Chapter 16
Sixteen
STONE
You could knock me over with a feather hearing her say she wants to work in my room. The way she runs from me after every encounter we have is a clear sign that she’s fighting what she wants. And she wants me.
“Perfect.”
I watch as she enters her room and trades her Kindle for her laptop.
She also toes off her shoes and puts on a pair of slippers that look like they’ve seen better days.
I’m pretty sure there’s a hole in the toe.
The last thing she grabs is her key, but interestingly she looks at and then leaves her phone behind.
“What are you reading right now?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“A thriller. I don’t read in my genre when I’m writing.”
“Is it any good?”
“It’s definitely a page turner. I could have stayed down there and finished it if I didn’t need to write tonight.”
I open my door, holding it open for her to enter first. Dragging a deep breath in when she brushes against my body, I drink in her scent. The urge to press her against the wall and fuck her is so strong. When she finally gives into this, I know I’m going to embarrass myself.
I still can’t believe I came in my pants.
It should be embarrassing, but instead it was the hottest moment of my life.
The memory alone of breathing in her sexy, little whimpers as she climaxed just from grinding over me fully dressed has me hardening.
I’m not going to push her for anything more tonight.
As much as it pains me to do, I’m letting her make the next move. I need to be sure I’m not unknowingly pressuring her. That’s the last thing I would want to do.
She looks around my suite, pretty gray eyes widening at the large windows and balcony I have.
“May I?” She gestures toward the french doors with her head.
“Of course.”
I follow her over to the doors and then outside. There are two chaise lounges and a small patio table with four chairs. Large hedges line either side lending privacy from the other suites’ outdoor spaces.
“Can we work out here? At least for a bit?”
“I’ll go anywhere you go.”
She stops and looks at me, blinking several times before brushing off that statement. I’d give anything to know exactly what she’s thinking right now. To peel back the layer of her mind and look inside. Asking wouldn’t work, she’s good at answering without giving anything deep.
Only a few pink streaks remain in the darkening sky as we settle in. I take a chair at the table, so I can have my guitar in my lap but still be able to write out ideas. Soon the sound of her fingers flying over the keyboard fills the night air.
I sneak a few glances her way every so often. She’s lost in her own little world, catching her lip between her teeth and looking off into the distance every few minutes. The soft patio lighting casts a warm glow over her dark hair.
Finally after several minutes of creeping on her, I turn my focus to my music.
At some point I’ll need to sit down with Xan and Tobias to get all these hammered out with the bass and drums, but for now I’m perfectly content.
I write out a few chord progressions, testing them until I get the perfect sound for the lyrics I’ve already written.
I’m not sure how much time has gone by when the sound of sniffling draws my attention away from my task. The sight of silent tears running down Hazel’s cheeks is so gut wrenching it takes my breath away. I instantly set my guitar on the table and go to her.
“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” I rest a hip on the chaise lounge and try to look her in the eyes, but her attention is fixed on the computer screen in front of her.
Tear after tear rolls down her cheek. She doesn’t look up until I cup her face and wipe away the evidence of her sadness. Her eyes close, and her head drops back on the cushion behind her.
“I’m fine.”
“Your splotchy, tear-tracked face says otherwise. What’s going on?”
“I just got feedback from Greg back.” She shakes her head. “I know I shouldn’t be so hurt. He’s always been honest. I was just feeling so good about everything. I really thought I was going in the right direction for the story.”
“May I?” I gesture toward the computer.
Her eyes meet mine, and for the longest few seconds in the history of the world, I think she’s going to say no. But then she inclines her head slightly. I grab the laptop and shift my weight closer to her as I set it on my thighs.
Anger floods my veins at the first paragraph.
This isn’t a critique of her work, it’s systematic destruction of her self-esteem.
He starts out the email saying he’s proud of her, but this is some of the worst work he’s seen from her.
That he doesn’t recognize the brilliant student he once mentored because she’s seemingly sold out in order to be successful.
What really gets me is when he infers that our current situation is just going to suck her down even further into mediocrity. He’s beyond elitist. This email is foul.
“Does he speak to you like this all the time?”
“He didn’t used to,” she says softly. “He has always been my biggest champion.”
“Until when?” I have a pretty good idea, but I want to hear it confirmed by her lips.
“The past couple months.”
“So, since your book came out?”
She nods slowly, as if afraid to admit it out loud because she knows. She fucking knows. He’s just a jealous fuck who can’t sell one of his own books to save his soul, so he’s trashing her to make himself feel better.
“You deserve so much better than this. These words aren’t the words of a mentor. They’re those of a bully. Someone who doesn’t want you to succeed.”
More tears run down her cheeks.
“You know that, right? He’s jealous.”
Even though she shakes her head, her eyes tell me everything I need to know. I close her laptop and set it aside as she fights back more tears.
“It’s okay to cry. Scoot over.”
“What are you doing?” Her reddened eyes watch me curiously as I lay down beside her on the chaise. “We’re not both going to fit on here.”
I shush her. “Yes, we will.”
She stiffens when I slide my arm under her back and pull her over my side. For a moment she holds her breath, her body tense until I begin running my palm up and down her spine.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m comforting you.”
“Why?” She draws the word out as if she really doesn’t understand why I’m doing this.
“Because I care and I think your mentor is a dickhead.” My thoughts are actually much worse, but I’m trying to comfort her, not trigger her. “Plus I like touching you.”
She snorts in disbelief.
“What? I do. An entire style of art was created just to celebrate women with bodies like yours.”
Her muscles loosen a tiny bit as she begins to relax against me. “Thank you. That’s not the reason I don’t like taking off my shirt, though. Just in case you were wondering. I know I’m not conventionally attractive from a body size perspective, but I’m not insecure about it.”
“May I ask what it is you are insecure about then?”
“I have scars I don’t like people to see.”
I’ve seen her wearing long sleeves made of lace and mesh, but I never noticed anything. I pull her closer and wrap my arms tighter around her. She returns the embrace, holding onto my waist as her head rests over my heart.
“From?” I ask gently. “If you feel comfortable answering.”
She takes a shuddering breath and pulls her left arm from under me. My heart clinches as she pulls up the sleeve revealing a scar running from her wrist a couple inches up to her elbow. My chest seizes at the sight, a profound sadness washing over me.
“The first attempt was about six months after my dad left us. Turns out he had a whole other family in Chicago, including two young kids. I found out and told my mom. She immediately filed for divorce.”
“As she fucking should.”
“Yeah, I see that now. But the last thing he ever said to me was that it was my fault for telling Mom. That I was the reason I would no longer have a father.” She takes a deep breath.
“Which I know now, as an adult with a fully formed frontal lobe, that is complete bullshit. But as a kid I had no idea. I saw my mother in pain. I watched as she struggled to pay the bills, and eventually we ended up moving in with my grandparents.”
“I’m so sorry.” I nudge her head, so she’ll look me in the eye for what I say next. “I’m so glad you’re here.” I bring her wrist to my lips, pressing a soft kiss on her scar. “You don’t have to hide yourself from me.”
She nods and ducks her head, settling back on my chest. Her breaths are still unsteady, but she’s fully relaxed into my hold.
“How did Blue Sunday form? I know you and Xander were friends first, right? How did you progress from friendship to bandmates?”
“We formed the idea of the band our first semester at Juilliard.”
Her head pops up. “Juilliard?”
“Yeah. I don’t know if you knew this, but we’re musically talented, not just insanely attractive.”
She slaps me in the stomach. “Super humble, too. Do you play more than the guitar and piano?”
“Yeah. I also play the violin, flute, and kick ass on the tambourine. That’s probably where my true calling is,” I joke, living for her quiet laughter against my chest.
“What about Xander?”
“He is incredible on the saxophone and harmonica. We’re trying to get some tracks with the harmonica on the next album, but the label is hesitant.”
“Why? You guys are classically trained musicians, you should leverage all that knowledge and skill to add depth to your work.”
“I agree, but the label likes our trademark sound. It earns them fuck tons of cash, so the artistic side can get fucked according to them.”
“That’s so shortsighted.”
“Agreed.”
“What about Tobias?”
“We left Juilliard after our first year to start the band and put out feelers for a drummer. One of our friends knew a friend with a cousin who played drums and set up a meeting. We all clicked, it was instant. That night felt like there was an electric current connecting the three of us. We jammed in my parent’s guest house for twelve hours straight, and that was the beginning of Blue Sunday. ”
What I don’t tell her is that I feel that same type of electricity whenever I’m with her. I knew the three of us were meant to form our band then. And I know there’s something about the chemistry between Hazel and I that means something. Something bigger than I think either of us were expecting.
Our conversation remains mostly on safe topics until gradually she begins to drift off.
Laying here with her feels so right, so comfortable.
Once her breathing evens out and I know she’s asleep, I lean my head down and press a kiss to her forehead.
If I had my way, she’d be in my room the rest of the tour.
I’ve never felt this way about a woman. Ever. I’m not letting her get away, even if I have to play the long game. Hazel Archer is mine.
I woke up with an aching back this morning, so Anya is focusing most of our workout on gentle and deep stretching. She watches me like a hawk, her pale blue eyes locked on my every move.
“Why are you so stiff today?” She frowns at my lack of flexibility.
“I fell asleep on the chaise lounge on the balcony last night.” And I regret nothing. Waking up to the feeling of Hazel still being in my arms was every-fucking-thing.
“That was a poor choice.”
I chuckle, my abs trembling while I hold the position she contorted me into.
The burning stretch feels as good as it hurts.
My amusement must irritate her because she doesn’t go easy on me for the rest of the session.
She threatens me with an extreme session the next time she sees me if I do something like fall asleep on the balcony again.
I don’t mind the pain, if I’m being completely honest. It reminds me that I’m still here. That my addiction didn’t win. So yeah, I’ll take the pain and be grateful.
After she leaves I check the time to see how long before we need to leave for sound check. I have just enough time for a quick shower, so I turn the water on and strip down while it warms.
The warm spray of water feels so good that I groan. Thoughts of last night filter back through my mind as I shampoo my hair. Hazel said her first attempt was when she was eleven. That’s so young, my heart aches for her. I hope she feels comfortable enough to continue to open up to me.
If I ever meet her father, it’s on sight. I don’t care. He deserves nothing but the deepest pits of hell for what he did to her. Same for Greg actually. The shit he wrote in that email was such thinly veiled jealousy it would be funny if it didn’t hurt her as much as it did.
Adam is waiting in the living room when I finish dressing and come out of the bedroom.
I’m surprised Darren or Jade isn’t also in here, snooping around to make sure I’m still sober.
I don’t mind it, and I understand why they do what they do, but it does sting just a bit.
Trust is earned, and I’m starting from a deep deficit.