Billionaire's Single Mom

No, this was okay. I was in a much better headspace than I had been when I’d gotten that first message. I’d been away a little while, I wasn’t antsy and dope sick. Nothing she said could touch me. I played the message.

“Nate, I wish you’d stop ignoring me, babe,” she started. I frowned. Why was she being so nice all of a sudden?

“I don’t know if I can go the whole summer without hearing from you. I want us to talk. After you come back, I want us to talk about things. About us. We’ve both said a lot of things in the past to hurt each other, but I love you, Nate, and I think we should give it another shot. Please call me back when you get this. I need to know that you aren’t shutting me out. You shouldn’t be alone right now, honey. Just call me if you need anything.”

The message ended.

I shut my eyes and sighed. I was in a better headspace, but something about Kirsten and everything she said to me these days just rubbed me the wrong way. She wanted to get back together now? Why? So she could file for divorce again?

I stood up, making the piano bench fall over. Fuck her. Fuck that bitch and whatever scam she was trying to pull. There was no way she’d had a come to Jesus moment since the last message she’d sent me telling me I could die and it wouldn’t make a difference to her.

It hadn’t been long enough. It was still too fresh. Hawai’i wasn’t far enough. All the people I hated were still in LA, but all the shit had followed me here. I paced around the room, mad, frustrated, and angry that this was my fucking life. I grabbed a lamp sitting on the table near the piano and launched it at the deck. The doors were open, so it smashed against the banister.

I knocked the dining room chairs aside, flipping the table. It cracked as it landed heavily on its side. I launched one of the chairs right into a framed picture of waves breaking on a beach. Then I stormed into the bedroom and dug my kit out of the closet. I walked over to the bed and opened it, looking at my solution.

All it took was one little dose, and I could forget. All this could fade into nothing and I’d feel great. It had worked for so long; why couldn’t I just continue? I looked at my stuff for a long while before walking back out of the bedroom. I had a better idea. I searched the drawers in the living room for hotel stationary and a pen. I sat at the piano and started writing.

Chapter Fourteen

Abby

I took a deep breath, raising my fist to knock on the door. The first time I had done this, it had been a disaster. This time, I had food.

It was Sunday; we were going out. It was only eight, but hey, I'd never said what time we were going to leave. I had been thinking about where to take him all weekend. I was excited. Another day with Nate? It had taken restraint just to wait this long before going to see him. I couldn't hear anything behind the door. I knocked again.

He finally came to open it. I felt myself hold my breath as the doorknob dropped and the door swung open. Oh God. What had he done to himself last night? He looked sleepy, and he was frowning. He didn't have a shirt on, but was still in his jeans.

"Oh good, you're up," I said brightly. "I thought you were still asleep." I walked past him into the room and was stopped in my tracks. Guess he had had a big night. The suite was trashed. "Oh. Did you lose something?" I asked.

I looked for somewhere to put the bag down, but the dining table was turned on its side in the middle of the room. Times like this, I was glad I wasn't part of housekeeping. I looked back at him and noticed he looked a little embarrassed. He ran a hand through his hair.

"Just charge the damage to the room. I'll pay for it," he said. Damn right, he would. Joseph could not hear about this. I turned and looked at him.

"Never mind," I said. "I brought breakfast. Have you ever had musubi?" I asked walking up to him with the bag. I reached in and pulled one out handing it to him. "Go on," I urged. He took it and looked at me like he couldn't see me, squinting. It was kind of cute. He was so sleepy.

"What time is it?" he grumbled.

"Breakfast time. Eat." He sighed and took a bite out of the musubi.

"I swear to God the sun hasn't come up yet. Why are you here so early?"

"It's already eight. Why are you still asleep?"

"It’s eight in the morning. Nothing happens at eight in the morning," he complained. I smirked. Makani hated mornings, too.

"How would you know that if you've never been awake early enough to find out?" I asked. He frowned at me, eating his breakfast.

"I'm going back to bed," he announced, walking back to the bedroom. Now how did he expect to have a full day when he kept starting them in the middle? I walked to his refreshment center and quickly brewed some coffee.

The suite wasn't a big deal. The furniture could be replaced, and it could be tidied up. What if his problems were deeper than just his addiction? I'd read that when a person was addicted, that put strain on the other parts of their life, too. Was that it? What else had gone wrong for him? I knew that he and the band were on bad terms, but maybe he was having family trouble, too; financial maybe?

I didn't know the whole deal. I didn't know how much pain he was in, but I did know that when we had gone to Keahiakawelo, he had been happy to be there. He had had a good time and wasn't thinking about using. That was all I wanted, just for him to feel like he was free.

I picked the bag with the musubi up and walked into his bedroom. He was face down on the bed in his underwear; he'd taken the jeans off. Clearly, the boundaries were gone between us. I thought about looking away, but wondered when I'd be able to ogle at him this freely again.

His back was wide and muscular, and he had a few tattoos there as well that I hadn't known about. I peered at his ass through his tight boxer briefs as I put the bag and the coffee down on the nightstand. It looked like the rest of him: firm and muscular.

"I left your coffee black because you're a little drowsy today," I said. "Do you like the musubi?" He grunted. I wasn't sure whether that was a yes or no.