Hawke

by Sawyer Bennett

  My cheeks flame a little, but I don't fight him on this. The sooner we have this conversation, the sooner the fallout can occur. I know I've been putting this off, but it can't be hidden any longer. I'm tired of carrying the burden of what I did to him, and while I have no clue where he and I stand in the long term, I know that nothing good will ever happen to us if we continue to let this fester.

  Turning to face him, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. His face tilts, eyes pinned to mine with naked expectation to finally hear the truth.

  "That night of the party," I say quietly, refusing to drop my gaze from his. "I wasn't feeling well."

  "Period cramps," he supplies, letting me know exactly what he remembered from that night.

  "Not period cramps," I tell him bluntly. This surprises Hawke and he pushes up, tense and alert. His hand now presses into the mattress, supporting his weight. His gaze is now looking at me with trepidation but still a need to know. "I was pregnant. Six weeks. And I miscarried that night. It started not long after you left with everyone to get more beer."

  I wasn't sure what to expect, but it wasn't what I got.

  Hawke lets out a pained moan and rolls off the bed away from me. His eyes are filled with grief and regret. He brings his hands to the sides of his head, grasps his hair, and pulls on it. He starts pacing up and down beside his bed, eyes to me, then dropping to the floor.

  Back to me again as he halts, this time pleading for me to tell him it was a lie. I just shake my head and drop my own gaze to the sheet resting near my crossed knees. I now pull it up again over my lap, feeling completely uncomfortable in my nakedness.

  The mattress dips and my head shoots up as Hawke now crawls toward me. His eyes bore into mine as he kneels beside me. With his hands to my shoulders, he pulls me up and closer to him so I raise to my knees. With his nose almost brushing mine, he asks ever so gently, "A baby. We had a baby?"

  Tears brim and then fall unabashedly from my eyes. Hawke blinks furiously to make his own tears go away. I nod my head, confirming the worst news and feel his fingers dig into my shoulders.

  "Did you know?" he asks, voice raw like his throat had been scraped with sandpaper.

  I shake my head. "No. I mean...when I started cramping, I just assumed it was my period. I was pissed you wouldn't leave with me, so Avery and I left after you went on the beer run. I started really hurting in her car and that's when I started bleeding. She took me to the hospital."

  "Goddamn it, Vale," he shouts, and gives me a little shake. Eyes now blazing in fury and pain. "Why didn't you call me?"

  His voice is laced with so much condemnation it brings back all of the anger I was feeling toward him that night. I wrench away from his grasp, roll to my side and right out of the bed. He doesn't make a move for me but watches me like a hawk--ironic--as I move to the end and pull my underwear free from the tangle of my jeans lying on the floor. Since Hawke never bothered with my top, I instantly feel more protected the minute I slip them on. I also feel incredibly connected to him in this moment, as I feel his semen seeping out of me and soaking my panties.

  The same semen that had knocked me up seven years ago.

  "Why didn't you call me?" he asks again, teeth clenched in anger.

  Throwing my hands out to the side, I shout, "I was pissed, okay? It was more important for you to stay with your buds that night than be with me when I wasn't feeling well."

  "You said it was your period," he defends.

  "Well, it wasn't my fucking period," I snarl, feeling somewhat vindicated when he at least looks sad again over the bitter reminder. Immediately, my temper cools because I know how painful this is for him to be hearing he had lost a baby. So I try to explain to him. "I didn't know what was going on at first. I had no clue I was pregnant."

  "Was your period late?" he butts in, demanding the details.

  "I guess," I say lamely.

  "You guess?" he sneers. "Don't you keep track of that shit?"

  "Yes," I yell at him. "I guess it just didn't register to me that I was a little late."

  "Didn't register?" he says incredulously. "How can that not register? You get it once a month; hell, you timed your fucking mood swings practically down to the minute."

  His condemnation of me has my hackles rising, and I yell right back at him with derision. "Well, shit, Hawke, you were fucking me every day, period or no period. Why didn't you keep track of it? You had the same data I did."

  Hawke drops his ass to the mattress, swings his legs to the floor, and turns his back on me. Resting his elbows on his knees, his head bows low for just a moment. I watch as his muscular back expands with a deep breath and comes out as a misery-filled sigh. He pushes up from the bed, shoulders hunched and with the tired posture of a ninety-year-old man.

  When he turns to me, his voice is broken, barely audible. "You should have called me from the hospital."

  I offer a sharp nod of agreement. "I know. As I sit here and look back on it all, I know I should have."

  "And because you were pissed at me," he accuses, "you cut me out of knowing. You prevented me from sharing in that with you, and giving you comfort. You took away my right to be there with you, all because you were mad at me that night."

  "You chose your buddies over me," I point out, defending my right to have felt abandoned.

  "I chose them over your period cramps, Vale. It was my last night in Sydney. I thought you'd understand that."

  "I didn't," I tell him softly...oh, so tiredly. "I didn't understand. All I knew was that I was in a hospital bed with bloody clots coming out of me with every wave of pain, and it was more important for you to party on your last night in Sydney. It was more important to be with your friends than with the girl you claimed to love."

  "I would have come if you called," he reminds me again, and this I know is true. The only reason I didn't call was because I was pissed. And even in that moment, as I lay there with Avery holding my hand and cursing Hawke, I knew deep in my gut that he'd feel terrible about all of this. That the next day, he'd beg my forgiveness, take me in his arms, and soothe away the hurt. He'd share in my grief and make me feel cherished again. I just knew all of that would happen eventually, so it was easy to hold on to my immature anger and not call him from the hospital.

  But then something else happened altogether.

  Hawke is looking at the opposite wall vacantly, his hands shoved down deep in his pockets. The fight has gone out of him, but he wanted the whole truth, so I'm going to give it to him.

  "I didn't break up with you because of that," I tell him.

  His head jerks my way, his eyes widening with confusion and curiosity. Pulling his hands out of his pockets, he steps around the corner of the bed that separates us and comes to stand before me. "Why, then?"

  Taking a step closer to Hawke, I reach out and put my hand on his chest. Right over the middle of his sternum, where I feel his heart beating steady and true. I can almost imagine each beat sucking in knowledge and truth, pumping out pain and grief. "Because you and I were bad for each other."

  "What?" he says, stepping back in surprise. I drop my hand, grab his, and pull it up. I curl both my hands around his and pull it into my own chest, holding it over my heart.

  "Something else happened in the hospital," I begin slowly, hoping I can paint a clear picture of the tailspin I was thrown into. "When the doctor came in to talk to me, she wasn't very sympathetic to my plight. She smelled the beer on my breath, looked at my tattoos and piercings, wrinkled her nose in disdain. You know how that goes sometimes."

  Hawke doesn't nod in agreement with me, but I know he does agree. We often talked about people and first impressions. Hell, I know I made an impression on him the first time he saw me. He loved my wildness and piercings; it's what attracted him, but we also knew it repelled others.

  "The doctor told me something that hit me deeply. In hindsight, I think it was wrong of her to do it, but I didn't know. Not at twenty."

  Hawke's Adam'
s apple bobs as he swallows hard, but his voice is gruff with uneasiness. "What did she do?"

  I squeeze his hand still locked between both of mine and level my gaze at him. I tell him as simply as I can, and try to keep the emotion out of my voice. "She told me it was probably my fault I had miscarried. Went on to list the hazards of drinking and drugs and what they can do to a fetus that early on in a pregnancy. Didn't matter to her that I hadn't done drugs, and she never really even asked me my history with alcohol. She just assumed I was a party girl and was pretty clear that, although you could never know for certain, that's probably what caused the miscarriage."

  "That fucking cunt," Hawke growls, jerking his hand out of my hold. His arms immediately circle around my shoulders and he slams me into him. He hugs me tight, protectively, and growls again. "I should track her down and--"

  "She was right," I say calmly, cutting through his anger with the one thing I believe to be true about that night.

  Hawke pulls his upper body back, loosening his hold on me slightly. He looks down at me, shaking his head in denial, eyes filled with disavowal. "No."

  "Yes," I say firmly, and pull back. His arms drop and he stares at me helplessly.

  "It didn't register with me that my period was late. I never thought twice about the way we partied. I assumed nothing bad would ever come of it, and I most certainly didn't think I could get pregnant while I was on the pill. I never gave two thoughts about the consequences of my actions because I was swallowed up by you. You commanded all my attention. You consumed me. Everything was about you, and as long as I had you, I didn't care about anything else. And don't pretend it wasn't the same on your end. As long as you had me, nothing else mattered. We were young and stupid and in no way ready to really grasp the concept of love and commitment. I lay in a hospital emergency room bleeding our child out because I never once thought our actions could ever cause us pain. I was stupid, immature, and I knew--"

  My voice cracks, my shoulders slump. Hawke is starting to see that this goes much deeper than just being pissed at him for not leaving the party with me.

  "I just knew," I continue, embarrassed at the way my voice quavers with such heavy emotion. After seven years, the blame and guilt I carried still weighs so heavy on me. "I knew that what happened that night was my fault because I couldn't see past you. Nothing else mattered to me. At age twenty, we had no worries. You were a hockey god and my lover. I was your goddess and I walked on water as far as you were concerned. I understand now how the young heart and mind fail to see reality and prefer to live inside a false sense of security all in the name of true love. If I had been clued in just a little...had I bothered to look away from your bright, shining star for just a moment, maybe I would have paid more attention to the fact my period was late. Maybe I would have taken a pregnancy test, and maybe I would have quit drinking. I wouldn't have gone to parties where there was cigarette and pot smoke hanging all around. Maybe I would have showed the maturity and wisdom that was necessary to prevent the death of our child--"

  "Fuck," Hawke groans, that one word laced with such pain, his face is pale and his lips colorless. He grabs me again, pulls me in tight to him. "Not your fault, Vale. Not your fault."

  He squeezes me tight, and my arms come around his waist, finally accepting the comfort and security he could have given me all those years ago. I don't believe him at all when he tells me it's not my fault, but that part of me that always loved him revels in his loyalty to me.

  "Not your fault," he continues to murmur, rocking me back and forth in his arms. "Not your fault."

  Not your fault, not your fault, not your fault.

  "I'm so fucking sorry," Hawke murmurs with his lips against my hair, then pulls back to look down at me. His voice crackles with emotion. Tears fill his eyes, then slip and fall down his cheeks. "I should have gone with you. You were more important to me than my buddies, but I took it all for granted. I should have been with you, and I would have been right there when that whack-job doctor dared to make you feel responsible. I should have held your hand, and hugged you and kissed away your tears. I should have assured you that we'd have other chances for babies and that there were a million reasons you could have miscarried."

  I want to open my mouth and denounce everything he's saying. I can't stand the pain and grief he's enduring right now. I can't stand that I took away his opportunity to be there for me and to share in this as my lover and partner. More guilt presses down on me, and it's never been more clear to me than in this moment that I greatly wronged Hawke all those years ago.

  Chapter 19

  Hawke

  I had a baby with Vale.

  Vale and I created a life.

  Tiny. Perfect.

  Not so perfect.

  Fleeting.

  Vale clings on to me tightly, her face now pressed back into my chest. I whisper words of apology and absolution. I try to reiterate to her over and over again that the miscarriage wasn't her fault. Now is not the time, but when it's right, I'll ultimately need to convince her that it wasn't "our" fault either. She seems to want to put some of the blame on our relationship as a whole, arguing that our utter devotion to and consumption of each other led us to be ignorant of life.

  I don't agree with this.

  Not at all.

  She finally quiets. My words dry up, but I continue to hold her, one hand trailing up and down her back in soothing strokes. Been so long since I've held her like this, and I never thought I'd live to see the day it would happen again. In many ways, this feels like it did years ago. So right, so comfortable. In other ways, it feels awkward, because Vale and I are completely different people than we were then. I wonder, had this one horrific event not occurred, would we have grown together over the years, or apart?

  I'd like to think together, because despite the fact we were young and probably clueless as to what real commitment was like, there was something we had that I've never found again, and I'm pretty sure Vale hasn't either.

  And that was a tethering of our souls.

  I know it sounds hokey, but I felt it. Down in my gut, straight through my core. An intense connection with Vale that I'm not even sure I felt with my parents, as much as I love them.

  Sadly, I don't feel it now, not the way I did before. I feel a fluttering, or perhaps it's a reawakening, and it makes me wonder where we go from here. At least for the long term.

  For the immediate future--as in right now--I know exactly where we're going.

  Releasing her from my embrace, I stoop to grab her hand and turn to lead her toward the bathroom. "Come on. Let's take a hot bath together. I don't know about you, but I feel like I've been run over by a Mack truck."

  Vale halts, pulls her hand against mine. Not enough to dislodge it, but enough to make me turn toward her. "I can't. I have to get back home to my dad."

  "Yeah, not going to happen," I say, and turn toward the bathroom again.

  This time she jerks her hand from mine. I round on her, expecting a furious tirade over my high-handed ways, but damn...I was always like that with Vale. She should remember that, and as much as she likes to bitch about it, I also know she loved it.

  Instead, she chews on her lower lip, absolute indecision causing her brow to furrow deep. "I think it's best if I just get home. I'm worried about Dad--"

  "Cut the shit, Vale," I tell her with a censuring look but an affable smile. "No more secrets. No more lies. It's all out on the table now, which means now we deal with it."

  "Deal with it how?" she asks with frustration. "You've had seven years of bitterness toward me. Now you've got grief and sadness. I've got a shit ton of guilt on my shoulders and we haven't even--"

  She stops cold, eyes dropping to the floor.

  "Haven't even what?" I ask her softly as I step up to her. The knuckle on my index finger goes under her chin, lifting her face. She looks at me with a swift smile and shakes her head.

  "Nothing," she says in an accommodating smile. "It's all out on the table
. I'm just...not sure how we process this. What we do."

  "What we do?" I ask her with mock sarcasm, and so she knows I'm teasing I give her an impish smile. "I'll tell you what we do. We go get in the bathtub and we relax a bit. But because you'll be naked, and in my arms, I'm going to get horny again, and so we'll fuck in the tub. Preferably with you riding me."

  Vale cocks a gorgeously arched eyebrow at me and folds her arms over her chest. "So sex will solve all our problems?"

  "It damn well won't make them worse," I say with a grin.

  She rolls her eyes at me, and to my dismay, turns around to grab her jeans off the floor. I'm lunging at her before she can even think to put one foot in them. I grab them from her, toss them across the room, and spin her in my arms. I let my hands frame her face and I bend down to brush my nose against hers. "Listen, I understand now why you did what you did. I hate we lost those years. Hate you've been under this guilt. I don't know exactly where we go from here, but I do know where we don't go. And that's backward. We don't go back to the anger. We don't go back to the grief. And we sure as shit don't go back to just being friends."

  Her eyes are filled with indecision, and I see an intense worry lurking deep within. I can almost imagine cogs and wheels rotating in that brain of hers, trying to figure out some way to accept what I'm saying, but perhaps too mired in the thickness of her wounded conscience to see what's standing just a few feet in front of her.

  "Vale," I say softly to get her attention. To make sure there is no doubt about what I'm getting ready to say. "I understand why you did that to me...cutting me loose. For not letting me be there for you. I get it...I really do. It's done and we can stop playing the blame game, okay?"

  "So we just start over?" she asks hesitantly.

  My mouth splits wide into a smile of dazzling magnitude. I step back from her, dropping my hands from her face. Coughing slightly to clear my throat, I extend my arm, palm sideways, and say, "Hi. My name is Hawke. Nice to meet you."

  Vale purses her lips, letting me know she thinks I'm a dork, but I can see the humor in her gaze. She takes my hand, gives me a firm handshake. "I'm Vale. It's nice to meet you too."