Forbidden Crush

by Cole, Cassie

  I tensed. He was talking about the carving in the post Hawk and I had done. Oh no. I’d allowed a moment of weakness to ruin everything I had done in this town, condemning me to a longer sentence.

  The growing sense of injustice almost overwhelmed me. I could feel the walls closing in again, just as I thought I was escaping. They were going to keep me in this town doing manual labor until I died. My own sisyphean hill to climb forever and ever until I finally gave up.

  “Have you learned anything, Miss Owens?” the judge asked. He cast a new line out onto the water and then turned to look at me. His eyes were harsh and unsympathetic behind his glasses.

  “Learned?” I stammered.

  “Community service is a chance at repentance,” he explained. “It’s not just busy work to tidy up the town. What have you learned?”

  Even though I knew it didn’t matter, I quickly gathered my thoughts. “I’ve learned a lot of things. I need to do a better job of respecting law enforcement, even when my… emotions get the better of me.” I cringed to blame it on my emotions, but I was saying what I thought he wanted to hear. “I’ve learned to obey all road signs, even on stormy nights, and never to speed through a small town. Driving is, uh, a privilege, not a right. I have to demonstrate that I have earned such a right.”

  His judging eyes bore into me. “What else?”

  I learned not to fall in love with a biker bad boy. I learned not to trust people. I learned that the only person I can rely on is myself.

  I didn’t know what he was looking for me to say. Thinking about Hawk was making my stomach turn, and the swaying of the trees in the wind was making me dizzy, and if I didn’t get out of here soon I was going to fall apart.

  “I learned not to tick off a small-town sheriff, or small-town judge,” I finally said. Once the words were out of my mouth I wished I could retract them, but since I couldn’t, I went on. “They will make your life a living hell.”

  Behind me, the sheriff doubled over with laughter. “Ain’t that the truth!” he said between bellows, practically choking on his breath. “But only if you deserve it, honey. We’re harsh, but we’re fair.”

  I laughed and nodded as if that were the truth. That seemed to placate the judge too.

  “Your license is hereby reinstated, pending the applicable administrative fees,” the judge announced to me, the sheriff, and the river. He turned back to his fishing line. “I’d better not see you in Eastland again, Miss Owens. I won’t be so lenient next time.”

  I was so flabbergasted that it took a few seconds to register. “You won’t,” I promised. “Thank you, your honor. Thank you!”

  I rode back to the sheriff’s little police station in a daze. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the sheriff to suddenly get a phone call indicating that I had broken some obscure 19th century Eastland law barring women from having hair shorter than 12 inches, or something equally ridiculous, in order to keep me in the town. But nothing came.

  We parked at the station and went inside to fill out paperwork. Once again he had to send it out on his awful fax machine. I waited and twiddled my thumbs. It’s a good thing Mindy gave me that huge cinnamon roll because the possibility of lunch was now a distant memory.

  I’d get an early dinner on the way home. Once I was at least an hour out of town. I didn’t think I’d feel safe until then.

  “Alright, just need your payments now.”

  The sheriff went over all the fees I owed to their little town, and the surrounding county. I didn’t even care about the amounts at this point. I would’ve paid any amount to just go home. But what did worry me was the lack of funds in my account.

  “Hey, uh, when do you deposit these checks?” I asked when they were all written and stacked on the sheriff’s desk. “I have a deposit coming to my account but it might not be there for another two days…”

  Instead of scowling, the sheriff smiled and leaned across the desk. “I usually take ‘em the day I receive ‘em, but it won’t hurt for me to drag my feet ‘til Friday. That work?”

  I blinked with surprise. “That would be perfect. Thank you!”

  “We do our best to work with people,” he said. “Now, about the motel and parking fees…”

  I wrote him checks for those too while he scanned copies of the administrative checks.

  “I have to say, the town looks cleaner than it has in years,” he said when he returned. “You did a fine job, young lady.”

  I grinned while tearing the final check from my checkbook. “It was easy with Hawk’s help. Many hands make quick work.” I handed the check across the desk.

  He stared at it and frowned. “He helped with the early work,” he said casually. I was so excited to leave that I didn’t even notice something was wrong.

  “He helped with everything.” I paused before ratting him out for not showing today, then went on anyway. It was his problem, not mine. “Today I worked alone, since he didn’t show up. Must’ve been hungover.”

  I grinned, but the sheriff’s mouth was hanging open. He took the check from my hand and put it down without taking his eyes from me.

  “You’re telling me,” he said slowly, “that Hawk, Simone Hawkins, stopped doing community service today?”

  “That’s right.” Now I knew something was wrong. “What’s the matter? Should I have not snitched on him? I honestly don’t care whether or not Hawk gets in trouble for no-showing today. I just—”

  “Hawk shouldn’t have been helping you,” the sheriff said. “He was already released from all obligations by the judge. He finished his community service two weeks ago.”

  40

  Charlotte

  I was stunned. I stared at the sheriff, who looked back at me with an increasingly intense gaze.

  “How much did he help?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “Sure you do. How much?”

  “I mean, he drove the truck with the supplies,” I admitted. “And he did about as much work as I did.”

  “And you let him?”

  “I thought he had more hours than me! That’s what he told me—that he wouldn’t be done until a couple of days after me!”

  But the sheriff was already turning away from me to dial a number on his phone. “This is not acceptable. Judge Benjamin needs to hear about this. You didn’t complete a proper 120 hours of service if you had help.”

  “I didn’t know…” I said weakly.

  “Doesn’t matter what you knew. Only matters what you did.”

  I don’t remember standing up, or walking out of the police station. The next moment I was walking down the main street of town, the sheriff’s angry voice drifting behind me, demanding that I come back and sit down. I pretended like I didn’t hear.

  Hawk had finished his hours weeks ago. He could have left Eastland without fearing that the law would catch up to him and arrest him, like he’d said. But he didn’t. He stayed. Every day for the past two weeks he’d woken up, driven into town, and helped with the most mind-numbing work two people could do underneath the Georgia sun.

  And he’d done it for me.

  I reached the diner before the sheriff caught up to me. Mindy was wiping down Flop’s booth even though he still sat there with a cup of coffee. They both looked at me with confusion when I walked in.

  “What’s wrong? Did that goddamn judge screw you over?” Mindy stood and tossed down her rag, then pointed at my face. “He can’t do this. Not to someone like you who’s put her head down and worked hard without complaint.”

  “Hawk,” I said. “Did you know?”

  The fire left her eyes, and then she snorted. “Why do you think I’ve been callin’ him a fool every time he comes in here? I told you to stay away from that boy. Told you the first time you sat in that booth.”

  “The sheriff’s upset about it,” I said numbly. “He’s acting like I cheated my hours by having help. I think I’m going to be in Eastland a lot longer than I expected.”

 
Mindy’s brow furrowed with worry. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry…”

  Flop gave me a sympathetic shake of the head, as if to say, welcome to Eastland.

  I walked back outside just as the sheriff pulled up. “Stay right here!” he shouted at me, rushing out of his car. “The judge is cutting his fishing short. He’s on his way.”

  “Well that’s a shame for him,” I said dryly.

  “It is,” the sheriff said. “Fish were biting today. Judge won’t be pleased with you.”

  “Lucky me.”

  I tried to feel some sort of hope about the situation. Maybe I could convince the judge that it’s not my fault, I did all the hours expected of me, that I couldn’t help if Hawk had tagged along while lying to me about his hours. But I couldn’t muster the energy. Good things didn’t happen to people in Eastland. I’d been here long enough to know that.

  And then, to make matters worse, I heard the familiar sound of an Indian Scout motorcycle.

  Even though he was riding up the main street slowly, Hawk’s hair blew gently in the wind and pulled his face tight behind his sunglasses. He had a backpack slung over his shoulder and wore the same hole-filled jeans as the first night I met him, along with the jacket he’d given me to stay warm in the jail cell.

  No, I thought. I should have been out of town by now. Then I wouldn’t have had to see him. I could have avoided this twisting, suffocating feeling in my chest.

  “Can we go wait in the station?” I asked the sheriff. He pretended like he hadn’t heard me while watching Hawk roll to a stop 20 feet away.

  Hawk planted his feet on the ground to steady the bike, then stared at me for a long time. When he finally removed his sunglasses, his eyes were so bloodshot I could see them from here.

  “You’re not supposed to be here, Peaches,” he said quietly.

  “You aren’t supposed to be here,” I spat back. “Your community service ended.”

  He froze with his hand in his pocket. The guilt on his face was confirmation enough.

  “Why did you do that?” I demanded. “Why?”

  He got off the bike, leaving it in the middle of the road where it would block traffic. None of us cared. He took a few steps toward me, then stopped a respectable distance away. Which was good, because if he got any closer I probably would have slapped him.

  “For you,” he said, barely more than a whisper. “I stayed for you, Peaches.”

  My heart tried to leave my body and go to him. I wanted to forgive him. To pretend like everything was okay, and embrace, and kiss there in the middle of town. Hawk had done it for me.

  He’d stayed for me.

  I was close. All I needed was a little more convincing and I would have given in to all the feelings I’d been holding back and thrown my arms around him. But he didn’t say anything else to me.

  Because he wasn’t here for me.

  “You need to get out of here,” he told the sheriff. “Take Charlotte back to the station and hide.”

  The sheriff squinted at him. “Boy, you don’t give orders to me. I’m the sheriff in this town.”

  “You’ll be a dead sheriff if you stay.” He turned to Flop and Mindy who were coming out of the diner. “Flop, things are about to get hairy. Go hole up in your bar away from the windows.”

  Flop sprinted off without questioning it.

  “You too, Mindy,” Hawk added.

  She crossed her arms. “I ain’t one for hiding.”

  “You’re one for living, I hope.”

  She hesitated, then went back inside her diner, though she didn’t look happy about it.

  “Now you listen to me,” the sheriff said as he approached Hawk. “If you’re thinking of starting trouble here in the middle of the day, in my town…”

  “This is the Copperheads’ town,” Hawk corrected. “And they’re coming here now.”

  That’s when I noticed the pistol on Hawk’s hip. That, and the fatalistic sound in his voice, made my stomach sink even deeper. “What are you doing, Hawk?”

  He looked up the road to the north at something I couldn’t see. “Something I should’ve done a long time ago.”

  “Hawk, no!” I grabbed his arm. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “It’s the only way,” he said, still looking to the north. “Leave with the sheriff while you still can.”

  “You could leave! Why don’t you leave, Hawk?”

  “Not much of a point.”

  I hated how he sounded reserved to whatever was about to happen. Like he was already dead. “There’s no point to living?”

  “Nothin’ worth living for.”

  He glanced at me finally. Waiting for me to say what my soul wanted to say. That I was worth living for. That we could be together.

  But I couldn’t make myself do it. I was still too hurt to say the words.

  “You were right,” Hawk admitted when he realized I wasn’t going to say anything. “I’m just a redneck biker asshole who only cares about himself. But today, I’m gonna fix that.”

  “By killing Sid?”

  “Someone has to, Peaches,” he said with a sad smile. “Someone has to at least try.”

  I wanted to argue more, to grab his arm and drag him away, but then a car was driving up the road toward us from the south.

  I started to move away, then stopped.

  I recognized that car.

  “No,” I groaned when I realized who was inside.

  41

  Charlotte

  The car was a 2013 Honda Accord, the definition of sensible. Affordable, safe, and boring. Even the shade of grey was about as exciting as a trip to the DMV. It drove up the road, slowed down as it neared us, and then stopped on the shoulder in front of Mindy’s diner. He even turned the emergency flashers on before climbing out.

  Scott looked like he always did, whether he was working on the food truck, lifting weights at the gym, or going to church: a button-down shirt tucked into slacks, with a belt and shoes that matched. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up for the warm spring weather. He looked like the phrase business casual come to life.

  “Hi, Charlie,” he said as if we had never broken up.

  I had to force my tongue to move. “What are you doing here, Scott?”

  Hawk tensed when he heard the name. He turned and watched quietly, eyes now a little more alive than they were before.

  Scott jerked his thumb. “The kid at the motel said you were up this way. I did not expect to see you in the middle of the road, though.”

  “I meant what are you doing here, in Eastland?”

  “Ah. Yes, well. We need to talk.” He seemed to notice Hawk and the sheriff then. “Can we go somewhere private?”

  There were a hundred angry things I wanted to say to him. I settled on, “I’ve got my own issues right now, Scott. I don’t have time to argue about the magazine spot for the food truck!”

  Scott scowled at me. He had an impressive scowl which would have made a college professor proud, especially with the condescending tone that followed. “There were multiple ways you could have handled that situation without causing irreparable damage to our business.”

  “Scott…”

  “If you had merely discussed your concerns with me rather than doing the most vindictive thing possible, we could have come to an agreement.” He shrugged. “I’m the one who is here so we can discuss it like adults. But if you would rather—”

  “Scott, shut the hell up!” I snapped. “I don’t want to hear about the food truck. Go back to Savannah and I’ll call you tomorrow.” If there even is a tomorrow. The way Hawk was acting…

  But Scott coughed and then fiddled with his rolled-up sleeve. “Well. Um. Actually, that is not why I am here in Eastland.” He said the word as if it were a distasteful spice he did not care for. “I want to talk about us.”

  “Us?” I asked, dumbfounded. “Us?”

  He gave up on his sleeve and took another step forward. “I have made some mistakes. I am man enough to a
dmit that.” The humbleness was ruined by the way he stuck his chin in the air and looked down on me. “I wish I could take back what I have done, but seeing as though I cannot, I can only apologize.”

  He nodded, then stepped closer and tried to put his arms around me as if all was forgiven. I put a palm on his chest to keep him at a distance.

  “So you’ve apologized,” I said, even though he hadn’t actually apologized. “I’m still not paying for that magazine spot.”

  “No,” Scott said, blinking with confusion. “I am saying we should get back together.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. I laughed right in his face, which summoned that first-class scowl again. “I do not want to get back together with you,” I said.

  “Charlie. Perhaps you should take some time to think about what we—”

  “I’ve done nothing but think about it,” I interrupted. “That’s practically all I’ve been able to do in this town for the past three weeks. I’m fine with everything, Scott. I’ve moved on.”

  Scott stared at me as if I was speaking Greek, then looked around for another answer. His eyes settled on Hawk, and then narrowed. “Is this your new boyfriend?”

  “This isn’t about him. Or anyone else. It’s about you and me.”

  But Scott was focused on Hawk, now. “You know, I used to think you had a type. But I have to admit you really swung toward the other end of the spectrum with this rebound.”

  “Other end of the spectrum,” Hawk repeated deadpan. “That’s funny.”

  “I don’t know why I’m surprised,” Scott muttered, looking sideways at me. “You always did have low self-esteem, and a tattooed biker redneck is exactly the kind of guy who—”

  Hawk swung across his body, clocking Scott on the side of the face with a punch. He flew sideways and fell to his hands on the pavement.

  “You punched me!” Scott said, voice quivering somewhere between shock and outrage. “You punched me!”

  “Damn that hurt,” Hawk said while rubbing his knuckles. “But damn did it feel good.”

  “Was that really necessary?” I asked, though I wasn’t unhappy about it.