“Yeah, it’s so fucked up.” He shakes his head and releases my arm now that I have no desire to run. “To bet that Hawkin can get you in bed by the end of the seminar and that Vince had to be in on it for proof to prevent him from getting one of those stupid fucking hearts? That’s just fucking cruel.” He says the comment off the cuff but the way his eyes bore into mine, I know he’s waiting to see my reaction.

And fuck yes I have a reaction. About a million of them all at once as my mind suffers the whiplash from five minutes ago, realizing I loved him, to this. My body starts to tremble as the shock hits, and I keep telling myself that Hunter is just being a dick and trying to hurt me to get to his twin. But those memories that were on the fringe come back with a vengeance now: little comments from the guys here and there, Hawke’s immediate dismissal anytime I’d bring up their band bets, the poker game where Vince told me the last bet they had was trying to get a woman into bed in a certain time frame.

And what the hell, they were mocking me the whole time? And of course I walked right into it when I said it made perfect sense to need a third person to verify that the sex really happened. The laugh they must have been having at my expense. I recall Hawkin’s face and the warning glare he gave when Vince told him we were talking about their stupid, damn bets.

What happens in the band, stays in the band.

I want to scream, want to cry, want to rage, but all I do is stand here in the shadow of night with a man I don’t really like and my feet rooted to the ground, afraid to run and wanting to flee. Humiliation wars with devastation to see which one will take the crown and it doesn’t really matter because if I hadn’t realized I was in love with Hawkin before, I sure as hell do now.

Hunter stands silently in front of me and I can’t bring myself to look at him because it’s like a slap in my face since he’s the mirror image of his brother. But I need to move because his presence is rubbing my nose in my own stupidity, lifting the blinders I wore when I went with Hawkin willingly.

I feel so silly being hurt so deeply by the deception but after he took me to see his mother, after letting me in his inner circle, after protecting me from Hunter, I thought that we were more than this. I sure as fuck didn’t think I was a crass band bet made to occupy their time.

Sniffing back the tears that burn, I just shake my head in disbelief because I will not let myself cry. I prefer the numbing void I feel right now to the pain that I know will hit sooner rather than later because the saddest thing about betrayal is that it rarely comes from the people you’re expecting it from, your enemies. It comes more often than not from the ones that care about you. Or in my case the one I thought cared about me.

Everything is quiet outside as I silently fall apart and question myself in every way possible. My chest constricts as my heart takes in the finality of it all, the misjudgment, the humiliation, and without a single word, I turn on my heel and leave.



Chapter 30


HAWKIN

If I can get the lyric to come it will be a sign that she’ll talk to me today. I laugh out loud into the empty studio, my own voice coming back to me with that tinge of hysteria to it. What the fuck am I thinking? That a perfect lyric means she’ll forgive me for fucking up royally when I should have come clean a long-ass time ago?

Scrubbing my hands over my face, I try to focus on the chords again but when I look down, my hands are on the neck of the guitar, the one I strapped her to before I fucked her. My mind lingers on the memory of that night: the soft, the wet, the hard, the fast, the guitar pick, and every goddamn moan in between. I can remember the look on her face, the way she made me feel, and all I want to do is chuck it across the room and hold it closer to me all at the same time. I’m a pathetic fucker but I’ve never been through this shit before, never knew how goddamn bad it hurts.

No wonder there are so many fucking love songs written.

My mind flickers where I don’t want it to go, in those deep dark recesses where the wild things are, to my dad, and for a moment I understand his desperation that day. Shit, I’m just losing a girl when he stood to lose his wife and two sons. I’m going fucking crazy right now since she’s refused to even speak to or see me in the last three days—I can’t imagine how he felt.

I force myself to turn the mirror away, to stop drawing comparisons to my dad because fuck if I’m going to commit suicide and hell if I want to admit I might just understand an iota of the mindfuck he was going through. Sometimes reflections are a hard thing to face and right now I’ve got enough shit on my plate. I don’t need to be scared to look in the goddamn mirror.

But I am.

My mind rifles over the images from that night, trying to make sense of everything. The comedy of errors that led Quin to think I was actually going to share her. No fucking way. I’d just spent fifteen minutes in the kitchen telling Vince that he could fuck off and die if he actually thought I was following through with the bet. Shit, it’s not like she’s some random groupie.

She’s Quinlan.

And fuck—everything after that was a misunderstanding: leaving the room to look for the tuning fork so I could tease her body with the different vibrations by resting it above her clit like a musical vibrator of sorts, then telling Rocket to have Vince come and help me find it since he had it last, Vince going to the bedroom when I wasn’t in the studio because I thought I’d seen it in Rocket’s room. Fucking Vince thinking that when I said meet me “where I make music,” he thought I meant between the sheets. And then of course everything that happened after that. I heard the trepidation in her damn voice, could feel her nerves bouncing off her so that when I knelt on the bed to tell her she didn’t have to go through with this, I was surprised when she yanked me into her and kissed me like a woman starving for her last breath of air.

I should have stopped her, pushed her back right then and told Vince to get the fuck out, but the mix of alcohol, the ache in my nuts wanting to finish what we had started earlier, and the taste of her kiss … it ruled out any thought of stopping. And then thank fuck she said no and changed her mind, stopping everything I didn’t want to happen but thought she wanted.

Then of course I was so fucking busy being pissed at Vince for pushing the issue, and making her so uncomfortable. How did I let the situation get that far? What the fuck was I thinking?

I let her walk away when I should have fucking run after her immediately rather than five minutes later with a hurt fist and complete panic. But how she found out about the bet, I have no clue.

I rack my brain for the millionth time, even though I know who must have told her because while I was looking for the tuning fork I ran into Hunter. My fucking brother looking for a handout but instead I told him to get the fuck out.

He had to have told Quin. The only other people who knew were the guys and I know they wouldn’t have ratted me out even though I deserved it. They knew without me saying it how much she’d come to mean to me. Shit, I let her in when I let no one in.

But that still makes me question Vince and his full-court press on the matter. It sucks to be committed to being in this house with the guys when one of them is someone I don’t really like right now. The one who knows me better than anyone, who I’m trying to figure out what the fuck kind of game he’s playing.

Add to that the shit I should be worried about, my court date in two days. My do or die. The thought of the possible outcome makes me throw back the rest of my drink. I’m surprised Ben hasn’t called to prep me on yet another thing I need to do or say since I stood him up for our scheduled meeting to go over details. I stopped answering his calls so I’m sure beating down my door will be his next move.

The idea of beating down the door has me thinking of my pathetic-ass self and how I left the house for the first time last night to force Quin to talk to me. How I stood on her porch forever, waiting her out, when I should have been at Ben’s office.

The fucked-up thing is my mind should really be focused on my court date on Tuesday, but it’s not. It’s on a long-legged, wavy-haired blonde who owns my thoughts. I know they say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but fuck that shit. Absence makes you want to drink a fifth and pass out so you stop thinking and feeling. Both make your gut twist so why not take the one that numbs you?

Living the dream, man.

“Are you ever going to leave the studio or do you plan on looking like you’re homeless for the next tour?” Speak of the bastard. I look up and just glare at Vince, my frustration fueling my anger, my temper on a hairpin trigger ready to hammer forward at the slightest pull. And he’s pulling. Fucking stellar. “Some chicks dig the unshowered, unshaven, I-look-like-shit look. It’s working for Jared Leto, so I guess it’s worth a shot.”

“Leave me the fuck alone,” I grumble, wanting to fall back under the veil of my comfort: music and my Jack and Coke.

He rubs a hand over his unshaven face and moves his lower jaw back and forth. “You gonna punch me again?”

“You gonna piss me off again?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. First my brother and then Vince. What is it about Quinlan that makes me want to defend her at all costs? It’s like some switch has been flipped in my head and all of a sudden I’m thinking things I’ve never allowed myself to think or feel before.