17. HAWK
HAWK
The kettle starts whistling low on the stove, and I get to it fast, pulling it off before the sound builds. No point waking her. She finally went down a couple hours ago. With how rough her week’s been, sleep’s the best thing she can get right now.
I pour hot water over the chamomile tea bag, watching the steam curl up and disappear.
The kitchen’s quiet, the kind of silence I usually like.
But tonight, it feels… different. Like something’s missing even though I know exactly where she is—in my bed, trying to keep herself together after everything that’s hit her all at once.
She’s been crashing at my place the last couple of days. Not because we planned it, or because of some romantic thing. Hell, I wish that were the case.
No, she ended up here because everything went to hell. It started with that damn article.
First, the gossip article exploded online—pictures, voice recordings, trashy speculation.
Then the vultures came. Reporters, photographers, nosy-ass neighbors.
They found her at Bianca’s apartment within a day.
They parked out front, snapping pics through the windows, asking bullshit questions like, “Is your father ashamed?” and “Are you sleeping with all three of them?” Some even tried to bribe the neighbors to get into the building.
It was a mess. A storm. Photos, recordings, speculation—who she’s sleeping with, why she’s hanging around the club, what kind of game she’s playing. Half the stuff in it wasn’t even real, and the rest? Twisted just enough to hurt.
When she called me to ask if she could crash at my place, it was pretty much a no-brainer. I would do anything for this girl. I may not completely understand the why of it yet, but I would go to any lengths for her.
My house isn’t much. Just a two-bedroom tucked behind an old hardware store about five blocks from the clubhouse. Small porch. Faded paint. No one thinks twice about it. It’s the kind of place no one looks at twice, which is exactly why I picked it. I like it quiet.
And now… Marcy’s here. When she came over, she was sick as hell two days after eating some bad takeout. Throwing up until she was shaking and weak, her skin cold and clammy. She couldn’t even keep water down.
I’ve never played nurse before, but I did what I could—cold rags, holding her hair back, making her drink Gatorade one sip at a time.
And when she finally passed out after vomiting for what felt like the hundredth time, I just sat beside her, listening to her breathe. Making sure she was still okay.
She’s better now. Not great, but better. Eating again. Color coming back to her face. Still exhausted, but looking less like a ghost.
I carry the mug of tea into the bedroom and pause in the doorway. She’s lying on the bed, facing the window, my old t-shirt hanging off one shoulder. The shirt swallows her whole, but she wears it like it belongs to her.
Her breathing is steady. Peaceful. The first real sleep she’s had in days.
I set the tea on the nightstand and just watch her for a second.
This wasn’t part of the plan.
She was supposed to lie low for a night or two. Regroup. Get her feet back under her.
But now it’s been days. And I can’t pretend it’s not doing something to me—waking up and hearing her in the kitchen, curled up on the couch in my flannel shirt, brushing her teeth with my toothbrush because she forgot to pack one.
Marcy Hollingbow. Chaos wrapped in soft curves and smartass comebacks.
I rub the back of my neck and glance out the window. Press is still on her ass. CJ’s still gritting his teeth about the fallout.
The steam from her chamomile tea gently curls upward as I settle beside her, the mug already forgotten. Marcy stirs slightly, her eyes fluttering open. For a second, her expression is soft and uncertain, until she sees me and offers a sleepy smile that makes my chest squeeze.
“Hey, you,” she whispers, voice raspy from sleep. She pushes up slowly, blinking away the exhaustion. “Did I pass out again?”
“Yeah, finally got some decent rest.” I hand her the tea, my fingers brushing against hers. “Thought you might need something warm.”
Marcy takes the cup, cupping it gently with both hands. Her eyes close as she inhales deeply, smiling gratefully. “You’ve been incredible, Hawk. I don’t know how I’d get through this without you.”
I wave off her gratitude, slightly embarrassed by how sincere she sounds. “Nonsense. You’d do fine. You’re tougher than you give yourself credit for.”
She smiles at me softly, and I know she doesn’t fully believe me. But the sincerity in her eyes sends warmth flooding through my chest. She takes a slow sip of tea, looking calmer than she has in days.
“Still,” she continues, watching me closely, “it means a lot. You didn’t have to let me stay here, let alone nurse me back to health. You must be sick of me by now.”
“Never.” My voice is rougher than I intend, and she lifts an eyebrow at me, her lips quirking in amusement. “Besides, what kind of friend would I be if I just let you fend for yourself against nosy reporters and bad sushi?”
Marcy laughs softly, and it’s the sweetest damn sound. She leans back against the pillows, holding her cup close to her chest. Her expression softens, growing thoughtful.
“I think this is the first time in my life I haven’t felt completely alone,” she confesses quietly.
“Even before everything went to hell with my dad, I always felt like I was just trying to meet someone’s expectations.
But here, with you…” She pauses, biting her lower lip. “I feel seen, Hawk. Really seen.”
Her words hit deep, and for a second, I don’t know what to say. I shift a little closer, holding her gaze. “You deserve that. Hell, Marcy, you deserve so much more.”
She studies my face, searching for something. Whatever she sees, she seems satisfied because she leans back, a more playful glint returning to her eyes.
“What about you? What does Hawk dream about when he’s not rescuing damsels in distress?”
I chuckle, surprised by her shift in mood but welcoming it. “Me? Mostly just open roads, good company, and a quiet life someday. Maybe a place near the coast, restoring old bikes. Nothing fancy.”
Her eyes brighten, and she smiles knowingly. “Funny. I could totally see that for you.”
Before I can answer, she shifts in bed, wrapping an arm around herself and swaying side to side, clearly uncomfortable. I frown, concern tightening my gut.
“You okay?”
Marcy blushes a little, laughing softly. “Yeah, it’s stupid. My nipples have been killing me the last few days—probably some leftover weirdness from being sick.”
A grin spreads over my face before I can stop it, and my tone slips back easily into teasing territory. “Well, if you need someone to, you know, lend a helping hand… or mouth… I’m here. I mean, I do consider myself pretty experienced in nipple relief techniques.”
Marcy bursts out laughing, blushing deeper as she tries—and fails—to look stern. “Hawk, you’re shameless.”
“Guilty,” I agree, chuckling along with her. “But hey, you laughed. Mission accomplished.”
Her laughter fades into a gentle sigh, and she gives me an affectionate look. “You’re ridiculous. But thank you. I really needed that.”
“You’re doing better,” I say. It’s not a question.
She shrugs. “A little.”
I wait. Watch her. She’s been chewing on something for hours now, maybe days. And it’s not just the nipples, I can tell. Something else is bothering her.
“What’s on your mind?” I say after a beat.
She hugs her knees tighter. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
She hesitates. That pause where she decides whether to keep it in or let it out. I stay still. Make space.
“Girls like me,” she says finally.
That gets my attention. I lean forward, elbows on my knees, but I don’t say anything yet.
She looks at the fire, not at me. “I’ve been thinking… about how lucky I was to land here. With you. With CJ and Ryder. With Sam. I mean, what are the odds, right?” She exhales. “Most girls don’t get that. They leave one hell and walk straight into another.”
I stay quiet.
“I keep thinking about doing something,” she continues. “For other girls like me. Giving them somewhere safe to land. Like… a place to stay. For a while. Until they can get back on their feet.”
“Like a shelter?”
“Yeah, kind of. Not just a bed and some paperwork, though. A real start. A chance.”
I nod slowly. “Sounds like an important charity.”
She glances over at me, almost like she’s surprised I’m not brushing it off. “That would be good,” she says.
There’s something soft in her voice. Like she just let a piece of herself out and isn’t sure what I’ll do with it.
I stand, and she blinks up at me. “What?” she asks.
“You need to get out of your head,” I say, glancing at the bathroom door, an idea striking me suddenly. “How about I run you a bath? It might help you relax. You still look like you could use it.”
“Oh, no, Hawk, you don’t have to… I’m already feeling much better.”
“I insist.” I stand up, gently squeezing her hand before I head to the bathroom. “You deserve a little pampering. Just give me a minute.”
I step inside the small bathroom, adjusting the water to the perfect warmth, adding some bath salts I forgot I even had. When I glance back, Marcy is watching from the doorway, a soft look on her face that stops me short.
“I don’t think anyone’s ever done this for me before,” she whispers, clearly touched.
“You’ve been through enough shit, Marcy. Let someone take care of you for once.” My voice lowers, all teasing gone, replaced by something deeper. More real. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”
She steps forward, taking my hand in hers, her thumb gently stroking across my knuckles.
“I’m starting to believe that,” she says softly.