Chapter Seven

Angel

I stared at the phone, my hands trembling as I held it, trying to figure out how to breathe again. The tension in my chest tightened with every passing second, and I knew I had to make the call. Bowie stood quietly beside me, his presence the only thing keeping me from completely unraveling. I dialed the number to the jail, my fingers shaking as I pressed each digit.

The voice on the other end was clinical, detached, as they confirmed what I already feared. Trace had been paroled for good behavior. Good behavior. The words felt like a cruel joke, like a knife twisting in a wound that had barely healed. I thanked the person on the line, though my voice was barely above a whisper, and hung up. The phone slipped from my fingers, clattering to the floor as my knees buckled, and I collapsed onto the couch in my Airstream trailer.

I felt like I was spiraling, the world closing in on me. My heart pounded in my chest, and mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. How could this happen? How could someone like him be allowed to walk free? The memories I had tried so hard to bury flooded back, overwhelming me until I couldn't think, couldn't breathe.

Bowie was beside me in an instant, his hand on my back, rubbing gentle circles that were meant to soothe, but all I could feel was the panic rising in my throat. I couldn't stay here, not with all these people around, not with the noise and the chaos. I couldn't pretend to be okay, not after this.

"Can you take me somewhere?" I whispered, my voice trembling as much as my hands. "Anywhere. I just can't be here right now."

Bowie's eyes softened, and he nodded without hesitation. "I'll take you somewhere safe."

"Where?" I asked, desperate for a place where I could escape, where I could breathe again.

"My place," he said simply, the confidence in his voice calming me in a way I didn't expect.

I nodded, trusting him to guide me out of the trailer, out of the festival, and away from the noise that threatened to suffocate me. The drive was a blur. I couldn't focus on anything outside the car window, my thoughts still stuck on the fact that Trace was out there, free, and there were no guarantees I wouldn't see him again. He'd said that we'd always be connected, but what did that mean? What was he doing at the hotel, and what did he want from me now? The fear I had worked so hard to overcome had come rushing back, making me feel like I was right back where I started six years ago.

Bowie didn't press me to talk. He kept his hand close, resting it on the center console of his Ferrari, just in case I needed the comfort of his touch. But I couldn't bring myself to reach out. I couldn't move, couldn't speak. All I could do was let him take me away from everything.

When we finally pulled up to his house, I was taken aback. It wasn't the grand mansion I had expected from someone like him. It was almost cozy, with a warmth that immediately put me at ease. The house was well-appointed, in a private neighborhood where the homes were spread out, each with its own large plot of land. And the view...The view of the ocean over the cliff was breathtaking, the sunlight making the sapphire water shimmer and sparkle. It looked like a picture postcard or photo from a travel magazine. Even though I had enough money now to buy a house on my own, I'd never made the splurge, instead keeping a condo back in L.A. for when I wasn't on the road. However, I'd never really considered it home, since I'd been on tour for the better part of each year ever since making a name for myself as Angel. My travel trailer was the closest thing to a home I had.

Bowie led me inside, and I felt the tension in my shoulders start to ease. The house was warm and inviting, with soft lighting and comfortable furniture. It felt like a refuge, a place where I could finally let my guard down. We sat on the couch, the silence between us thick with unspoken words, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was a silence that allowed me to gather my thoughts, to process everything that had just happened.

After a long moment, I found my voice. "I met Trace right after my parents died in a car accident," I began, my words slow and careful, as if speaking them aloud would somehow make them more real. "I had just finished high school, and he was twelve years older than me. He seemed perfect at first. He had a good job in real estate, plenty of money, and he told me he would take care of me." I paused, swallowing hard against the memories that threatened to choke me. "But then he started to change. He became controlling, obsessed. At first, it was just little things, but then it got worse. He became emotionally abusive, and then…"

My voice faltered, and my fingers instinctively traced the scar on my face, the reminder of just how far things had gone. "Then it got physical. I got a restraining order against him, but he violated it. He almost killed me."

Bowie's hand tightened around mine, his gaze never leaving my face. "I found out later that I wasn't the first. Other ex-girlfriends came forward after I did. He had hurt them too."

"Why weren't you notified about his parole?" Bowie asked softly, his concern evident in his voice.

"I don't know," I admitted, shaking my head. "They probably mailed something, but I didn't get it. I've been traveling so much for work…" My voice trailed off, the reality of the situation sinking in. I had been so focused on moving forward, on building a new life for myself, that I had let my guard down. And now, the past I had fought so hard to escape had come crashing back into my life.

Bowie nodded, understanding in eyes that resembled pools of molten chocolate as he gently squeezed my hand. We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of everything hanging between us. The television was on in the background, a faint murmur that neither of us had really noticed until the news segment caught my attention.

The reporter was talking about the festival, about how pop star Angel hadn't shown up for her performance. My heart skipped a beat as I heard the words, the reality of my situation hitting me like a freight train. The camera panned to the stage, where my absence was glaringly obvious. The reporter said that my manager had informed that I wasn't feeling well and had to cancel, but I knew the truth. I had let my fear control me, had let it dictate my actions, and now the world was watching.

Bowie turned to me as the realization dawned on him, his expression morphing from surprise to serious. "Angie," he said, the sound of my name feeling like an arrow to my heart. "You're Angel, aren't you?" he asked bluntly.

The question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of everything I had been hiding. I knew this was the moment of truth, the moment that would determine whether I could trust him with the secret I had guarded so fiercely.

"Yes," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. I took a shaky breath, feeling the tears start to well up in my eyes. "I have to hide my face because of the scar. No one knows who I really am, and I've been so scared of what would happen if they found out."

Bowie's expression softened, and he reached out, gently cupping my face in his hands. "You don't have to be afraid," he said, his voice firm but tender. "You are beautiful, Angie. That scar...it's not something to be ashamed of. It's a part of your story, a story of survival. You should wear it like a badge of honor. A battle scar that shows just how strong you are."

His words washed over me, soothing the fear that had taken hold of my heart. For the first time in a long time, I felt seen…Truly seen, for who I was, not just the persona I had created to protect myself. But as much as I wanted to believe him, as much as I wanted to embrace his words, the fear was still there, lurking in the shadows of my mind.

I was too scared to agree, too scared to let go of the walls I had built around myself. Instead of responding, I leaned in, closing the distance between us, and kissed him. It was a desperate kiss, a plea for comfort, for connection, for something real in a world that felt like it was slipping through my fingers.

Bowie responded immediately, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me closer as the kiss deepened. All the fear, all the tension, all the emotions I had been holding back poured into that kiss, and I felt something inside me begin to shift, to soften.

When we finally pulled apart, we were both breathless, our foreheads resting together as we tried to catch our breath. The air between us was thick with unspoken desire, with a need that had been building since the moment we met.

Without a word, Bowie stood, taking my hand and leading me to his bedroom. Sunlight filtered through the windows, bathing the room in a soft warm glow. He didn't rush, didn't push. He let me set the pace, let me decide how far I was willing to go.

I took a step closer to him, my heart pounding in my chest as I reached up, gently tracing the line of his jaw with my fingers. His eyes darkened with desire, and I knew, in that moment, that I wanted this. I wanted him. I needed to feel something real, something tangible, to remind me that I was still alive, still capable of feeling.

Our lips met again, and this time, there was no hesitation. The kiss was slow, deliberate, a promise of what was to come. I felt his hands on my waist, his touch sending shivers down my spine as he pulled me closer, deepening the kiss.

Clothes were discarded, forgotten on the floor as we moved to the bed. The world outside ceased to exist as we lost ourselves in each other, the passion between us burning brighter than anything I had ever felt before. There was a tenderness in his touch, a reverence that made me feel cherished in a way I hadn't experienced in so long. Every kiss, every caress, was a reminder that I was more than the fear that had been haunting me, more than the scar that marked my skin.

As we moved together, our bodies intertwined, the connection between us deepened. It wasn't just physical; it was something more, something that went beyond the surface. I could feel it in the way he looked at me, the way he touched me like he was memorizing every inch of me. There was an intensity, a raw honesty in the way we came together, and it left me breathless, yearning for more.

Bowie's hands were everywhere, exploring, comforting, igniting a fire within me that I didn't know I still had. My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as I lost myself in the sensation of him, the feel of his skin against mine, the sound of his breath mingling with mine.

Bowie's touch was electric as he brushed a lock of my hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my cheek. The air between us crackled with an unspoken promise, and I felt a mix of anticipation and trepidation. I knew he was aware of my past wounds—inner wounds that still needed time to heal even if the outer ones would remain forever.

"Angie," he murmured, his voice low and full of desire, "To me, you really are an angel."

He touched his fingertips lightly to my scar, and then kissed it with a tenderness that brought tears to my eyes.

"Bowie," I breathed out, my voice trembling with the mixture of emotions rising in my chest.

"Let's savor every moment," he whispered. "No rush, no pressure—just you and me discovering what can be."

Tentative at first, my fingers traced a path up his forearm, sending a shiver through him. Our eyes locked, and something within me ignited. For a moment, I wasn't the fragile soul he'd been cautious with; I was a woman awakening, bold and daring.

"Bowie," I whispered, my voice carrying a newfound daring. Before I could fully comprehend my own actions, my fingers slid down the taut muscles of his abdomen and dipped below his waistline.

Bowie's breath hitched, and I could feel his control slipping. The heat of his desire was palpable, and suddenly, all pretense of slow seduction was gone. His need for me was raw and immediate, and it mirrored my own.

He groaned, his voice rough with need, and captured my lips with his, kissing me with a fervor that matched the pounding of my heart. I responded eagerly, feeling hunger for him overtaking me.

Lowering his head, he took the peak of my nipple into his mouth. The sensation was exquisite, and I moaned with pleasure. I felt every stroke of his tongue as if it were a direct line to my soul.

"Please, Bowie," I gasped, my voice raw with need. There was no hesitation in my plea; it was a raw expression of my longing.

He moved his attentions lower, his tongue tracing a path down my stomach until he reached the apex of my thighs. I felt his breath against me before he dove in, his touch making me writhe beneath him, my moans building into a crescendo of pleasure.

When I felt his fingers inside me, the pleasure was almost too much to bear. He intensified his efforts with his tongue, driving me closer to the edge. As I came apart, my body trembling with release, I could barely comprehend the intensity of the moment.

I knew Bowie's control was slipping as well. He pulled me close, our sweat-slicked bodies pressed together, and I could feel the echoes of my pleasure reverberating through him. His hands traced the contours of my body, and I could see the hunger in his eyes, a mirror to my own.

"Are you sure, Angie?" His voice was rough against my neck, his tongue tasting my skin.

I wanted him more than anything, and I could see the longing in his eyes. "I want you more than I want my next breath." My plea was both a declaration and a request, and I could see the desire burning in his eyes.

He kissed me again, softly at first, then with increasing need. His touch became more urgent, his fingers stoking the flames of desire within me. When my hips moved in rhythm with his touch, I knew it was time. He entered me in one smooth motion, every thrust a struggle against his own self-control. I could feel the tension building, his desire spiraling out of control.

"Bowie…," I whispered, both a plea and permission. I watched him above me, his eyes closed, lips parted in pleasured cries that only heightened my arousal. The fierceness with which he moved, the boldness in his touch, ignited something primal within me. I could feel myself climbing again, my body beginning to clench and unclench rhythmically around him. His movements were deliberate, coaxing me closer to the edge. My hands clawed at his back, urging him deeper, faster. When I arched beneath him, a keening wail escaped me, signaling my release.

The sensation of him filling me was exquisite, and when he finally surrendered to his own climax, the waves of our bodies moving together rivaled the force of the ocean. He collapsed beside me, pulling me close, our bodies still trembling from the aftermath.

This was more than just sex. It was a release, an escape, a way to reclaim something I had lost. With every touch, every kiss, pieces of me felt like they were coming back together, like I was being rebuilt from the inside out. And Bowie was right there with me, holding me together when I felt like I might fall apart.

For a long time, we just lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, the silence between us filled with the quiet sound of our breathing and the distant crash of waves against the shore. I could feel Bowie's heart beating against my chest, strong and steady, grounding me in a way I desperately needed.

I hadn't expected this, hadn't expected him to become such a significant part of my life in such a short time. But now, lying here with him, I realized that maybe this was exactly what I needed. Maybe this was the beginning of something new, something that could help me finally let go of the past and embrace the future.

"Thank you," I whispered, my voice barely audible in the quiet room.

Bowie tightened his arms around me, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "For what?"

"For being here," I said, closing my eyes as I snuggled closer to him, feeling a warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the physical connection we had just shared. "For making me feel safe."

He didn't respond with words, but the way he held me, the way he pressed another gentle kiss to my forehead, told me everything I needed to know. He was here and he wasn't going anywhere. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like maybe, just maybe, I could be okay. And maybe this was something I could finally let myself believe in.