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“She what?” Hawk demanded. “How could she have been a bad influence? What does that even mean? Tildy was just a kid!”
“She caused problems,” Deirdre insisted, narrowing her eyes at Hawk.
“What problems?”
“Just… she was just a bad influence. Matilda spent too much time with her. She was too reliant on her.”
“You mean Tildy loved her.”
Deirdre’s mouth set into a hard line.
“Tildy loved Isabel and not you. And she told Isabel about all the shit you did to her.”
“That is a lie!” Deirdre shot back.
“No, you couldn’t have Tildy telling anyone that you were abusing her. And you couldn’t stand it that she loved someone else.”
“You watch your mouth,” Blake Fletcher finally said, moving closer to Hawk. “If you go around making outrageous accusations about my wife, I’ll-”
“Isabel’s alive?”
They all turned to see Tildy, clad in a hospital gown, standing beside the curtain she’d pulled back.
“Matilda-” Deirdre began.
“She’s not dead?!” Tildy cried, gripping the curtain tighter with her good hand.
“Matilda,” Deirdre replied in a calm voice, “We can talk about-”
“I don’t want to talk to you!” Tildy snapped. She turned her gaze on Hawk. “Or you!”
Hawk’s brow furrowed and he stepped toward her. “Tildy.” He had so much to apologize for: both for Garrett and his own inability to keep her safe. He had screwed up in so many ways. “Tildy-”
“Get out!” she shouted. “I guess we’re just friends. So thanks for stopping by! Get. Out! All of you!”
Chapter 39
Hawk killed the engine of his Harley in the driveway of Shooter and Slick’s place. The summer heat hadn’t yet broken, but the thunderstorms this season hadn’t subsided either. The latter seemed to make the other at least bearable. He climbed the steps of the front porch and let himself inside. Shooter was in the living room, looking peeved.
“L.T.?” Hawk asked cautiously, flopping into the nearest chair. The little white demon jumped onto his lap.
“Slick,” he grumbled. It went without saying though. Any time his lieutenant had that look on his face these days, it was because his little wife had gotten into some big trouble.
“What’s up?”
“She’s not at work. Not here, either.”
“So, where is she?”
“How the fuck do I know? She didn’t answer her phone.”
Hawk didn’t have anything to say to that. This wasn’t Slick’s fault or even Shooter’s. It all fell squarely on Hawk’s broad shoulders. Garrett snatching Tildy had brought up a lot of old hurt for the newly married couple. Shooter had been all too well reminded of the time he’d lost his wife, nearly lost her for good. These last few weeks he’d gone back to being uber possessive of Sarah, insisting she call him several times a day. Sarah wasn’t in any actual danger. The man who’d hurt her was long dead and Garrett was gone, too. He’d violated parole, so he wouldn’t even get a trial.
When Shooter said he’d ‘take care of Garrett’ he’d apparently meant what he said. Hawk knew Shooter as a great leader of men, a man who could inspire even the most hardheaded sons of bitches (Hawk was included in that number) into doing what needed to be done.
No one knew what Shooter had said to Garrett while they were waiting for the Rangers and the cops to show up that day, but by the time the first squad car had pulled up, Garrett was ready to confess everything. He’d claimed his injuries were from the accident and his subsequent hunting of Tildy through the canyon. Rawlins, who would never give up on his dream of putting Hawk behind bars, didn’t believe it for a minute, but there was nothing he could do to prove otherwise. Garrett seemed to have accepted his fate and his one last chance to do the right thing, so he went quietly back to prison, this time for good.
Tildy had gone back to her own life on the north side. Hawk had not heard from her since that day she’d thrown him out of her hospital room. It had been tempting to call her and check on her, but he had ultimately decided against it. Caleb had kept the Fletchers informed of Garrett’s situation, and in doing so also had an eye on Tildy.
“She’s okay,” Hawk said out loud.
“But she won’t call me,” Shooter argued, banging on the screen of his phone again. His sharp look at Hawk a few seconds later told him that she’d finally answered. Hawk himself felt as relieved as Shooter, though for different reasons. He just wanted his friends to go back to their lives. He felt responsible for this current strain on their relationship and God knew they didn’t need any more problems. Slick was already hell-bent on getting pregnant, but so far the couple had not gotten lucky. This added stress was the last thing they needed.
“Baby, where are you?” Shooter half-growled. “Bullshit,” he proclaimed just seconds later.
