“No shit,” Hawkin says stepping toward him, agitation in his voice and anger reflected in his posture. “Hard to show up when they didn’t call you in the first place. After everything …” He rolls his shoulders as he tries to rein in his temper. “Can’t you just follow through with a promise one fucking time, Hunter?” His voice is low and threatening. Vince’s eyes toggle back and forth between the two of them as he assesses the situation.

“Relax,” Hunter says with a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head as if the comment is irrelevant. His facetious attitude is a complete contrast to the humorless ones of Hawkin and Vince. “I’ll hold my end of the bargain, brother.” He says the last word with a disdained sarcasm that even ruffles my feathers. Hunter’s eyes track over to me and stop. “You can always ensure that I will though by sharing.”

“Come again?” The retort is off my tongue before I even think it through. If he’s saying what I think he’s saying he can move right along.

Hawkin is in Hunter’s face within a split second of my comment, hand fisted in the front of his shirt, nose to nose. “Leave her out of the bullshit between us! You had your chance and blew it. That’s on you. You want something I have again, you best figure out how to get your shit straightened out and get it yourself. Your second chances are wearing thin here, brother,” Hawkin says, mimicking Hunter’s tone, his voice quiet, yet the steel in his attitude more than obvious.

There is a tense few seconds where they remain toe to toe, their unspoken battle filling up the room, until Vince steps forward and grips Hawkin’s shoulder. At first he resists Vince trying to force them apart and then relents.

“It’s best you leave, Hunt,” Vince says with a cluck of his tongue. “You’re a bit outnumbered here, if you catch my drift. Door’s that way.” He gestures behind him, not backing down while Hawkin stalks down the length of the hallway, hands laced on the back of his neck, face grimaced in restraint.

“Ah, so cute you have your bodyguard to make sure you don’t get hurt,” Hunter sneers like a child.

“You’ve worn out your welcome, and I don’t have any promises that I’ve made keeping me from plowing my fist in your face,” Vince says with a shrug of his shoulders that’s anything but apologetic. “I’d love nothing more than for you to give me a reason….”

Hunter nods, teeth biting his bottom lip to fight the smirk playing there, like all of this is humorous to him. He looks over to where I’m frozen with uncertainty over what to do, and lifts his chin.

“You’ll learn soon that these guys aren’t worth your time. I look forward to seeing you again. Soon.” The shuffling of Hawke’s feet on the wood floor instantly falls silent at the same time Hunter lifts his eyebrows, smirk bordering arrogant, before turning and heading toward the front door like he hasn’t a care in the world. “You guys need to loosen the fuck up in this place,” he throws over his shoulder as he strides out of the house, his mocking laughter fading with him.

The front door slams, but no one moves. Despite Hunter’s departure, the tension still vibrates off the walls. I’m so uncomfortable, unsure what to do, but all I know is that the look on Hawkin’s face calls me to comfort him. But I don’t react right away. I barely know this man and as much as I want to fulfill my inherent need to soothe our ache—a quick fuck in the bedroom upstairs might fix him for a little bit—but it won’t make me feel very good.

“Sorry about that,” Vince says, breaking his stare away from Hawkin’s and turning on me, trying to relieve the tension. “Brotherly love.” He smiles, but it’s strained and never reaches his eyes. “Will you excuse us a moment?” he asks but is already walking toward Hawkin before I can respond.

As Vince approaches him, I wonder what the hell that was all about and what has Hawkin so agitated that he won’t meet my eyes. They stand face-to-face, their harsh whispers echoing off the wood floor, but only a few words at a time come back to me. And they are not enough for me to piece together the conversation.

“I’m Rocket.” The voice startles me to the point that I gasp because I was so focused on them that I never noticed Rocket standing in the doorway.

My eyes flash up to his, and I smile. “Hi, I’m Quinlan,” I offer, unsure what else to say as Hawkin’s temper escalates, their words unmistakable now.

“I know what I promised, Vince,” Hawke shouts.

“You know he’s going to take what he wants just to fuck you over anyway,” Vince says, glancing our way and then back to Hawkin before saying something I can’t hear.

“Sorry about all of this,” Rocket says, motioning to the two of them and sensing my discomfort. “Those two go way back. They’re close. Closer than Hunt and Hawke are.”

“They’re not close?” I pry, asking Rocket what I should be asking Hawkin myself but given his aversion in the car to questions about him, I know he’ll avoid answering.

Rocket’s laugh is low and cavalier. “Do they look like it?” His sarcasm is overtaken by Hawkin barking “Enough” to Vince.

“You’re dangling a motherfucking carrot in front of him, Hawke,” Vince yells and then blows out a breath in frustration. “If he can’t have X, then he’s gonna take Y.”

“Like you have to remind me. I’ve got it handled. Don’t bring it up again.” Hawkin slams a hand down against the console next to him, the sound echoing through the room. He stalks toward me, anger vibrating off him, and I have a feeling it’s from a combination of Vince and Hunter.

“Give me a minute,” he growls as he passes me without meeting my eyes, his angst palpable. I watch him retreat down a hallway and when I look back, Rocket has his eyebrows raised and a look of resignation on his handsome face.

“Welcome to Bent,” Rocket says with an exasperated laugh.

I smile awkwardly at him, feeling completely out of place after the transition from making out to being witness to the familial argument. Do I go? Do I stay? Rocket motions for me to follow him into the now empty kitchen where we both take seats at the island.

We talk for a few minutes about random stuff. How the band rents a house when they’re writing an album because it allows the four of them to work all hours, pushes them to be more creative when they can’t leave, and helps build their overall bond. He’s telling me a story about Gizmo and an accidental drum mishap when Hawkin interrupts us.

“Quin?” Rocket falls silent as I look over to Hawkin, stress etched in the lines of his tanned face. The look calls on the mothering instinct I didn’t think I possessed to soothe it all away. He nods his head over his shoulder, and I thank Rocket while I stand to follow Hawkin.

He doesn’t say anything to me, just leads so that I’ll follow him out to the front porch, where I assume he’s wanting some privacy away from the rest of the guys, although I’m unsure why he’s choosing out here to have it.

We stand there for a moment before he runs a hand through his hair and blows out an exasperated breath. “Look, I’m sorry about all of that, that you had to see internal band bullshit,” he says, confusing me since as far as I know Hunter isn’t part of the band.

“It’s okay. It happens.” I twist my lips, hands linking to prevent myself from reaching out and running a hand down his arm.

“Nah, it’s bullshit and I’m sorry,” he says again, meeting my eyes. Something flickers through them and I can’t quite catch what they say. “I’ve got some stuff to do though, so uh, thanks for the ride.”

I guess it was indifference since I’m getting a thanks for the ride and nothing else. I stare at him for a moment, although he’s not meeting my gaze, and try to figure out why I basically just got downgraded from girl he wants to have hot sex with to one only good enough to be his chauffeur. And it’s not that I expect the hot sex right now, that mood is done and gone, but I don’t expect to be brushed off without another thought either.

I have to be wrong here. I still feel the heat of his hands on my body and the taste of his kiss on my lips but right now he’s as closed off from me as my brother would be.

“Hawke?” I prevent myself from saying anything more and sounding like a needy female … but at the same time I’m confused, trying not to be hurt but failing miserably.

He licks his lips, and averts his eyes before stepping back so that his physical distance emphasizes the emotional distance he’s just established between us. “See you at the next lecture.”

“Did I miss something here?” I can’t help it, have to ask.

He shakes his head. “Nope. Just got work to do. That’s all.”

Our eyes meet, asking questions our mouths won’t answer. The silence stretches until the brush-off I thought I was mistaken about is more than obvious. “Mm-kay,” I say as I walk down the first few steps, trying to hold fast to my dignity. And I must be so used to watching movies where the guy calls after the girl when she walks away because I purposefully walk slowly to my car.

But he never calls after me.

Never says my name to let me know what he’s thinking or that he feels sorry for the whiplash of emotions. I climb in my car without another word from him and head out of the Hollywood Hills, rejection bitter on my tongue and confusion forefront in my mind. The afternoon was a strong affirmation why I shouldn’t believe in happily-ever-afters because let’s face it, the girl rarely gets the guy in the end.



Chapter 8


HAWKIN

The Jack and Coke quenches my thirst but not my anger.

Or the sexual frustration.