I bite on the corner of my lip and nod. If I’d slapped Hawke in the face with a cold fish, it wouldn’t have shocked him more. I slant my head to the side and eye him curiously when his eyes get a spark in them I haven’t seen since the day he marriedJorgie.
“She was right,” he says, pushing off the counter and crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Jorgie always said you and Ava were destined to be together. Your son proves it. Youcan’t--”
“Fight fate,” I fill in,smiling.
Hawke nods and smiles. His eyes get a gloss of sheeninthem.
A tingling sensation scratches my throat when Hawke lifts his gaze from the bench to lock his glistening eyes with mine. “I’m really happy foryou,man.”
I’m not going to lie, my eyes are welling with tears. Hawke may have only said six little words, but his eyes are expressing much more than his mouth ever could. His normally unreadable eyes expose fragments of a Hawke I haven’t seen in years. The pre-heartbrokenHawke.
“Thanks,” I say, my voicegroggy.
After coughing to clear his voice of any hindrance, Hawke says, “I’m going to squeeze in a workout at the gym before heading to Nick and Jenni’s. I’m on nightwatch.”
He smacks me on the back before ambling to the door. Just before he exits, he cranks his head back and peers at me. His mouth is carved in a lopsided grin, and his eyes are sparked withmischief.
“You should consider heading to the gym yourself,” he suggests, waggling his brows. “Get some testosterone pumping through your veins. I don’t want you to run the risk of waking up in the morning with a vagina, since you are getting all sentimentalandshit.”
Catching sight of his shit-eating grin, I pick up an apple from the fruit bowl in the middle of the counter and peg it at his head. He chuckles raucously before darting out the front door. I snarl when my throw narrowly misses hitting his head and slams into the mirror hanging in the entranceway, shattering it into tinyshards.
Darn it. The last thing I need is seven years ofbadluck.
* * *
After havinga shower to wash off the funk of a heavy night of drinking, I clean up the shards of glass in the foyer. Half of me was tempted to leave it for Catherine’s arrival tomorrow afternoon, but my laziness only lasted as long as it took for me to remember a quote my mom has always said: A real man knows how to respect a woman. Because he knows the feeling if someone would disrespect hismother.
While picking up the last shard of glass, my eyes catch sight of a white envelope sitting on the entranceway table. My heart smashes against my ribs. It isn’t the fact I don’t get any mail delivered to my home address that piques my interest. It is the fact it has my full name scribbled on the envelope. My fulldeceasedname: Hugo JoelMarshall.
Snatching the lightweight envelope off the table, I rip it open and upend the contents onto the table. My eyes scan the official-looking document before I’ve even gathered it in my hands. The more my eyes speed-read the paper, the more my blood boils. Shoving the document under my arm, I snatch my keys and cell phone out of the crystal bowl on the entranceway table and race to the elevator at the end of my hallway. When the elevator dashboard announces the elevator car is still in the lobby, I push open the fire door and sprint down thestairs.
By the time I make it to the my car, I’m sweating profusely and shaking. Neither is from the effects of running down thirty flights of stairs. I jump into my car, crank the ignition and reverse out of my parking space. The smell of burning rubber and gasoline infiltrate my nostrils as I throwbabyinto gear and fly out of the underground garage, narrowly missing a blue BMW entering. I don’t miss Brandon’s curious glance as my car whizzes by, but I’ve got more important matters to deal with right now than him and his guiltyconscience.
Drifting my eyes between the road and my phone, I dial Ava’s cell phone. Ignoring the shake encroaching my hands, I press the phone againstmyear.
“Hey, you’ve reached Ava; leave amessage.”
“Ava, please don’t do this. Please don’t take my son away from me,” I beg, lowering my eyes to the paperwork sitting on the passenger seat. “I know I hurt you and broke your heart. I know you may never forgive me, but please don’t do this. I need him.I need you.I’ll do anything you want, anything at all, but I can’t sign those forms, Ava. I can’t give him up. I can’t giveyouup.”
I continue pleading into her voicemail until a message comes over the line saying her voicemail is full. I snap my untraceable cell phone shut and throw it onto the forms requesting my signature to sign away my parental rights to Joel, relinquishing full custody to Ava and Marvin. No request for child support has been included and no visitation rights have beenstipulated.
As if that weren’t already a low blow, the very last page gutted me. It is requesting a paternity test, wanting to prove Joel is my biological son. I know he is my son. I’ve never doubted it from the moment I laid my eyes on him. But now Ava is trying to deny it, pretending he isn’t mine. It doesn’t make any sense. I can’t comprehend why her perspective has altered so greatly the past two days. She said Joel would be there waiting for me when I came back, that he wasn’t going anywhere. But this paperwork saysdifferent.
* * *
Approximately two hundredmiles outside of Ravenshoe, my untraceable cell phone rings. Not bothering to look at the screen, I flick it open and push it againstmyear.
“Ava,please--”
“Who’s Ava?” queries Hunter, his voice laced withmockery.
“Hunter, I don’t havetime.I’m--”
My words stop when Hunter says, “Izzyneedsyou.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, apprehension heard in myvoice.
“Travis called to say she arrived at the Dungeon an hour ago. She is fairlyintoxicated.”
