Before he could indulge in a third cookie, she walked downstairs and was halfway across the room before noticing him.
There, she froze, obviously unsure of what to say.
Jesus, the two of them were too much alike.
He gestured to her—keep coming.
Silently, she approached.
He studied her, pleased with how healthy she looked. Back to a good weight. Skin tanned with a light sunburn on her arms. Shoulder-length, brown hair now glossy with golden streaks.
She moved like nothing hurt any longer. The splint was gone, and she had new muscles in her arms. The slice on her cheek had healed to a pale pink line.
He nodded. “You look better.”
“You don’t.”
A laugh escaped. He’d lost weight, the nightmares of how close he’d come to being gutted meant he was losing sleep, and he’d picked up another knife scar. “Yeah.”
She waited a minute, gave up on him talking, and busied herself disposing of the juice box and putting the cookies away.
“I stole a couple. Good cookies.”
Her lips curved slightly. “I leave them down here so anyone can help themselves. I’m glad you liked them.”
Her voice was the way he remembered. Not husky like JJs, but with a pure, perfect clarity that delighted the musician in him. Her soprano when singing was just as beautiful.
“Kit.” He stopped, unsure of what to say next.
She looked up at him, her lustrous brown eyes the color of the mocha coffee Frankie liked to drink. Then she folded her hands over her waist in a way that reminded him of a nun.
In the forest, he could sneak up on deer, on bear. Damned if he could figure out how to sneak up on a conversational subject. So he just put it out there. “I don’t think you’re dirty. Or used goods.”
Eyes widening, she took a step back.
Great, he was screwing this up already. “As a kid, I got beat up. A lot.”
Her eyes softened. “Hawk.”
“I’m not dirty because of it. Rape is a way of beating someone up—a shitty way, but still. You’re not dirty because of it.”
Shock had filled her face.
Unable to figure out what else to do, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, that’s what I wanted to say.”
She swallowed. “But you left.”
“I touched you, and you panicked.” After turning his forearms over to show the sleeves of tats, he ran a finger down the scar on his cheek, the one that lifted his lip like he was growling. “I get it. I scare people—and this is a place where you should feel safe.”
“You thought I was afraid of you? You left so I’d feel safer?” Her expression changed in the way that the light brightens at dawn when the sun first clears the mountaintops. “You don’t scare me, Hawk. You saved me.”
He shook his head. “You don’t know what—”
“I’ve seen you with Aric. With Regan and Gryff. Under the scars and tats, you’re a really nice person.”
Nice? He stared at her.
She pulled in a breath and lifted her chin. “I have a kind of PTSD. Some things—especially with men—swamp me with bad memories, and I’m still trying to figure out what can set me off. The counselor calls them triggers.”
PTSD—shit, he wouldn’t have put that together with rape and beatings, but it made sense. Fuck knew he’d had problems from his father pounding on him. Like when the sarge’d raise his hand to point at something, and Hawk would duck. “I had that. As a kid. Then after combat. Nightmares. Flashbacks.”
“A flashback is pretty much what I had that day.” She bit her lip for a second. “I’ve been practicing hugs to get past it.”
“Practicing?”
Her cheeks turned an appealing pink. “In case I had a chance for a do-over.” Her gaze dropped. “Although, I didn’t think that would happen.”
Think what would happen? That she’d get a chance to hug him?
Far be it from him to deny this woman anything she wanted. He stepped forward…and pulled up, stalling out.
Way to be a dumbass all over again. “Do-overs are good,” he said as gently as he could manage with his shit voice.
When she looked up at him, he opened his arms wide—and held very still.
The next move needed to be hers.
Her breathing stopped. Then she stepped forward and put her arms around him, resting her cheek against his shoulder.
He stayed perfectly still even as he savored the feeling of her body against his and her slender arms around him. Her scent drifted up, a heady mix of lavender and vanilla.
“Both of us are supposed to hug,” she said in a small grumpy voice. She gripped his wrists and put them behind her back before resuming her hug.
All right then. Carefully, he hugged her, and with a sigh, she relaxed.
Snuggled.
“Fuck, I missed you.” His voice sounded like someone had grated his vocal cords.
Her breathing hitched. “Me too.” With a low sob, she started to shake, and then she cried.
Appalled, shaken, he held her, even as contentment welled up inside—because she trusted him with her feelings.
The entire time, her hold on him didn’t relax an iota.
Chapter Eighteen
When things get out of control and everyone around you is screaming and losing their minds, look for the quiet one and stick to him. He’s fixing to cut fence and sort some bastards out. ~ Unknown
Fog drifted through the forest like ghosts of time past.
Leaning against a tree the next morning, Caz studied his brother with the skill of a medic—and the experience of his own soul-deep wounds.
Last night, he’d visited Hawk to check the stitches, both of them knowing he was really there in case his brother needed to talk.
He hadn’t but was in good spirits. Having seen Hawk emerge from Mako’s house, Caz had an idea of why…and heartily approved.
This morning, though, his brother seemed enveloped in a murky cloud of pain and memories. Not surprising. Often after a period of happiness, darkness would surge back in, overwhelming the lowered defenses. Thankfully, there were ways to recall the light—love, belonging, satisfying work.
Mako had often retreated into the wilderness to restore his balance. His sons did the same.
Today, Hawk would get some time in the forest as well as receive the best soul bandage in the world—the enthusiasm and laughter of children.
Smiling, Caz caught his brother’s attention and signaled him to move north and away from the dirt road.
Hawk gave him a two-fingered salute and obeyed.
There was no summer school today since some of the care providers had a teachers’ meeting for the upcoming school year. It was Caz’s turn on kid-watch duties, and he’d drafted his brother for a game.
Hawk hadn’t argued. None of them would turn down a chance to teach the next generation the sarge’s skill-building exercises.
The children’s goal was to sneak up and grab Hawk, who would dial down his wariness to about eighty percent.
Although the kids were familiar with the woods closest to the Hermitage, the dense fog changed everything. The thick mist could be more disorienting than darkness.
Caz followed the children at a slight distance, listening for fabric brushing against bushes, vegetation rustling, a bird taking off, and insects and small animals going silent.