Then reality set in. When he’d asked us to pack our bags and I’d only been able to find one large bag to share between us. Why the hell would we have ever needed a suitcase? We’d never gone anywhere.
My discomfort increased when Charlie drove us to the airport in Duluth and we didn’t go to the regular, commercial terminals but to an exclusive, private terminal tucked away at the back. The SUV had pulled right up to the bottom of the stairs, and we’d walked less than ten steps from the vehicle to the plane.
Cooper was enthralled. Her first time on an airplane and it was a luxury private jet filled with rock stars.
But as the trip went on, I found myself more and more uncomfortable. How could we ever hope to fit into this life? In what world did I, the daughter of a pulp mill worker, belong in the same sentence as Hawk Jameson, bad boy rock and roll superstar?
Simple. I didn’t.
But just because it looked wrong from the outside, did that mean it couldn’t work?
Flopping on to my back, I let out a groan, my thoughts continuing to go round and round before I finally climbed out of bed and headed to the door that led to the deck. Pushing the thin, gauzy curtain aside and stepping outside, I could see the moon hanging low in the sky, its silvery light painting the rolling waves and another feeling of inadequacy washed over me.
This house, on a beach in California, probably cost more than most people in Grand Rapids could ever see in a lifetime, and Hawk just causally stays here whenever the mood strikes.
It was all just so foreign and completely outside anything I’d ever hoped to have in my life.
But, fuck me, I wanted it.
No, that wasn’t accurate. I wantedhim.
All the other bullshit aside, that was the one thing I knew to be true down to my core.
I wanted Hawk Jameson. I always had.
Feeling stronger in my new conviction, I turned from the gorgeous view of the ocean, prepared to tuck myself back into bed and face tomorrow with a new outlook. But before I’d even reached the balcony door, a noise from above me suddenly caught my attention; the soft strumming of a guitar coming down from the top floor balcony.
I froze, my whole body tingling as I listened, knowing without a doubt where that sound was coming from and determined not to miss an opportunity that the universe was providing me. On quiet feet, I made my way to the far side of the deck, where a set of stairs connected all three floors on the outside of the house. With the night breeze blowing in my hair and the soft whisper of the ocean to cover my steps, I made my way to the top floor, following the melancholy notes as they drifted across the night.
Hawk was there, his body splayed out in an over-sized chair, wearing nothing but a pair of lounge pants while he strummed on a battered acoustic. He looked like a god, his carved chest and arms on display and shining in the moonlight. As I watched, he tilted his head back, resting it on the back of the chair while his fingers played, seemingly of their own accord, while Hawk stared up into the dark sky. On the table next to him, a joint sat in a glass ashtray, the pungent smoke barely noticeable against the bright scent of the ocean.
Seeing him there, the quintessential picture of the brooding musician, I knew in my soul that there would never be another man for me. If everything changed and I never laid eyes on Hawk again after tonight, this moment, this image of him, would always live in my mind. He was everything I wanted, and nothing I’d ever imagined I could have.
“You startin’ to make a habit of creepin’ up on me in the small hours, Bird?”
His low words startled me out of my musing, and I smiled.
“Not intentionally.” Moving forward, I stood so that I was beside him, and the way he looked up at me, his hair blowing across his face as he rolled his head to the side, had my nipples tightening into buds beneath my sleep shirt. “Something about you makes it impossible to sleep.”
Gifting me a lazy smile, Hawk reached for the joint, taking a long hit and holding it before offering it to me. I probably should have declined; it had been an exceptionally long time since I’d indulged. But I was feeling all kinds of reckless in Hawk’s presence, so I took the blunt from him and brought it to my lips, drawing deep before passing it back, proud of the fact that I only coughed twice.
Hawk watched me with a smile, taking one more hit before stubbing out the joint and leaving it to sit in the ashtray.
“You’re a bad girl at heart, aren’t you, Wren?”
“I feel like I could have been,” I admitted. “In another lifetime.”
I didn’t need to say out loud what that other lifetime would have looked like.
We both knew.
After a moment, Hawk shifted, sitting up straighter in the chair and holding out a hand to me.
“Come sit with me, Bird,” he said quietly, lifting the guitar off his lap. “Let me hold you while you play for me. Just like that first night.”
Licking my lips, I hesitated only a moment before I reached out and took his hand. His rough fingers were warm against my skin, and as he pulled me toward him and settled me between his legs, I felt a pang of bittersweet regret creep up inside me.
I’d had this once, and I’d let it go.
