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I peel my gaze from the side window to turn towards him. The van, which had moments ago seemed roomy, is suddenly claustrophobic. “It’s a good thing I ain’t you then, ain’t it?”
“Kid.”
I don’t bristle at him calling me that, not like I would in the past. I know with Hawk it comes from a good place. It ain’t meant to demean or destroy me in the way others have tried over the years.
I blow out a breath. “What do you want me to say, Hawk?”
“Whatever you want to.”
There’s no answer I can give that will explain the depth of emotion I’m wading through. “You want to talk about your feelings, go and see a shrink. I don’t need to offload.”
“Okay then.”
We sit in silence, and I hate it. I wish this fucking run would be done already.
“You want to explain why you’ve been avoiding me? I get you sidesteppin’ the girl, but me? What the fuck did I do?”
I keep my gaze locked on the window, mostly so I don’t accidentally look at him. “Ain’t avoiding anyone.”
“I didn’t come down in the last downpour, Rage. I know you’re avoiding me. What I can’t work out is why.”
Because he makes me question my integrity.
Because he makes me face my misdemeanours.
Because I’m fucking ashamed of my actions.
I don’t say any of this. I don’t know how to without opening myself in a way I would never recover from. “You really need me to pat you on the back all fuckin’ day long?”
“No.”
“I’m busy, Hawk. I got a baby on the way and a shit storm I need to clean up between me and the club.”
I’m defensive, more so than I need to be, but I want to get off this conversation.
“You think anyone blames you for this shit?”
I do, because I would if this happened to another brother. “You should.”
“We all make mistakes, but you can’t let that shit define you. All that matters is what you do now.”
“I appreciate the pep talk, but ain’t necessary. This mess is mine, and I’ll clean it up myself.”
Hawk’s face contorts into a discomforting grimace. “Ain’t your choice anymore, kid.”
“Meaning what?”
The tension in the van is suddenly heavy. “You’re one of us, and your problems are club problems. You don’t get to bury your head in this and deal alone. This is bigger than you and Skye.”
“I don’t need help.”
“Don’t matter whether you need it or not. You have it.”
The warm feeling that spreads through me is so foreign, so alien, it takes me a moment to realise what it is. Relief.
“I know I’m walking a tightrope here,” I say, “but I want two things and I don’t know how to have them both.”
“The club and your child?” Hawk hazards a guess, and it’s a good one because it’s right on the money.
