Delaney
The next morning I studied my body in the mirror, expecting to see Shane’s handprints covering the surface of my skin. Not because he’d hurt me, but because his touch had burned into me. All night, everywhere. My muscles were deliciously sore, and it seemed strange not to see evidence of our coupling, like stamps on a passport. I caught a few darkened smudges, but only in places where he’d squeezed me tightly. If Shane’s skin weren’t so tanned, I’m sure I would have marked him, too.
Not that he wasn’t marked enough already. Shane’s journey was etched on his skin, in vivid colors and deep, dark black. His tattoos were beautiful, and disquieting. They told a story he hadn’t yet painted with words. I wanted to know every detail, but I’d been distracted by the electric current sparking at every point of contact. So much heat, so much intensity. His fire fueling mine, and vice versa.
Last night Shane had looked at me with raw need, his desire propped up by desolation, vulnerability shining from every pore. As if he expected to be turned down. But why?
Shane Hawthorne was gorgeous and successful, an idol to so many. And yet it was obvious he’d been hurt by those closest to him, was still hurting.
I was falling for Shane, every minute with him another chance to break my heart.
And yet with every fiber of my being, I wanted to heal his.
So I’d agreed to a contract in name only, weakening the rigid set of rules Shane had imposed on his life. What would being Shane’s girlfriend, for real, feel like? I had no idea. And I wasn’t going to find out today, either.
This morning I’d woken up to a note on my pillow encouraging me to spend the day relaxing, that he would be back tonight. It was signed, XO, me.
I traced the letters with my fingernail now. Kiss. Hug. Shane.
What if last night had been too intense? If he regretted letting me stay, or deciding we were more than a convenient arrangement?
What if he regretted everything?
Deep in the night, his voice thick with passion, Shane had drawn me close, his cheek flattening my hair, breath hot on my ear. “Do you know what you do to me?” he’d whispered.
No, I didn’t. Although maybe it felt something like what he was doing to me. Driving me half crazed with lust and fear.
Lust was self-explanatory. Shane was an international sex symbol.
But my fear stemmed from wanting too much. Scared of being slapped down by disappointment. Swept away by loss. Again.
Did I have any instinct for self-preservation at all? Obviously not.
Because all my instincts had jumped up and leapt on Shane.
Who was he exactly?
Every time I thought I had him figured out, he showed me another side, unveiled a new piece I hadn’t even guessed at.
Shane was like a thousand-piece puzzle bought at a garage sale. The chances of all the pieces being in the box were slim to none, and even if I slowly and laboriously fit the jigsaw together, I had no idea if the pieces would eventually form the picture on the cover, something else entirely, or if they were just a bunch of mismatched segments I couldn’t figure out no matter how hard I tried. And yet giving up was unthinkable.
Oddly enough, so much of what I had discovered, reminded me of…me.
I couldn’t quite tell if that made me understand Shane more.
Or myself less.
I didn’t come to L.A. to find myself, like I’d heard so many other people say. What did that mean—finding yourself? I knew who I was. Or at least I had, three years ago.
No. I came to L.A. to lose myself. To forget who I was, what I wanted, what I believed in.
In this crazy town I’d been just another waitress. It was the perfect job title. Because I’d been waiting for my life to begin again.
And then Piper recognized me, introduced me to Travis, and I met Shane Hawthorne.
Last night hadn’t been about waiting.
It was about finding.
Not myself. Not even Shane. But finding something to believe in again.
And it felt good. Really good.
Shane
A baseball cap pulled low over my face, I lurked in the elegant lobby of an Upper East Side apartment building, bribing the doorman who’d been none too thrilled by the presence of a tattooed stranger in ripped jeans and a leather motorcycle jacket sprawled across his couch. The older man’s uniform was perfectly pressed, shoes shined, gray hair buzzed close to his skull. Definitely not a Nothing but Trouble fan.
After nearly two hours, I finally spotted a face that was as familiar to me as my own, despite not having seen it in more than a decade. “Gavin.” I called out my brother’s name, the syllables skating through my clenched jaw.
He jerked to a stop on the polished marble floor and swiveled toward me, recognition spreading across his face.
Unfolding myself from the uncomfortable upholstery, I stood. “I probably should have called first.”
“I didn’t realize you had my number, Sean.” His voice was flat, even.
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. No one had called me that in years. “It’s pretty easy to find someone these days. If you make any effort at all.”
Gavin ignored the not-so-subtle barb. “Do you want to come up?” He spoke slowly, keeping his hands at his sides, as if he was afraid any loud noise or sudden movement would scare me away.
I hesitated, then shook my head. “No.”
“So…” Gavin drew the word out, looking at me expectantly. “What can I do for you?”
A hint of the recalcitrant younger brother I’d once been resurfaced, my attitude a mix of sheepish and surly. “What makes you think I’m here because I want something from you?”
He gestured to the bank of elevators, the reception desk. “If all you’re after is a reunion, we don’t need to have it in public.”
My nerves were as shredded the tattered jeans I was wearing. Just spit it out. “I’d like to hire you.”
Gavin blinked several times in rapid succession, as if he was trying to make sense of my explanation. “You could have called me for that. Or come to my office.”
I shot a grin at my brother. “The press would have a field day. Shane Hawthorne hires top criminal defense attorney.” A quick flare of pride streaked across Gavin’s face. Good. He should be proud. Gavin had always been the smart one in our family. Years ago I’d put a Google Alert on his name, and my in-box was regularly cluttered with links to articles about cases he’d won, honors he’d been awarded. He’d done it all without running away, without lying about his real name. Gavin may have given up on me, but I had never stopped looking up to my older brother.
“Fair point. Okay, consider me hired. Why don’t you come up to my apartment? We can discuss your case—”
“No. It’s not for me. It’s for a friend of mine. The father of a friend of mine. Will you still take the case?”
A deep furrow gathered between Gavin’s brows. “You’re not connected at all?”
Someone came through the revolving door, and a rush of cool air pushed my hair in front of my eyes. I swiped it away. “To the case, no. Just the girl.”
Gavin lowered his briefcase, his eyes searching mine. “She’s important to you?”
“Yes. Very.” My answer was immediate, automatic.
I didn’t breathe until he answered. “Okay. E-mail me the details and I’ll make it my top priority.” He handed me his business card.
The way Gavin said the words, with a confident sincerity, reaffirmed my decision to come here. “Thanks, Gav.”
His expression softened at the nickname I tossed out so instinctively. “You think we can catch up one of these days? Been a long time.”
“Sure. We can do that.”
Silence rippled between us, churning with unsaid accusations and unmet expectations. My brother offered a skeptical nod. “How about now?”
Now? No. Too soon. “I have a show in L.A. tomorrow. I’m heading back to the airport now.”
“Oh, all right.” Gavin bent to pick up his briefcase, but not before I saw a disappointed crease slash across his forehead.
I took a step toward the door, thought better of it. “Actually, the jet’s chartered, so I can stay for a while. You know, if you’re free.” Curling my hands into the pockets of my dark jeans, I rocked back on my heels, holding my breath.
Gavin’s familiar smile warmed me from the inside. He waved his hand in the direction of the elevator. “After you.”
A few minutes later, I collapsed into the nearest chair in Gavin’s spacious living room and glanced around his apartment. “Nice place. You’ve come a long way, huh?”
He lifted a sardonic brow. “Not quite as far as you.”
Winning this particular competition was cold comfort. Alone with my brother for the first time in years, I wasted no more time. “You left me.” My voice was ragged with emotion and hurt.
Gavin winced, as if my accusation hit him like a sucker punch to the kidneys. “I had to. I couldn’t stay there, not even for you. Not all of us are born with talent like yours, knowing it’s only a matter of time before you hit it big. If I wanted to get anywhere in life, I needed to leave home.”
I snorted. My success had been far from guaranteed. I could just as easily be singing on a corner for spare change as selling out stadiums. “So that’s what you’ve been telling yourself all these years?”
Gavin reared back, incredulous. “Jesus Christ, Shane. You were almost a teenager by the time I took off. Dad was barely around by then, and even when he was, you knew as well as I did how to avoid him.”
My jaw dropped. “You think I care about our piece-of-shit father? What gets me is that you knew about the accident. You were my next of kin; I gave the hospital your number before they released me. And you never showed.”
“They said you were fine. And I came home the very next weekend.”
I exploded. “Yeah, I was fine. Lucky fucking me! But did they tell you I killed someone that night? Did they tell you my best friend wasn’t as lucky as I was?” I felt sick. “Caleb died, Gav. He fucking died—and you didn’t even come home. Where the hell were you?”
Gavin swallowed. “I was in law school, working three jobs to pay my tuition. I could barely afford my rent, let alone a plane ticket home and a weekend off. And no, they didn’t tell me. They said you had been in an accident but you were fine. You weren’t actually admitted to a room, so I couldn’t call. I didn’t find out what had happened until I came back a few days later, but by then you had already taken off.”
I turned wary eyes on Gavin. “You went to Caleb’s house?”
He nodded. “His parents weren’t helpful.”
“Can you blame them? It’s my fault we were out that night, my fault we got in an accident. But I’m here and their son is buried six feet under.” My voice cracked. I was still struggling to accept Caleb’s death, and to live with the guilt. It wasn’t easy.
He dipped his head, pulling out old memories. “I drove around to every one of your friends that weekend. Your bandmates, your teachers, the music store you practically lived at. I even scraped up enough money to hire a private investigator after I got back to New York, not that it did any good.”
A rueful echo of a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. “Hitchhiking across the country doesn’t leave much of a paper trail.”
“I had the guy looking for you for years. Of course, he wasn’t looking for Shane Hawthorne.” Gavin waited a beat, glancing at me expectantly, but I remained silent. “Five years ago, I was in San Francisco for a bachelor party. We all went out to a club one night and there you were, headlining. Not that I recognized you at first. Gone was the scrawny kid with a buzz cut. You’d grown nearly half a foot, gained at least fifty pounds. I couldn’t believe it. My little brother was up onstage, belting out songs like you’d been doing it all your life, chicks screaming your name. I was so damn proud of you.”
My gut twisted. There was a time when I would have given anything to hear those words come from Gavin’s mouth. But that time was long gone. “Proud, huh? So proud you didn’t even try to see me after the show?”
“Are you kidding me?” Gavin howled, an outraged boar insulted by a glancing hunter’s arrow. “I gave the bouncer five hundred bucks to let me backstage, and I walked in on some chick blowing you in your dressing room. You took one look at me and said, ‘This ain’t part of the show, brother. Get the fuck out and don’t come back.’”
Shaking my head, I tried to dredge up some semblance of memory. I’d been drinking so much in those days it was a wonder I could stand up, let alone remember any of my lyrics. “You thought I recognized you because I called you ‘brother’?”
“Of course! Didn’t you?”
A harsh laugh erupted from my throat. “I don’t remember much from those days, but believe me, I wouldn’t have recognized jolly old St. Nick if he’d gotten on his knees and taken the girl’s place.”
Gavin looked on, confused. “Why not?”
“Gav, back then I was so hopped up on drugs, booze, girls…It sounds like you walked in on me when I was high on all three. I can’t say for sure, but I doubt I recognized you then and I sure as hell don’t remember it now.”
Slumping into his chair, Gavin completely deflated. “You left home, never made any effort to let me know where you ended up, or even if you were still alive. When I finally found you, heard straight from your mouth you didn’t want me around…” Gavin’s words faded as the truth pressed in on him. “I’m sorry. I should have known. I’m so sorry.”
I lurched forward, clutching at my brother’s shoulders. “No, I’m sorry. You were always my hero, dude. I was sixteen at the time of the accident and you were what, twenty-three? We were kids. I shouldn’t have expected you to know what was going on, to just appear out of thin air and rescue me from a disaster I’d created all my own.”
Gavin’s face twisted, long fingers wrapping around his knees. “Yeah, well. I’m no hero. Not then and not now. But if I could do it all over again, I would have been there for you. Been there for everything.”
I swallowed a lump that had been building for more than a decade. “Thanks, Gav.”
* * *
I spent most of the flight home fighting the urge to drink the entire bottle of Jack Daniel’s I knew was on board. Seeing my brother had stirred up a hornet’s nest of emotions, and it felt like my brain was on fire. But I needed to feel them, work through each one. Otherwise, I was primed to spend the next ten years much like I’d spent the last—surrounded by people and yet entirely alone. Lonely.
I didn’t want to be lonely anymore. Maybe I didn’t have to be.
I arrived back in Malibu sober, shucking off my clothes as I trudged upstairs. It was late, and Delaney was asleep in my bed. Naked, I slipped between the sheets and pulled her to my chest, her flimsy teddy offering scant barrier between us. She moaned softly, and I kissed her ear. I thought about doing more, but my mind was too restless to focus on anything, even sex with Delaney.
Seeing my brother had brought back a tidal wave of memories, not all of them good. Seven years older than me, Gavin had always been the golden child. Smart, athletic, good-natured. If there was anyone who could prevent our father’s apoplectic rages, it was Gavin. I’d always felt like an afterthought. An “oops” baby, delivered too late to two people who never should have had children in the first place. Our mother was timid, beaten down by years of abuse from her husband and relieved to pass the burden of caring for her younger son onto her firstborn. Growing up, I followed Gavin everywhere, and Gavin knew better than to complain. If he left me alone, even as a toddler, I would either be neglected by our mother or kicked around by our father.
Unconsciously, I made a sound low in my throat. Part growl, part moan. Delaney rolled over, blinking sleepily. “You’re back.”
“Sorry. Go back to sleep.”
The lights were off, but various electronic devices throughout the room glowed softly enough that Delaney could see my face. “What’s wrong?” she asked immediately. “What happened?”
I considered brushing her off, or lying. Did I really want to talk about my family?
I didn’t, but I didn’t want to lie either. I was so tired of lying. “I went to see my brother. In New York.”
Delaney drew her hand up, propping it beneath her temple. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”
“I haven’t seen him in more than ten years.”
She sucked in a quick breath. “Oh.”
I brushed the hair back from her forehead, but it slipped through my fingers like strands of silk. “You asked about my family the other day. You sure you want to hear it? It’s not exactly Stepford.”
Her face was open, receptive. “If you’re ready to talk about them, I’m ready to listen.”
A soft grunt left me. “I don’t even know where to begin.”
She gave me the push I needed. “Was it good to see your brother again, after all these years?”
“Yeah. Great, actually. Except for realizing that those years were just wasted. It didn’t need to be that way, and I’m mad at myself for assuming the worst of him. Of all the people in the world I should have known I could count on, it was Gavin.” I sighed, shaking my head against the pillow. “I was stupid.”
“When was the last time you saw him?” Delaney prodded cautiously.
“He managed to get back for my sixteenth birthday. Our mom had died two years earlier. Cancer. Gavin was in law school then. He was only on partial scholarship and there wasn’t ever enough money, so it was a big deal that he came back.”
“Were you close to them? Your parents, I mean,” she qualified.
A pained cackle rattled up from my chest. “No. Close would not be how I’d describe my relationship with my parents. Hell, I spent most of my youth trying to hide from my father’s fists.” I looked down at Delaney’s sweet face, now cradled between my shoulder and arm. “You really sure you want to hear this? It’s not pretty.”
She nodded. “I’m not the delicate flower you’ve made me out to be, Shane.”
Smiling, I leaned down to kiss the tip of her nose, then gave in to the tempting pull of her full, pink lips. Lingered there for a minute. “Okay, here you go, the full saga. Shane Hawthorne isn’t my real name. The Shane part was a fluke. I was nervous about people finding out about the accident, so at an open-mic night, when I said my name was Sean and the guy with the clipboard wrote down Shane, I didn’t correct him. By the time I got to a level where I needed a last name too, I spit out the name of my high school guidance counselor.”
She barely blinked at my deception. “So your real name is Sean…?”
“Sutter,” I filled in.
Delaney tried it out on her tongue, “Sean Sutter.” She smiled. “Cute.”
I grunted. “It makes me sound like a weatherman.”
“Don’t knock it. Al Roker’s made quite a career out of telling people what’s going on right outside their own door.”
Another kiss. Delaney was nearly irresistible. I would have been content to forget the family history, but she nudged me in the ribs. “Come on, story time.”
More like a nightmare. “My father was a long-distance trucker, so he was gone a lot, and when he was around, Gav and I knew better than to come home much. But we tried, mostly so that he would have someone else to beat on besides our mom. And every time he left, we begged her to pack a bag and take us somewhere, anywhere he couldn’t find us. But she wouldn’t. Except once.”
In the darkness, I squinted at the flashbacks of memory. “Gavin was older, and I guess he was nervous about going off to college and leaving us alone, so he borrowed a car from one of his friends and drove us across state lines to some shelter. None of us had been to a doctor in years—no insurance—and the shelter offered free medical care. When it was my mom’s turn to get checked out, they found it. I don’t even know what kind of cancer it was, except that it was already in a few places by then. There wasn’t anything to be done, or at least that’s what they told us. And anyway, my mom wasn’t a fighter. So we drove home. We were back before my dad returned from his road trip.” I cleared my throat. “The bastard didn’t even know we’d finally convinced her to leave him.”
After a few moments, Delaney gently nudged me. “So you took care of her while she was sick?”
“Of course, but she didn’t last long. Just a few months. And believe it or not, my dad got what was coming to him, too. He got into a fight at a truck stop about a year after her passing. It must have been pretty bad, because he wound up in the hospital. And wouldn’t you know, he came down with some kind of bacterial infection. They started cutting him off bit by bit. Ironic that the first to go was his right hand, the one he used to punch us with. For a while they thought they could save him. He was there for months. I would get these hopeful calls from his nurses at the hospital, saying my father missed me and that it would mean the world to him if I could visit.” Every syllable dripped with disgust. “I never did. Figured the only reason I would want to see him would be to shut off his life support. But he died anyway, all on his own. Karma, I guess.”
Through the open windows, the tide was a steady drumbeat. “What happened then? Who took care of you? You were only fifteen.”
“My parents’ medical bills couldn’t be passed on to us, but they took every cent that was left, which was next to nothing anyway. Caleb was the lead singer of our band. We practiced in his garage, and I practically lived at his house. His parents were kind people. I think they’d always wanted to have a house full of kids, but they only were able to have the one. They took me in, gave me a bedroom and an allowance for chores, even paid for me to take guitar lessons.” My voice cracked. “The Branfords were great, just really great people.” A wave of guilt crashed over me, so powerful I had to fight to take a breath. “And I paid them back by killing their only child.”