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Harold’s eyebrows pull down over those unusual eyes. “Why did he do that?”
Shocked to hear him speak, my own eyes probably bulge in their sockets. “Uhhh,” I fidget nervously. Do I tell him? I’m not ashamed of being gay, but unfortunately, I’ve found that not everyone is accepting.
I decide I don’t care what this kid thinks. He’s in a mental hospital just like me. Who is he to judge?
“My dad said I looked like a girl. I’ve never told him, but somehow he knows. I’m gay.”
I stare at Harold’s face, waiting for the inevitable disgust that is sure to follow. Incredibly, he smiles.
“Are you less gay now that your hair is short?”
I laugh. “No.”
“Guess your dad is stupid then.” He extends a hand across the table. “I’m Hawke.”
I shake the offered hand. “Hawke?”
He pulls his hand back and begins drumming again, a complex, hypnotizing rhythm. “I don’t go by Harold. That’s my…that was my dad’s name.”
“Oh.” I fidget with my hands again, desperately needing something to keep them occupied. Normally, I would be strumming on my guitar. They don’t let kids in mental institutions have instruments with wire strings on them, for obvious reasons.
Hawke shrugs. His eyes focus in on my fingers. Embarrassed, I press my palms down on the table.
“You miss your guitar,” he guesses correctly.
This guy is really observant. And smart. “Yeah.”
“Here.” Hawke leans to one side and digs in his pocket. Pulling something out, he holds his closed fist over the table.
I open my hand palm up. Hawke drops a small, grey, heart-shaped stone into it.
“What’s this for?”
“You’re a lot like me. I can tell. I always need to be doing something with my hands or I think too much. Like you said, I can drum anywhere. Now you have that.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, wondering why someone would be so nice.
“Yeah. I don’t want it.”
“Why did you bring it then? You know, if you don’t want it?”
Hawke stops drumming. His entire body tenses but he doesn’t look up. “It was my sister’s.”
The door bursts open, Mitch barreling through like a bull on steroids.
“What the hell, man?” Hawke cries out when the edge of the door clips his shoulder.
“Christ, Gavin. You’re supposed to tell me where you’re going,” Mitch barks, clearly irritated. He scowls at me, his grey eyes flashing with anger.
And damn if that doesn’t make him even hotter. I imagine us wrestling for domination, kissing and grappling and slamming each other against the wall.
Fuck.
I turn my back to him. Gritting my teeth as I try to force down the wood that just sprung up in my pants.
“You know,” Mitch hisses. “You don’t have to like me. Hell, you don’t even have to be nice to me. But I can’t keep you safe and catch this guy if you duck out and hide from me like a bratty little girl.”
“Ummmm, I’m gonna go back to the other room,” Hawke says. He knows how pissed I get when someone calls me a girl among other things. Certainly, he doesn’t want to stick around for the fallout.
