“I think there’s a”—Gabe grimaced—“Audrey’d call it a miscommunication.” He paused as if trying to be diplomatic.
Not one of Gabe’s skills. Hawk’s either. “Spit it out, for fuck’s sake.”
“She thinks you left because she made a pass at you, and you were disgusted. That you see her as dirty. As used goods.”
The words hung in the air, not making any sense. Hawk tried to pick them apart, phrase by phrase. Made a pass at him? He’d thought that at first, and that’s why he pulled her closer, only she’d…
Abandoning that memory, he went on to the next phrase. Kit thought Hawk had been disgusted? What could he possibly be disgusted about?
Next phrase. See her as dirty. As… “Used goods. What the hell?”
“Ahhh.” Gabe glanced at Hawk’s fists and held up a staying hand. “Law enforcement—we get training on dealing with sexual assault. In our screwed-up society, a woman who’s been raped often blames herself. Feels dirty. Used.”
Dirty. Used. Because some fucking bastard attacked her? She thought Hawk saw her that way?
He rose. “We done?”
“Yeah.” Gabe palpated his ribs, and a corner of his mouth tilted up. “You hit harder than you used to. I’m going to curse you when I get out of bed in the morning.”
“Same.” Hawk headed down the stairs, hesitated, turned. “Thanks. For the intel.”
Without it, he’d never know about this…miscommunication. Bullshit word. This was a total goatfuck.
Realizing he was still bloody, he headed to his own house.
Shower first, then he and Kit would have a chat. And there’d be no fucking miscommunication.
In the bathroom in Mako’s upstairs apartment, Kit sat beside Aric as he splashed and played in the tub.
Determinedly, she pushed Hawk out of her thoughts to focus on the here and now.
It wasn’t easy, especially since, when she’d been in the kitchen doing dishes, her son had disappeared to check on Hawk again. Aric had returned just as she’d realized he wasn’t in the living room where she’d left him.
He knew he wasn’t supposed to leave the house without her. But she couldn’t scold him very hard; not today when his hero had returned.
In fact, her boy was in a wonderful mood. The yellow duck entered the water with a decided splash.
Aric crowed. “Run away, whale. Swim.”
The bright blue whale squirted water, thankfully not too high, as it tried to escape the oversized duck.
Who would have thought rubber ducks had a feral side? That orange beak might give any animal second thoughts.
When the whale escaped, Kit cheered along with Aric. Then tugged his hair. “Time for bed, my man.”
Aric eyed her, so she put on her “serious face”. With a gargantuan sigh, he unplugged the drain and giggled as the water swirled around his toes.
He dried off—with some help—and she picked him up and swung him out of the tub.
Wasn’t that the best feeling?
She still instinctively guarded her ribs and abdominal incision, and her arm ached if she used it too much, but she was pretty much back to normal. Even working as a receptionist no longer wore her out. She was making money and standing on her feet again.
Mostly.
As she followed her naked child into the area the guys had sectioned off as “Aric’s bedroom,” she sighed. Living here rent-free wasn’t exactly being independent.
She’d also hoped to be gone before Hawk returned.
As if following her thoughts, Aric started talking about him, the words muffled as he pulled his pj top over his head. “Hawk said sorry.”
The big bad mercenary had apologized to a little boy? “Sorry about what?”
As Aric’s head popped out, he struggled to get his arm in one sleeve. “Cuz he didn’t come back when he was s’posed to, and he shoulda called.”
“He told you he should have called.”
“Uh-huh.” Aric gave a firm nod. “He shoulda.”
Wait a minute. Where had this “supposed to” notion come from?
She studied her child. “Did Hawk tell you he was going to leave? Before he left?”
“Uh-huh. He gave me his ber… His ber… His hat.” Squatting beside his small bed, Aric opened the wooden box she’d given him for his treasures. He pulled out a maroon beret.
Huh. She’d occasionally seen Aric carrying it, and she’d thought it was a particularly limp stuffed toy. Regan had given him a few of her old ones.
It looked like military headgear. “That was Hawk’s?”
“It’s from when he be’d a soldier.” Aric’s eyes were shining with awe. “A pilot.”
Kit took the beret. The emblem on the front had the words “Night Stalkers” with a winged centaur holding a sword. “He gave you this?”
“To hold on till he comed back.” Aric’s lip quivered. “But he didn’t come.”
She’d hated Hawk for leaving her son without a word. How could he?
Yet, she hated herself for being the cause.
But he hadn’t just walked away. He’d told Aric he was leaving and offered a token to show he’d be back. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“He said it was a secret.” Aric patted the beret. “Our secret.”
She really felt like stomping her foot and having her own version of a tantrum. But the secret wasn’t one a mother had to know, so Hawk hadn’t overstepped the mom-rules.
“Well.” Her emotions felt like someone had whisked them into a froth. “I’m glad he made it back safe.”
“He got an ouchy.” Aric scowled. “He and Gabe fighted, and Hawk got hurt. There was blood.”
“He was hurt?” She’d thought Aric had just run back there for another hug.
It took a while, but he told her the story of the fight. Except for why the brothers had been brawling.
She’d probably never figure it out. Male reasoning didn’t follow logical patterns.
“All right, honey bear, pick out your bedtime story.”
An hour later, Hawk walked into Mako’s place and was oddly reassured the place didn’t look different from in the past aside from small changes.
A children’s book lay on the sectional, a box of crayons and coloring book on the dining room table. Two small socks had been abandoned near the door.
A juice box on the kitchen counter sat next to an open storage container of cookies. Someone had gotten a bedtime snack.
Wanting his sons to hang out here when at the Hermitage, Mako had furnished his house accordingly. The apartment upstairs had been his private quarters—and he’d decreed the downstairs to be public space.
Since anything in the kitchen was considered communal, Hawk helped himself. Damn, he did love peanut butter cookies.
The pocket door to the apartment upstairs was closed, but he could hear Kit singing a lullaby.
A funny feeling brewed in his gut—like nostalgia for something he’d never had. No one had ever sung to him at night.
After pouring himself a glass of lemonade, he took a seat at the island and waited. The kitchen was spotless, except for the cookies and juice box, which meant Kit would undoubtedly come to tidy up.