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“Abby, it’s obvious you have some issues. I mean, your main goal in life is to help everyone but yourself. In college, you spent most of your time either trying to fix my self-esteem issues, or fix whatever the fuck Hawke’s issues are, or the kids at the center.”
“I-I didn’t—”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Abby. I’m just chuffed you spoke to someone. Did it help?”
I’m floored that Kate’s known all this time I was struggling when I thought I hid it so well. I choose my words carefully.
“It did. I’m mad at myself for not going sooner. I know what I have to do to get my life on track.” There. I told her and didn’t have to lie to Kate or explain too much about my plans.
“Good. I’m happy for you then.”
Will Kate still be happy when she knows what I’m going to do? I guess I’ll find out, because I have to move on with my life and I can’t do that until it’s done.
All I can do is pray I have the strength to actually g
o through with it. After hanging up with Kate, I set up at the kitchen table with my laptop and finish a few notes for work. Restless, I pour myself a glass of wine and surf a few news websites. The entertainment section of one draws my attention. I click on the link, knowing what I’m about to see is likely going to solidify my resolve to do what’s necessary in order to have a healthy future.
The bold color photos take my breath away and leave my heart stuck in my throat.
No more. I can’t take any more.
Hawke
Loud banging wakes me from a fitful sleep. I glance at the clock next to my bed. Ten fifteen. Slivers of light peek around the edges of the window shades. So ten fifteen in the morning, then.
I roll to a sitting position and groan. My hands are scraped, bruised, and stiff as a board when I flex my fingers. The banging grows louder.
“Jesus.” I throw off the sheet that tangled around my legs during the night and stand up… only to nearly collapse to the floor. “Fuck!” My knees and lower back ache bone-deep, and the muscles of my thighs and glutes scream in protest when I catch myself on the tall dresser.
The noise level outside my door gets so loud, I’m worried a neighbor will call the cops. Better not be the fucking paps out there. In only my briefs, I limp down the hall and put my eye to the peephole.
“I can see your damn shadow, Evans. Open the fucking door.” Gavin’s overprotective boyfriend, Mitch Hale, is on the other side of the door, his expression thunderous.
Shit. Mitch used to be FBI and now he does private security. He also loves CrossFit, is several inches taller than me, and way, way more muscular. Bonus fact, he actually killed a man to defend Gavin.
As much as I don’t want to talk to Mitch, I can’t not open the door. He’ll stand out there shouting all damn day. Resigned to having what looks likely to be a not-so-nice encounter with my best friend’s significant other, I flip the locks and Mitch storms in.
“You fucking prick!” Before the door can even shut behind him, Mitch is up in my face, his mouth pulled back in an angry sneer.
“Can I at least put some pants on before you dismember me?” I ask wearily.
Mitch steps back and crosses his arms over his wide chest. Large biceps stretch the sleeves of his T-shirt. Fuck. He’s not as big as Dax, but he’s still bigger than I remember.
“Go. If you’re not back out here in two minutes, I’m coming to find you.”
He’s deadly serious. Mitch doesn’t sugarcoat things and he wouldn’t be here if it weren’t important. I don’t think I’ve ever spent time around the man without Gavin being present or nearby. I spin on my heel and hurry to my room to throw on a pair of sweats and a shirt I find on the floor.
I’m almost done brushing my teeth when I hear Mitch call out. “Thirty seconds, Evans!”
He’s really pissed. I spit out the toothpaste, wipe my mouth, and return to the foyer with no time to spare.
“Do you want some coffee?” I ask, ignoring Mitch’s lethal glare to wander toward the kitchen. I know I need some.
A large hand grips my shoulder. I’m spun around and slammed into the wall next to the door, the impact knocking the air out of my lungs. Mitch fists the front of my shirt, leaning in until his nose is nearly touching mine.
“No, I don’t want any fucking coffee. This isn’t a social call, you little shit. What I want is for you to fucking think of someone else for a change, you selfish prick!” He smacks the side of my head with an open palm to prove his point.
I hold my hands up in surrender. “What the hell, Mitch? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
