Tortured Skye: A Hawke Family Novel (The Hawke Family Book 2)

by Gwyn McNamee

  “He’s an idiot.” I slam my martini glass down on the bar top and crumple a napkin in my hand, just to destroy something.

  Storm’s eyes widen, and she holds her hands up in surrender. “I didn’t disagree with you.”

  Byron approaches us and quirks an eyebrow at me. “Problem with your drink?”

  I glower at my half-empty glass. “No. In fact, bring me another.” Bryon tosses a look at Storm, and I glare at them both. He shrugs and backs away slowly, as if any sudden movements might result in loss of limbs.

  Judgmental assholes.

  I might as well get drunk tonight. It’s the first time I’ve left the hospital in twelve days. The only reason I even let Storm convince me to come to the club is because I drink for free, and she assured me Savage wouldn’t be here.

  After the way Gabe acted today, I deserve some liquid refreshment. It may be the only way to calm me down after that stunt he pulled.

  “Skye, I’m sure Gabe is fine.” Storm’s words do nothing to placate me. Quite the opposite. They incite me more.

  “Where the hell does he get off treating me like that? After everything I did for him. I was just trying to help. Why is that a bad thing?”

  Byron sets down my drink and chuckles. “Oh, honey, you can’t be serious.”

  “Of course I’m serious!”

  He leans against his side of the bar and gives Storm a knowing look. “Gabe is a soldier. Always will be. And do you know what big, macho soldiers hate? Little girls like you babying them and treating them like invalids.”

  My jaw drops and my blood pressure skyrockets. “Fuck you, Byron. That’s not what I was doing.”

  Storm pulls the plastic stick from her drink and bites off the olive. “He has a point, Skye.”

  “What is this, dump on Skye day?”

  Byron laughs and pushes off the counter to his full height. “Cut the woe-is-me persecution complex shit. You can’t see the situation clearly because you love the man. Take a step back and pretend it was anyone other than Gabe and tell me you weren’t being a little, well, hovery.”

  Hovery?

  Is that even a word?

  Thinking back over the last twelve days, I see myself checking his IV, reading his chart, talking with his doctors and nurses, instructing his nurses when they did something wrong, feeding him, fluffing his pillows…

  Holy shit!

  “Aww, fuck.” I drop my head into my hands and squeeze my eyes shut.

  I had been the hovering, controlling, bossy, annoying girlfriend, and I’m not even his fucking girlfriend. Never was, really. I had been the person all nurses and doctors hate and patients complain about as soon as they leave the room. No wonder Gabe wanted me out of his place so badly.

  He had barely been freed from the hospital prison for half an hour before I was creating a new harpy one in his own home.

  Storm’s arm wraps around my shoulder, and she nudges me with her hip. “Don’t stress about it, Skye. When he’s feeling better, he’ll appreciate what you did for him. Just give him some space.”

  Space. Pfft.

  Isn’t him putting space between us what caused this entire clusterfuck in the first place? If he hadn’t pushed me away, we would have been together, and none of this would have happened.

  It’s not my fault. Never was, despite what my own misplaced guilt led me to believe.

  It was his, for not having the fucking balls to just say what he fucking wants and to take it.

  Storm pulls her arm away when I don’t respond. “Speaking of space…have you spoken with Savage since he came to the hospital?”

  I pull my head up long enough to down half of the second martini Byron made me before I answer. “No. And, frankly, I don’t want to right now. Even though he made things right for Gabe legally, I told you the things he said to me, about me, and about Gabe. That was some messed up shit right there. I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive him for what he said.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  She shakes her head and pushes away her empty glass. “Maybe you think you do. But remember what it was like when we thought we might lose him? We already lost Star, are you really going to push Savage away over this? I already said basically the same thing to Savage, hoping it would help pull his head out of his ass.”

  My stomach clenches and the martini and a half start to rise up my throat.

  Gabe was right.

  This is exactly what he had warned me about, what he had feared more than anything. He and I both lost Savage.

  And to make things worse, we lost him and have nothing to gain from it. We’re both still alone, and while I’m not sure about him, I know I’m fucking miserable. But it doesn’t have to stay that way.

  Searing pain stabs my abdomen and radiates throughout my body. Every single inch of me is a giant, raw nerve.

  “Fuck…”

  I try to roll onto my side to tuck myself into a ball, but the motion just sends new arrows of agony shooting everywhere. A gasping breath is all I can manage as I try to breathe through it and the nausea now rolling through my stomach.

  “Motherfucking fuck…”

  Even opening my eyes hurts.

  The clock next to my bed reads 2:00.

  Well, shit.

  I missed the pain med dose I was supposed to take at noon. That would explain the utter misery I’m in right now.

  A vivid image of the medication bottles on the coffee table jumps into my head, and I groan. How the hell am I supposed to get all the way out there to get them. I can’t even roll over without the pain making me want to puke.

  Admitting Skye was right is like taking a swift kick to the junk. I would prefer a kick to the junk over the agony I’m in right now.

  But, the truth is, I fucking need someone to get my meds for me.

  Dani.

  She’s right across the hall—hopefully. And I sure as fuck hope she won’t freeze me out the way Savage has.

  I just need to call her.

  But where the hell is my phone? Another glance at the nightstand tells me I’m shit out of luck. No phone. When was the last time I even had it?

  It’s not like anyone was calling to check on me while I was in the hospital. The only people who have ever given a shit about me are the Hawkes, and I fucking blew that now too. I will never be able to be a part of the family again. Savage won’t even talk to me, and chances are, it’s only a matter of time before Skye stops wanting to speak to me too.

  She’s still holding out hope I’ll change my mind. And maybe I would have, if I hadn’t seen the way Savage reacted in my room.

  He will never forgive me. But he will forgive her, because she’s blood. After losing Star, he will eventually get over his feeling of betrayal and forgive Skye rather than lose her too. Things between them will probably never be the same, but at least there’s hope there.

  If I’m selfish and tell her how I really feel—that I want nothing more than to be with her, that I can barely take a breath without thinking about her, and that I have no fucking clue how I’m supposed to go on every day without her in my life—she’ll be here in an a millisecond and Savage will be gone not only from my life, but hers as well.

  Fuck.

  As if the anguish of losing her isn’t bad enough, I need to get those fucking meds before the agony makes me pass out again.

  Phone.

  Need to find my phone.

  I grit my teeth and fight through the searing pain to pull myself into a sitting position against the headboard.

  A cold sweat covers my skin and the trembling of my body brings back very unwelcome memories from the cabin.

  Breathe.

  In.

  Out.

  Repeat.

  I force my legs over the side of the bed and pause again to work through the pain before I even make an attempt to stand. My hand grasps the night stand, and I push myself up.

  Sweet motherfucking Christ…

 
Agony rips the air from my lungs and I sway, the only thing keeping me upright is my death-grip on the table.

  Instead of cursing Lucas for my current state, I can only blame myself. I probably deserve this. Karma can be a real fucking bitch, and I pissed her the fuck off.

  Fucking your best friend’s little sister is pretty high on the bro code violation list. I never should have gone to her apartment that night. What the fuck did I think I was going to accomplish? How could I have really thought I had the willpower to be alone with her like that and not act on what I knew we were both feeling?

  Shit.

  Phone. Find it.

  I push up off the table. The room spins, and I wobble but manage to keep myself upright.

  Living room. Just make it to the living room.

  Each step is a test of not only my physical will but also my mental fortitude. With my hand on the doorjamb, I pause momentarily before venturing into the hallway.

  Deep breath.

  Step forward.

  I place my right palm flat against the wall and inch my way toward the living room.

  The agonizingly long hallway stretches out in front of me.

  My vision blurs at the edges, and I pause again. This was a bad idea. I’m not going to make it. I’m going to collapse on the damn hardwood floor and probably die here, alone and hated by the only family I’ve ever known.

  The elevator dings when it reaches the top floor, and I wonder for the thousandth time if I’m making a mistake coming here again.

  He doesn’t want you here.

  I step out into the hallway, and my eyes automatically go to the left, to Savage and Dani’s door. He still hasn’t spoken with me, or anyone else in the family for that matter, and I’m beginning to think it will take an act of God for him to come out of his Fortress of Solitude and Assholeness.

  Ignoring the burning desire to knock on their door, I turn to the one on the right and pause to collect myself.

  Don’t mother him. Don’t ask him to make decisions about the future while he’s high on pain meds and recovering from the ordeal. Don’t say something smart assy that you’ll regret later. Don’t be you.

  The knob turns easily in my hand. It still blows my mind that Gabe and Savage never lock their doors. I mean, I get it. The elevator is secured with a passcode to reach their floor, but considering how anal Gabe is about security, I would have expected him to have ten locks, not zero.

  Not wanting to wake him if he’s asleep, I inch the door open quietly and slip inside. The living room lights are off but the midafternoon light streams in the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  My eyes immediately go to the coffee table where I left Gabe’s medications and cell phone before I stormed out.

  Shit.

  The bottles lay in the same haphazard positions, and his phone sits unmoved.

  He didn’t take his meds.

  Fuck.

  I drop my purse onto the couch and practically race to where the hallway leading to his bedroom branches off from the living room.

  “Gabe!”

  He’s little more than a huddled mass on the floor halfway down the hall. The only response I receive to calling his name is a muffled groan. I fall to my knees in front of him and pull his head up from where it’s buried against his arm.

  His eyes flutter open and he grimaces. “Skye?”

  “Jesus, Gabe. What the hell are you doing?”

  With what looks like great effort, he sucks in a breath and brushes my hand away from his face. “I was going to get the meds…or my phone…something? Fuck…”

  I knew I shouldn’t have left him.

  Internal bleeding or return of the infection are my biggest concerns. I grab his wrist and check his pulse. Some of the tension in my chest releases when it’s 110. His pain must be off the charts right now, but his pulse isn’t high enough to overly concern me.

  “Okay, big guy, let’s get you back in bed. I’ll bring you everything you need.”

  His eyes narrow, and for a brief moment, I think he’s going to be stupid enough to fight me on this. Then the fight leaves his glassy gaze, and his head drops again. “All right.”

  Admitting he needs my help was probably a giant knock to Gabe’s ego, but it seems like a step in the right direction.

  I pull his arm up over my shoulders and he curses with even that little movement. Getting up is really not going to feel good.

  “Here we go. On three. One, two, three.” I push up and drag as much of his weight as I can while he tries to help me get him on his feet. His head falls forward, and I’m surprised his jaw doesn’t break with how hard he’s grinding it together.

  His room is only ten steps away, but with all two hundred and twenty pounds of him leaning against me, it seems like much farther. I can only imagine what it feels like to him. Probably ten miles.

  “Let’s get this done one step at a time.” He nods, and we shift forward slowly—inch by agonizing inch.

  I fight back the tears burning in my eyes.

  Don’t cry. He’s going to be fine.

  It doesn’t matter that the nurse in me knows he’ll recover from his injuries or that this pain is only temporary; the hormonal, overly-emotional, stereotypical girl in me wants to sob at seeing him suffer.

  But crying will do neither of us any good.

  Suck it up, Skye.

  I push through my swelling emotions and concentrate on getting him horizontal. By the time we finally reach his room and stand next to his bed, a cold sheen of sweat covers his face and he’s shaking against me.

  There’s no way he could have made it back here by himself, or to the living room to reach his meds for that matter. He was here all alone, and if I hadn’t come by…

  No. Stop. That didn’t happen.

  I shake my head and help lower him down to the bed. The strangled groan emanating out from between his clenched teeth makes me wince. He takes several ragged, uneven breaths before grimacing.

  He doesn’t say anything, but it’s clear he’s not making it the rest of the way on by himself. I reach down and help lift his legs up onto the bed. When he’s finally lying down, the number one priority becomes getting his medication into him so he can rest.

  “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

  “As if I could…even if I wanted to…”

  I dash back to the living room, scoop up the medication bottles and his phone. There’s no way in hell I’m going to leave him without a way to communicate again. It was so fucking stupid not to make sure he got to bed okay. Even though he would have fought me with whatever energy he had left, I should have known he was too out of it to do it himself.

  After a quick stop to the kitchen for a bottle of water, I bolt back to him. He hasn’t moved an inch. If it weren’t for the way his face is scrunched up in pain, I would think he’s asleep.

  “Here, take these.” I dump two Percocet into my hand and open the bottle of water for him. His eyes flutter open and lock with mine. “You’re going to need to sit up a little bit.”

  “You say that like it’s easy.” He groans and pushes himself up on his good arm until he’s semi-reclining.

  I hold the pills up to his mouth and his lips brush my fingers when he takes them. That fleeting touch against my skin sends a shiver down my spine. Vivid memories of those lips devouring my mouth and pussy heat my body.

  His eyes study me as I hold the water up for him. Why does he have to look at me like that? He’s in agony but his gaze still sets me on fire. And why does it have to be so fucking sexy to watch the muscles of his neck flex when he swallows?

  Only Gabe could turn taking medication into fucking foreplay.

  The familiar smell of homemade sauce tickles my nose and drags me from sleep. I don’t even want to open my eyes. Last time I did that, bad, bad things happened.

  So, I lie still, taking stock of my body.

  No searing pain in my side and only a dull throb in my head and shoulder.

  Thank fucking C
hrist.

  A muffled bang from the kitchen finally compels me to force my eyes open. The pitch black of the room surrounds me, and I’m tempted to close my eyes and let sleep pull me back under. I’m fucking exhausted.

  But the scent coming through the crack in the bedroom door calls to me. My stomach rumbles.

  Shit.

  I’m not sure what time Skye got me back into bed, but the clock tells me it’s almost 8:00 and I haven’t eaten since 8:00 this morning—shitty hospital food at that.

  I push myself up with my right arm and swing my legs over the side of the bed. The room only slightly spins this time and it quickly rights itself. With some concerted effort, I get myself on my feet and shuffle to the door.

  The moment I open it fully, the aroma of familiar spices and tomato makes my mouth water.

  By the time I make it down the hallway to the kitchen, I’m completely convinced Mrs. Hawke must be here cooking for me. Talk about awkward. Savage won’t even talk to me but his own mother is taking care of me. This is precisely what I’d been trying to avoid when I ended things with Skye.

  But the dark-haired woman at the stove isn’t Mrs. Hawke. It’s Skye, and my heart constricts watching her stir the large pot. Who would have thought seeing her cooking in my kitchen would be so Goddamn sexy and feel so fucking right?

  God, I’m so fucked when it comes to this woman.

  She pulls the spoon from the pot and brings it to her mouth. When she slips it between her lips and moans, my cock twitches to life. I must make a noise without even realizing it because her head whips around and her surprised eyes meet mine.

  “Oh, you’re awake.” She drops the spoon back into the pot and approaches me where I lean against the wall. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better.” Thanks to you goes unsaid. She knows as well as I do that if she hadn’t shown up, I may have spent an inordinate amount of time in agony on the fucking hallway floor before anyone found me.

  A bright smile spreads across her face. “Good.” She glances at the clock. “It’s almost time for your next dose. I was going to wake you up soon anyway. I’ll go grab the meds.”