Page 24 of Sweet Ache (Driven 6)
“Hmm.” Hunter laughs, the sound in itself mocking. The two spitting images stare each other down, animosity and irritation dueling between them. “Mom needs me.”
The simple statement causes everything about Hawkin to immediately alter despite the cocky raise of Hunter’s eyebrows that says, see, I told you, you’d bend for me. His shoulders fall and he glances back my way for a split second, indecision mixed with concern marring his face, before walking closer to his brother. “She okay?” he asks in a hushed whisper, his back toward me now.
I can’t hear the rest of what is said, just bits and pieces that don’t make sense as Hawkin digs in his pocket for his car keys and hands them over. He gives him some sort of instructions, and then puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes.
The mirror images look at each other for a prolonged period of silence before Hunter nods his head and walks out. The students, in line waiting for the lecture to start, call out “Hawkin”—mistaking Hunter for his brother—as the door shuts behind him.
I study the lines of Hawkin’s back as he watches his brother’s movements outside, shaking hands, posing for cell phone pictures … acting as if he is his twin. It vaguely crosses my mind to wonder how often he does this, impersonates his brother. I turn my focus back to the man himself. His demeanor seems altered now, so far from the arrogant, self-assured man from earlier or the clips I’ve seen of him performing. A part of me wants to ask what’s wrong, figure out what can affect him so quickly, but I also understand that I know absolutely nothing about him besides the image he feeds to the media.
And growing up in a household under the scrutiny of the Hollywood magnifying glass, I know better than most how image can be a manufactured product.
Standing here beside Hawkin I can feel his angst, sense his restlessness, and I want to know more. Every person has two sides, the side they let everyone believe and the side they let few see. Usually I couldn’t care less because each person deserves their own story, but for some reason with Hawkin, I want to see that private side. The man has been making me question my own sanity with the reactions he’s pulling from me. Maybe the rest of his story will explain why I respond so strongly to him.
His audible sigh pulls me from my thoughts. “Everything okay?” I can’t help it. I know he won’t answer, but I have to ask anyway.
“Fucking stellar,” he snaps, and then hangs his head with a self-deprecating groan. When he turns and faces me, I can see the lines etched in the sculpted perfection of his face, the remorse in his eyes that melts my heart. “Sorry, I just …” His voice trails off as we stare at each other. Just when he’s about to explain, Axe pushes open the door and peeks his head in.
“You ready for them, Hawke?”
Hawkin holds my gaze for a second longer, relief flickering that he doesn’t have to explain further, before glancing over to Axe. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
He walks past me and down the steps to the podium without another word. Students file in and do a double take when they take their seats and realize the imposter outside was not really him. You can hear the hushed buzz grow louder until Hawke clears his throat and a hush falls over the room. When he begins to speak, the students hang on his every word.
But it’s the words he’s left unspoken that captivate me the most.
Chapter 7
QUINLAN
I watch the lecture from the cheap seats near the very top of the hall. This time I pay attention, listen to his lessons buried under the glamour and glitz of his stories. His charisma comingled with his star power mesmerizes the other students in the room. They laugh with him, groan in the right places, and are rapt with attention.
I see the attraction now, why they hang on his every word because despite telling myself he’s off limits, I’m doing the exact same thing.
The lecture ends and while everyone stands, I remain seated as student after student approaches him to get their five seconds of personal attention. He comes off as approachable and yet after about thirty minutes and a line that never ends, I catch the glance Hawke slides to Axe in a practiced move so smooth that most wouldn’t notice it.
“Okay, folks! We’ve got to clear the room for the next lecture. Those who need to speak to Hawkin can do so through the Fine Arts department Web site or after the next lecture.” Axe starts ushering the stragglers out, walking behind them up the steps to assure that they keep moving toward the exit.
The minute they clear the door, Hawkin takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair before reaching for his phone on the podium shelf. Irritation flickers on his face when whatever he’s looking for isn’t there.
When I start to stuff my papers in my bag, his voice booms, echoing through the empty theater. “What do you mean Hunter hasn’t been there?” I jump when his fist pounds on the podium, obviously not happy with whatever answer he’s getting on the other end of the line. “She’s okay, though? … Okay. I will…. Later.”
He shoves his phone in his pocket and hangs his head down for a moment. “Do you need something?” Impatience, irritation, annoyance—so many emotions laced in the tone of the question.
I didn’t realize he knew I was still here and now feel like a voyeur, unsure of what to say or do. He lifts his head to meet my eyes across the distance of the room as I stand and lift my bag to my shoulder.
“No, I—uh—was just gathering my stuff.” I apologize without saying the words.
“You good if we take off, man?” I’m startled when Axe speaks behind me.
Hawke’s eyes shift from me to him. “Yeah. No. Fuck, Hunt’s got my car so—”
“I can take you home.” The offer is out of my mouth before I can think about it or the ramifications. “Or wherever you need to go,” I correct realizing no way in hell is Hawkin Play going to let some random woman he knows nothing about take him to his house.
Then again, he is a successful musician, aren’t random women a way of life?
His eyes move back to mine and although the agitation from moments before is stil
l there, I also see intrigue. “You gonna drive me home, Trix?” He begins to walk up the steps as he asks the question. I don’t even get a chance to respond before he lifts his chin to Axe. “I’m good. Thanks man.”
