Wreck: Hawke

by Heather C. Leigh

  When I finally catch my breath and calm down enough to sit up, I realize I feel lighter. Not much, but enough to notice a difference. I reach into my pocket and pull out Hannah’s stone, fingering the smooth, curved edges. What would my little sister think, seeing me headed toward destruction, slowly letting guilt chip away at any chance of having a decent life?

  I already know the answer. Clenching my fist around the stone, I make a decision I should have made years ago.

  I cannot go on like this.

  11

  Abby

  “Ezra? What are you doing here?”

  I’m shocked to find Ezra on my front step at eight in the morning on a Wednesday. Especially considering after our date at the club on Saturday, I told him I couldn’t see him anymore. I’m more shocked, however, to see the normally attractive man looking disheveled and upset.

  “I wanted to talk to you, Abby.” Ezra’s hands twitch at his sides and he shifts from foot to foot. My instincts scream at me to be careful.

  “There’s nothing to talk about, Ezra. I said all I need to say. I can’t lead you on by continuing to see you when I’m not in a good place for a relationship right now.” I begin to close the door, eager to get away, but a large palm smacks against it, holding it open.

  “Please, Abby? Just hear me out.” His eyes express a silent plea, and being the empathetic idiot that I am, I open the door to let him in.

  “One cup of coffee, Ezra. One.” I hold up a finger to emphasize my point.

  “Sure, whatever you want,” he readily agrees. I refill mine and grab another cup to pour one for Ezra, sneaking glances while I stir in his requested creamer. He’s tense and somewhat agitated. This is not the Ezra I remember, fun and playful, if not a little too handsy for my liking.

  Ezra takes the offered mug and follows me to the back deck. I sit in my chair, but he remains standing, towering over me. He places his cup on the small table and begins to pace back and forth.

  “Ezra?”

  My pulse kicks up a notch from his odd behavior, and not in a good way.

  I put my coffee next to his, moving to stand up. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.”

  Ezra darts in front of me, blocking me from getting up. “Abby, you have to give me another chance.”

  “No, I don’t. I told you, I’m not in a good place—”

  He leans down, putting his hands on the armrests, boxing me in. One look into his eyes and I know I’m in trouble. Ezra isn’t heartsick. He doesn’t miss me. He doesn’t want me back. He’s pissed off and even though I don’t know what I did, I know I’m the reason why.

  In the calmest voice I can manage, I try to get Ezra to back off. “Ezra, I’m sorry it didn’t work out. Honestly, it has nothing to do with you.”

  His mouth curls up in a sneer so vicious, I have to force myself not to flinch. “It’s not you, it’s me? Are you kidding?” Ezra tilts his head, eyes raking over me in a way that sends an icy chill down my spine. “You’re hot and all, but there’s no way you’re using the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ line to break up with me.”

  “It’s not a line, Ezra. It’s true.”

  “I don’t give a fuck what’s true!” he shouts. “You lead me on, let me take you out, tease me all night, and then dump me? No. That isn’t how this,” he gestures between us, “ends.”

  “Please don’t yell.” My heart is pounding against my ribcage. Ezra is truly frightening me. I’ve dealt with unstable patients before, but other people were always nearby to help if it got out of my control. Right now, I’m alone. My nearest neighbors aren’t close enough to hear him shouting.

  “I’ll fucking do what I want!” he roars. His huge hands dart out and wrap around the top of my arms. I’m yanked to my feet as if I were a rag doll. He pulls me close enough that I have to twist my head to the side so our mouths don’t touch. “No one dumps me, sweetheart.” Ezra drags his nose down my cheek, his hot breath ghosting across my neck.

  “Let me go,” I say through clenched teeth. As much as I hate violence, I’m two seconds from punching him in the face. Of course, there’s no way I can win a fight against Ezra. He’s taller, heavier, and way more muscular than me.

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t think about this.” Ezra brushes his mouth across my skin and this time, I jerk back. His hands tighten on my arms as I struggle to get free.

  “Let me go!”

  “Don’t be like that, Abby.” His voice is so detached and unemotional, I break out in goose bumps from the chill.

  With my arms pinned, I only have one option. To bring my knee back and kick him squarely between the legs. Ezra howls in pain. He immediately drops me to clutch at his groin.

  I completely misjudged the recovery time he’d need from a hard shot to the balls, because when I turn to run inside the house, he grabs me by the hair.

  “Ow!”

  An arm slides around my waist and I’m lifted off my feet as Ezra turns us around in one swift move. With no time to react, I find myself slammed to the ground, the air whooshing out of my lungs when I land on my back with Ezra on top of me.

  “You bitch!” he roars.

  I scream, clawing and scratching at whatever is within reach, desperate to get free. Ezra’s size and strength is no match for me and he has my wrists pinned in seconds. Fear twists and flips my stomach into knots. I have to swallow back the bile that threatens to rise.

  “You don’t want to do this,” I plead, but Ezra isn’t hearing me. His eyes are near feral as he stares down at me, helpless beneath him.

  “Oh, I think I do.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, unable to look at those inhuman eyes. The only thing I hear is the hammering of my own heart. This can’t be happening.

  Suddenly, Ezra’s heavy weight is gone. For a minute, I’m too stunned to move. The distinct sounds of fighting sink into my frightened brain. I open my eyes and climb to my feet. I literally have to rub my eyes in disbelief to be sure I’m actually seeing what I think I’m seeing.

  “You fucking asshole. I’m going to kill you,” Hawke growls.

  Hawke and Ezra are circling each other like two panthers battling for dominance. Ezra’s lower lip is split open, blood trickling down his chin. He spits red and wipes his mouth with his sleeve.

  “Fuck you, dickhead,” Ezra snarls. “I can take you.”

  “Then go ahead and try,” Hawke says. His glasses are gone. With no barrier up, I can see the pure, lethal rage in his two-toned eyes. I’ve never, ever seen him this angry. My gaze drops to Hawke’s hands. White bandages are wrapped around both, a stark contrast to the black ink on his fingers and colorful artwork on his forearms.

  I’m no longer frightened of Ezra. What I’m afraid of is that Hawke will actually kill Ezra and end up in jail. He looks downright murderous.

  Snapping out of it, I dart inside and grab my phone. I quickly give the operator the information and they tell me they’re sending the police right away. It can’t have been more than a minute since I left the deck, but when I get back, both men are bleeding heavily from the face. Hawke’s white bandages are dirty and bloodstained and the front of Ezra’s shirt is soaked with blood as well.

  “Oh my god.” The phone slips from my hands as I watch the nightmare play out.

  Hawke snarls and leaps forward. Ezra puts his arms up to block his face. Unfortunately for Ezra, Hawke’s target isn’t Ezra’s face, but his midsection. Hawke lands several hard blows to Ezra’s ribs before jumping back out of reach.

  “You sick motherfucker. You’re going to regret hurting my girl.” Hawke’s voice is so low, it’s almost a guttural growl.

  “Fuck you, superstar,” Ezra says. “Are you fucking her? Is that why you’re here?”

  Ezra swings, landing a glancing blow to Hawke’s stubbled jaw. Hawke’s eyes light up with fury and he returns the punch, connecting with Ezra’s temple. Ezra’s body drops like a two-hundred-pound bag of sand. A loud thud resonates as he literally hits the deck.

  �
��Fuck!” Hawke groans, shaking out his hand.

  All at once, everything catches up to me, becoming too much to handle. Without warning, I burst into tears and my knees go weak.

  “Abby!” Hawke notices, crossing the deck just in time to catch me before I join Ezra unconscious on the ground.

  I clutch at Hawke but my hands are shaking too much to get a good grip. He scoops me up and sits down on a chair with me curled up on his lap. Soothing fingers run through my hair while whispered words calm me down.

  “It’s okay, Bee. It’s okay.”

  How anything is okay is beyond me. Everything in my life is crumbling to dust while I stand in the center of the storm, doing nothing to stop it from happening.

  Ezra groans and I whimper, snuggling closer to Hawke, letting the steady sound of his heart guide me back from the edge of losing it completely.

  The loud sound of someone squawking on a radio erupts from nearby and I feel Hawke relax beneath me. The police are here.

  This is it, the turning point in my life. I can feel it. It’s sink or swim for me. Do I want to continue down the path to destruction, always choosing the wrong men, loaded down with issues I’m compelled to fix? Or do I get my act together and pursue a healthy relationship?

  I know what feels right, who feels right, but what is right?

  Not knowing the answer, I inhale Hawke’s earthy scent and bury my face in his neck. For now, I’m content just to be in his arms again.

  Hawke

  “No. I’m fine. Honest.” I have to hold my phone away from my ear as Gavin shouts in concern on the other end. “Gav, no. I’m only staying with Abby until her mom gets here.”

  I flick my gaze over to where Abby is huddled up on her couch under a fuzzy red blanket, her eyes closed. She looks tiny and heartbreakingly fragile. A far cry from the strong woman I know. I feel sick at the thought of her trapped underneath that asshole as he attacked her.

  Fuck. If he had hurt her… I can’t even imagine. I’d either be in the jail cell next to him or he’d be in the morgue.

  “I gotta go, Gav.” I hang up before he can yell at me some more for getting into a fight that involved the cops. But that bastard got everything he deserved. I literally wanted to kill him.

  It takes a few deep breaths for me to calm down enough to turn away from the glass doors of Abby’s back deck. Padding softly so I don’t disturb her, I cross the living room and sit on the chair opposite the couch, push my glasses up on my head, and rub my aching hands over my face.

  “Hey.”

  I drop my arms at the sound of the low voice. “Abby? I thought you were asleep.”

  She blinks a few times, her dark lashes fluttering against her pale skin. “I am pretty tired.”

  I get up and sit next to her, rubbing a hand on her shoulder. The heat from her body would normally drive me insane, but lust is the furthest thing from my mind right now. All I want to do is erase the sad, weary look from Abby’s face.

  “Why don’t you go lie down? I’ll wait here for your mom.”

  Abby nods and stands, wrapping the red throw around her like a protective shield. I watch, the urge to follow her nearly unbearable. I want to curl up next to her on the bed, to hold her in my arms, comfort her, be there for her to lean on. I want to come home to her each night and wake up to her each morning. I want her to be mine.

  But until I fix what’s broken inside myself, I’m not worthy of Abby Kessler’s heart.

  An hour later, the front door rattles. I jump to my feet and dash to the foyer, worried that bastard Ezra posted bail and came back to finish what he started. When I fling open the door, the small blonde woman on the other side yelps in surprise, key in hand.

  Shit.

  “Sorry. You must be Mrs. Kessler.” My face burns in embarrassment.

  “Call me Joan. You’re Hawke. We should have met a long time ago.”

  I step back to let her in. I never thought about it until now, but she’s right. Abby and I dated for over a year, and were friends for much longer before that, and I’ve never met any of her family. Like me, Abby never talked about them much.

  Joan extends a hand. We shake briefly before she tugs on my arm and pulls me into a hug. “Thank you so much for being here for Abby.” Her voice cracks and I feel her stifle a sob.

  How long has it been since I’ve been hugged by a woman like this? A woman I wasn’t sleeping with? Since before the accident, by my own mother.

  I wrap my arms around Abby’s mom and sink into the embrace. It feels so good I allow myself to accept the comfort. She’s soft and warm and motherly against my chest. My eyes begin to sting with unshed tears. Not wanting to get all emotional, I break away and take a step back.

  “I’ll get going,” I tell her, shoving my feet into my shoes. “Abby is upstairs, asleep. She was pretty wiped out by everything.”

  “Can you stay a minute?”

  I glance up from tying my shoelaces and find eyes eerily similar to Abby’s staring at me. How can I say no? Just like with my own parents, I find that I can’t.

  “Okay.”

  “I’m going to grab a drink. Do you want anything?” Joan heads into the tiny kitchen area and opens the fridge.

  “I’m good, thank you.” Nervous, I sit on the couch and drum my fingers on my knee, immediately hissing in pain.

  “Wow.” Joan is standing next to me, staring at my swollen, black and blue knuckles. She puts her drink on the coffee table and returns with a couple of ice packs. “Here. These will help.”

  “Honestly, I’m okay—”

  “Hush. I’m a nurse and a mother. Let me do my job.” Joan smiles and I nod. It seems I’m unable to say no to this woman. She takes my hands and places them palms down on my thighs, then stacks the ice on the back of each one. “Stay like that for twenty minutes.”

  Twenty minutes! I can’t sit here with Abby’s mom for twenty minutes. I pull my lip ring into my mouth and begin to chew on it.

  Joan must know what I’m thinking because she laughs. “I don’t bite, I promise. Actually, I’ve been dying to meet you after everything Abby has told me.” I cringe and Joan laughs again. “It’s mostly good, I promise.”

  “Mostly good?” She lifts an eyebrow in my direction and I feel my face heat up again. “Yeah,” I admit. “I haven’t exactly treated your daughter the way she deserves.”

  “What? You haven’t done anything wrong that I know of. If anything, Abby is the one holding back any relationship you two might have together.”

  Huh? I frown in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  Abby is great. More than great, she’s perfect. Patient and kind and loving. I’m the complete fuckup, not her.

  “I’m talking about Abby’s need to fix everyone’s problems because of Nick. That’s why she’s a psychologist. I’m sure she told you.” The bewildered expression on my face must give me away. “Oh. She didn’t tell you.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I shouldn’t pry Abby’s mom for information, but if I’m ever going to make things work with Abby, I need to know as much as possible. “Who’s Nick?”

  Joan’s eyes lose a little bit of their spark and the smile she gives me is forced. “Nick was my son. Abby’s older brother. He committed suicide when he was nineteen.”

  Holy fuck. A lot of things suddenly begin to make sense.

  Abby

  “Mom, I have to do this. I need a vacation. I can’t argue with you anymore.” I stand on tiptoes and yank at the duffel bag I stashed on the top shelf of my closet.

  “Honey, you’re running away from your problems when you need to face them head-on.”

  My fingers brush the edge of the strap. I try for it again, ignoring my mom’s lecturing even though I know she’s right. Finally, I snag the strap and the duffel comes loose, along with a cascade of other things I tossed up there and forgot about.

  “Shit.” I drop the bag and remove the oversize sweatshirt that landed on my head. I stare at
the garment in my hand. My eyes burn and my throat closes as I carefully, reverently run a hand over the tattered black material. It’s Hawke’s very first Sphere of Irony sweatshirt, one I used to borrow all the time. Without thinking, I press it to my nose, inhaling deep, but Hawke’s scent is long gone.

  I remember curling up on his tiny bed in the room he shared with Gavin, Hawke wearing the sweatshirt while I traced the letters with my fingers. Of course, the touching and rubbing turned us both on, which turned into me pressed beneath him on the bed, clutching his shoulders as he drove us both to a spectacular orgasm. Afterwards, I snagged the sweatshirt off the floor and slipped it over my head, rolling up the sleeves so it would fit. Hawke teased me about stealing his clothes so I could keep him shirtless, which I agreed was my plan all along. I’d never been so happy in my life.

  “Abby?” Mom’s curious voice rips me from the memories of the past. “What is it?”

  “It’s nothing, Mom.” I drop the sweatshirt and throw the duffel on the bed. Upset, I start pulling things randomly out of drawers and stuffing them in the bag.

  “Oh honey, it’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to cry and work through everything you feel.”

  My mom puts a hand on my shoulder and I nearly break down. Holding back my emotions, I grab a pile of shirts out of a dresser and toss them on top of everything else. “I’m fine.”

  Mom squeezes my shoulder. “Abby, you won’t ever be fine until you admit you aren’t fine.”

  I peek over my shoulder, blinking away the moisture. “How did you get so smart? I thought I was the psychologist.”

  My mom gives me a knowing smile. “When you’ve gone to as much therapy as I have, you pick a few things up here and there.”

  My mom has been in therapy? I don’t know why this surprises me, but it does. When I think about it, it’s obvious. Of course she would need therapy. Her son committed suicide after a long battle with mental illness. The question is, why haven’t I been in therapy?