When I get to the bed, I pull back the covers with one hand and lay her on the bed. “Get under the covers. It will help warm you up.”
Once she’s situated, she looks at me with tears in her eyes. “Sainte, please,” she begs. “Call Slash.”
“No.” I walk to my laptop and put it back in the bag. I’ll talk with Ice about everything I found in the morning. Right now, she needs me. I give her another dose of the melatonin and two aspirin. After grabbing another bottle of water, I hand it to her.” Here, take these.”
I take off my jeans and shirt and crawl into bed next to her. “Let’s get some sleep.”
Chapter 12
Honey
I hate this hell. My body is rebelling against me, and if only Sainte would call Slash, this would all go away. I hate him for doing this to me. This is all his fault for telling Ice in the first place. Can’t forget Emma’s part in this too. She’s such a meddling little bitch. And then Hawk had to die. They’re all ganging up on me. They hate me. I’m sure the whole club knows about my little outburst this afternoon. They’re all telling me to leave.
The last conversation I had with Hawk plays over and over in my mind, and I watch him die again and again. Every time, he adds words to the conversation:Wake up, Honey. Don’t do this to yourself. You don’t want to be a user, love. This broken person is not the person I love. Wake up.
I don’t want to be a user, Hawk. You know I made that decision a long time ago. We’ve talked about this numerous times. You were always so proud of me for beating my addiction.
So then why did you start using again?
Because I couldn’t deal with the guilt. I can’t deal with what I did to you. Oh God, I’m so sorry, Hawk, for everything.
You have nothing to be sorry for. Listen to Sainte. He will get you through this, I promise.
I miss you, Hawk…
I’ve woken from another nightmare, crying. As I sit up in bed and wipe the tears from my eyes, I look over at Sainte. He’s beautiful, with his chiseled features and snarky attitude. He’s dropped everything to help me, and I can’t help but feel a bit of gratitude to the man I swore I would hate forever. Hawk’s last words were about him. Hawk talks to me in my sleep about him. He was sure Sainte was the right man for me. Hell, I wouldn’t know the right man for me if he were staring me in the face. How could I fuck up my life so much? Will I ever learn?
I thought Ice was the right man for me, and we all know how that turned out. Enter stage right, the long-lost love of his life. And I really thought I could make it work with Hawk. He truly cared for me, and he loved me. Why couldn’t I love him the way he needed me to? If I could have, would I feel so much different about his death? I would. I would be mourning the man I loved instead of feeling responsible for his death.
I can admit it to myself. I’ve tried to blame Sainte, Ice… hell, anyone but myself. The truth is, the blame falls entirely on me. I feel that if Hawk had something to live for, he never would have stepped in front of that bullet. If I could have promised him a future…
My thoughts trail off. No sense worrying about that now ’cause it will change nothing.
I lie back down and have a sudden urge to snuggle against Sainte. I need to feel the warmth from another human being, even if it is him. As I nudge closer, he rolls over on his side and pulls me in, protectively placing his arms around me.Yeah, this is nice,I think as I drift off back to sleep.
I wake to the sun shining in my window. It’s so fucking bright, making me remember I didn’t close the blinds last night. Obviously, I had other things on my mind. I look at my watch, almost twenty-four hours since I’ve had a hit.Almost one day clean. Baby steps.
I look around the room, and Sainte is gone.Where did he go?And then I hear the shower. He’s still here, but he left me alone. Suddenly, I realize I have a few minutes to myself. I jump from the bed and rummage through my dresser drawers, throwing clothes every which way. There’s got to be some left. All I need is one tiny bit. Just to get me through the day.
I find nothing. I sit down on the bed and cry.
I’ve lost touch with the sounds around me, and the fact that it is pretty obvious what I have been doing by the clothes scattered everywhere and some of the drawers left open.
Sainte’s voice startles me. “I leave you alone for five minutes and look what happens.”
I turn to face him. I could come up with a story about trying to find something. Oh, I don’t know, maybe some precious family heirloom or some shit like that, but I don’t. One of the steps to sobriety is honesty. “You caught me. I thought if I could just find a little, it would help take the edge off.”
“Not gonna happen, darlin’” He’s got a towel wrapped low around his waist and nothing else. His hair is wet and tousled, but my eyes quickly gravitate to his abs and the delicious patch of hair that leads to his happy place. He smirks. “Like what you see?”
“Actually, yes I do.” I get up from the bed and wipe the tears from my eyes. I walk toward him and stand close. He smells of Irish Spring, and I can’t help but take a deep breath. I lay my hand on his chest. Slowly, I slide it down the middle of his chest and linger at the edge where the towel meets his skin. “I fully acknowledge that you have a beautiful body, Sainte.” I press my lips to his chest. “But that doesn’t make me like you.” I step away.
“Of course not,” he says. “At least we have reduced hate to dislike.” He drops the towel and reaches for his boxers. “That’s progress.” He grins as he continues to get dressed, and of course I can’t help but watch. He really is beautiful. One thing he successfully succeeded in doing was to get me to think of something other than my next hit for a few minutes. Nowthat’sprogress!
Once he’s dressed, he asks, “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Okay.”
“Are you hungry?”
