Wreck (Sphere of Irony 4)
It goes off again, longer this time. Someone is pressing the button and not letting go.
“Son of a bitch!” I shove off the couch and stab the intercom. “What?”
“Hawke? It’s Kate. Let me in.”
I release the button. Kate? Why is she here? Whatever. I enter the code to let her into the lobby and prop my front door open an inch so I can flop back down on the sofa and continue drinking.
A few minutes later, Kate Davies appears in my condo, looking tall and athletic and super pissed off. Oh shit. “Kate? What’s going—”
I don’t get to finish my sentence, because Kate crosses the length of the room and lands a sharp kick to my shin. “You fucking bastard,” she snarls, catching me with another swift kick.
“Jesus, Kate!” I jump to my feet to avoid getting kicked again. Kate played soccer for the UK women’s Olympic team and now coaches for Rutger’s University, so her abilities aren’t to be underestimated. She’ll kick me black and blue if she chooses and there’s nothing I can do about it. Not unless I want her six-foot-three-inch, ex-bare-knuckle boxer husband ripping me to shreds.
“What is wrong with you, you bloody wanker?” Kate and I stand almost the same height. She doesn’t hesitate to go toe to toe with me, eyes blazing as she shouts.
“Christ, Kate. I have no idea what you’re talking about! Fuck!” I yelp when she lands another kick to my already throbbing shins. I climb up onto the couch where my legs are hopefully out of reach.
“Why haven’t you answered your mobile?”
“What?” My brain scrambles to put everything together. “Oh, it died and I didn’t have my charger.”
“What do you mean? Where were you?” Kate’s fists uncurl but her shoulders are still tense, ready to strike at any moment.
“I went to my house in Boulder. Shit. I don’t have to tell you where I’m going or what I’m doing, Kate.”
She scowls, those green eyes of hers cutting through me. “You’re right. You don’t. But you bloody well should have called Abby, you stupid git.”
“Abby? What? Why?”
“Oh my god, Hawke!” Kate turns away and paces the room, muttering something about men and idiots under her breath. “She needed you! Get a fucking clue and charge your mobile.” She climbs right up on the sofa with me, standing until our noses almost touch. “Don’t ever hurt my friend like this again or it won’t be me visiting you next time.”
I swallow, trying not to let her threat get to me. But I know she’s talking about sending Dax to beat my ass. “Don’t be ridiculous. Dax wouldn’t get involved,” I huff.
Kate’s eyes narrow and she jumps gracefully to the floor, her feet making no sound as she lands. “If Dax has to come home to this…” She gestures at herself, all angry and worked up, “every day. Believe me, he’ll do anything to make me happy again.”
Shit. She’s right. He would.
“All right, all right!” I hold up my hands in defeat.
“Good. Don’t be a fuckup, Hawke. Adam is enough to deal with. I can’t deal with you as well. Charge your bloody mobile.” With that parting shot, Kate walks out and slams the door, rattling the doorframe and leaving me wondering what the fuck just happened.
I pull out my dead phone and head to my office to charge it like Kate said. She’s scary as fuck when she’s angry. No way am I going to deal with that again. Or Dax.
Seconds later, my phone lights up with notifications. I scroll th
rough, reading the first few, and squeeze my eyes shut.
Fuck.
Abby
Saturday rolls around and I still haven’t heard from Hawke. After he didn’t return any calls or texts on Monday, I didn’t bother to try again. I left the ball in his court and clearly, he has no intention of contacting me anytime soon about the paparazzi or the article or even the VMAs. I’m not chasing him around begging for attention.
After a long run on the beach and an even longer shower, my phone rings. For a few seconds, my heart soars, thinking maybe Hawke finally manned up and decided to call. When I see it’s Kate, I nearly choke on the despair. No matter how much I tell myself Hawke’s sudden silence doesn’t bother me, it does.
“Hello?”
“Abby. What are you up to this lovely morning?”