“There has to be a better way. I just want him to find someone who cares about him,” I said softly. “Someone who’s not just trolling for a quick fuck. He needs someone who knows his favorite ice cream and will think it’s cute that he sometimes drools when he sleeps. Someone who’ll love the things he loves because he loves them and won’t make him self-conscious about it. Someone who’ll realize how fuckingluckythey are to touch him… and who understands I’ll kick their ass if they mistreat him.”
I cringed. I sounded ridiculously sappy. I sounded… jealous.
Because you are, Wyatt. You don’t want to want him, but you don’t want anyone else to have him either.
Gage wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes and gave me a pitying look. “You can’t think of anyone in town who’d feel that way about Hawk, huh?”
I looked at him blankly, and Gage rolled his eyes. “Right. Well. I’m on the case.” He leaned back into Knox. “I’ve got a slew of eligible gay men in mind, starting with the environmental guy. And… oh! Baby, who’s that bendy guy who teaches yoga at the senior center?”
“Joey Kincaid,” Knox supplied. “He’s an artist. Hawk might like that.”
“The one who does the shibari photography?” I gasped.
“Yeah.” Gage tapped his lip thoughtfully. “When I first moved to the Hollow, his profile kept popping up on Grindr. Pretty sure he lives four hundred seventy-five yards away from the diner. He could… show Hawk the ropes, so to speak. Or there’s Remy Fortnum. He’s a brilliant carpenter.”
“Remy’s a player! He’s slept with almost everyone in town,” I said desperately.
“So he’s got excellent references, and he’s good at… handling wood.” Gage smiled. “See? We’re off to a great start already. You came to the right place, Jack. We’ll make sure to find someone who can take care of all Hawk’s… needs.”
My stomach roiled. I opened my mouth to argue with him but closed it when nothing came out. Instead, I nodded and muttered something that should have been thanks but came out sounding more likenever mind. Then I slunk back to my vehicle and made my way home.
The universe wasn’t finished fucking with me, though.
When I tried to lose myself in a renovation project—an addition to the house that I’d been working on by myself for weeks and couldn’t wait to show Hawk—I was so distracted that I ended up cutting the power cord on my new jigsaw rather than the trim board I’d been aiming for. The huge spark it sent up caught the sawdust in my work area and burst into flames I’d had to whip my shirt off to smother.
Trying to fix something and lighting it on fire instead was a really fitting metaphor for the day.
I crawled into bed hours later, exhausted and lonelier than I’d been since I moved to the Hollow. But no matter how many times I rolled over and punched my pillow, I couldn’t settle into sleep. I kept wondering where Hawk was, what he was doing, how he was feeling. I wanted him beside me. Smiling at me. Confiding in me.
I was doing the right thing, with Hawkandwith Evola. I knew I was. So why did I feel so shitty and… bereft?
I crept out to my dark living room, fell on the couch, and turned onDeath Comes to Pemberley,reciting Hawk’s usual commentary in my head about Wickham getting what he deserved. My last conscious thought before I finally closed my eyes wasIf even someone as foolish and blind as Mr. Darcy can sort his shit eventually, surely I can, too.
But spoiler: I was no Mr. Darcy.
CHAPTER SIX
HAWK
“Angry people are not always wise.”
~ Jane Austen
The steel throwingknifethunkedloudly against the wooden target before falling to the cement floor with a clatter that made me jump.
“They should consider providing ear coverings or something,” I murmured.
Crys shot me a sympathetic sideways glance. “Or you could try hitting the target occasionally, boo. It’s less noisy that way.”
I sighed. “I’m not sure this is the hobby for me,” I admitted cautiously. “There was a pickup truck outside with an ‘I-heart-weapons’ bumper sticker. I’m more of an ‘Introverted but willing to discuss Pemberley’ kind of guy.”
Jack wasn’t wrong about me despising violence and weapons… even if he was an ass for pointing it out.
“Don’t think of it like handling weapons. Think of it like darts,” Crys said for the seventieth time in an hour.
“Yeah, I’m not sure how I led you to believe I was good at darts either.”
Crys snickered, then let loose a knife that thunked into the dead center of her target. “Keep practicing,” she advised.
