The women looked appalled.
“But even while he was grumbling, he was petting Gryff into a puddle of happy dog.” Kit smiled at the chorus of awwwws.
Her smile faded. “Then the jerk took off without telling anyone and was gone for over a month, and I was so mad at him because Aric kept looking for him.”
“Yeah, that’s a jerk,” Diana muttered.
“Only then I found out that he’d talked to my boy before leaving. Even left his military beret so Aric would know he’d be back.”
“Something tangible to hold onto.” The counselor nodded approval.
Kit exhaled and fessed up. “The reason he took off was because, when I tried to hug him, I had a panic attack, and he figured I was scared of him. Big bad mercenary, right? He didn’t want me feeling threatened by his being around. Especially since he likes me.”
Signy raised her hand. “I changed my mind. He sounds maybe good enough for you.”
“You seem to see him pretty clearly,” the counselor said. “And now, you’re wondering how to move forward.”
“Or even if I should.” Kit sighed. “I’m such a mess.”
“There aren’t many—if any—people who aren’t a mess at one time or another. Or lots of times. You’ve gone through a hellish thing. Try to remember that the people around you could have had their own distressing incidents or phases.” The counselor shook her head. “Here at the center, we see people for crappy childhoods, homelessness, car accidents, cancer, amputations, combat, disastrous relationships. Even losing a loved one or child.”
Kit blinked. So many things could derail a person over the course of a lifetime. Yes, she’d just had a bad season and had felt much like a drought-ridden, dying plant. But she could almost feel the new green growth in her spirit.
Who would have thought budding out was such hard work?
The counselor looked around the circle. “You all have work to do to get your lives back together. That doesn’t mean you’re bad or permanently damaged. You’re amazing women. Look at you—still moving ahead despite having run into a messy patch.”
Her words sank in. Kit could hear the sincerity.
“Okay, back to the interesting stuff,” Fernanda said with a grin. “Kit, you’ve been practicing hugs and touch and stuff. Did it work?”
“It did.” Kit bounced a little. “I told him I’d practiced hugging, and he opened his arms, and I hugged him, and then I had to pull his arms around me, and it was wonderful. And”—she rolled her eyes—“and then I cried all over him.”
“Oh, no.” Diana’s brows pulled together “Was he upset?”
“He just held me, and it was great.”
The counselor nodded. “There’s potential here. From those of you who’ve gone past hugging, what obstacles did you run into and how did you work around them?”
The ones further on the journey chimed in with their stories and their triggers and workarounds.
The one warning they gave, though, was that—whether Kit’s guy talked or not—communication was essential.
And didn’t that just suck? Talking about sex was a lot more difficult than just stripping and jumping in bed.
Sex with Hawk.
An unsettling mix of anticipation and nausea swept through Kit as she remembered their first aborted hug and the disaster that had followed.
Huh. Maybe talking wouldn’t be a bad idea.
Chapter Nineteen
Worrying is like paying a debt you don’t owe. ~ Mark Twain
Tuesday morning, in his dining room, Bull studied his brother. It had always annoyed Hawk when his attempts to hide his emotions behind irritability and a wall of reserve didn’t work. But the dark circles under Hawk’s eyes were a dead giveaway of stress.
And when he’d flown away without any warning? They’d known something had pulled the hawk’s tail feathers.
But he’d come back to them.
“You might’ve lost sleep while you were away, but you don’t look like you lost weight.” Bull put a plate of scrambled eggs and hash browns in front of Hawk, then dished more for himself and Frankie.
Dancing a little to the Huey Lewis on the sound system, Frankie set a plate of bacon on the table and added a platter of toast. Gryff took up position nearby.
“Rich client.” The corner of Hawk’s mouth tipped up. “With a chef.”
They settled at the table, and Bull had the gratification of watching his brother chow down with open pleasure.
After a few minutes, Hawk sat back with a contented sigh. “You’re a better cook than the fancy chef, bro.”
“Hey,” Frankie said indignantly. “I made the eggs.”
“You, too, Yorkie. Takes talent to make even the basics taste amazing.”
“Ooooh, that was a very good compliment,” Frankie said. “I guess I’ll have to bake something sweet to welcome you home.”
Hawk’s eyes lit.
Bull grinned. His woman had never been fazed by Hawk’s appearance. “It’s good you’re back. We kept your crew of carpenters busy but haven’t had time to check their work.”
From what he’d seen, the men seemed solid, but still… Hawk was as exacting about construction as Bull was about cooking.
“I’ll get on it tomorrow.” Hawk pushed his plate away, empty except for a piece of bacon that he tossed to Gryff.
The dog caught it mid-air and gave a thump of his tail.
“What’s planned today?” Frankie asked, saving Bull from trying to disguise the same question. Hawk might answer her; he’d probably shut Bull down.
“Kit wanted help to deliver her flowers.”
Bull glanced toward Mako’s deck, which overflowed with blooming plants. Tomorrow, it would be empty. “That’s a shame; I’ve been enjoying the view.”
“I’m glad you’ll be with her,” Frankie said to Hawk. “She’s going to get all emotional—and she hates that.”
Bull expected his taciturn brother to think of ways to bail. Instead, Hawk’s eyes narrowed, and then he nodded. “Got it.”
Hell, had he missed something going on between Kit and Hawk? Bull eyed Frankie. But she wouldn’t share Kit’s confidences.
“Is Nabera still in the wind?” Hawk asked.
“Unfortunately. The stronzo.” Frankie scowled.
“The PZs dropped out of sight again after that mess at the shelter,” Bull said. “Haven’t been seen since.”
Hawk frowned. “Nabera wants revenge on Kit. He won’t give up.”
“I know. We’re trying to keep an eye on her,” Bull said. “It was easier before she bought a car and started driving herself.”
“Shit,” Hawk muttered. When his mouth went tight, Bull knew they’d have one more person keeping an eye out for Kit.
“How’s Aric?” Hawk rested an arm on the table, the white gauze of a dressing a reminder of how deadly the ex-merc could be.
“So-so.” Frankie tipped her hand back and forth. “He’s talking and playing like a normal four-year-old. We’re working on helping him with his emotions.”