I turn the knob slowly and stop immediately when the door cracks open, and I hear his melodic voice, scraped gravel worn smooth over velvet. I like to think I don’t want him to know I’m there just yet because I don’t want to disturb his work, but really it’s that listening to Hawke sing is as much a therapy for me as it is for him.

The music he creates on the piano against the wall is melancholy, haunting, poignant, and it begs me to walk in the room and listen from a closer distance even though I know it’s already woven into my soul and wrapped around my heart in just this first listen. I look through the crack I’ve opened and watch him play: head down, shoulders relaxed, fingers flying over keys without a second thought. He’s in his element, lost in his therapy, coping the only way he knows how.

This poisoned crown has lost its shine, time to cut the ropes he tied with twine. I looked up, and I saw you. I looked up, and then I knew. My armor sheds, my truths revealed, for your honor I now have bled.

He sings the lyrics so softly but I hear them clear as day, know exactly what he’s talking about, and it’s never been more apparent that I have no chance in hell at winning my heart back from the hold he has on it. And I know for a fact that I don’t want to. His fingers move flawlessly into an interlude and I don’t even realize I’ve moved farther into the room, his pull on me so inexplicable, my draw to him irrefutable.

Take me as I am. Help me be a better man. Help me find the path to choose, as long as it keeps me beside you. This empty heart is yours to keep, take my hand, let’s take this leap. Falling soft, landing hard, happy ever after is not too far.

I can’t move as his words, his heart, speak to me through the song. He sounds so lonely, so pained, and at the same time there’s hope there, for whatever we are together. And after the events of the day, I cling on to the hope, desperately needing that ray of light in this incredible man to pull me through.

The music fades softly as he hums along with it and the room fills with silence. His head remains bowed, and I hold my breath, feeling once again like I’m intruding on him and his lover. It’s an odd feeling but it’s the most accurate way that I can explain how it feels to watch him create his music.

“I’ve never done this before, Quin,” he says, voice strained. I startle a bit, surprised that he knows I’m here.

I take a step toward him, holding on to a ray of hope that he’s saying what I think he’s saying.

“Never done what before?”

“Today. Tonight. You. Me. Any of this.” I try to follow what he’s saying. He’s got a habit of sharing what he’s thinking without explaining at first so I grant him the moment to formulate just what he wants to say. I step up behind him and place my hands on his shoulders, ghost my body to his back and just wait him out.

He blows out a loud breath and shakes his head ever so slightly, fingers tinkering softly on the keys. “What I just said in those lyrics … By now I’m usually shoving someone away, but you … I don’t want to do that with you. And not because I feel guilty about Hunter—which I do and always will and—”

“Shh. Shh,” I murmur into the top of his head, not wanting to rehash the seven other times tonight that I told him Hunter’s actions aren’t on him. And riding right alongside of that is the damn hope again causing my heart to squeeze in my chest in anticipation. “Even when you push me away, Hawkin …” He starts to shake his head to tell me that he’s not and so I continue so that I can explain. “It’s going to happen. It’s all you know. I’ll be patient, I’ll wait you out as long as you fight harder to keep me than you do to push me away.”

He drops his head forward, nodding. “I will fight harder…. I’m pretty sure the bruises on my knuckles are proof.” He snorts out a laugh and now I feel like shit because that’s not what I meant. I reach down and lift one of his hands up to my lips and press a kiss to the bruises there.

He draws in a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say Quin is that I almost fucked this up by not telling you about the bet. I’m sorry. I was too busy holding on to who I thought I was to recognize the man you saw in me.” Tears spring to my eyes instantly, and I squeeze his shoulders for him to continue. “But I see him now. You’ve allowed me to see him, to want to become him. I know that the promises I made to a desperate man when I was nine are not mine to keep. It’s time to start living life for me, so I can prove those theories wrong, and the first step for me is trying to make this work with you.”

He looks up to me now with a steady gaze, our eyes lock, and my smile spreads automatically. How can it not when I’m looking at this incredible man, trying to be the person so many of us have seen for so long? He’s always denied it about himself, but now he’s stepping forward. His eyes ask the question I think he’s afraid to voice aloud. I lower myself gingerly to the bench beside him.

I take in his handsome face, black eye and all, his sculpted lips, and those gray eyes holding mine captive. His unease is palpable; the vulnerability radiates off him as if he cut open a vein, and my need to soothe his worries takes over. I reach out to press my fingertips to the softness of his lips and hold them there. He kisses them gently and my heart melts at the intimacy of the action.

“Sometimes first steps entail a helluva lot of tripping and falling,” I tell him, hoping he really hears what I’m saying because I need to let him know he’s not alone here in how he feels. “But it’s okay because I promise I’ll be there to catch you when you fall.” I lean forward and replace my fingers with my lips, in a gentle reinforcement of my words. “You see, I can catch you because I already tripped and fell head over heels a while back.”

I wish I could capture the look on his face, the quick intake of air, the sudden off-chord press of the piano keys, as record of the moment, but I don’t think I need to because it’s burned into my mind without a doubt.

“Really?” he asks me, incredulity in his tone and expressed in his face. He looks to me, eyes wide, lips wanting to smile but fearful he’s misinterpreting what I’m saying. He makes me think of a little boy searching for an answer with cautious optimism.

I nod my head shyly, wanting him to see this is possible. That we can figure it all out, take everything that’s been wrong and turn it into our own kind of right. We don’t need to be perfect—we are never going to be and I’m okay with that. Bumps along the road are expected, misunderstandings and miscommunication are a given, but it’s how we move on from there that will make us last.

A shy smile starts to spread on his lips. “Well, if I’m gonna fall, there’s no place else I’d rather land than on top of you,” he deadpans, with such relief in his eyes that I want this with him, whatever this ends up being, more than ever.

The laughter falls freely from my mouth, the one thing I can always count on when it’s him and me.

I guess I took an iron to that piece of paper after all, got rid of most creases. And the ones that remain? I will love them for being there, adding in a little history, telling our story, and reminding me where we’ve been and how we got here.

And when he taps out the beginning notes of Tom Petty’s “Free Falling” on the piano in front of him, the gravity of our day fades away and the poignancy of the moment we’re sharing right now hits both of us. We erupt into another fit of laughter.

He leans in and brushes a tender kiss on my lips, so paranoid to touch me anywhere else for fear it might hurt me. I fist my hand in his hair and as much as my muscles scream, I can’t resist pulling him in closer so that we can lose ourselves in each other, sear the commitment of this moment in our minds and weave it around our hearts.

“When you feel better,” he murmurs against my lips, “I’m taking you on this piano.”

“Still working on finishing the band, are we?” I arch an eyebrow, feeling such a surge of emotion and love for this man before me.

“Sweetness, we’ve got a whole helluva lot of instruments to play yet.”

He places a lingering kiss on my lips that causes that ache to settle deep in my belly. I lean back and look into his storm-cloud gray eyes. “The only Play I want is the one right in front of me.”



Chapter 39


QUINLAN

“So here’s the schedule.” Hawke lays a calendar on the table in front of me. The ocean breeze rustles it some so I take it in my hands and hold it up to look at Bent’s tour schedule over the next few weeks. The cities and venues are marked on each day and then every few days feature bright red asterisks in pen that have no rhyme or reason.

“Thank you,” I say distractedly to the waitress as she sets down my drink. After gazing at the calendar for another minute, I still can’t figure out the red marks that bleed all over the page. “What are …?” My thought trails off when I lift my eyes and meet Hawkin’s.

He’s staring at me beneath the shield of a baseball cap, the bruise on his face almost gone now, and I can see the amusement mixed with love in his eyes clear as day. A soft smile curls up one side of his mouth as the moment stretches on. “Figure it out yet?”

“The red?”

“Mm-hm.” He nods his head and tips back the bottle of beer to his lips. There’s no specific pattern and the closer I scrutinize the dates, they cover over two-thirds of the days on the tour. I look back up at him, eyes narrowed, and shrug. Hawke leans forward and kisses me. “I’m making it count, Trixie,” he murmurs against my lips before leaning back to see my reaction. “I thought you might want to come cause trouble with me.”

My heart squeezes in my chest because my love for him has grown stronger with each passing day. I can feel my mouth fall lax in surprise before spreading into a beaming grin. “Really? You want me to come visit you on tour?”

“Yep,” he nods. “You’ll be on winter break most of the time and I thought you might want to get away. That and … well, I figured if we’re making a band together, it’s only natural that it travels a bit.”

“Of course. Every band has to tour,” I tease, but I’m also blinking back the tears that burn in my throat. His admission that he wants me with him makes me feel like I’m walking on air. For a man so used to pushing everyone away, he sure as hell is doing a great job of keeping me close. It’s my turn to press a kiss to his lips. “I think I can manage being one of your groupies for a bit.”

“Well, you did dress me up like an eighties hair band,” he teases, “so I get to dress you up as a road ho so that you can fit in.”

“Hmm, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Short skirts, high heels, no panties, teaching me the soundboard in small alcoves,” I murmur as the memory of our tryst fills my head and turns me on.

“I like alcoves,” he groans under his breath and I love that I do that to him.

I point to a day where there is no asterisk. “Why not this day? This day works for me too.”

“Well, I have another groupie signed up for that day,” he deadpans, earning a punch in his shoulder. He dodges me with laughter and grabs my hand, pulling me close to him.

“No you don’t, Play!” I struggle against him in jest but I surrender willingly when he uses his kiss as the means of negotiation. “I just might have to get a thing for lead guitarists then.”

His mouth opens in shock and I take full advantage. My hand is fisted in his shirt in an instant and my tongue slips between his parted lips. Damn the man can kiss me senseless.

Hawkin’s fingertips slide over my thighs and pull my chair so that my knees fit between his legs. He leans back and looks at me with that rock god smirk that turns me inside out. “Lead singer trumps guitarist any day.”

“I thought it was rocker trumps racer?” His fingers grip my hips in a hint of what he wants to do to me when we leave the Surf Shack where we’re eating our lunch.

“Sweetness, I’ll trump anything you like as long as—” I cut him off with my kiss again.

“Is this the asshole rocker?”

My brother’s voice shocks us apart and every part of me wants to whirl around and tell him to take his protective-brother bullshit down a notch because I’ve got this handled, but I don’t because I’m too busy watching Hawke. And God how I love the fact that even though my heart feels like it was jump-started from cardiac arrest, Hawkin’s hands stay firmly in place on my thighs and his eyes meet mine before slowly shifting to the voice behind me.