mouth shut. I figured you’re the only one I can get the truth out of.”

  The truth? The truth is not something I want to discuss with Savage’s nosy little sister. “Everything’s fine. Savage is fine. He’s probably just tired.”

  She sighs loudly. “Whatever. I know you are all keeping something from me. Savage never misses Sunday dinner. I’ll figure it out sooner or later. Thanks for nothing.”

  Click.

  I look down at my phone. Her abruptness and attitude shouldn’t surprise me. Not after that family dinner and her warning.

  A knock at the door startles me. I almost drop the bottle in my hand.

  Geez, I’m jumpy.

  “It’s open,” I yell, popping open the bottle of Stranahan’s. Caroline makes her way to the kitchen. When she sees the bottles on the counter, she frowns. She hasn’t even seen the ones in the fridge. Maybe I shouldn’t mention the Prosecco. She doesn’t say a word, just walks to the fridge, opens it, sighs, and closes it. She turns to face me.

  “Did you have to buy the whole store?”

  Pouring myself a double, I nod. “Yes.”

  “Better pour me one, then,” she replies, making her way into the living room and dropping down onto the couch. “So, you going to tell me what happened? You were very vague earlier.”

  I had been intentionally vague. How the hell do I tell her Savage and I have never had sex? How do I tell her I confessed my love for him and he just laid there, silent? She’s my best friend, but that doesn’t mean she’ll understand. In fact, her knowing me so well makes me think she won’t understand this, not at all.

  I pour her a drink and drop down into the opposite end of the couch, facing her, with my knees pulled up to my chest. Taking a long sip of my whiskey, I savor the burn and sweetness as it slides down my throat.

  It’s better to get this done quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid.

  “Savage and I have never had sex.”

  She jerks up, her eyes wide, her mouth hanging open. “What? How the hell is that even possible? You have been together for months!”

  No shit.

  “I know. It’s hard to explain. I wanted to, believe me, but, he always managed to divert me from it. He is so damn good at distracting me, I never actually thought about why he was doing it. It was frustrating, but I never thought anything was seriously wrong.”

  She nods and sips her whiskey. “Are you sure he can? I mean, it doesn’t have to do with the accident, does it?”

  “No, believe me, he is very capable.”

  “So, what happened last night?”

  I start with the gallery, describing our run-in with Andrew and Becca.

  “Woah! You’re right. She sounds like a total raging cunt. She abandons him when he needs her the most, and then runs off to marry his good friend right away. Talk about heartless.”

  “No shit.”

  “So, was he a total prick the rest of the night after that?”

  I smile, remembering the way his eyes shimmered with joy and laughter as we made our way around what we dubbed “The Hall of Vagina,” not bothering to attempt to hide our giggles until Maggie saw us. Then, we sobered up quickly. “No, actually, he was pretty fucking perfect once we left that bitch behind.”

  Caroline leans forward and shakes her head. “So, what went wrong? I don’t get it.”

  Images of last night flit around in my head, the feeling of helplessness I had then starting all over again. I take a large gulp of my whiskey, letting the burn of the liquor replace the memory of the burn of my eyes with my own tears. “He freaked out. I mean, full-blown panic attack that lasted something like half an hour.”

  “Freaked out how?”

  I drop my head and stare into the half-empty whiskey glass. I attempt to describe what went down the best I can, but finding words to accurately portray the turmoil of the night proves impossible. I stumble through my description of Savage’s breakdown, finally sucking up the courage to lift my head and see Caroline’s reaction.

  She stares at me, completely dumbfounded. “Woah, so that sounds like it was pretty intense.”

  “Intense doesn’t even begin to cover it. I’ve never been so terrified in my entire life. There was nothing I could do, nothing I could say, to pull him from whatever bottomless, black abyss he fell into.”

  Setting her glass on the coffee table, Caroline reaches out and yanks my glass from my hand, downing the rest. “Sorry, your story is enough to make me need more of this, and I wasn’t even there! I can’t even imagine what a mind-fuck that must have been for you.”

  I run my hands back through my hair, fighting the tears threatening to escape as I mentally relive every fucking second, because every second had felt like an eternity.

  “I was helpless, and he refused to talk to me.”

  “So, what did you do?”

  I bark out a mirthless laugh. “Well, fucking genius that I am, I told him I loved him and then left him when he probably needed me the most.”

  She stands, disappearing into the kitchen and returning with the bottle. She pours two generous fingers into each of our glasses and holds one out to me. “You told him you loved him?”

  The disbelief and concern in her expression has me practically chugging down the potent whiskey. I hiss against the burn, burying my face against my knees. “Yep.”

  “Did you mean it?”

  My head snaps up. “Of course I meant it. You think that’s something I throw around? Just toss out there to any guy who makes me come?”

  “No, Danika, in fact, I’m shocked as shit you told him. Part of me wondered if you were even capable of the commitment loving someone requires.”

  “Wow, harsh much?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Dude, come on, I don’t call you ‘slut’ just because you’re prettier and thinner than me. You and I both know, until you met Savage, you only had one use for men—good, old fashion, sweaty, dirty, nasty-as-hell sex!”

  I cringe.

  She isn’t wrong.

  I made my mind up long ago that men were put on this Earth to pleasure me, period. I was never one of those girls who needed to be wined and dined. Frankly, you were much more likely to get laid walking up to me at a bar and asking me to fuck than if you spent hours schmoozing me and making me feel like a princess.

  My stomach churns and bile rises in my throat. Would I have used Savage as just a fuck buddy? Would I have had mind-blowing sex and walked away without looking back if it had been an option from the beginning?

  “Shit.” I scrub my hands over my face and reach for my glass, downing the rest. “I guess I wasn’t exactly looking for love and a white picket fence. But, that doesn’t mean I don’t love him.”

  “Honey, I just want you to be happy. Savage is a great guy, but, this is your first real relationship, and, sometimes I wonder if you subconsciously see him as some kind of project, something to fix?”

  “Fuck you, Caroline, how can you honestly think that?”

  She holds her hands up and backs away from me on the couch. “I’m just playing devil’s advocate, Dani, take it or leave it. Just be sure you kn
ow what you are doing before you sit here and pine for someone who may never be able to give you what you need.”

  “You have no idea what I need, Caroline. How could you? I didn’t even know I needed it until I met Savage.”

  I stare at the empty pizza box and beer bottles on the coffee table and my stomach churns, already revolting against the cheesy goodness and empty calories I scarfed down. Gabe reclines next to me on the couch, flipping aimlessly through channels, just like he has been for the last two hours, with Princess snuggled on his lap.

  Glancing at my phone, I groan when I see twenty-three missed calls. I scroll through the call log and I’m not surprised to see most of them are from Skye—one from my mom, one from Storm, but the other twenty-one, all Skye. I knew she didn’t believe a word I said when we spoke earlier today. I’ve never been a good liar, and Skye can see through bullshit better than anyone I’ve ever met, probably because she’s so good at spewing it herself.

  Twenty-three fucking calls and none of them are from Dani. The churning storm starts again in my stomach.

  I just couldn’t bear family dinner tonight. Everyone would be asking about Danika, wondering why she didn’t come along again, and, as aforementioned, I’m a shitty liar.

  Gabe stops on Naked and Afraid. It appears this week’s participants are fulfilling their death wishes in Uganda. Why anyone would want to put themselves, or their bodies, through this for twenty-one days is beyond me, but it does make for entertaining television.

  Groaning and stretching his arms back, Gabe glances over at me and frowns before dropping his hands back onto his lap and petting Princess. “Are you going to sit there and mope all night?”

  “Probably.”

  He sighs and rolls his eyes. “Seriously, dude, just fucking call her!”

  “And say what? Sorry I had a meltdown and ignored you when you told me you loved me?”

  He cracks a smile and shrugs. “Well, maybe not in those words.”

  “That’s the point. I have no idea what the hell to say, how to explain any of it, when I don’t even understand it.”

  Gabe stares at me, and I can tell he wants to say something more, but instead, he hands Princess off to me and stands, grabbing the pizza box and piling the empty beer bottles into it.

  “Where are you going?” I ask him, turning to watch him disappear into the kitchen and re-emerge sans garbage.

  He pauses at the door, his back to me. He looks like he’s contemplating something. It isn’t like Gabe not to just say whatever is on his mind, and, quite frankly, it’s disconcerting.

  Glancing over his shoulder at me, he offers me a half-smile and opens the door. “I have something I need to take care of tonight, before it gets too late.”

  He’s lying. I know it, and he knows I know it. But, I don’t call him on it. Whatever is on his mind, he doesn’t want to share it, so I will give him his space. “See ya tomorrow, then.” He waves over his shoulder and disappears into the hallway.

  Princess stands on my lap, looking up at me expectantly. “What do you want?” She jumps down next to me on the couch and slips under my hand. “You want me to pet you? You women are so demanding.”

  I return my attention to the dumbasses in the savanna and manage to forget how badly I blew things with Danika for an hour. Well, not forget, but push it to the back of my mind long enough to have a few laughs at the expense of these suckers.

  Actually, disappearing into the African wilderness sounds pretty awesome right about now, though I doubt it’s handicapped accessible.

  My phone vibrates, signaling an incoming text message. I grab it and prepare to be bombarded by more questions from Skye I have no intention of answering. But, it isn’t Skye. It’s Gabe.

  What the hell? He couldn’t just come across the damn hall?

  > Dr. Anna Cochran (504) 205-1289 <

  < What? Who is that? >

  > She’s a shrink. She helped me. Call her. <

  A shrink? Since when does Gabe see a shrink?

  We’ve been best friends basically our entire lives, and I’ve never once heard him mention going to therapy. Even after he was discharged, he never said anything to give any indication he was seeing someone, or that he needed to.

  I always assumed Gabe told me everything. I guess because I never keep any secrets from him. It’s hard to keep secrets from the person I depend on for so many things, someone I’m closer to than my own actual brother.

  But, a shrink?

  I’ve never really believed in that shit. It’s for people who are weak, who can’t get their shit together, and that has never been me. After the accident, my doctors sent in a therapist to talk to me, and I practically barked him out of the room. I put what was left of my former life back together just fine on my own.

  Still, the events of the other night run through my mind—the way Danika looked when she told me she loved me, when I didn’t respond.

  Fuck!

  I may have thought I had my shit together, but the last twenty-four hours certainly have me rethinking that belief.

  < You really think she can help? >

  > I do. <

  I sigh and run my hand through Princess’ soft fur, the feel of the silky strands through my fingers soothing my frayed nerves. “It can’t hurt to try, right, girl?” She looks up, tilting her head to the side as if she actually understands what I am saying to her. “Yeah, that’s my thought, too.”

  Staring at the litany of unanswered text messages and phone calls from Skye, another text comes through. I know I have to respond before she shows up, unannounced, on my doorstep.

  < Skye, leave it alone. I’m fine. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. It’s almost midnight, go to sleep. >

  The three little dots show up instantly.

  > You’re fine, my ass! You better call me tomorrow morning or I will come down to the club. <

  She will, and she won’t leave until she squeezes every last painful detail from me. She’s even more brutal in person than she is digitally.

  < I promise. Goodnight. >

  > Goodnight. Get ready to spill. <

  I slip my phone into my pocket and look down at Princess, who is lying on her back with her tiny little paws in the air, begging for a belly rub. “It’s time for bed, girl. Let’s get you outside.”

  After a quick pit-stop, I climb into bed, emotionally exhausted. The soul-crushing loneliness of an empty bed hits me immediately.

  What if she never comes back? What if that was the last time I’ll have the woman I love in my bed?

  My phone sits dark on the nightstand. I stare at it—for an inordinate amount of time—hoping, praying, she will call, or text…anything to tell me she’s thinking about me, and we aren’t over.

  But, she won’t call, or text, because I’ve given her no indication we aren’t over. My action, or inaction, only confirmed to her that I didn’t want to fix whatever is wrong between us, and that can’t be further from the truth.

  Grabbing my phone, I open the last message she sent me, right before she arrived at my place to head to the gallery opening.

  > Be there in ten! Can’t wait to see you in a tux…and out of one ;) <

  Fuck.

  I take a deep, cleansing breath, and try to shake off the fear making my heart race just thinking about talking to her.

  Suck it up, you fucking pussy!

  I start typing, not even sure what I am going to write.

  < I’m sorry. I know that in no way begins to make up for what happened last night, but I don’t know what else to say. I’m fucked up, Danika, in ways you can’t even imagine, ways I didn’t even realize until recently. It isn’t fair to you to put you through this. I need to figure my shit out, and I am going to try to do that. But I don’t know when, or if, I’ll ever be in a place to be with you again. I just need you to know that I’m trying, and that I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t, couldn’t, tell you the other night, but I need you to know that. >

  Staring at what I wrote, my fi
nger hovers over the green “Send” button. Once I send it, there’s no taking it back. Maybe it’s wrong to tell her I love her. It certainly isn’t the most romantic thing in the world to do it via text message, but I need her to know. I need her to understand this isn’t about her.

  Clicking “Send” feels like pulling the pin on a grenade. Once it’s done, there’s no going back. It could explode in my hand.

  I close my eyes and drop my head back against the headboard, staring at the bright moonlight shining across the off-white ceiling. When my phone vibrates in my hand, I jerk up and scramble to open the message.

  > Figure it out. I will be here. <

  Seven words. But those seven words speak volumes to me about Danika, and who she is. She hasn’t given up, and that’s all that matters right now. That’s all I can ask of her, all I can expect after what I put her through.

  I just hope it’s enough.

  I fucking hate that brown chair. The leather creaks every time she moves, and it’s like nails screeching on a chalkboard, giving me a fucking migraine every single time I’m here. She moves a lot, constantly crossing and uncrossing her legs, adjusting her glasses, taking a drink of water. For a shrink, she clearly has some issues of her own if she can’t sit still for an hour-long session.

  Three weeks of this has driven me almost to my breaking point.

  “Savage? Did you hear me?”

  Shifting my eyes up from the arm of the chair, I find her watching me intently, eyebrows raised. “What? Sorry.”

  She smiles. She isn’t an unattractive woman, not really my type, but pretty, in that nerdy librarian way some men drool over. But the only woman I care about is tall, blonde, and not currently speaking to me, by my own choice.

  “It’s all right. I said that you have been coming here twice a week for the last three weeks and I still feel like I know nothing about you.”

  I internally roll my eyes at her. If I actually did it, she would call me out on it. I’d end up getting talked in circles about why her comment annoyed me.

  “What do you mean? I told you all about myself.”

  She smiles again, but it doesn’t reach her eyes and she jots something down on her notepad. “You’ve told me about your work. You’ve told me all about your relationship with Danika. You’ve told me about it, in great detail. I feel like I know Danika extremely well. She sounds like a wonderful woman. What I don’t know, is anything about you outside the relationship, and you haven’t told me why you are here other than that you said you ‘blew things’ with her.”