Sweet Ache

Chapter 38

QUINLAN

I jolt awake in the darkness, the silence around me screaming with the remnants of my nightmare.

It takes me a few moments to acclimate myself in the unfamiliarity of my surroundings, but soon I pick up the scent of Hawkin’s cologne. My heart is pounding and my body aches as I shift in the luxurious bed, my mind reliving everything from earlier.

My skin crawls remembering the feeling of Hunter’s deceptive hands on me. I force myself to swallow down my feelings of stupidity, my guilt, for not connecting the dots earlier before the situation went as far as it did, shame riding rampant over me that I didn’t even know my own lover’s kiss. I chastise myself for the harshness, tell myself to grant me some leeway, because I did notice the irregularities but wrote them off as our disconnect given the circumstances.

My stomach churns as I think of what-ifs and what-could-have-beens if Hawkin hadn’t swooped in to save the day. It was like one moment I felt Hunter against me, fear holding me hostage, and then the next he was gone, the fear motivating me to flee. And as I did, as I reached for the closest thing to cover myself up, I heard a sound from Hawkin, one of pure, unadulterated rage. It stopped me in my tracks and I turned to watch Hawke not only vindicate me but I also saw years of emotions unleashed between the two of them. The brawl between two brothers, one trying to defend my honor from the one who tried to take it.

And then when all was said and done, when the police showed up and began to cuff Hunter on Vince’s directive, when I looked up to find Hawke, I was found. I never knew that such a simple statement could have so much meaning behind it but it’s true. Maybe it was the broken look on his face or the clarity in his eyes, but it was like he was seeing me in an all new light.

Change. Change brought on by force is not always a good thing, but for some reason I think this time, for Hawkin, it might just be what he needed to break free from the chains of his past.

I shift again, wincing from the pull on my battered muscles, and think of the look on Hawkin’s face as he watched them load his brother in the police cruiser, expressionless, disgusted, done. And then there were questions and statements for the police, and reassurances that I didn’t need to be seen by a medic, before I convinced them all that I was fine, would be fine, and just wanted a shower.

But Hawkin wanted me out of my house, wanted me at his place where he could watch over me until he got someone to put my house back to rights for me. And as tough as I acted, it was so nice to feel his strong arms around me, dragging me into the length of him, and drift off to the nightmares I knew awaited me while wrapped in his comfort.

But now I’m awake and cold. And I know I’m alone even before my hand hits chilled sheets when I reach out next to me. I groan softly as I push myself up and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. The night’s darkness is not so welcome anymore now that I’m alone. I reach down with another twinge of pain and pick up the first thing that my hands touch on the floor.

I slide Hawke’s T-shirt over my head and stop to hold the collar up to my nose and breathe him in. Use his scent to chase away the demons in my memories until I can find him in this maze of a house.

I know it won’t take long though because I have a feeling I know exactly where he’ll be.

I pad down the hallway and stairs, surprised but thankful that one of the guys isn’t still up somewhere at this god-awful hour, living up to his rock-star reputation. I reach the studio door and see the light through cracks around the jamb. A soft smile I can’t help plays on my lips, knowing that I was right, that I know him so well. That Hawkin turned to his one constant, his one true love, to deal with everything that happened today.

The hearing that went in his favor, the loss of his brother in a sense, and my assault. A lot of things for one man, who was already dealing with enough change to make most men buckle, to handle. Pressure can push only so far before one implodes.

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.”