19. Chapter 18
Chapter 18
I gawk at him, caught off-guard. "Are you being serious? You just embarrassed me in front of a colleague. Worst still, you threatened him. I'm not even going to get into the logistics of how you got into the building, since we all know that breaking and entering doesn't deter either of you."
Hawk huffs with a laugh. "That guy ," he says, referring to Elijah. "Is bad news. Why would you willingly stay behind in an office, alone, drinking with someone you don't know?"
My arms shoot up in exasperation. "He's a colleague, Hawk. I'm safer with him than I am with you. And for your information, he's a nice guy. You have no right interfering in my life."
"We already told you; no one is going to touch you unless it's us. I meant what I said, Tempest. I'll hurt him. Don't make the mistake of thinking I won't."
"You wouldn't dare," I hiss back. "You don't have a say in who I fuck."
Hawk smirks. "I'm probably dripping down your leg as we speak. Do you really think there's a line I wouldn't cross? In your head, we're these big bad guys. You're a smart girl, so you're probably correct."
"You are bad guys," I tell him. "You can be charming and sweet to everyone, and donate money to charity—but at the end of the day, you're not good people."
He shrugs. "So what? The world would be boring if everyone was the same."
"You could just be nice. Be one of the good ones."
"You already have us all figured out . No point in changing," he says sarcastically. "But at least we own up to it. Some people don't."
I raise an eyebrow. "Are you saying Elijah isn't one of the good ones? He literally saves lives."
Hawk laughs. "An attorney saving lives? Please. It's an act, Rayne. You're so blinded by the world that you see what you want to see. Maybe stop and consider the possibility that people aren't always what they seem."
"I don't understand you," I mumble. "You hurt me, you lead me on and act nice for five seconds, then turn again. It's giving me emotional whiplash. Even in some fucked alternate universe if we were together, it would never work. But now you're determined to stop me from actually having a life?"
"I'm trying to get you to live your damn life," he snaps. "And that doesn't include people like Elijah. "
Suddenly, he feels too close to me. The longer he stands there, it's taking away my ability to breathe. "I'm not your puppet," I murmur quietly. "Even if you're trying to do some fucked-up version of a good deed, I control my life. Not you. And I'm happy—so you should support me, as my brother, and accept that."
His mask breaks for a split second, an unfamiliar look crossing his face before he quickly turns it back off. "You're not happy," he says, this time more calmly. "You're so miserable that it's become a normal part of life."
"I am not," I argue back. "And this still doesn't explain why you threatened Elijah. For your information, I have no interest in dating him anyway!"
Hawk scans my face, possibly checking for lies. "Even if you don't, he does. And you're too much of a people pleaser. You'll give in, and it's only going to end badly."
"What? Give in like I gave in to you? Because we all know I regret that," I snap at him.
He pushes off from the wall angrily, walking away. I gape at him for a second, annoyed because for some reason, I want to keep arguing. I'm not done yet—there's too many unanswered questions. And Hawk continuously speaks in riddles. It's like trying to follow a drunk squirrel—one second I know where we are going, and the next I'm lost.
"Where are you going?" I yell out, watching as he walks into an ensuite bathroom and slams the door closed behind him.
I scoff, throwing my hands up. Jett taps me on the shoulder, making me jump. In the heat of the moment, I forgot he was still behind me.
"Just give him some time to calm down," he says.
Turning around, I actually feel offended. I am the only one with the right to be mad or annoyed, but as usual, they are sided with each other. I never expected any less though—it's always been them against me.
"I want to go home," I answer firmly. "I'm done with this poor excuse of a relationship we have."
Jett nods, seemingly understanding. "I'm not taking you home, Rayne. At least not until we've had dinner. How about I cook for us?"
I shake my head. "We're about seventeen years too late, Jett. You guys had more than enough opportunities to get to know me and treat me with respect. I cannot fathom where you get the audacity to waltz into my life now and start this bullshit. I may not have the perfect life, but I'm content. My only regret recently is letting you two get to me. It's fucked up and I've lost respect for myself. This is where I need to draw my boundaries."
He stays silent, eyebrows furrowing as he listens. I take a deep breath, continuing.
"I'll be cordial with you if we cross paths at our parents' house. But as for any other type of relationship, as far as I'm concerned, you don't exist. I'm going to call an Uber. And if either of you dare show your face again at my apartment or place of work, I will be filing for a restraining order."
I look at him firmly, chin raised. He doesn't react immediately, until finally, a smile appears on his face.
"Good," he says warmly. "I'm proud of you."
"What?" I mutter, confused.
Jett straightens up, hands in his pockets. "That's the first step."
Great. Now Jett's speaking in riddles too.
"What's the first step?" I ask incredulously.
"You growing a backbone," he replies, turning and heading back down the corridor. "I'm going to make us that dinner."
My mouth pops open and I wave my hands like a madwoman. "I said I was going home," I shout after him but he ignores me, disappearing out of sight.
I let out a sigh of frustration, my brain figuring out next steps. I'm going to call an Uber but then I realize… I don't have my cell. Or any of my belongings. They are still in my office.
"Shit," I hiss, getting angry again.
Glancing into Hawk's bedroom, I take a quick peep, wondering if he's left his cell inside. I spot it on the bedside drawer and I pause, listening to sounds. I can hear the shower running, so I tiptoe across the room, reaching for it.
As I click open the screen, I feel a rush of defeat at the passcode request. But then something else catches my eye.
I'm on Hawk's screensaver.
It's an older photo of us two, taken just before they left home. It was our last family vacation to celebrate mine and Jett's eighteenth birthdays. Now that I'm gazing at it, I remember it clearly. Mom and Dad had taken us all to Florida. They begged us for photos together, until I finally caved, posing next to Hawk. He had his arm wrapped around my shoulders, grinning at the camera. To the naked eye it looks like he's happy, but to me, it's a grin of victory—me finally getting into a photo with him.
My stomach drops as I remember the trip. It was fun, I'll admit that. But it makes me wonder if that's why Mom and Dad keep going back to Florida, and why they suggested we all go together again. It was the last time we were all together—their last happy memory of our family.
I'm so distracted by the thoughts that I don't hear the shower turn off, only realizing it when the bathroom door swings open and Hawk emerges. I look over in a panic, his cell still in my hand. My eyes widen as I spot him, dressed only in a black fluffy towel, tied at his hips.
"What are you doing?" he asks suspiciously, eyes darting to his cell.
"I… uh," I pause. "I needed to call an Uber and my cell isn't here," I finally answer softly, putting it back down on the drawer.
Hawk watches me carefully, studying me. He's waiting for my reaction—and I have no idea what to say.
"Okay then," he replies simply. Walking over, he snatches up his cell, punching in some numbers. When it clicks open, he holds it out to me. "There—Uber app is on the second page. Just charge it to my account."
I automatically take the cell, but don't move or swipe. He's nonchalant about it, the tension still in the air from earlier.
"I'm on your screen," I blurt out, not able to keep it in any longer.
Hawk walks over to some larger drawers, fishing around for clothes. He pulls out a pair of black boxers, removing his towel. "And?"
My eyes scan over his physique as he pulls the boxers on, not looking at me. "Why?"
"Why not?" he shoots back.
I shrug. "It's weird."
He pauses, folding his arms. "It's only weird because you think it is."
"But you hate me," I murmur. "You've said it yourself."
"Yeah," he admits. "Because you said we did. I only agreed with you."
Hawk doesn't wait for my reply, walking out of the bedroom. I stare at the empty doorway, before glancing down at the cell in my hand. Slowly, I click the button on the side, locking the screen. I place the cell back on the bedside drawer, following him out of the room.
I find them both in the kitchen—Jett at the stove, cooking steak and vegetables, while Hawk grabs a drink from the fridge. Neither of them look at me as I enter the room, but Hawk grabs a second can, holding it out toward me.
"That's for me?" I ask stupidly.
He turns his head, a deadpanning expression on his face. "Obviously."
I walk over, taking the can of beer from him. The smell of food wafts through the air and I take a good look at it, impressed that Jett knows how to cook.
I mean, I assume every adult knows how to cook at least some basic meals, but I never pictured him as the cooking type. With all their money, I expected them to just order constantly. But I guess you don't stay rich by spending your money.
"It looks good," I tell him politely, noticing that there's three steaks sizzling away.
They knew I wouldn't leave…
It's an unsettling thought, a hard pill to swallow. While they had forced me to come here, the reality is that they gave me an out. They made it clear they wouldn't stop me if I wanted to leave… and I'm willingly here still.
Maybe it's another mind game . I tell myself that, wondering if Hawk is really that sophisticated that he knew to leave his cell out… to change the photo… to lead me to that very moment. There's too many variables that could have gone wrong or changed, and I resign myself to the fact that maybe I just don't know them at all.
I still don't believe they are good people. But, maybe they aren't bad either. The world isn't always black and white, so why should we expect people to be?
Despite conceding that I've painted them in a light that may not be accurate, it still doesn't answer all the questions. I've argued with them until I'm blue in the face, confident that this is all part of some sick game. I've never known them to lie, only to agree with me. They keep saying this is all for me, and while I still can't grasp what they mean, it leads me right back to one simple question.
Why does he have an old picture of me on his cell screen?