Chapter 20
My nose wasn’t cold. That was the first thing that popped into my head when I woke up.
I was in my hammock, snuggled into my sleeping bag, swaying lightly as I stretched my legs.
My nose wasn’t cold, so I wasn’t outside. With that realization, my eyes flicked open, staring up at a white ceiling intersected with dark wood beams.
The gatehouse. Hawk’s gatehouse.
The night before came flooding back, and my gut twisted with shame, tears prickling my eyes. I never wanted anyone to see me like that. Especially not Hawk. Humiliation didn’t quite cover it.
It wasn’t usually that bad. Last night wasn’t the first time I”d slept in Heartstone Manor since we’d all moved home. There had been thunderstorms and snap freezes, days of rain, and high winds. I hated sleeping in that fucking house, but not enough to risk a widow-maker branch falling on my hammock. The woods and high winds were not a safe combination, especially if there had been a lot of rain and tree roots were loose in the ground.
My rooms were out of the question. I hadn’t slept in that bed since I was seventeen. When I was denied my hammock in the woods, I always chose the sunroom and that wide wicker armchair. Surrounded by windows, it was almost as good as being outside. Usually, when I had to sleep in the Manor, I had an extra glass of wine at dinner, took some melatonin, and I got through the night.
No big deal. Everybody coped with their stuff in their own way. That was what I liked to tell myself. But last night?—
I didn’t know. I was no psychologist, but maybe between the attack on the trail and my twisted ankle, knowing my attacker had watched me in the night?—
All of it mixed together was too much.
I didn”t usually remember my dreams. It had been years since I had the nightmares. Last night I hadn’t been able to fight them. I’d curled into a tight ball in my armchair, clutching the sleeping bag around me, closed my eyes, and I’d dreamed.
I dreamed of my dark bedroom and the big figure in the chair beside my bed. Of the electric feel of being watched, how it charged the air even in the dark. His pudgy, hot fingers stroking my bare arm. The greedy gleam of his eyes in the dark. The way he said my name. Quinney. Like I was a child, long after I wasn’t. Quinney.
I never dreamed about him. I never thought about him. Not anymore. He was gone. My father was dead. No one here could hurt me anymore.
It was far easier to believe that in the gatehouse. At night, in the Manor— Just the thought of it made my skin crawl.
I sat up in the hammock and looked around at Hawk’s gatehouse. Parker was right—it needed a ton of work. I didn”t think the place had been updated since the fifties. But it was still beautiful. From the hammock, I could see the edges of the stonework outside around the windows, the wide-planked hardwood floor, and vintage cabinets. The ceilings were high, and the contrast of the wide, dark beams was gorgeous. When Parker was done with the place, it would be a gem.
Hawk didn’t have much furniture and nothing in the way of decoration. There was a monstrosity of a velvet couch, ugly as hell, in a weird mustardy green that screamed the seventies. Parker must have found it in the attics. It was wide and long and looked soft. I felt a little less guilty about Hawk sleeping on it. He had two camp chairs sitting opposite the couch. A table and folding chairs closer to the small kitchen. That was it.
The place might have been run-down and mostly empty, but as I”d come to expect from Hawk, it was neat as a pin. An insulated carafe sat on the Formica counter in the kitchen beside a coffee mug I recognized from Heartstone’s kitchens and a plate with a silver cover. I’d slept hours later than usual and my stomach was rumbling. My heart melted. He’d brought me breakfast.
The second my eyes had opened, I’d known Hawk wasn’t in the gatehouse. I could feel his absence, but he’d brought me breakfast. I didn”t know what to do with this man.
My current plan was to wait him out. It had stung when he told me what we”d shared in the cabin was over. Of course it stung. I liked him a lot. I was happy when I was with Hawk, and the sex had been out of this world. I didn’t want to give any of that up.
But he’d made it clear it wasn’t going to happen. He wasn’t a relationship guy. I was his best friend”s little sister. He worked for my family. All excellent reasons to keep his distance. I got it. And something told me there was more to it than his very good reasons not to have a thing with me. Stuff that wasn’t about Griffen or his job. Stuff that was about Hawk and why he thought he wasn’t a relationship guy.
I understood his objections. I did. But I wasn’t walking away from him. There was something between us. That had been no regular one-night stand. We had something, and it was better than anything I’d imagined for myself.
I wasn’t going to fight him, not head-on, but I could be patient. Hawk said he didn”t want anything to do with me. Then he rescued me and brought me into his lair. He brought me breakfast. I’d learned to pay more attention to what people did than what they said. And Hawk’s actions didn’t say it was over. So I’d wait and see. And in the meantime…
I pulled my legs out of the sleeping bag, wincing at the tenderness in my sprained ankle. I could already tell it was better than the day before, but only fractionally. Fuck. This was really going to screw up all my plans.
I raised my knees and pivoted, hooking my legs over the side of the hammock, and saw my crutches laid out perpendicular to the hammock on my right side.
I smiled to myself. There was something so hot about a man who understood the importance of details, including bringing me coffee and breakfast.
The hammock was a little higher off the ground than I was used to, but not so much that I couldn’t get in and out. I hopped down on my left foot, hanging on to the hammock for balance. Letting my weight fall forward, I caught myself with my hands, successfully managing to keep my right foot from taking any weight. Getting back to my feet, crutches in hand, was a little harder, but there was coffee on the line so I made it work.
Standing mostly on my left foot at the kitchen counter, I poured a cup of coffee and looked around, spotting my pack from the cabin beside the stairs. With everything he had on his plate the day before, he’d remembered my pack. Yeah, he was worth waiting for.
My gaze shifted to the front window, and I stared across the lawn at Heartstone Manor, austere, stunning, and surrounded by unbroken snow. My heart ached. I always said I hated Heartstone, but in truth, I loved it. It was my home, and when I was very young it had been my safe place, an endless playground I shared with my brothers and sisters.
Most of all, Heartstone Manor held my memories of my mother. There had been so much love there when she was alive.
Then she died, and my father ruined everything. He and his creepy friend and their plans for me.
But my father was dead, and his creepy friend was gone. For good.
The sun sparkled on the snow around the home I’d once loved, and I sighed. Maybe it might be time to deal with my bullshit. Not today. Not tomorrow. But soon. I loved my hammock and my campsite in the woods, but…there was eccentric and outdoorsy, and then there was just being fucked up. Maybe at the grand age of twenty-seven, I was old enough to stop pretending they were the same thing.
I shivered, remembering the dream I”d had the night before, the panic that had hit me when Hawk said I had to stay in the Manor. My heart had pounded, going from zero to sixty in a blink, my lungs tight, my body frozen. I’d shut down just at the thought of sleeping in my room.
A flash of shame hit me, remembering that Hawk had seen me so weak. I wasn’t weak, damn it. I was just a little fucked up about this one thing. And I would deal with it.
I would, but not today.
I finished the first cup of coffee and peeked under the lid covering the plate—one of Finn’s spectacular breakfast burritos. My stomach rumbled, but it could wait. Grabbing my crutches, I crossed the room to my pack and got some clean clothes.
I made my way to the powder room beside the kitchen. It was a tight squeeze with my clothes and toiletries and crutches. And most importantly, it had no shower. I thought longingly of the last time I”d had a proper shower—the wet wipes in the cabin had been good enough when that was all I had, but nothing beat a hot shower. Crutches on stairs sucked, but I was more than a little overripe and had nothing better to do with my time. I shoved my toiletries and change of clothes in my daypack, pulled it on, and began the arduous process of climbing the stairs. It went better than I expected. I’d barely broken a sweat by the time I reached the second floor.