Wreck (Sphere of Irony 4)

Adam steps up to the mic. “Hello Los Angeles!” He holds it out over the audience to capture the responding shouts and screams. “We’re going to do something a little different here, so bear with us please.” All of the women and girls near us shriek from Adam’s sexy British accent.

“Oh please,” Kate says. I catch her rolling her eyes and elbow her playfully.

“You all know my mate, Hawke, right?” My attention jerks from Kate to the stage. Adam is handing the mic to Hawke, who is now so close to us I can make out the lines of every single tattoo on his arms.

“Hey.” Hawke ducks his head slightly, obviously uncomfortable with being front and center on stage. The crowd either doesn’t notice his unease or doesn’t care because they shriek just as loudly for Hawke as they did Adam.

Hawke rubs the back of his neck before looking out over the twenty thousand or so fans packed into the Staples Center. “I wanted a few seconds to tell you all a story.” Adam pushes a stool over for Hawke to sit on. “Thanks.” Hawke glances over his shoulder at Adam before looking back at the crowd. “Such a great guy, isn’t he?”

Once more, the audience goes insane, clapping and screaming. “Anyway,” Hawke continues. “How many of you have heard about my love for adrenaline?”

More screaming. I swear the girl next to me is going to pass out from lack of oxygen, she’s shrieking so loud. My attention, however, is fixed on the man onstage. Everything else fades away, the noise, the crowd, the burly security guys, until all I hear is the beating of my own heart thudding in my ears.

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but I’m done with all that.” The arena quiets some, turning from excited shouts to the low murmuring of hundreds of conversations going on simultaneously. “Turns out I have PTSD and I was using the rush to block out a lot of bad shit in my life.”

Hawke’s admission floors me. All of the blood in my body drains to my feet. Kate grabs me as I waver on my feet. “Abby? Are you all right?” I hear Kate speaking, but it’s nothing but tinny background noise.

“I wanted to thank someone special for helping me figure out how fucked up I was before I ended up dead. Someone who loved me enough to make me realize I wanted to live just so I could have more time to love her back.” Hawke slides off the stool and walks over to the edge of the stage, kneeling down right in front of me.

“Bee?” Hawke puts down the mic and extends a hand.

“Abby,” Kate whispers. She shakes me out of my stupor. “Go.” With both hands, Kate pushes me forward. I glance up and find Hawke’s beautiful eyes locked on mine, the sincerity and love in them so obvious, it wouldn’t surprise me if the people in the nosebleed seats could see it.

I reach up and Hawke’s warm grip surrounds my wrist. “Oh my god!” I squeal as the big security guard grabs my waist and easily lifts me onto the stage.

While I’m still holding one of Hawke’s hands, he brings the other one up to gently caress my face. “I love you, Bee.” He brushes away a tear and gives me a crooked grin.

Hesitantly, I reach up. Hawke’s smile falls and his eyes follow my every move. I push his glasses up onto his head so there’s nothing left between us, no more barriers. This. This is the real Henry Walker Evans. The man I fell in love with almost a decade ago and never stopped loving.

“I love you too,” I whisper.

Hawke pulls me into a bone-crushing hug and the audience erupts, shouting, catcalling, whistling their approval. “I missed you so much,” he says in my ear. My cheeks burn with embarrassment as the crowd continues to whoop and holler.

When Hawke steps back, I want to cry at the loss of his body against mine. I feel exposed on stage in front of these strangers. But when his hands frame my face, callouses scratching the delicate skin, a shiver goes down my spine and my nervousness vanishes. Hawke leans in, touching his mouth to mine and suddenly, it doesn’t matter that twenty thousand people are watching. All that matters is I’m here with Hawke. I part my lips and he takes advantage, thrusting his tongue in deep, teasing me with that wicked piercing until my body is burning up all over.

“All right, all right, break it up.” Adam has the mic back at the center of the stage and his guitar in his hands. Hawke gives me one last kiss before reluctantly stepping back.

“Go backstage, Kate is there. Wait for me?” I look at the man I love and know I would do anything for him.

“Yes. I’ll be there.” His grin is reward enough… for now.

Later, he can show me in private how much he really missed me.

Hawke

Abby is silent in the car as I drive the half hour or so to my condo. Usually, I would ride with the guys in a limo to and from a concert. Tonight, I was holding out hope that Abby might forgive me for all the bullshit I put her through, so I drove myself this time.

After Abby gave Kate hell for tricking her into going to the show and a brief reunion with the other guys, I all but dragged her out of the arena. The public declaration was only part one on tonight’s agenda. As terror-inducing as it was to announce my PTSD to the world, it won’t be anywhere near as difficult as what I have to do next.

I take Abby’s hand and lead her to the elevator and down the hall to my place. Inside, I turn to ask if she wants anything to drink, but before I get a chance, Abby is wrapped around me, her mouth dragging scorching hot and wet up and down my neck.

“Jesus,” I hiss in pleasure when she nips at my throat and drags her tongue over the sensitive bite. Holy hell. She took me from zero to sixty, my dick now rock hard and throbbing. “Wait.” Panting, I push Abby back. Shit, I hurt her feelings. “No, I want you, Abby. Isn’t it obvious?” Her eyes flick down the sizable bulge in my pants. “I want to talk first.”

She stares at me, not saying anything.

“I-I need to tell you everything.” My stomach clenches painfully. Calm down, Evans. “I want you to know why… why I was so… you know.” Shit. I drag a hand down my face. “Sit, okay?”

Abby follows me to the living room and takes the seat next to me on the sofa. She slips her shoes off and curls her feet under her body. Huddled down with her arms across her chest, Abby assumes a defensive posture. She’s expecting the worst. And she should.