9: WRITING
“So tell me about this year’s Drake Family Christmas.” I say over breakfast eggs the next day. “You heard all about mine.”
“Um, no I didn’t. You told me nothing, but I’ll go first because oh my gosh. Sylvie has a boyfriend.”
“Wait, what? And it’s not Casey Barrett?”
“Hilarious. Hold on, it gets better. He’s some road crew guy for The Thalias she met at that charity thing in the Bahamas. She went with Holland.”
“Wow. Sorry I missed that.” I chuckle at her reaction more than the story. Instalove is definitely a thing in our chaotic world that moves with zero patience—even if it’s not my thing. Then again, maybe it’s love that isn’t my thing.
“Oh, and his name is Shandor! He’s a Gypsy.”
“A Gypsy?” Now I know she’s lying.
“Dead serious,” she assures me.
“Huh. And your family is cool with this match?”
“Honestly, yes. Even Holland approves of the guy. I dunno. He seems cool. He’s obviously into Sylvie as much as she’s into him, so I’m a fan.”
“Musicians are trouble.”
“Tell me about it.”
We exchange a smile.
“What about your situation?”
A shadow drifts over her features. “Yeah. That came up too.”
“And?”
“I didn’t tell them anything they didn’t already know.”
“Hannah…”
“What? I will. I’m just not ready yet. It’ll destroy them to know I’ve quit.”
“They’ll be more supportive than you think. They love you. They just want you to be healthy.”
“You of all people know it doesn’t work that way.”
I clench my jaw.
“Okay, your turn,” she continues, striking while I’m down. “Tell me what happened.”
“What do you want me to say? My dad picked a fight thirty seconds after I got there and shoved me into a table. I left. That was my Christmas.”
Shit, forgot the hot sauce.
“Wes, I’m sorry.”
“It’s not like I expected anything different.”
“Yeah, but it’s my fault.”
I lower my fork. “Huh? In what universe?”
“If not for me you wouldn’t have gone.”
“Oh please. Don’t start with that.”
“I’m serious! It’s because of my—”
“Hannah, stop. It was my idea. My drama. My father’s anger issues. You’re not even in the equation.”
“But—”
“I’m not letting your self-hatred speak for you.” I stare her down across the table and hold up my bandaged arm. “This. Is. Not. Your. Fault.”
“How is it anyway?”
“Fine.”
“You’re lying.”
“So?”
“Trying for badass points?”
“Is it working?”
“Maybe.”
“Hey, what are you doing today?” I ask, studying her until the self-conscious smile spreads across her lips.
“What?”
“You want to write with me?” I sound almost playful.
“Write what? Music?”
“I was thinking articles of incorporation, but whatever.”
“Shut up,” she laughs, then grows serious. “You want to write with me?”
“We used to do it all the time.”
“Yeah, with Holland! And before you two were a super-famous rock band!”
I shrug. “Okay. Well, Holland may not be here, but I’m also not in a rock band anymore, so I guess that’s balance in the universe, right?”
“Stop it. You and Holland will work things out.”
“You’re changing the subject.”
Her eyes are still orbs of skepticism, but eventually squint into acceptance. “If you’re serious…”
“I am.”
“Get your guitar.”
∞∞∞
I forgot how much I love Hannah’s voice. The slight rasp, the way she phrases lines in a way you never see coming—captivating. Perfect for my edgy song structures. I get that it’s hard to waste time on music when you grow up in the shadow of Holland Drake, but the creative universe has been robbed.
“Damn,” I say, biting down on my pick so I can scribble some notes.
“Was it bad?”
“Not even close,” I mumble through the plastic in my teeth. Pick back in hand, I turn to her. “That was sick. The run you did on ‘replay?’”
She’s clearly self-conscious so I’m not surprised when she deflects the attention back to me. “You’re not so bad yourself. I know Holland gets all the credit, but you could front your own band if you wanted to.”
“Nah, I’m not much for the spotlight.”
She legit snorts. “Right.”
“Seriously, though. It’s always been Holland’s band. I was fine with it. She deserved the attention and never abused it like I probably would have. It’s a miracle I didn’t fuck things up sooner.”
Her silence isn’t a good sign. “That sounds like your father talking.”
I manage a shrug as I lean my guitar against the couch and stretch. “Just because he’s an asshole doesn’t mean he’s always wrong.” I distract myself with a hunt for beer in the kitchen.
“You only say that because you’ve been hearing it all your life.”
Bottle opener. Shit, what did I do with the thing? I give up on the drawer and start searching the counters.
“I know you can hear me.”
“Trying to find the bottle opener. Did I leave it over there?”
“Oh, okay, so you’re just going to avoid my analysis.”
“What analysis?” I tease, and earn an eye roll. She grabs something off the coffee table and approaches the kitchen.
“My badass alpha feels no pain. I get it.”
But she doesn’t seem to be too against the description when she closes the gap and deposits the bottle opener in my hand. There goes her gaze again, wandering over my body. Locking on hard lines and harder… damn. This girl has no mercy on a guy trying to be a decent human being for once.
It’s way too easy for her palm to slide past flimsy elastic.
“Shit,” I groan.
“I knew it,” she whispers, hot breath sending sparks over my skin as she discovers my neck, the line of my jaw. Dark nails sink into my chest.
“You’re making things damn near impossible for me, you know that?”
Her mouth curves into a smile I want to suck off her face. “What girl wouldn’t want to play with one of Canada’s Hot Thirty Under Thirty every chance she gets?”
I devour that smile. Her lips, her tongue. It’s not enough, and she gasps at the violence of my hips shoving her into the island. Her fingers dig into my back to pull me into an intoxicating rhythm that sends my thoughts down the hall to the bedroom.
I guide us toward the opposite counter where my right hand searches a drawer while my left works on coaxing moans from the woman who’s uprooted my world. I strike gold with both and rely on my teeth to conquer stubborn packaging. She’s so light as I lift her onto the counter and scale her thighs, already open and inviting me in. Head back, eyes closed, chest rising and falling in an unnatural race for oxygen, she’s every woman in my songs.
“You’re sure?” I say. A hand that was gripping the edge of the granite, grasps me instead, low enough to send my blood pounding in desperation.
“Yes. Now!”
But I don’t. I can do better than this. She deserves better than this.
Her legs tighten around my waist as I lift her from the counter and carry her to the couch. She’s already mine, so impatient.
“Hell’s fire and Hades’ desire, have nothing on you, babe.
Nothing on you.
Reigning kings tossed worthless rings with less hunger than my desperate plunder for your treasure.
Better, you tell me no, and save my soul, before…”
I’ve surrendered too. I know it. We both do. I groan into her. “Before…”
“Before your charm, disarms all that I am. Breathe my last, through your lungs. The sweetest death.”
And I do.
∞∞∞
“I have an idea.” Hannah tilts her head up from my chest.
“What’s that?”
“How about we do this every day? Maybe a few times?”
I laugh and run my finger down her cheek. After my gentle kiss, she settles against me again, fingers tracing the art etched into my skin.
“I mean, we can be flexible,” she continues. “Location, position, things like that. I’m open.”
It’s a tempting offer. More than that. An irresistible one. Too bad she doesn’t understand what she’s offering.
“I’ve always loved this one. Even more so now,” she says. By the location of the chills rushing along my nerves, I can tell she’s outlining the detailed likeness of a burning Hades.
“Ah. That’s one of my favorites too.”
“Did you get it before or after ‘The Death of Hades.’”
“Before.”
“Is the song about Holland?”
“Basically.”
“And the tattoo?”
I follow her fingers over the lifelike shading. “Actually, the tattoo that inspired the song is the opposite. It’s about the moment I committed to this journey and accepted the Hell that comes with it. ‘The Death of Hades’ is about Holland’s power to make it worth it. She transformed the pain into beauty.”
“My god,” she whispers, now tracking my jaw. “You really loved her.”
“It was more than love, Han.”
“I know you two are long over, but she’d freak if she knew I was here.”
“Sister code?” I say with a laugh. “Holland’s not petty like that.”
“No, but she’s protective.” Her grin says it all.
“Yeah, she’d kick my ass for corrupting you,” I say.
My phone erupts, and we both stiffen at the name.
“Miranda,” Hannah mutters. My blood freezes as she pushes herself up and waves me toward my chariot with a bitter hand.
“I’m not going to take it.”
“She calls you a lot for not being your girlfriend.”
I stare at the display, the bright red decline button. “It’s complicated.” I really need a better response for this.
“Do you even like her?”
I sigh and rub my face. “Not really.” I regret sharing the truth which is so much worse.
“So, what? You’re just screwing her because she’s that good?” I search for amusement, but only get resentment.
“No, it’s not about that.”
“Then what?”
This should be easy to explain. To this person who would also keep my secret to protect her sister. Then again, explaining how badly you screwed up is never an ideal topic. “She knows things.”
“Knows things?”
“Yeah.”
“Your bank account? Social security number? What?”
“She knows about the breakup of Tracing Holland. If she leaks it… God, I can’t even think about what would happen.”
Hannah pales. “Wait. Is she extorting you?”
I curse and rest my head on my fists. “No. I mean, I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Dammit, Wes! Why didn’t you tell me? I’m a lawyer. We can—”
“We can, what?” I snap. “File a lawsuit? Go to the cops?”
“Okay, no, I get it, but—”
“She hasn’t even admitted that’s what she’s doing. I can’t explain it. She’s never threatened me openly. It’s just been understood that I play along, and in exchange, she doesn’t ruin us. You know what would happen to your sister and her career if our feud got out right now. To all of us.”
“Worst case? The album would flop.”
“And the tour. Everything—over.”
Hannah quiets, eyes softening, and I have to look away. “Does Holland even know?”
“About Miranda? Of course not. And she won’t, okay?” My gaze bores into her. “Promise me, Hannah. I’m keeping your secret. No one can know about this.”
“Okay, okay, I promise. But Holland despises you right now.”
“I know.”
“And you’re still protecting her?”
“Of course.”
“But maybe if she knew about this—”
“She won’t. I’m serious. She deserves to have the life and career she’s earned. I’m not going to take that away from her because I messed up with Miranda.”
“I get that, but what about you?”
“It’s my own fault.”
Hannah crosses her arms. “So that’s it? You’re just going to be some woman’s sex slave until she’s done with you? What if she never gets bored?”
I roll my eyes. “It’s not like that.”
“No? What is it she wants from you, then?”
“A fantasy, I guess.”
“What, like princess dresses and tiaras? No sex?”
I don’t have an answer for that.
“Fuck! And what about me? About this?” she cries, bursting up from the couch.
“This is amazing, Hannah. I’d do anything to make it work with you, but you knew that was never going to happen. I’m not wired for happily ever after.”
“Wait, so you were just going to screw me when your fake girlfriend wasn’t around?”
“Come on. You know that’s not what this is.”
“Do I?”
“I tried to warn you. I—” Not my best speech as she grabs her bra and stomps to her room. “Stop! Will you just—”
“Screw you!” And the door slams shut.
∞∞∞
I can’t stand the sound of tears. Especially from those I care about. Especially when I’m the cause. Damn the thin walls of my condo. Didn’t the contractor believe in privacy?
I want to intrude, my hero complex raging at full blast, but this one is beyond my expertise. Apologies do nothing without promise of change, and to be perfectly honest, she’s much better off hating me than pursuing me. I’m a dead end. Still, it’s pain, and I deal a lot better with my own than someone’s I care about.
I don’t expect an answer when I tap on her door so I’m encouraged by the, “Not gonna happen, Wes!” that blasts through.
“Hannah, please? Hear me out.”
“I did.”
That lie is an invitation if I ever heard one. I push through and suppress my smile at her exasperated curse.
“You’re trespassing,” she mutters.
“You’ll have trouble proving that in a court of law.”
“Asshole.”
“Drama queen. Move over.”
She shifts just enough to give me the edge of the bed.
We’re both silent as the space between us shrinks, and I finally brave her pain. “Hannah, I’m sorry for my role in this.”
“But?”
“No buts for that part. I’m sorry. I did a terrible job explaining the situation with Miranda. With you, it’s just, I don’t know.” I scrub at my eyes and focus back on the floor. “I don’t even have a handle on what’s going on with all of that, so I have no idea how to explain it. The thing is, and don’t bite my head off, you and I both know I’m not the only reason you’re in here right now.” Her eyes narrow, and I shrug. “You’re an intelligent, rational woman, Han. You know this isn’t just about me.”
“Oh, so now you’re going to give me the mental illness speech on top of it?”
“No. You don’t need it. You could give that speech in your sleep, which is why you are not going to be surprised that I’m setting a condition for you to stay here.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Rent, babe. You’re paying rent.”
Her nose scrunches at my smile.
“Rent?”
“Yep. I’m going to guess that quitting life also means you quit therapy, so if you want to hide here, you’re going to have to keep seeing a therapist.”
“Bullshit.”
“You want to test me?”
“I want to slap you, but it’s too much effort.”
I smirk. “Exactly, because deep down rational, intelligent Hannah knows I’m right.”
“Damn you.”
“Sure, as long as you go to your appointments. Hey, I don’t even care if you spend the rest of the day brooding and watching judge shows, but you’re going to talk to someone about what’s going on. Non-negotiable.”
She throws an arm over her face. “You suck.”
“Maybe. I also care about you. A lot.”
She peeks out from under her arm, and I plant a quick kiss on her forehead.
“Non-negotiable,” I repeat moving to the door. “Also, no more sex because seriously? How fucked up is this?”
She turns toward the wall. “I bet that one is still negotiable.”