Wreck (Sphere of Irony 4)

The ice in my blood congeals around my heart, squeezing it tight in its cruel fist. I’m so stupid. Once again, I let Hawke Evans shatter me with his push and pull, his darkness and his light, his ability to keep me under his thumb with absolutely no effort on his part.

“That’s why he didn’t call,” I whisper. “He was too busy getting laid to be bothered with me and my ridiculous problems.”

Kate swoops the baby out of my hands, replacing her with a mimosa-filled champagne flute so I can bury my imminent meltdown under a tidal wave of alcohol.

“I think I need something stronger, Kate.”

“Right.” She leaps to her feet, puts Poppy in her high chair, and brings back a bottle of vodka, adding a generous amount to my glass.

I raise the flute to my lips. “Cheers.” It’s gone in three quick gulps.

Friends. If Hawke and I are only friends, then it’s time for me to get someone new in my life.

It’s time to get over Hawke Evans for good.

10

Hawke

“Those waves were killer!” Gavin says, dripping wet and out of breath. He brushes his hand through his hair, dropping onto his towel. When he finally gets settled, he digs his feet in the warm sand.

I lie back on my own towel, covering my eyes with one arm to block the sun as I catch my breath. “They were.”

Topanga Canyon State Beach always has the best waves, but they come with a price. Even though it’s still early in the morning, the ocean is crowded with experienced surfers, everyone fighting for the perfect ride. It’s also a good place for Gavin and me because no one here pays us any attention, if they notice us at all. Not like the Malibu beaches where tourists and sunbathers outnumber surfers. We’d get mobbed if we tried to surf there.

“So…” Gavin says after a few minutes of watching surfers catch waves, doing expert tricks with their boards. “What the fuck has been going through your idiot brain lately?”

I sit up, glancing around to make sure no one can overhear us. Hardly anyone is sitting on the beach. We have a large area to ourselves.

“What the hell, Gav? What are you talking about?”

My best friend—the only one in my life who knows the real story about my parents and my sister, about the guilt that eats away at my soul—looks like he wants to punch my lights out.

“Shit.” He runs his hand through his blond mop of hair again and huffs out a laugh. “Mitch would kill me if he knew I was talking to you about this. He told me to, and I quote, ‘stay the fuck out of it.’”

I frown. “Out of what? Just say it, man. How long have I known you?”

“You’re right. We have known each other a long time. You were there for me when I needed someone. Which is why I have to be the one to talk to you.” Gavin reaches into his duffel bag, producing the small, heart-shaped rock I gave him over ten years ago when we were both messed-up teenagers locked in a mental institution.

I flinch back. The sight of my sister’s good luck charm sends a searing pain right into the hollow space where my heart should be.

“That. Right there, Hawke. That’s the problem. It’s been over a decade and you can’t even look at a rock without losing it.”

“Don’t start that shit with me.”

I recline again, this time propped on my elbows. My good mood is gone. Now I’m thoroughly pissed at Gavin for bringing up all this crap.

My friend isn’t done yet. “No, you listen, Hawke. I’ve watched you self-destruct for eleven fucking years. I’m done waiting for you to successfully kill yourself.” Gavin is dead serious, his tone cold, as if he’s protecting himself by not showing any emotion. “I’m begging you, Hawke. As someone who cares. Please do something. See someone. You’ve lost everything over this guilt you hang on to. Hell, you fucked up with Abby how many times now because of it? Three? Four? Don’t make me stand over your grave, man. I can’t do it.”

He’s right about Abby. I haven’t spoken to her since the VMAs. After I got back from Colorado and found out she’d been harassed by the paparazzi while I was getting laid, I was too ashamed of my shitty behavior to talk to her.

Gavin puts his feet flat on the sand, resting his arms on his knees and letting his head hang between them.

I’m speechless. This isn’t the first time Gavin has tried to push me into getting help, seeing a shrink or whatever. This is, however, the first time he’s sounded so hopeless. Like he’s given up. Like Ross. Like Abby did back when we were dating.

“I’m sorry, Gav.”

“Don’t be sorry, Hawke. You only get one chance at life. One. Don’t throw it away because some asshole drunk driver decided to get behind the wheel of a car.”