73. Wren
Iwas breathing way too hard, considering we had only walked to the parking lot.
The minute Hawk had pulled up outside the restaurant, I had known going inside would be a mistake. The idea of me anywhere near that place was a joke, never mind actually sitting at a table inside like I belonged there.
And it turned out I had been right. The evening had been a complete and utter disaster.
Hawk was stomping along, his hand clutching mine like he thought I’d run away, but he couldn’t have been more wrong.
I was clinging to him like a lifeline, afraid that the second I let go, he’d disappear, like smoke in the wind.
Like a dream.
Because that’s exactly what he was. A dream made real.
No one in my life had ever defended me like that. Had stood up to Denise and her bullshit on my behalf, and I wasn’t exactly sure what to do with the feelings that were beginning to stir inside me.
All kinds of feelings.
We reached the Escalade, Hawk clicking the button on the fob aggressively, then opening my door and ushering me inside. After I was seated, he leaned in, dragging the seatbelt across by chest and clipping it.
Once I was secure enough for his liking, he stopped, hands on the roof of the truck as he looked at me, his own breaths coming just as fast as my own.
“Baby,” he said, sounding pained. “That was—Fuck, Wren! I don’t even know what the hell that was, but you can bet your pretty little ass we are gonna talk about it.” I blinked, not sure if my surprise came from his vehemence or from the fact that he’d just called me pretty.
Well, my ass, anyway.
“But right now, I need to kiss you, Bird. Can I do that? Please?”
He looked desperate, his blue eyes staring down at me with such heat and intensity that I literally couldn’t do anything but nod.
Taking one hand off the roof, Hawk leaned in, cupping my cheek and turning me to face him before he pressed his lips to mine. It wasn’t exactly a tender kiss, his firm mouth pressing hard before he opened, trailing his tongue across the seam of my lips as he asked for more. Once I granted him access, he took my mouth like a man possessed, as though he was trying to erase every trace of the last ten minutes from our minds through sheer force of will alone.
Bringing up my own hand, I placed it tentatively on his chest, the feel of his heart against my palm steadying me, grounding me, as I deepened the kiss from my end, too. Bringing his free hand up, Hawk held me to his chest, curling our fingers together and holding them over his heart as he continued to kiss me like he never wanted to stop.
Eventually, he did, though, resting his forehead against mine as he caught his breath.
“Thank you,” he whispered, then pressed another quick peck to my mouth before stepping back, closing the door, and moving to the other side of the truck and climbing behind the wheel.
As he turned the key and pulled away, I noticed Jason and a few other people standing outside the restaurant, their phones up as they recorded everything. The ball of elation that had been building in my stomach during Hawk’s kiss fizzled out, sinking to the bottom like a stone in a well.
At first, we just drove, music up and windows down as Hawk navigated the streets of Grand Rapids with the carelessness of someone who had no idea where they were going, just that they needed to keep moving. Looking out the window, I reveled in the feel of the wind on my face as I watched the tired streets of my childhood go by, memories of a thousand interactions, just like the one we’d just experienced, filling me with sadness.
Growing up, all I had ever wanted was to leave this town and its outdated ideals behind. It seemed that no matter how hard I had tried, no one ever wanted to see me as anything other than Tom Blackburn’s daughter. The man who had caused the drama that resulted in shutting down the mill. The man who had crippled the Grand Rapids economy for more than a decade.
Of course, no one would dare to blame Craig McQueen, the guy who actually owned the mill and made the decision to close it rather than pay decent wages. Not when his name was on both the high school gymnasium and the newest wing of the hospital. The town practically revered him as a saint when, in reality, he was the reason they were all still so broke they could barely afford to keep the lights on.
Our lives had been one negative interaction with the townspeople after another. At least Jasmine had managed to get out, meeting a bull rider at the rodeo in Bemidji the summer she graduated high school. She hopped in the passenger seat of his truck and hadn’t been back since.
I’d always hoped I’d find my own way out, but considering I was currently in the passenger seat of someone’s truck, the irony was not lost on me.
As Hawk drove the truck back toward my neighborhood, I considered what the last fifteen years had been like, both for me and for Cooper. Her life in this town was just as rough as my own had been, the only difference being that I would never treat her the way my parents had treated me. But the kids at her school sucked just as much now as they had twenty-some years ago.
And just like me, she had found one solid friend to cling to, someone who stood by her when all the other kids were standing against her.
But I was in a better place now than I had been when she was born. I owned a house—thanks to Tori and her hush money, anyway—and I had even managed to get a bit of an education, taking classes for legal administration online in the evenings. I’d improved our lives in every way possible except one.
Taking us out of this toxic environment.
And maybe it was finally time.
As I continued to ponder what kind of equity I might have in the house and how far was far enough from Minnesota, I suddenly noticed that Hawk had finally parked the truck, the headlights shining on the familiar bricks of the high school. Turning off the engine, he sat back, rolling his head against the headrest as he looked at me with tired eyes.
“Come on, Bird,” he said softly. “Let’s go for a walk.”
Meeting me at the front of the vehicle, Hawk took my hand, and I followed as he wandered around the side of the building toward the lake, seeming to know exactly where he was headed. I guessed he would, since this was where he’d found Cooper the night she’d ditched us.
We continued on in silence, neither of us seemingly eager to start what was sure to be an awful conversation in such a pretty place. Finally finding the spot he was looking for, Hawk pulled me over and settled us under a tree, his back to the trunk and me nestled between his thighs as we watched the last of the evening’s sun dip behind the trees across from us.
It was quiet, nothing to disturb us but the sounds of the evening forest, the gentle wind dancing through the leaves of the trees, creating a soothing hush. A pair of ducks passed, gliding along on the glass-like surface of the water, leaving twin ripples in their wake. It was peaceful here, calm and private in a way that I had forgotten about in the years since I’d graduated, and I was glad he’d thought of it.
“Is it always like that, Bird?” he finally asked, his voice low. I could hear the anger still thrumming through his words, and I sighed.
“Yeah.”
Hawk heaved out a heavy sigh, his breath ruffling the hair against the back of my neck, and I could feel his body deflate beneath me. He seemed so damn sad, and I couldn’t really understand it.
“I remember her, you know?”
“You remember Denise? How?”
“From your letter. I remember you saying that she was a bitch to you even way back then.”
I smiled, my chest filling with butterflies at the fact that Hawk had read the very first letter I’d written him all those years ago. Read it and remembered what I’d said. God, we’d been so young back then. I remember being full of fire and teen angst, railing against all the injustices in my world, and finding companionship in music.
Hawk and his lyrics had been a major part of those feelings. Somewhere along the way—likely around the same time my father threw me out for being a pregnant disappointment, bringing him another mouth to feed—I’d lost my ability to be outraged on my own behalf. Everything I did now was for Cooper, and I’d fight tooth and nail to protect her.
Why had I stopped fighting for myself?
“Denise and I have led very different lives, and she was never shy about reminding me about all the ways she thought she was better than I was.” I tried to pass it off as casual, but Hawk was more perceptive than I had hoped. He wrapped his arms around my middle, pulling me tight to his body as he groaned against my neck.
“Bird, that woman could never compare to you. Not in any fuckin’ way that matters.”
Curling one hand around his arm, I hugged him back the only way I could at this angle, but I couldn’t get any words past the growing lump in my throat.
“I could tell the minute she opened her mouth that she was nothing but a bitter, angry shrew. The type of person who does nothing but tear down the people around her.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty accurate.”
“I’ve known a few shrews in my time, Bird.”
I let out a breathy laugh, leaning back and resting my head on his shoulder, content to just watch the last of the sunset, feeling peaceful in a way I couldn’t ever remember feeling before. Being there, with Hawk, it just felt right. I tried to tell myself not to get attached. I knew that once he’d felt he’d met his obligations, he’d leave. Go back to L.A., back to bright lights and fancy places that he was used to, and then it would be calls and gifts, and maybe a visit on the holidays.
I needed to remember that he had a life somewhere else, important things that he needed to do and people who relied on him.
Cooper and I were shiny and new, but we weren’t his forever. This feeling of comfort and safety would be temporary, and I couldn’t forget that.
No matter what he said.
If there was one lesson I’d truly learned in my life, it was that people rarely kept their promises.
“Why didn’t you ever leave, Bird?” he asked, the sky now an inky blue-black. The heat of the day was finally dwindling, and a light breeze raised goosebumps on my arms. “Why stay in a place where the people treat you like you don’t belong?”
For a while, I didn’t answer him, my mind chewing over the words I wanted to say.
How could I tell him that even though the town was awful and judgmental and cruel, it was also the only thing I had ever known. That when I considered leaving after Cooper was born, I’d been plagued with the paralyzing fear that the outside world would be even worse than Grand Rapids. That even though the town was full of terrible people, I had learned how to navigate the rough waters and was very unsure of my ability to do that in a new location with a completely new set of horrible people.
But all I could manage to say was, “Where was I supposed to go?”