Hawk_Devil's Fury Book 3

by Torrie Robles

  “That’s my cue to skedaddle,” Croy tells me as he pats my shoulders and joins his sister at the bar.

  “Where the hell am I?” she grumbles as she brings her hand to the side of her head, touching her matted hair. “What the hell?” She pulls at the strands of hair.

  “You were found in our supply closet,” I tell her as I slip into the booth opposite of her. “Do you remember anything?”

  “I wish I couldn’t remember anything, but unfortunately, that isn’t the case.” She drops her hair and sets her hands on the table in front of her. “Look, I’m good.” Her gaze drifts to the bar where I’m sure Shae and Croy are. “I can see that you’re closed.” She reaches into to her bra and pulls out her phone. “Yeah, way past my bedtime.” As she stands her body sways, but she catches herself on the table.

  “Do you need a ride? I can call a cab or something.”

  She shakes her head. “No, I’m good. I’m not far from here, only a few blocks over.” She steadies herself and takes a step but stops. When she turns back, she has a confused look on her face. “Where are my shoes?” Her voice goes up an octave.

  “I’m not sure,” I say as I shake my head.

  “Perfect ending to a perfect flipping day,” she mutters to herself as she stalks from the bar, and out the door.

  “Ten bucks says the bitch gets hepatitis before she gets where she’s going.”

  I roll my eyes. “Geez, Croy, you’re such an ass.”

  “My assholeness is one of the many reasons why you love me, and you know it, T.”

  “Keep believing the lies, Croy. Keep believing the lies.”

  Tessa

  The white and black speckled linoleum shines as I glide the mop over the tiles. Back and forth I push, watching the grey looped yarn clean the spilled soup from the floor. The food staff around here has no regard for the other staff members. They drop trays of food and don’t bother to pick up their mess. Sometimes I wonder if they do it on purpose. When I was younger, I would tell time by the rise and set of the sun. Now I know it by the weekly serving of split pea soup. Pea soup Wednesdays.

  I stand there and peer down at the splattering of green goop against the cold flooring. It gets thicker the colder it gets. After I finish with the most recent food tray disaster, I pass in front of Mrs. Calhoon’s room.

  “You stink, Rhea. What did you bathe in, tequila?”

  I take a step closer to the door, resting my hands on the handle of the mop and lean in so I can hear the muffled voices.

  “No, Loa, it was scotch. Now come over here and help me roll her over.”

  “Dad is going to be so pissed at you.”

  “You think he’s really going to come here to visit her?” The voice grunts. “Does he even know that she’s been moved from community to here?”

  “He has his reasons for not coming. You know as much as I do that mom isn’t the easiest person to be around.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Dad knew who mom was when he married her.”

  “Neither of us know that for sure.”

  “I don’t understand how you can defend him time and time again, Loa. She’s your mom.”

  “The fact that she gave birth to me doesn’t mean that I owe her anything, Rhea. She lost that right when she chose the bottle over her daughters.”

  “Just help me with her, please.”

  Their voices continue to get quieter until I’m unable to listen to them quarrel anymore without actually pushing the door open. Giving up, I turn my back on the door and step towards my cart. I place the mop into the soapy water and grab the yellow caution sign from the cart. When I turn around, the door to Mrs. Calhoon’s room opens, and a young woman comes stomping out. Her lips are pinched together, and there’s a scowl on her face. Her ponytail swishes back and forth as she rushes from the room, turning the corner and disappearing.

  “Fucking perfect,” a voice hisses from the direction of the room.

  When I turn my head back, the girl from the night before is standing in the doorway. Her arms are crossed her chest, and she’s holding the same scowl as the girl who just left.

  “Can you help me?”

  I blink, still holding the yellow sign in my hands. “I’m sorry?”

  “Can. You. Help. Me?” Her tone doesn’t settle with me, and I let her know it.

  “Can you ask a little nicer?” I ask as I drop the sign on the still-wet floor.

  Her eyes dart, to the sign and then back to me. “I’m sorry.” She rakes her hands through her hair, “It’s been one hell of a day and my sister doesn’t make it any easier.”

  “I’m sure the hangover isn’t helping.”

  “Wait, what?” She narrows her eyes at me. “Were you eavesdropping on my conversation?”

  “No.” I’m confused, but then it hits me. “You really don’t remember, do you?” Her face is full of confusion. I turn my head in both directions, making sure my supervisors aren’t coming. “Never mind…what do you need help with?”

  “My mom… I need to clean her–”

  “The nurses can do that.”

  “Yeah, I know, but I’m here, and I like to do it. My sister walked out, and we were in the middle of changing her gown, and now my mom is half-dressed, and she’s not even conscious, so she’s laying there–”

  “Okay, I’ll do it. Let me push my cart around the corner.”

  She looks at the floor and shoves her hands into her back pockets, waiting for me. When I get the cart where I want it, I head back to the room. She steps back and lets me into the semi-darkened room.

  “Let me turn the lights on so we can see what we’re doing.” She walks over and turns on the lamp that’s sitting on the nightstand. “We usually keep it dark in here so she can sleep. The sunlight seems to be enough, but I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

  When the room is illuminated, my gaze falls to the bed where Rose is lying. Her sheets are pulled down to her feet. She has one arm pulled halfway through a sleeve of her gown while the other arm is resting by her side. I see her chest rise and fall while her closed eyes slightly flutter.

  “She’s unconscious.”

  I startle from the closeness of her voice.

  “My name is Rhea, by the way.”

  My eyes move from Rose back to Rhea who is now standing beside me. “I’m Tessa.”

  “Shall we?” She lifts her hand towards her mother.

  “Yeah, all right.” I take a few steps towards the bed. “I’ve helped the nurses before, so I’m familiar with how to dress her.” Leaning over, I grab the fabric of the gown and start to unbutton the snaps on her shoulders.

  “Do you need help?” Rhea asks as I start to pull at the other set of buttons.

  “Once her top half is undone, we’re going to have to pull the gown down, you can help with that. She has a catheter so be careful not to pull on the tubing.” Once the final snap is undone, I pull the fabric from her body, and that’s when I see it. Over her left breast in Old English script is the name I’ve only known one person to have–Hawking. I can’t help but stare.

  “You okay?”

  Startled, I jump. “Um…yeah.”

  Rhea walks around the bed, so she’s standing across from me. “My brother.”

  My head snaps up. “Pardon?”

  She points towards the tattoo on Rose’s chest. “That’s my brother’s name.”

  “Oh, I see.” I lean over and start to ease the gown down her body. “You can help now,” I tell her.

  “I’ve never met him though.” She tugs the gown from under her mom. “My mom has a thing for birds. I’m Rhea, it’s a large, ostrich-type bird. I know, not really beautiful. My sister is Loa was named after a ground bird from Iceland. And Hawking, well, I think he’s named after a Hawk, but I’m not entirely sure.”

  “I’ve always liked your name. It’s unique.”

  Hawking and I have stayed behind while Devin Jr. and Matt took Sienna out for ice cream. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to
go, but when Hawk complained about always doing what Sienna wanted, I decided to stay behind and keep him company. The summer night doesn’t give much relief from the heat of the day, and ice cream sure does sound good, but spending time with Hawk sounds better. Maybe Sienna will take it upon herself to bring me some ice cream back with her.

  “I think it’s stupid.” He kicks the dirt with his feet.

  “Why do you think that?” I ask as I twist in the seat.

  “Why would I want to be named after a damn bird? It’s just something else that my mom did to ruin my life.”

  “Well, I like it, and I don’t think it ruins anything about you.”

  “You would, Tessa. You never see the bad in the world. It’s always sunshine and roses to you.”

  “That’s not true, I see plenty of nasty stuff, but your name isn’t one of those things. Anyways, your name doesn’t make you who you are, Hawking. You’re the only one who can decide that.”

  “Oh yeah, even if I’m the son of Hound, VP of Devil’s Fury? The fact that I’m destined to follow in my old man’s footsteps doesn’t mean anything to you?”

  We’re in Bianca and Devin’s backyard swinging on the swing set, and I pull back on the chains, making myself start to glide through the air. “Nope, it sure doesn’t. It’s like you’re saying that Sienna is destined to be a club whore because her daddy’s the president. Is that what you see for Sienna’s future?”

  “Hell no! Devin would never allow that to happen.”

  “Well then, why do you think you’re destined to end up like your daddy? It’s your life, Hawking, and no one can live it but you...”

  “Wh–where is he?” I ask as I stand back up. I haven’t thought about that night from my childhood in so long. I drop the dirty gown on the bed. My heart races with the possibility that this is the same man I grew up with. I twist and grab the clean gown that’s on the nightstand.

  “I’m not sure,” she responds. “He’s older than we are. From my mom’s first marriage or something. She’s never really talked about him, and I’ve never met him.”

  Readying the gown with shaky hands, I start the process again. It has to be the same person. The coincidences are too striking.

  It has to be Hawk.

  Tessa

  Three days have passed, and I haven’t seen one sign of Rhea, or her sister for that matter. I’ve kept a close eye on Rose’s room during each shift I’ve worked, and not one person has come or gone. My mind has been going crazy with the possibility that the woman lying unconsciousness in the room is Hawk’s mom. I’ve wracked my brain trying to remember if he ever said anything more about his mom during the years when we were kids. All I know is that she left him and his dad when he was young, maybe six and she was never heard from again. Rumors swirled that she wasn’t cut out for the life of being an old lady. Rumors also swirled that her life was threatened and that was the only reason why she left without her son.

  Taking the razor, I dig into a wad of gum that’s hardened on the tile floor. My knees ache, and my muscles burn in my arm, but I continue to tear at the nastiness that was once in someone’s mouth. I can think of so many other places I’d rather be, but know that this is where I need to be. I have responsibilities, bills that need to be paid. If Croy were able to give me more money an hour and more hours a week, I wouldn’t have to do this, but that’s not the case.

  “How much longer do you think she’ll be like that?”

  Hushed voices draw my attention from the task and hand at towards the direction where they’re coming from, Rose Calhoon’s room. Two nurses stand, head to head as they talk.

  “I’m not sure, there’s no telling. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  “And there isn’t anything more to it, other than alcohol? Nothing medical?”

  “That’s what her intake papers say.”

  “What about the mumbling? She keeps repeating that name over and over again.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “Well, it’s creepy, and I don’t want to be in that room by myself. She gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

  The one nurse physically shakes as she stalks off in the opposite direction of where I’m squatting on the floor. When the second nurse catches me staring, she gives me a glare and continues on her way down the hall towards the nurses’ station. Martha is one of the only medical staff here that actually pays me any mind. Everyone else looks down their noses at me all because they have some sort of education while I barely make a living.

  When I stand, my knees crack. I arch my back, trying to stretch out the kinks. I’m not even thirty yet, and my body feels like it’s twice that age. Placing my hand on my chin, I give my head a quick tug, allowing my neck a much-needed pop. I glance around to make sure no one is coming. When I see the coast is clear, I make my way towards Rose’s room. The conversation I overheard between the nurses has me even more curious. If she’s asking for her daughters, maybe I can have Martha make a phone call.

  Stepping into the silent room, I pad over to the nightstand and click on the light. My eyes scan the room. There isn’t anything unusual about the décor. Every room is the same in the facility. They all have floral prints on the wall, eggshell colored walls with rubber baseboards and industrial tiled floors. There isn’t anything added to make this room seem more personal No flowers from family, no pictures placed on the nightstand.

  Her brown hair is pulled up into a high ponytail that’s resting on her pillow. Her hands are placed on her stomach. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she has passed. I lean over and quietly pull open the drawer to the table. When I see that it’s empty, I try for the bottom, but no luck. That drawer is empty too.

  I take a few steps towards the wooden wardrobe and pull the doors open. Only a couple of shirts are hanging along with a few bottoms folded on the top shelf. There is no clue as to who she really is.

  “Haaaawking.”

  The groan of her voice startles me, making me slam the door closed and quickly turn around. I stay rooted in one spot, my hand on my racing heart, watching the woman stir on the bed.

  “Rose,” I whisper, seeing if she’ll answer me, but I get nothing. Taking my chances, I approach her side. Her eyes continue to flutter, and her feet twitch as if she’s having a bad dream.

  “Hawking,” she murmurs, her brows pinch tight. She brings her hands to her head, making fists on either side and that’s when I see it. Etched on her wrist in green ink are the letters, D.F. They’re the same letters I used to see on Bianca’s wrist. The realization makes me jolt back. She is Hawk’s mom. The woman who abandoned her son. The one who ran from her life because she no longer wanted it. She caused so much pain to Hawk. I saw it when we were younger. He was broken because he thought his mom didn’t love him enough.

  “I’m sorry,” she breathes. Her hands drop to her side, and her chest hitches as she takes a deep breath and her body relaxes.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  I spin around and see the same girl who stomped out of here a few days ago standing in the doorway. Her eyes cut to me and get even harder when they fall to the bed where Rose has calmed.

  “She was whimpering. I came in to check on her.”

  “She’s unresponsive. She doesn’t do or say anything,” she snaps as she walks farther into the room.

  “That’s not true. The nurses say she’s been muttering a name.”

  “Is there a problem in here?” Martha asks from the doorway, and I physically relax.

  “Yes,” the girl barks. “Your stupid cleaning girl is in my mother’s room. She’s not supposed to be in here.”

  “I’m sorry, Martha. I heard moaning, and I wanted to make sure the patient—”

  “Like I said, my mother doesn’t make any noises, so—”

  “Actually,” Martha cuts her off. “Your mother has been saying a name over the past couple of days. If you or anyone else in your family came by to visit her, you would know that.�
��

  I smile because I love Martha. She is one hundred percent for the patients, and when we get family in here who are either mean or unsupportive to a patient’s recovery, she lets it be known.

  “I have a life and things that I need to do on a daily basis. I can’t waste my time sitting in a room with a woman who did this to herself.”

  “And with that,” Martha take a few steps towards the girl before wrapping her fingers around her arm, which causes the girl to huff. “You need to go and let your mother recover like I’m sure you want her to do.”

  Loa tries to pull her arm from Martha’s grasp. “You can’t do that,” she argues. Then she looks at me. “Are you going to allow her to manhandle me?”

  I shrug. “What do I know? I’m just the stupid cleaning lady.”

  I witness Martha gently but firmly escort her out before closing the door, cutting the girl off from the room, and us. When Martha turns around, her brow is furrowed, and her mouth is puckered. “Why, baby girl, are you in a patient’s room?” She places her hands on her hips.

  “I—”

  “Don’t even think about lying to me.”

  My shoulders slump. “I know.” Taking a deep breath, I meet Martha’s stare. “You remember me telling you about the boy from my hometown?”

  Since I moved to Los Angeles, Martha is the only person whom I’ve opened up to about my life. Croy doesn’t even know what happened or the things I endured before I fled New Mexico. My cousin didn’t ask questions back in the day, and Croy has learned not to ask any either. Even to this day, my past is mine to keep. Martha has always been different. I don’t know if it’s because she’s so much older, has that motherly way about her or if her eyes reveal that she’ll support me no matter what. All I know is that opening up to her has never been a problem.

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  I point to Rose who’s still lying peacefully on the bed. “She has his name tattooed on her chest.”