66. Wren
Turning off my engine, I stared up at the front door of the house Hawk was renting in Grand Rapids, my heart in my throat.
Was I crazy for coming here?
Maybe.
Was that enough to make me want to turn around and go home?
Absolutely not.
Earlier, just as I was returning to the house after a finding nothing but dead ends with Jillian and the church, I’d been shocked to see Cooper climbing out of Hawk’s massive SUV. It turned out that if I’d just calmed my ass down for a second and actually thought about it, I would probably have known exactly where to look for my daughter.
But in my panic—and my guilt—I had decided that action was better, and raced out of the house like my ass was on fire.
The fact that Hawk was able to find her—find her and talk to her—was something I was still coming to terms with.
It wasn’t that I was upset. Far from it. I was exceedingly glad that Hawk and Cooper had had a bit of a breakthrough in their relationship. It was honestly more than I could have ever hoped for, the two of them finding some common ground.
When I’d asked Cooper about it, all she’d said was that Hawk seemed ‘pretty cool’ before she disappeared back into her bedroom with a promise that she’d never leave like that again.
That was it. No insight into what they’d discussed. Nothing about how she felt about finding out that he was her father.
Just that he seemed cool.
But I supposed that was enough for her, so I’d let it be enough for me, too.
Lifting my hand, I toyed with the necklace I was wearing, the unfamiliar weight a welcome distraction.
Tonight, after Cooper was once again tucked safely into her bed, I’d gone to the small box on my dresser and pulled out the velvet bag, ready to face my past head on.
The necklace wasn’t much, just a length of soft black leather with a simple lobster claw clasp. It hadn’t even taken me twenty minutes to make and it weighed hardly nothing.
But what was hanging from the leather carried a heavy weight indeed.
Looking down, I spun the guitar pick in my fingers, the stylized script on the back displaying the name of a man who I was quickly learning was deeper and more multifaceted than anyone truly knew.
And tonight, I needed to show him exactly how much he meant to me.
Blowing out a breath, I tucked the necklace back inside by shirt before I climbed out of my car and headed up to the front door, raising my fist to knock before I could talk myself out of it. The lights were on, even this late, and I could hear movement inside, the low rumbling of voices in conversation filtering through the wood. But when the door opened, it wasn’t Hawk who stood there, but Charlie. He looked like he wasn’t at all surprised to see me, his soft, understanding smile bolstering my courage just a little.
“Hi, Wren,” he said, opening the door wide. “He’s in the kitchen.” Charlie jerked his head behind him, then reached for the keys that were sitting on the small entry table by the door. “I was just heading out anyway.”
He wasn’t, but I appreciated him so much in that moment that I let him think I believed him.
“Thanks, Charlie,” I said, offering a smile of my own. “For everything.”
For a moment, Charlie froze, his gaze meeting mine, and I knew he was remembering the first time I had spoken those words to him, standing in the snow outside the tour bus. Charlie seemed to be exactly the kind of person Hawk needed in his life, and I had been just as grateful for him then as I was now.
“You’re doing it again,” Charlie said softly, looking back into the house, his face concerned.
“Doing what?”
“Letting him be the man I know he can be. The man I know he wants to be. Whatever it is about you, Wren Blackburn, that makes Hawk Jameson believe in himself, I want you to keep doing it. The world deserves to see him as the man he is, not the man Castor Records crafted him to be.”
With that, Charlie stepped off the porch and disappeared into the darkness like a ghost, his words leaving a chill in the air in his wake.
I didn’t think I was doing anything in particular, really, but the idea that Hawk’s closest friends noticed he was different with me had my pulse racing under my skin.
The need to see him was like a living thing inside me, and as I went into the house, I knew that after tonight there would be no exorcising Hawk from my life like I had the last time. No burying thoughts of him in a small corner of my mind, to be pulled out in my loneliest moments, offering only bittersweet company.
No, this time, Hawk had tattooed himself on my heart, and no matter how things between us ended, there would be no hiding the wreckage he’d leave behind.
Swallowing past the lump of fear in my throat, I headed inside, closing the door softly behind me.
The house wasn’t big—none of the houses in this area were—so it only took me a few steps to find him, seated in the kitchen, a glass in front of him as he leaned both elbows on the table, his head in his hands.
Staring at him, this man who had haunted my thoughts in one way or another for more than twenty years, it occurred to me again just how lonely he must be in his life. How isolated. I’d always seen him as apart, somehow, a man above the rest due to his talent and his status, but when it came down to it, he was still a man. Someone who needed support and understanding and compassion as much as the rest of us.
As I watched, Hawk sat back a little, shaking out his hair and reaching for the glass, downing the amber contents in one swallow before he let out a heavy sigh.
“Not a vodka man anymore?” I asked, forcing lightness into my tone that I didn’t feel.
“No,” he rumbled, not looking at me. “I haven’t had vodka in nearly fifteen years. Drinking it always reminded me of you.”
“Hawk,” I whispered, my heart in my throat. I’d said the words as a joke, but his serious answer had caught me completely off guard.
Hawk spun around in the chair, his eyes hooded as he stared at me, my hands clasped in front of me as I fiddled with my fingers.
“Bird,” he breathed, and the reverence in his tone had my nipples peaking under my shirt.
How did he do that? How did he draw these kinds of reactions from me with only a single word? I’d been with other men, even found myself in a few short-term relationships. But none of those men were able to make me feel even a fraction of the things I felt when Hawk said my name.
And it was my name. I was his Bird.
In a way, I always had been.
Moving to the table, I reached for the open bottle in the center and picked it up, giving a low whistle when I looked at the label.
“Well,” I offered, pouring another two fingers into his empty glass. “Your tastes certainly have improved in the last fifteen years, that’s for sure.”
“My tastes are exactly the same as they were fifteen years ago, Bird.” He stared at me, his blue eyes dark with heat, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from actually moaning, understanding that he wasn’t talking about liquor at all. “Ain’t nothing changed about that.”
Licking my lips, I placed the bottle back on the table and turned to face him. He stared up at me, his face serious as his hand toyed with the glass, rolling the liquor around gently as he waited for me to speak, but the look on his face had my words stalling in my throat. How could I be expected to form a coherent sentence when he was looking at me like that?
When I continued to say nothing, Hawk lifted the glass, taking a long, slow sip, before setting it back down again. When he spoke, his voice was low and rough, and it caused a shiver to race up my spine.
“Why are you here, Bird?” he asked, his chin dipping down.
God, he had such presence. Even though he was the one sitting, and I stood over him, I still felt like he was dominating this conversation—hell, the very room.
“I wanted to thank you,” I eventually got out, my words sounding inadequate compared to what I was feeling. “For tonight. For finding Cooper.”
Hawk nodded, but said nothing.
“I know she didn’t really run away, but I was scared just the same. I don’t know what I’d have done if—” My voice broke, the possibilities that came with the end of that sentence too much to bear considering. “Anyway, just thank you.”
“Bird, I’d do anything for her. For you. There’s no need to thank me. It wasn’t even a question, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
The words were spoken with such vehemence that I knew he meant it. He barely knew us, and yet he absolutely meant it with every fiber of his being.”
“Well, still. I wanted to say it anyway. So...thank you. Again.”
I was floundering. All the grand words I’d had planned out, all the things I’d wanted to say, they were all washed away by the overwhelming feelings that bubbled up inside me just from standing next to him.
This was why I needed to be careful. This was the exact reason why I needed to remember who he was and where he came from. Because I couldn’t let myself get swept up in him again. The last time had hurt bad enough.
This time, I’d never recover.
“Anyway, I’d better get going,” I stated, making to head back to the door, but as I walked past him, Hawk’s hand shot out, his warm fingers circling my wrist as he caught me gently and stopped my movement.
“Bird,” he whispered, but the word rang through my mind as though he’d shouted it. Looking down at where he touched me, I could see the small tremble in his hand, feel it as the tension he was carrying in himself transferred over to me.
He was just as affected by my presence as I was by his, and the knowledge of that planted something inside me that I didn’t know I’d needed.
“It’s nearly three in the morning. You could have said thank you just as easily in the sunlight as you have right now.” Dragging my gaze up to his, I stared at him, knowing that I was being called out but unwilling to admit it. “So, I’m gonna ask you again. Why are you here, Bird?”
My knees shook, the feelings rushing through me so more than I could control, and still, I was afraid.
Afraid to speak the truth.
Afraid not to.
“To thank you,” I muttered, my voice barely audible in the quiet house. “I wanted to thank you.”
Without letting go of my wrist, Hawk stood, rising to his full height, and part of me wanted to swoon. He was so big. Just solid and strong. It was a heady feeling, knowing that he could so easily overpower me, but at the same time, trusting that he never would.
Seeing him now, looking down at me with fire in his eyes and his jaw clenched while at the same time, his thumb traced gentle circles on the inside of my wrist, my pulse dancing beneath his touch, I knew that whatever my intentions had been in coming over here tonight, there was no way I was walking out the door.
Not again.
“I wanted,” I said, my eyes dropping to his lips, watching as his breath rushed past in rapid puffs. He was breathing so hard, like the act of holding himself back was physically straining.
Feeling my resolve strengthen, I raised my gaze, meeting his as boldly as I had the night we’d met, and I spoke the words I’d always felt, but never admitted, not even to myself.
“I wanted you.”