Chapter 4 #2
And now that we found ourselves standing toes-deep in that pool, we were all in.
Neither of us drew back or let our minds get in the way of what we wanted.
We dove into each other like we were finally finding the truth of ourselves, and we didn’t look back.
The kiss became tongues and teeth, a driving need that nothing quite satisfied.
My hands went to the hem of his shirt and drew it quickly over his head while he grasped me firmly by the hips and pulled me into his lap.
I’d never so much as looked at a boy before and had no idea what to expect, and I’d been shocked at the hard bulge of him pressing between my legs.
It had only taken moments for me to start rocking my hips, though, searching for the friction my body knew I wanted.
We didn’t come up for air until the lights came back on and we found our parents staring at us, horrified.
My mother had forced me to pack my things that night, and when morning came, we left.
I never asked her if we fled because of what I did. I didn’t want to know the answer.
Now, though, I want to know if Gabe realizes I’m coming back.
I want to know what he thinks of it.
I want to know why neither he or Gunner ever tried to get in touch with me after we left.
“I didn’t talk to him,” Gunner says abruptly, like he’s been waiting for me to finish going through my memories. “No time. We’ll be home in an hour. Why don’t you get some sleep.”
I want to protest. Tell him that he can’t order me around anymore, and that I have more questions. But when I glance at his stern visage, I realize it’s no good. He’s shut down to me again, and I’m not going to get much out of him.
Maybe it’s better if I keep my mouth shut, after all.
I don’t know how long I’m going to be staying with him. And I don’t want to start off on the wrong foot.
* * *
By the time we get to the house, the sun is peeking over the horizon, washing the mountains around us in pink and gold.
The view is breathtaking, and I pause for a moment, staring at the place the Hawkes call the cabin.
It’s always been more than that, three stories tall and stretching between two separate wings.
The rough timber gives it the look of a place built quickly and out of raw wood, but I know differently.
Gunner’s grandfather built this town, and this house, and though I never met the man, I’ve heard he never did anything halfway.
Inside, I remember, the house is a clean, quiet, and very solid place.
Rough wood beams cross over wide-open spaces and whitewashed walls, giving you the feel of strength and permanence.
It always felt like a safe, dependable place to me.
The walls weren’t going to fall down around you, and you’d always find a steady floor under your feet.
It smelled of pine trees and wood, smoke from the fire and whatever was baking in the kitchen.
It had always felt like home to me.
Just as Gunner had.
The man in question grabs my bags out of the truck without saying anything, though, and I revise my opinion of him, wondering again why he’s so angry. If he doesn’t want me here, why did he come all the way to the city for me? Why bring me up the mountain if he’s going to act like I’m imposing?
I stumble out of the truck after him, still reveling in the brand new sunshine around me, my lungs full of the smell of woods and dirt and animals.
This, I realize. This is what I’ve been missing since my mother dragged me back to the city.
Nature. A house that sits on the ground rather than in the sky.
The feel of people who matter around me.
I turn to find Gunner already climbing the steps into the house and race after him, still trying to figure out what any of this means.
Gunner is through the door when I arrive, though he’s at least stopped to hold it open for me, and when I step into the great room, I have to pause and smile.
This room is the heart of the house, combining living room and kitchen together, and I look around, memories flooding over me.
One wall is dominated by a large fireplace, the stones worked into the wall itself, and a number of chairs and couches litter the hardwood floor in front of it.
A dining room table sits in a corner of the room, and across from that is the Hawke version of a library, shelves lining the walls and floor lamps marking the space off.
The kitchen is on the other side of the room, rough shelves nailed into the wall and a large stove set in an island in the center.
Bar stools and a breakfast table finish that spot, and I remember more than one breakfast there, the four of us laughing like we didn’t have a care in the world.
Above us, the space opens up on the second and third floors, this room rising all the way to the roof of the house and the skylights that are leaking with morning sunshine.
Everything smells the same and looks just like it did, but there’s something off about the space.
Like the color has gone out of it. Or maybe the light’s not getting all the way in.
Then again, maybe it’s the fact that we’re three weeks from Christmas and there’s not a single Christmas decoration in here.
I don’t think I’ll mention that, though.
“It looks exactly the same,” I breathe.
Gunner just grunts, like that’s not the answer he wanted to hear, and turns for the stairs. “Figure it’s easiest to put you back in your same room,” he says gruffly. “It’s yours for as long as you stay.”
Right. I guess that’s as much of an invitation as I’m going to get. I scuffle after him, still trying to sort out what’s different about the place, and take the stairs two at a time. A right turn on the second floor, and then another when we hit the hallway. The third door down is my room.
When I walk past Gunner to enter, I find that the room is exactly how I left it. The same bedspread on the bed. A tatty old rug covering the wooden floor. My bookcases are still here, and my books. The ones I left, anyhow. The bird cage in the corner that once held any bird I found in need of help.
The chair by the window where I sat to write in my journals.
“Exactly how I left it,” I breathe, my heart expanding so quickly it feels hard to contain. “I didn’t realize how much I missed it.”
I turn, my instincts shouting at me to fly into Gunner’s arms and thank him for keeping it for me, and find him right behind me.
Standing far too close, actually, with his hand up as if he was just going to touch my hair.
His face, so stern a moment ago, is now soft and dreamy, and when his eyes meet mine they’re hazy. Unfocused.
I gulp, fighting the need to take a step back, and look up at him.
Gods, the man is handsome. Rough auburn hair and scruff from the night out.
Bright blue eyes and a sharp nose. Lips lush enough that they look built for kissing.
He must be nearly 6’3”, his shoulders broad and strong, and I can see his muscles straining against the T-shirt.
I lick my lips as his hand moves around to my hair, my body keenly aware that this is the biggest man I’ve ever been around, and something begins to hum in my lower belly.
I glance up into his eyes and see them darting down to my mouth and back, and going several shades darker.
I’m suddenly having trouble breathing. Something is pressing on my chest, building tension inside me that I don’t understand. Gunner bites his lips as his gaze comes back to mine, and I have the split-second thought that he’s going to kiss me.
And that I want him to.
Then everything breaks apart like shattering glass.
I remember that this is my stepfather—or once was—and take a step back just as he shakes his head and turns away from me, and the spell is broken.
The air around us goes back to its normal consistency, and though he casts one quick look over his shoulder, his eyes are no longer dark or needy.
He’s put his mask back on.
“Get some sleep,” he says sternly. “You must be tired. I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready to discuss what we’re going to do about this.”
He walks out before I can answer, leaving nothing but his scent behind.
Along with the hum in my lower belly, which refuses to calm down. The ache in my heart at what just happened.
And the realization that he just deserted me here on my own, like he’d done his job and didn’t have any need for me anymore.
I hate that I even have the thought.
Hate even more that he already has the power to hurt me like that.
And as I turn to unpack the things I stole from Stella, I start building my own walls again. Because one thing is clear: If I’m going to stay here, I need to be a whole lot stronger. And a whole lot better at protecting myself from whatever Gunner might throw at me.