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“Come on, Hawke. Do you have a date? Oooohhhh,” Gavin’s eyes widen. “Who are you going out with? Tell me, you sneaky bastard.”
I yank a shirt off a hanger in the microscopic closet I have to share with Gavin, the clothes whore, and button it up. Gavin is burning holes into my head the entire time I get dressed.
“Jesus, Gav. You’re not going to leave me alone, are you?” I sit on the edge of my bed to lace up my black Chucks.
When I glance up at my best friend, he’s shaking his head. “No, I’m not. You never go out on dates.”
“Shut up. I get laid whenever I want.” I snatch my wallet off the dresser and shove it in my back pocket.
“I never said you don’t get laid. I said you don’t go on dates. You date about as much as me, which is never.” Gavin narrows his gaze, trying to figure me out. “What aren’t you telling me?”
No way am I jinxing everything with Abby by telling Gavin I had sex with her. Instead I shrug, sliding wordlessly past Gavin and out the door. This conversation is weird and uncomfortable and I’m done.
“Hey,” he calls out as my hand lands on the knob. “Whoever the girl is who has you smiling like that, she must be special. Have fun.”
I twist my head and get a look at Gavin, all dressed up to go somewhere. He has the gray, heart-shaped stone I gave him in his hand, worrying it between his fingers. A lump forms in my throat. Seeing Hannah’s stone brings the guilt back in an excruciating torrent. It’s why I couldn’t keep my sister’s good luck charm. Besides, Gavin needed something to hang on to more than me. There’s still hope for him to have a normal life.
“You have fun too,” I tell him earnestly.
Gavin grins, assuming that at least one of use will get laid tonight. I’m determined to show Abby a good time, so I don’t know if it will be me.
Strangely, I’m okay with that.
5
Abby
Being with Hawke, officially, has made me happier than I’ve been in a long time. He’s sweet and attentive when we’re out, dirty and insatiable in bed. On the flip side, being with Hawke has made me a complete and total nervous wreck. He’s easily agitated, anxiously drumming his fingers on anything and everything. He goes into dark moods with seemingly very little provocation, and when pressed, gets pissed off and refuses to tell me why he’s upset. Plus, I discovered a very disturbing habit of his.
Hawke is an adrenaline junkie.
If an activity has the potential to hurt, maim, or even kill him… he’ll embrace it wholeheartedly. As a student of psychology, I know Hawke has a whole host of issues that have led him to be so reckless. I just don’t know what those issues are. As a girlfriend who cares about him? He scares the ever-living shit out of me on a regular basis. And whenever I bring it up, he explodes.
Like now.
“Abby, I’ve told you before, this is what I like to do. It’s how I blow off steam. I need it, it’s a part of me, and you’re not going to change it.”
I bite my lip as Hawke grabs his climbing gear and shoves it into a pack. My heart is racing, fear trickling into each of my limbs, making them feel heavy. The thought of Hawke slipping and falling off a mountain to be crushed at the bottom of some random ravine has me nearly hyperventilating.
“If you would only tell me why—”
Hawke spins around to face me, his features contorted into an alarming mixture of fury and shame. “Goddamn it, I said leave it alone!” He steps forward and I instinctually step back. The hostility radiating off him scares me even though I know he’d never hurt me—physically, that is. “I’m not fixable, Abby. I’m not one of your broken kids at the center and I’m not your psychology project. I’m fucked up.” Hawke takes his fist and pounds it against his chest, slamming it into his sternum with each word to punctuate his statement. “I. Am. Fucked. Up.”
Hawke’s voice nearly cracks on the last word. His shoulders heave with the effort to contain his emotions. I shrink back at the verbal slap, the hot sting of tears pressing against the back of my eyes.
“I’m sorry. I-I just want to help.” It’s Nick all over again. Refusing to tell anyone what was causing his pain until it overwhelmed his poor mind, driving him to do the unthinkable. “I don’t want to lose you.” I sniff, holding back a sob. My throat burns when I swallow down the overwhelming grief.
Hawke’s eyes soften, the defensive spark in the blue and brown irises replaced with quiet remorse. He lifts a brightly colored hand, giving me a glimpse of the tattoos he recently had inked on the back and down his fingers. Sliding his hand around the back of my neck, Hawke
pulls me forward to press our foreheads together.
“You’re not going to lose me, Abby. I just… I need this. I can’t explain it.” I start to speak but he cuts me off. “Okay, that’s not true. I could explain it, but I’m just… I’m not ready. I may never be ready. Can you accept that?”
I exhale, not wanting to let him go but unwilling to tear us apart by forcing the issue. And it would tear us apart, no doubt. Hawke is not a man you can bully, trick, or force into doing or saying anything against his will.
Having no other choice but to lose him, I nod. “I guess I can do that.”
He grins and pushes his glasses up onto the top of his head. I’ve tried them on before and know for a fact they’re not prescription, so I have no idea why he wears them. It’s just one more mystery locked in the Hawke Evans vault, the answers to which I may never get.
