Chapter 9
Nine
Emma
Hawk let go of my wrist and stepped back just enough to look around the room, like he was taking inventory of everything inside it.
I stood where I was for a moment, still trying to process the fact that a ruthless outlaw biker was standing in my childhood home like it was the most normal thing in the world.
My house suddenly felt smaller.
Or maybe it was just him.
Hawk filled the space without even trying.
His eyes swept over the room once, slow and calculating, before settling back on me. It was like he was making sure I was still standing there.
“Put something comfortable on.”
His voice carried that same rough authority that seemed to live permanently in his chest.
I blinked at him. “What?”
“You heard me.”
His eyes dropped to my wrist again, his jaw tightening slightly. “We’re getting that looked at.”
I shifted awkwardly. “I told you I can go tomorrow—”
“No.”
The word was flat. Final. Not loud, but somehow heavier than if he’d shouted it.
He tilted his head toward the closet. “Change.”
I stared at him for another second before sighing quietly. “You’re really not letting this go, are you?”
Hawk leaned one shoulder against the dresser like a man settling in for a long night. “Not happening.”
His gaze flicked toward the closet again. “You need help changing?”
My face warmed instantly. “No.”
The word came out faster than I meant it to.
Hawk raised one eyebrow.
“Then get moving.”
I turned toward the closet before he could see the embarrassment creeping across my face.
Changing with one functional hand turned out to be exactly as difficult as I expected.
Pulling my shirt over my head required some creative maneuvering that involved a lot of awkward twisting and muttered swearing under my breath.
“If I die fighting a sweatshirt,” I muttered, “this is incredibly embarrassing.”
The sleeve snagged around my injured wrist twice before I managed to carefully work it off without crying out.
Hawk didn’t say anything.
But I could feel his eyes on me the entire time— not wandering, not distracted—just… watching.
Which somehow made the whole process even more awkward.
Eventually, I managed to pull on a loose hoodie and a pair of soft sweatpants. It wasn’t pretty, but it worked.
Once I finished, I slipped past him into the attached bathroom.
The bright bathroom lights made me squint immediately.
My reflection in the mirror made me wince.
Mascara had smeared down my cheeks in dark streaks.
My eyes were still slightly red from crying earlier, and my hair looked like it had survived a hurricane.
I turned the faucet on and grabbed a washcloth. Cold water hit my skin as I started scrubbing the mascara away carefully.
Behind me, I heard Hawk shift in the bedroom. A few seconds passed, and then his voice drifted through the doorway.
“You planning on sleeping in there?”
I rolled my eyes as I wiped the last of the mascara from under my eye. “I’m washing my face.”
“You’re taking too long.”
I dried my face with a towel and leaned closer to the mirror to check my eyes.
“Emma.” His tone carried a warning now.
I stepped back into the bedroom. “I said I’ll go tomorrow.”
Hawk pushed himself off the dresser immediately. “No, you won’t.”
“I will,” I insisted. “It’s late and—”
“Your wrist is broken.”
“I’ll survive one night.”
He took two slow steps toward me. The movement was calm, controlled. But something about the way he looked at me made the argument die halfway up my throat.
“You’re not sleeping with a broken bone,” he said flatly.
“You don’t get to be stubborn about this.”
“I’ve done worse.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Get your ass moving.”
The command snapped through the room before I could argue again. I stared at him. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I get that a lot.”
Before I could say anything else, he reached down and grabbed my purse off the chair beside the bed. “What are you doing?” I asked.
Hawk opened it and immediately pulled out my car keys. “We’re leaving.”
“I can drive myself—”
“No you can’t.”
He lifted my injured wrist slightly with two fingers before I could pull away. “Unless you plan on steering with your knee.”
I sighed. He had a point. Still… “You’re very bossy.”
“Get used to it.”
I grabbed a pair of slip-on shoes and followed him downstairs.
The house felt eerily quiet again as we walked toward the back door that led to the garage. Hawk unlocked it and stepped inside first.
The garage light flicked on with a soft click. My car sat parked neatly in the center—my sweet little powder-blue Volkswagen Beetle.
The moment Hawk saw it, he stopped. Completely still.
Like his brain had short-circuited.
His shoulders went rigid.
Then he spoke. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
I turned and blinked at him. “What?”
He pointed at the Beetle like it had personally offended him. “I’m not driving that.”
I couldn’t help it—a snort of laughter escaped me. It was the first time I’d laughed all night.
“What’s wrong with it?”
Hawk stared at the car like it had insulted his ancestors. “Everything.”
“It’s a perfectly good car.”
“It’s a toy.”
“It’s adorable.”
“It’s humiliating.”
I crossed my arms. “Well, too bad.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “If I have to go to the hospital tonight,” I continued sweetly, “then you have to drive my car.”
Hawk stared at me for a long moment. His jaw tightened. Then he muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse. “Unbelievable.”
But he still walked toward the driver’s side door. The big outlaw biker ducked slightly as he climbed into my tiny Beetle. The sight was so ridiculous I almost laughed again.
But as he leaned over the center console to adjust the seat, his shoulder brushed against me, and the scent of leather and smoke wrapped around the small space of the car.
My laugh caught halfway out.
Hawk sat there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel like it had personally betrayed him. Then he glanced over at me. “If anyone from the club sees me in this thing…”
I slid into the passenger seat and shut the door. “They won’t.”
Hawk started the engine with a deep sigh. “You better hope not.”
He glanced around the tiny interior again. “Because if the club ever sees me driving this thing…”
His jaw tightened. “Someone’s dying.”
—-
The hospital parking lot was almost empty, which made sense considering it was well past midnight.
The Beetle rattled slightly as Hawk pulled into a parking spot near the emergency entrance.
The engine clicked softly once he shut it off, and for a moment, neither of us moved.
The fluorescent lights from the ER entrance washed the parking lot in pale white, casting long shadows across the asphalt.
Hawk glanced over at me, his expression unreadable. “Come on.”
I pushed the door open and stepped out, the cool night air hitting my face immediately. As I shifted my arm wrong, pain shot up my wrist again.
Okay. Maybe this hospital thing had been the right call. Maybe.
Hawk was already walking around the front of the car by the time I closed the door. The man moved fast for someone his size, and I struggled to keep up with his long strides.
He stopped beside me, his eyes dropping instantly to my wrist as if he expected it to have somehow gotten worse in the thirty seconds since we parked. “You good to walk?” he asked.
“I think I can manage twenty feet,” I replied, trying to sound nonchalant.
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Twenty feet,” he muttered, as if weighing the distance with skepticism. Then he jerked his chin toward the entrance. “Move.”
The automatic doors slid open as we walked inside, a rush of cool air greeting us.
The ER waiting room was quiet. A few people sat scattered in the chairs—an older man with his ankle propped on a stool, a tired-looking mom rocking a baby, and a teenager holding an ice pack against his nose like it was the most normal thing in the world.
The receptionist looked up when we approached the desk. Her eyes landed on Hawk first, then widened slightly.
Which… fair. The man looked like six feet of bad decisions and trouble standing under hospital lighting.
“What seems to be the problem tonight?” she asked.
“I fell,” I said, the lie rolling off my tongue easily. Casual. Like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hawk’s head turn slightly toward me—a quick glance. Sharp. Surprised. But he didn’t say anything.
The receptionist nodded and began typing. “And when did this happen?”
“About an hour ago,” Hawk answered smoothly, his voice steady.
Her fingers continued tapping across the keyboard, focused and efficient. “Did you hit your head?”
“No,” Hawk said, his tone clipped.
“Any dizziness?”
“No.”
Her eyes flicked between us briefly, assessing the dynamic. “You’re her…?”
“Boyfriend.” The word came out without hesitation, as if he’d rehearsed it.
I didn’t even bother correcting him this time.
The receptionist handed me a clipboard. “Fill this out, and we’ll get you checked in.”
I took the pen awkwardly with my left hand. Writing with my non-dominant hand was about as graceful as you’d expect, with letters that looked more like squiggles than words.
Halfway through the paperwork, I realized something. Hawk hadn’t sat down. He was standing directly behind my chair, not pacing, not wandering—just standing there. Watching. Like a very large, leather-clad bodyguard.
I glanced back at him. “You can sit, you know.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re going to loom over me the whole time?”
“Yep.”
I sighed and finished the paperwork, the tension in the air thickening as I tried to focus.
A few minutes later, a nurse appeared through the double doors. “Emma?”
I stood carefully. “That’s me.”
The nurse smiled, her demeanor warm. “Come on back.”
I followed her through the doors, Hawk falling into step beside me like a shadow. She glanced back at him, clearly surprised.
“You can wait in the lobby if you’d like.”
Hawk didn’t even slow down. “I’m good.”
She looked at me. I shrugged. “He’s stubborn.”
She laughed quietly and kept walking.
The exam room was small and bright. I climbed onto the edge of the bed while the nurse gently took my wrist. “That’s pretty swollen,” she said, her voice compassionate.
“No kidding,” I replied, trying to keep the sarcasm in check.
Hawk stepped closer—too close. He stood just off my shoulder, arms crossed, eyes locked on my wrist like it had personally offended him.
The nurse rotated my hand slightly. Pain shot up my arm, and I hissed.
Hawk moved instantly, his hand landing beside me on the bed, leaning closer. “Easy,” he said quietly, his voice low.
The nurse glanced between us, a knowing look in her eyes. “You her boyfriend?”
My head snapped up. “No.”
Hawk said at the exact same time, “Yes.”
I turned slowly and stared at him. He didn’t look back at me; his attention was still on my wrist.
The nurse smiled. “Well, she’s lucky someone brought her in.”
Lucky. That word sat weird in my chest.
She finished examining my wrist and nodded. “We’ll get some X-rays.”
A few minutes later, a tech appeared with a wheelchair.
I stared at it. “You’re kidding.”
“Hospital policy,” he said cheerfully.
“I can walk.”
“Still policy.”
I sighed dramatically, feeling the weight of the situation. “This is humiliating.”
Hawk’s mouth twitched slightly. “You’ll survive.”
The tech wheeled me down the hallway while Hawk walked beside us, still looming, still watching, like a hawk—no pun intended.
The X-ray room was cold, sending a chill through me. The technician positioned my arm carefully on the table. “Try not to move.”
Easy for him to say.
Hawk stood against the wall with his arms crossed, his eyes never leaving me. It was intense—like being under a spotlight.
The technician finished the images and stepped out to send them to the doctor. A few minutes passed in silence, the tension hanging in the air.
Finally, the doctor came in holding the X-ray images. “Well,” he said, pointing at the screen. “You’ve got a clean fracture in the radius.”
I sighed. “Of course I do.”
The doctor smiled, clearly used to patients with similar reactions. “We’ll get you set up with a cast tonight.”
Hawk stepped closer again, his posture shifting with concern. “How long?”
The doctor glanced at him. “Six weeks.”
Hawk nodded once, like that answer had been filed away somewhere important.
The nurse returned a few minutes later with the casting materials. The process took longer than I expected. Cold plaster wrapped around my arm while she carefully positioned my wrist. By the time she finished, my arm was encased in a bright white cast from my palm to halfway up my forearm.
“There we go,” she said, stepping back to admire her work. “Try to keep it elevated tonight.”
I looked down at the cast. “Well,” I muttered, “this is attractive.”
Before I could say anything else, Hawk stepped closer. His hand came up slowly, carefully, like the cast was something fragile instead of plaster. His fingers brushed lightly over the edge of it, not testing, not pressing—just… checking.
His jaw tightened slightly as he looked down at my arm. Then he said quietly, “Next time someone grabs you, call me first.”
My stomach flipped, and I had absolutely no idea why. The protectiveness that radiated from him was palpable, igniting a spark deep within me. It was both comforting and unsettling, leaving me with a strange blend of emotions I wasn’t ready to unpack just yet.
But in that moment, with his presence looming over me and his concern evident, I felt a surge of something more than just gratitude. Something that hinted at a deeper connection, something I wasn’t quite ready to admit.
Hawk’s eyes softened for just a second, and it made my heart race. It was as if he recognized the weight of what had just happened, not just to my wrist, but to me.
And I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning.