Sweet Regret: A second chance, single mom, rockstar romance
Sweet Regret: Chapter 31

I cross my ankles in the bed of the truck and lean against the cab at our backs. It’s that time of morning before the sun rises when the sky and the ocean are the same damn color, and you don’t know where one ends and the other begins. The seagulls’ squawking is ridiculously loud. Errant cars come in the lot every couple of minutes. They park and surfers get out, coffees in hand, wetsuits on the ready, and shoot the shit like they belong to some club I sure as fuck don’t want to be a part of.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hawkin finally asks. He picks up the bottle cap from his beer and tosses it into the case beyond our feet.

“Nah. Not really.”

“Classic Jennings response. Good to see that hasn’t changed.”

“You’re the one who kidnapped me and is refusing to take me back to my place.”

“Kidnapped?” He shakes his head. “How about saved your ass when I shouldn’t have?”

“Semantics.”

“There are videos, Vin. From the bar. From your arrest. Leaving the station. That fancy new PR company you hired is going to need to do a lot of cleanup.”

“Or not. I’m an asshole. Isn’t that common knowledge by now?”

“I’m not taking the bait. Last time I did, I lost my best friend.” He pauses, his words hitting me as hard as that fucker did at the bar. “If you want to talk, then I’ll listen. If you want to tell me to shut the fuck up . . . then say it.”

I blow out a sigh. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

“Fair enough.” He pops the top off a beer and hands it to me. “Hair of the dog and all that.”

After a long, hard stare, I shake my head. “Nah. I’m pretty sure I consumed my fair share last night.”

“Point taken.”

Another car pulls into the lot a few spaces down. Their music is loud and their engine sounds like shit. I watch the guy driving lean over and kiss the girl in the passenger seat.

My stomach twists.

Last night—the part of it before the bar—replays in my head. Her tears. The break in her voice. The hurt in her eyes.

You did that to her.

Forgiving myself isn’t an option.

“Talk to me about Bristol.”

I whip my head in his direction, but he just stares at the ocean beyond like this is an everyday conversation we have.

“What about her?”

“You mentioned her when you called me last night.”

“And what did I say?”

He chuckles and it feels like sandpaper in my eardrums. “You tell me.”

“Jesus, Hawke. Really?”

He turns his head and studies me. “Why are you trying so hard to fuck shit up for yourself?”

A smart-ass quip is on my tongue, but I let it die. It seems I’ve done enough damage to the people I love in my life. The problem is, I’m sitting at the bottom of a well and have no goddamn clue how to climb out of it. I don’t know how to do life solo. I don’t know how to go through life feeling so untethered. I’ve taken her with me everywhere for over a decade, but I’m not sure I can do that anymore.

And Bristol’s words keep coming back to me.

“I love you, Vince, but we can’t keep doing this. I deserve more than a piece of you every couple of years. No one’s to blame. Not you. Not me. It’s just the way we were probably meant to be. Your different is your beautiful too, Vince. It always has been. It always will be.”

And then her mom’s, which is strange considering I haven’t thought about that conversation in years.

“I’m the one who has to help her pick up the pieces. After she sees you . . . if you love her, the way I think you do, then you need to let her go.”

Why I try so hard to fuck shit up is what Hawke wants to know, though. So, I answer him with honesty.

“Seems I’m good at it.”

“Or it’s a convenient excuse. Beats having to face what you’re most scared of—people caring about you.” When I go to refute him, he just holds up his hand to stop me. “I don’t want to hear it. You pushed me away. You’ve always pushed her away. The question is why.”

“I’m dealing with a lot of shit.”

“Alone. When you don’t have to.”

I nod. My bruised hands are easier to look at than my best friend. I’m lucky I didn’t break any fucking bones. If I had, that would’ve royally screwed up my ability to play guitar for some time. “There are just some things I need to do. Need to prove to myself that I can do.”

“I can respect that. But then what, Vin? What’ll you have to come back to if you set fire and burn the world around you?”

I’m not pushing you away.

I’m protecting everyone from me.

“No response needed.” He pounds a fist on the side of the truck. “This conversation is way too touchy-feely for this goddamn early in the morning. Before I’ve had my coffee.” He points to my cell that keeps buzzing against the truck bed, text after text from McMann. “You better call that prick back or he’s going to blow a gasket.”

“Might be more entertaining to watch if he does.”

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