Moving her boy back a step, Kit wiped his damp cheeks with a tissue she’d stuck in her pocket in anticipation of a stormy group session. “Here you go, honey. Blow your nose. Then give me a hug since I have a meeting to go to tonight.”
He did and then trotted off the deck, heading for Regan.
Sirius streaked across the grass, then slowed and followed at a dignified distance, puffy tail held high.
Aric crouched to pet the giant cat, and his little chuckling laugh carried up to Kit.
Okay. Okay then. He’d be all right. For now.
Come home, Hawk. I’ll stay away. Just…come home.
An hour later, in the town of Soldotna, Kit sat in a circle of women.
The room in the counseling center was soothing enough. The pale green walls, warm lighting, and thriving philodendrons created a calm atmosphere. Chairs upholstered in blues and greens sat a comfortable arm’s width apart in a circle.
And yet…
Group counseling sure wasn’t for cowards.
Across the circle from Kit, Fernanda cried while telling how she’d hidden in her house for a month after being raped. Unable to leave, unable to sleep, spiraling down and down. “And then my sister, she pounded on the door and used her key and came inside.”
“Oh, thank god,” someone whispered, and Kit felt the same.
“She…” Fernanda smiled a little. “Big sister. Bossed me into the shower, into eating, and when I couldn’t sleep, she crawled into bed with me. And eventually, I could tell her what happened.”
“Talking about it is hard, isn’t it,” Diana muttered and got a chorus of soft agreements.
“She was with me when I left the first time. Got me into a counselor.” Fernanda shook her head. “And I am back to work again.”
Kit joined in the gentle applause.
Every woman in the group was a survivor of sexual assault. Their attackers had been spouses, dates, and strangers. With some women, the abuse had occurred years in the past. A few, like Kit, were only weeks or months away from the assault.
Kit hadn’t felt as isolated as the others here, probably because the women in the PZ compound had been abused. To avoid being beaten, most of them submitted to their husbands and to the “cleansings” by Parrish and Nabera. And each time, she’d felt used. Like a thing. But at least she’d had the other women there. They’d offer each other silent support—a surreptitious pat on the shoulder, an extra ladle of soup, a quiet smile and sympathetic look. They all understood.
Shaking the thoughts away, Kit returned her attention to the circle of women.
Diana was talking about her husband. Last night, when he’d hugged her in her sleep, she’d panicked and run to the bathroom to vomit. He’d held her hair back and given her a washcloth to wipe her face.
Blinking away tears, Diana smiled at the group. “There really are nice men in the world. Now I just have to convince my body of that.” Huddling into herself, she whispered, “I just don’t know if I can.”
Remembering how Hawk’s silent gestures of support helped, Kit leaned over and offered her hand. “Need to hold on?”
Diana shook her head no, then choked on a laugh. “God, yes.” She gripped Kit’s hand hard.
Kit knew the relief of feeling anchored to someone else.
And deep inside, she could feel her own healing. She wasn’t broken completely if she could still help someone else.
Chapter Fourteen
When I hear somebody sigh, “Life is hard,” I am always tempted to ask, “Compared to what?” ~ Sydney J. Harris
How long had Hawk been stuck in this damn billionaire’s mansion in Brazil? He tried to count off the days. Almost two weeks? Seemed like fucking forever.
Last week, the Hermitage would’ve celebrated the Fourth of July. Not with fireworks since sunset was around 11:30, and the sky just didn’t want to darken. But there would’ve been grilled salmon and various dishes from the garden’s produce. Vegetables grew like crazy when the sun barely set. JJ probably made a cake decorated for the holiday, so Aric would’ve been on a sugar high. Hawk could almost hear his giggles.
No matter how crazy the kid got, Kit would still look at her boy with those soft eyes.
Jesus, he missed them. All of them. Especially Kit and Aric.
How the fuck had that happened?
Growling under his breath, he picked up his eReader and paged to where he’d lost the thread of the story.
A few minutes later, Zander deVries walked into the two-bedroom suite they shared. The hard ass ex-merc was laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Hawk growled.
“The cook thinks we’re brothers.”
“Yeah?” Hawk eyed his friend. They were the same general build—thickly muscled and 6’2”. They both had short, dark blond hair. Hawk had a trim beard. Both were fair skinned with deep tans and light eyes, though deVries’ were grayish-green rather than blue. “Maybe.”
Although deVries had grown his hair out to look less like a bodyguard, an observant pro might ID him from the way he moved and the cold, evaluating gaze.
Another way they were similar, Hawk admitted.
“You know, if you want to be my brother”—deVries grinned—“you’ll need a whip.”
“Fuck no. Get me a beer instead.”
“Bro, sadists have more fun.” Laughing, deVries retrieved beers from the small fridge.
“Hard pass.” That was another result of a crappy childhood and abusive father—the thought of hurting someone for fun was nauseating.
To each his own, and, at least, deVries didn’t play his BDSM games without full consent. “I’ve got enough brothers, thanks.”
“You got good brothers.” At Hawk’s look of surprise, deVries added, “Met them at Mako’s funeral. I was there, guarding Zachary Grayson.”
“Right. Bull mentioned the doc had a bodyguard.” Hawk hadn’t even heard about Mako’s death until after he returned from a merc assignment. “The sarge probably enjoyed having a gunfight at his wake.”
“It did get lively.” After handing over a beer, deVries dropped onto the fancy-ass sofa.
Hawk nodded his thanks for the drink. “How’s the client?”
“He’ll be up and around soon. Until then, we’re stuck here with nada to do. Dammit, who ever heard of getting pneumonia in the summer?”
“Sucks to be him.” Hawk had gotten so fucking bored, he’d gone shopping yesterday and then remembered how much he hated that shit. But he’d found a hoodie the kid would like. If he ever got home to give it to him.
He’d wanted to buy something for Kit, too, but that would’ve been the ultimate in stupidity.
Hawk drank down some beer to clear the ache in his throat. “Gotta say, this might be a crap job, but the jet and helicopter are sweet.”
Especially the jet. It was why deVries had wanted Hawk, since he was rated to fly small jets. In Alaska, Hawk traded helicopter flying time with a pilot who owned a small private jet so they’d each get enough hours to keep current.
“At least you get toys. Fuck, but I miss my woman.”
“Never figured you for permanent.” The sadist was more of a fuck ’em and leave ’em sort. Or had been. “How long?”