By now my head is spinning at all of this information, so I just nod. His eyes reconnect with mine and give me the courage to comment. “And that’s where I come in?”

“Fuck if I know.” He blows out a breath, his free hand reaching down and grazing over the length of my jaw. “I couldn’t save my dad, but I tried to save Hunt … still am in a sense. I pay him a portion of my cut because guilt eats at me, I guess. Either that or I’m stupid … but I promised my dad I’d take care of him and I’m trying to. Am I enabling his habit that he can kick every so often before he uses again to deal with his shit? Probably. Do I cover for him, when I shouldn’t? Always … but it’s getting old and I’ve started resisting more and more, causing him to become more bitter, going after anything I have to prove he’s better, I guess. Restore that ego of his I damaged. Women, family, friends. Anything I want, he tries to fuck up in his own personal vendetta to get back at me.”

“So then kick his ass and tell him to leave what’s yours alone.” The comment comes out as a reflex, and I immediately regret the inadvertent declaration. I cringe and avert my eyes knowing that’s like the kiss of death to a guy, particularly one like him who’s probably used to changing women like he does his underwear.

The silence kills me so when I look back up, I don’t expect the lopsided grin that spreads lazily on his face and lights up the sadness in his gray eyes, but it’s such a welcome sight. “What’s mine, huh?” He angles his head to the side and stares, lips pursed, eyes reflecting the thoughts flickering through his mind. “You staking a claim, Trixie?”

Is the sky blue? If I worried that his confession was going to push me away from him, I was way off base because now I only want him more. Deciding to demonstrate, I sit up and climb over his lap so that I’m facing him, my legs straddled on either side of his. His brow furrows and lips turn up as his eyes never leave mine, questioning my actions without using words.

When I bend forward and brush my lips to his, my bare breasts skimming over his chest, and then lean back so that I can see some of that discord clear from his eyes. “If hot sex on my washing machine is part of this claim,” I say pressing my mouth to his again, slipping my tongue between his lips to tempt and tease in a seductive dance before pulling back again, “then hell yes, I’m in.”

He laughs softly, and the momentary playfulness makes me feel a bit more settled. But I can feel the weight of sadness begin to descend again and before it can grow roots, I slip my arms around him and pull him into me. With our positioning, his head rests just under the curve of my neck and I can feel him hesitate slightly, can feel the unease with his sudden vulnerability, but I don’t let go. I know this can go one of two ways because a man’s vulnerability is akin to having his heart lie on the outside of his chest, unprotected and defenseless.

It also means it’s open to possibility.

My gut instinct that he needs to be comforted could backfire. I could be so off base and scare him the hell away, but he came here. He needed me. I feel his hesitancy, his want to rein in the emotion, be strong and not break with weakness. Fulfill his promise to his dad.

And then he reacts, tightening his arms around me, gathering me into him. An exhale of a stuttered breath, fingers pressing desperately into my back, silence settling around us as he holds on and finds the comfort I’m offering without strings or claims. And yes, I know we’ve had sex already, been as close to someone else as we possibly can be, but at the same time, this feels ten times more intimate in the moment than the joining of our bodies.

I run my hands up his muscular back, slide my nails in his hair and scratch his head gently in a silent show of support. His response reminds me of a little boy needing someone to comfort him so I do just that. I hold him tightly, pressing kisses into the crown of his head, fingertips grazing his skin, our hearts beating in time with each other’s.

We sit like this for some time, the songs changing on the speakers overhead, the feeling of our naked bodies pressed skin to skin an added bonus.

“Did something happen tonight to upset you besides the obvious?” I murmur.

He sighs, the heat of his breath warm against my neck. “I got into it with Hunter after trying to distract his sights from you with that sorority girl. If he thought she was what I wanted, then he’d go after her, and not you.” I hear the honesty in his voice, and I smile softly, the hurt he caused me forgiven. “Then we got a call—Mom was having a rough day so we went to see her and things only got worse from there. She wasn’t happy to see me because … That’s another story.” He blows out a breath, the keys I need him to hand out going back into his pocket. “So I hit up a bar and drank till the anger lessened … but I just kept thinking about you. I needed to see you and you wouldn’t respond or pick up the phone, so here I am.”

“I’m sorry you had such a shit day,” I tell him honestly, struggling trying to process everything. I don’t have much to contribute so I’ll say the one thing I can. “I’m a big girl, Hawke. I have no problem telling your brother to go to hell myself.”

His laugh is low and derisive. “I know you can but Hunter’s an all costs kind of guy, and I always wonder how much there is of Dad in him. They ruin someone else while self-destructing on purpose. Dad was larger than life but everything was in extremes. Hunt’s the same way.” He adjusts our position so that he leans back, my body now falling into his, and he sets his chin on my shoulder. “Jealousy is a nasty bitch, sometimes. I love my brother—it’s just how it goes—but most of the time he uses our past as an excuse to pardon his actions, his drug habit, and the ruin it leaves in its wake…. And while I may love him, that doesn’t mean I have to like him all the time either.”

“I understand that.” My thoughts whirl over how lucky I am that even though Colton had a childhood full of inexcusable things, he always protected me fiercely. And in the same breath that notion makes me understand why he wants to protect Hunter the same way. “Why not just distance yourself? Let him trip and fall and have to deal with the consequences himself? Maybe he’ll appreciate everything you’ve done for him.”

“In theory that works, but that’s not the promise I made to my dad.” Before he falls silent, I hear the conflicted love so raw in his voice it grates through it. “I’m all he has, Quin. He might be an asshole, he might try to hurt me, hell it probably makes me look like the biggest pussy in the world for not telling him to eat shit and die, but I can’t. When it comes down to it, he’s all I have left. He may be a manipulative fuck at times who deserves what he gets, but my mom would never forgive me if I cut him loose. And then what? I lose both of them and I’ve got no one? That scares the fuck out of me.”

We fall silent again as I hear what he is saying to me. It seems to me he has no one already. The thought makes me so grateful he has the guys in the band to be there for him. But I understand the sibling bond. Colton and I are close and he’s adopted, so I can’t imagine the connection between two twins who underwent hell together. I don’t understand what Hawkin means about his mom holding on and it’s the second or third time he’s implied something is wrong with her without being more specific. I want to ask, want to understand his cryptic comments, but I let it go. He’s baring his emotions and there is no way I’m going to ask for more from him.

I get his loyalty to his twin, understand his acceptance of being hurt while trying to make everyone else feel better, but it’s not his sins to atone for, they’re his father’s.

“I know it makes no sense Quinlan so don’t try,” he murmurs once he infers my train of thought. “It’s my own fucked-up guilt over something I had no control over. I know that, but it doesn’t make me feel any better about the past. It doesn’t change my family dying that day. Dad was my idol—right or wrong or selfish or cowardly—he made me make promises to him … and I truly believe a man is only as good as his word.” His voice trails off again, leaving my heart somersaulting at his confession. I think he’s finished but I stay silent. Then he murmurs, “And I’m just trying to be the best man I can be.”

I’m not sure if he says the words to me or to reassure himself, so I let the comment settle between us. I shift my body, our limbs still entangled, and I wonder if our hearts are slowly following suit.

Doesn’t he get that he’s so much more than the little boy who made promises and the man who’s trying to keep them? Thousands see it. He holds them all spellbound with his music. Hopefully in time, he will too.

The emotional overload of the day and the satisfaction of sating our desire together pull the ribbons of slumber until they wrap around our bodies, slowly tying us together until we succumb.



Chapter 21


QUINLAN

“Read ’em and weep, boys!” I lay the three aces on the table to the curses of the guys around me.

“Fuck, Hawke! Why’d you bring her?” Rocket asks tossing his cards down as I make a show of pulling all the chips in the pot toward me, playing it up as Hawke throws his head back and laughs. And it’s such a good sound after last night and the state he came to me in and the confessions of his past on his lips that I glance over and hold his eye, my own smile widening.

“Ah, poor sports!” I grumble with a smirk. “Good thing we’re not betting on pink heart tattoos tonight or Hawkin right there just might be getting one!”