Chapter 13
HAWK
I stared across the patio at Cassie, sitting on one of the chairs around the outdoor table, and wished I could crawl inside her mind.
It was sunny and warm, birds singing in the surrounding trees, an occasional summer breeze wafting over the patio.
I wasn’t sure Cassie was capable of enjoying any of it. Wasn’t sure she was capable of enjoying anything.
The Cassie that had come home with us from the hospital four days earlier was a different person than the one we’d known before. That Cassie had been vibrant and curious. This Cassie was remote and withdrawn, morose even.
I didn’t blame her — I could only imagine what she was going through — but that didn’t mean I wasn’t worried as fuck about her.
I was pretty sure she hadn’t showered in the days she’d been home — she hadn’t asked any of us to help her and hadn’t taken us up on any of our offers to shower with her — but she was still beautiful enough that I had to catch my breath while looking at her.
She was in denim shorts and a lavender tank top, her feet bare, copper hair in a ponytail. I studied her face without reservation, taking in the glow of her green eyes, the rise of her cheekbones over lush lips I was desperate to kiss.
It was the only upside to the fact that Cassie couldn’t see: I could look at her all I wanted without feeling like a freak, without getting caught.
I could also get a hard-on without getting caught, which didn’t mean I didn’t feel like a total pervert. Here Cassie was, blind and wounded, her arm still in a cast, and I was using it as an opportunity to ogle her like some kind of Peeping Tom.
Because while I could stare at her face for hours, my gaze inevitably dropped to her lush tits, her tapered waist and full hips, the plush thighs that made me remember how she’d tasted on my tongue.
Fuck.
She was listening to music with her headphones, and while a week ago I wouldn’t have thought twice about it, now it felt like another way for her to keep us out.
That was how it was now: Cassie locked in the darkness, unwilling to open the door, Jagger, Vigo, and I resisting the urge to break it the fuck down.
There was no manual for this, for when to push and when to step back. We were all paralyzed by what had happened to her on the mountain, by what it had taken from her, and it was made worse by the fact that we didn’t know how it had happened. Had Cassie gotten distracted and driven off the road?
Or had it been something else — someone else — who had tried to send her to her death?
She didn’t remember, and we were all forced into what was starting to feel like an endless loop: Cassie withdrawn and mostly silent, the rest of us stalking the house like confined animals wanting to do something — anything — to fix it.
I’d never felt so helpless, and my helplessness was like a rising flame under a simmering pot of anger. I wanted to shake Cassie awake, to tell her to wake the fuck up, snap out of it, help us figure out what had happened to her on the mountain.
But that wouldn’t be fair. That would be for me, a way to ease the discomfort of my powerlessness, and I needed to think about Cassie now, think about how to get her through this.
Because that was the most surprising thing of all: Cassie’s accident and subsequent reliance on us hadn’t made me want to run.
Two months ago, I’d been a self-confessed asshole, someone who just wanted to have fun, someone without the capacity to take care of anyone, maybe even myself.
Two months ago I would have been surprised to feel anything at all.
Now all I wanted was to protect Cassie Montgomery.
It wasn’t even about Bram, who I knew called and texted Cassie every day, who’d insisted on following us home when Cassie had left the hospital and had proceeded to walk through the house like a drill sergeant performing an inspection.
No, my desire to take care of Cassie was all about me. About the fact that I felt things I didn’t know how to name.
Or maybe I did and I was just too fucking scared to name them.
I stood with a grunt of frustration and was glad Cassie had her headphones in so she couldn’t hear it. My feelings weren’t her problem.
I stopped next to her on my way into the house and spoke her name, loud enough that I hoped she could hear over the music.
I was careful around her now. We all were. Careful not to startle her, not to touch her without warning. Careful not to leave her alone in case she needed something.
She removed one of her earbuds.
“I’m running into the house for iced tea,” I said. “Want anything?”
“No, thank you.”
I rested a hand on her shoulder and headed into the house.
Vigo was at the island in the kitchen, halfway through a giant roast beef sandwich, while Jagger loaded dishes into the dishwasher.
I opened the fridge to get the iced tea.
“How’s she doing?” Jagger asked.
“Same.” I slammed the fridge door.
“I made her a sandwich.” Vigo took a huge bite of the sandwich on his plate, then continued with his mouth full. “She didn’t want it so I put it in the fridge.”
“Maybe we should call the doctor,” I said, pouring iced tea into a glass. “Make that appointment for therapy.”
Doctor Sterling, Cassie’s trauma surgeon, had given Cassie a referral to a psychologist who specialized in PTSD, but as far as any of us knew, Cassie hadn’t made an appointment.
Jagger closed the dishwasher and it started with a swoosh of water. “I don’t think that’s something we can do for her.”
“We have to do something,” I said.
“We could give her a good fuck,” Vigo said.
I choked on the drink of iced tea I’d just taken, then coughed for a good thirty seconds.
“Somehow I don’t think that’s a pyschologist-approved therapy,” Jagger said.
“Maybe she doesn’t need a psychologist-approved therapy.” Vigo took another huge bite of his sandwich. “Maybe she just needs a good fuck. I know I do, with our mouse specifically.”
Jagger scowled. “None of this is about you.”
“I know,” Vigo said. “It’s about Cassie needing a good fuck. I’m just saying, I wouldn’t say no.”
“Has she said anything to either of you about the accident?” I asked.
“Just that she still doesn’t remember,” Jagger said.
I reached for my phone. “I’m going to call Rafe, see if he can come do a security audit.”
Security was one of the tamer services offered by Rafe Maddox, Jude Carrington, and Nolan Hale. Former special forces, they’d set up shop offering comprehensive security systems and analysis as a cover for the covert shit they did, which I didn’t even want to know about.
They’d installed the security system when we’d first bought the house.
“I’ve been thinking the same thing,” Jagger said, resting his elbows on the island.
Vigo licked his finger and ran it along his plate, picking up the crumbs from his sandwich like a five-year-old. “You think someone’s gunning for Cassie.”
“I think it’s too much of a coincidence that she was run off the road a mile from where her parents and Bram were run off the road,” I said. “And if it wasn’t a coincidence…”
“Someone might still be out there,” Jagger said. “Wanting her dead.”