Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
JACK
“I am all astonishment.”
~ Caroline Bingley
I stood stock-still, blinking at the space where Hawk had been for a long moment after he stalked off.
One part of my brain firmed its jaw and wanted to yell in Hawk’s direction, See? This is what happens when you complicate a perfectly wonderful friendship! Better now than after you’d developed romantic feelings for me.
Another part twisted up and whimpered, Come back! I was wrong! Give me a do-over!
But, no lie, most of my brain was busy replaying Hawk’s sweet voice gritting out the words “something hot and sexual and real” on an endless loop while picturing him naked, “bending over” and, in a bizarre new twist, covered in organic honey.
My cock swelled uncomfortably in my pants, and I couldn’t even pretend to be shocked about that since this was at least my twenty-fifth Hawk-based erection in the past seven days.
How the fuck had we gotten to this place?
Hawk was trying to change the rules of our friendship in the middle of the game, and I couldn’t decide whether to be angry or… worried.
There was clearly something going on with him.
Something weird. Something potentially dangerous.
Maybe it was simply the resort development dredging up grief over his dad and causing him to lash out.
Or maybe, I thought darkly, recalling a certain pink-haired employee, Hawk had been listening to the wrong people.
The crunch of Hawk’s boots ahead of me on the trail was familiar enough to make it clear he was angry, even if I hadn’t seen the frustration on his face when he’d made his defiant stand.
But when his footsteps paused, I glanced up and found that he’d stopped right under a break in the canopy and tilted his face toward the sun.
My gut clenched. Christ, the man was beautiful—wide stance, thick calves, firm shoulders, head held high, so freaking alive—and Christ, he looked lonely.
Worry won out over anger.
“Hawk,” I croaked. “Hey, wait up.” I walked faster until we were pacing side by side. “Look, I’m sorry I upset you. That wasn’t my intention. Not ever, but for sure not today. Truce, okay? Can we finish our hike together? I don’t want this to come between us. You’re too important to me.”
Hawk closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. He made a mpfh noise that wasn’t the enthusiastic agreement I’d been hoping for, but when he started walking again, he made room for me beside him on the trail.
“Are you—?” I began tentatively.
“I was just thinking about my dad again,” he cut in. “Did I ever tell you he played drums in a band when he was in high school?”
I shook my head, grateful for the seemingly random topic shift. “No. Was he good?”
“Nope,” Hawk said, popping the p. He grinned.
“He was awful. They called him the Mangler. Uncle Drew still has a T-shirt from a batch they had made up when they played at a local festival. It says The Narwhals featuring the Mangler.” He laughed, and the sound jolted my heart back into its normal rhythm.
“What you said before, about him being proud of me… it really hit me because I think about that a lot. What would he think of me and what I’m doing with my life?
What would he think of the plans for this place?
” He gestured up the trail, toward the peak.
“Would he have been more persuasive than I am? Would he have convinced people that the development was a terrible idea? It’s good to remember that there was stuff he wasn’t good at, too, and that he just kept trying his best.”
“Bird, you’re an incredible person. You—” I reached out a hand to touch his leanly muscled biceps, but Hawk sidestepped.
“I don’t need comfort or a pep talk right now,” he said softly. “I know there are plenty of things I’m good at. It’s just…” He broke off, shaking his head.
I shoved my hands in my pockets. “You mean, are you good at the things that were important to him. Does part of him live in you. I get it.”
Hawk’s gaze flew to mine. “You don’t talk about your dad much. About… that time.”
“No. Partly that’s because I was young when I lost him, and I don’t remember him much.
But I do sometimes wonder… I’m sure he’d love me if he were still alive, but would he like me?
My mom used to talk about him playing tuba in the marching band back in high school and how good he was.
Would he be disappointed I never learned an instrument and didn’t get any of his musical talent? ”
Hawk glanced over at me. “You did, though. You’re a good singer.” It was a reluctant admission, like he was throwing me a bone against his better judgment.
“I’m a passably okay singer,” I corrected. “And that’s less about talent and more because I had hours of practice when I cooked at that dinner theater I told you about back in Portland. Now I can hardly cook without singing under my breath. Like Pavlov’s dog.”
“I like it,” he said. “I mean, all of us do. Even the customers talk about it when they catch you singing.”
“Well, if the Narwhals make a comeback to the stage, I’ll be ready.”
Hawk sputtered out a laugh, and I felt victorious.
“Oh, god, no. Drew still plays guitar sometimes—mostly for Marco when he’s trying to get back in his good graces after a fuckup.
” He shook his head, amused. “He’s not great at it either, which is kinda sweet.
He does this really loud, reeeeeally off-key version of ‘You Are So Beautiful,’ and when he gets to the warbly high bit, Sally Ann and Black Bear start barking their heads off like he’s hitting notes only dogs can hear.
But Drew doesn’t mind looking a little foolish, as long as it makes Marco smile. I think that’s what true love is.”
I snorted. “I think Marco listening to that racket and smiling anyway is what true love is.” I lifted one shoulder. “Not that I know the first thing about relationship stuff.”
Hawk’s smile faded, and he rolled his eyes. “Maybe the only reason you don’t know about relationship stuff is because you haven’t tried relationship stuff, just like you weren’t born knowing how to play the damn tuba.”
I opened my mouth, then shut it again and shook my head. “Hawk… what’s going on? I know you’re upset about your dad, but it feels like you’re angry at me. Is this about me saying no to the, uh…” I cleared my throat. “The cherry thing? Because that’s not fair—”
“No,” he bit out. Then a moment later, he dragged a frustrated hand through his hair and admitted, “Or, okay, a little bit yes. It’s not just the turning down.
I could deal with that. Probably. But your reasons for it don’t make sense.
My brothers? My age? You don’t do relationships, and I’m required to want one because you say so?
It feels like bullshit. And I’m talking ‘Mr. Darcy telling Elizabeth he can’t marry her because of her inferior connections’-level bullshit.
You remember how much I hate that part of the book, right? ”
“I do,” I said with feeling. “But, Hawk—” I reached for him, but he sidestepped again, bunching his hands into fists, and I let my own hand drop uselessly to my side. I hadn’t realized just how much we’d casually touched—and how much I’d come to expect it—until that moment.
“It’s not all you, though. I’m just so angry at everything these days.” He whispered the last words like he was confessing a dark crime. “I don’t feel like myself.”
“I’ve seen you angry before. You were angry the day we met, remember?” I teased gently.
“It’s not the same. This… it’s… I feel like I don’t have control over any part of my life.
All the things I love are slipping away, and I don’t know how to hold them.
I don’t know what I can count on anymore.
I’m angry at my dad for dying and for Webb treating me like a child.
I’m angry that the town is all up in my library checkouts but can’t muster the energy to care about the one issue I want them to care about.
I’m angry that Evola wants to ruin this place and that poor, old Jeremiah Fogg didn’t…
I don’t know… turn the land into a permanent wilderness preserve before he died a hundred years ago. ”
“I get it—” I began, but Hawk cut me off.
“Oh, I’m not even close to done. I’m also angry that Helena Fortnum texts like a teenager circa 2009.
I’m angry that you’re obviously trying so hard to listen to me, but for the first time, I don’t feel like you’re really listening to me.
I’m angry at Simon Wentworth for being so freaking nice and handsome when by all rights he should be a warty, mustache-twirling evil villain.
I’m angry that my brothers have fallen in love with the most amazing, wonderful men, while I can’t even lose my virginity without embarrassing myself.
I’m angry at people for thinking it’s front-page news that I’m angry.
And I’m angry at myself for being angry when none of it makes sense. ”
“Hawk—”
“No wonder you don’t want to have sex with me. I have become a veritable river of salt, and my banks are overflowing,” he said miserably.
I pressed my lips together to keep from pointing out that Simon Wentworth wasn’t really all that handsome—not the point, Jack, god—and focused on Hawk.
Hawk had trusted me with a lot of things over the years, but this felt different. More. Like he was being vulnerable in a new way, showing a side of himself that scared him a little.
He sounded so lost and alone my arms ached to hold him as I had earlier.
I wanted to whisper nonsense about everything being okay, that I would make it okay, that we would make it okay together because I was right beside him and I always would be.
Nothing he could do or say would scare me away.
No matter what else changed, he could always count on me.