by Hagen, Casey
“Fuck if I know anymore. I did—until Friday night, I had it all figured out.”
My heart thudded in my ears as we stayed on the line, neither of us saying a word. I didn’t know how to do this with him. I needed a clear line between us. If he wanted me like I wanted him, it had to be on my terms. And only in the present. We’d never get to that point unless I laid a few things to rest for him.
“They’re good. Better. They miss you,” I confessed, having nothing else to offer in the silence. I didn’t have it all figured out, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to have a heart-to-heart about my precarious career, my lack of mind-blowing O’s, and my general dissatisfaction with men always thinking they knew what I wanted better than I did.
“Yeah.”
That was it. One word. No reciprocation. No indication he even gave a shit. And right there is why I wouldn’t encourage him to come home like my mother wanted. The man was hell on the heart, and I wouldn’t be responsible for marching him into their lives to watch them slog through the devastation he left behind when he walked right back out.
“Don’t visit them, Falcon. Not if you’re going to walk away. This is the first time I’ve seen them truly happy since—look, if all you have is pain for them, leave them alone,” I all but begged of him.
“And what about you?”
“What about me?” I asked, a fat tear breaking free and trailing over my temple as I lay back on my bed and stared at the glow in the dark stars still on the ceiling.
“Are you off-limits?”
“My heart is.” My body, well, that was another matter entirely. We both knew this attraction between us wasn’t over. Maybe it was only just beginning. The problem…it had no destination. Falcon would take off before we could possibly arrive anywhere noteworthy.
“I feel you sucking me in. I don’t know how to feel about that,” he admitted in a harsh whisper.
I didn’t have to see him to know the expression on his face. It was that same pinched look from that long ago night, after he’d wrapped me in his shirt. Sympathy tried to break through my defenses even as his words shifted the blame. Like I was doing this to him.
But he stole my address and phone number from Hawk. He showed up at my door. He texted and called my phone. He had to take ownership for starting this, because I refused to let the blame fall on me. “Not my problem.”
“How’s the foot?”
One step forward, two steps back, his every retreat always to safety. Well, nothing and no one was safe in this world. “The foot is fine, the parents are fine, I’m going to be just fine. You’re free to exit stage left at any time, Falcon. Frankly, I don’t have the energy to give a shit anymore.”
“Emory—”
I hung up the phone, tossed it on the carpet, and buried my face in my pillow for crying jag number two.
I had to get out of this house.
I came here to put the past to rest.
So why did it feel like in doing so, I resurrected something so much bigger?
10
I glanced down at my phone, knowing I wouldn’t see a message from Emory, but stuck in a cycle of checking anyway. Five days had passed since she hung up on me. Since she snatched the power in our standoff from my very hands, slayed me, and left me a junkyard dog pacing the length of the divide between us.
Five days and I didn’t know if I’d make it to day six.
With my anger came a swift rush of longing, leaving me awkward and apprehensive in my own skin at the ripe old age of too old for this shit.
Trapped by my past.
Ambushed by my present.
Haunted by old sins I never let cross my lips. Sins I’d buried with my best friend where they couldn’t hurt the people I loved most in this world any more than they already had.
Admitting the truth would never bring him back. Confession only had the power to bring them pain.
And ravage every last tentative shred of connection I had to them.
I’d decided years ago to never walk back into their lives. A decision I made knowing I had the power to change course at any time, even as I recognized I wouldn’t. Knowing they existed in the world somewhere, living, loving, and protected from me gave me peace of mind.
Until now I’d been able to squelch the misery from missing a family I had no right to call my own. From missing their daughter who I had no right to claim as mine. Control became a living, breathing beast and stepped in for Ethan as my new best friend. I weilded my ability to use it, to cling to it as a cloak of protection.
Seeing her at Rigby’s landed a solid dent in that cloak.
The flare of competition when Hawk chose her dented it once again.
But the minute Emory sent me that damned picture of the basketball hoop marred with the cracks and scars of my childhood, she’d broken my control, and me wide open. Five days later and I was still trying to stuff myself back in.
All I could think about was her in that house, those forget-me-nots climbing her bedroom walls, her parents and their laughter, jokes, the way they nurtured everyone they welcomed into their home.
How without a word they opened their hearts to a bitter and suspicious broken boy and in doing so, became his first glimpse of hope.
With promise came pain. Like coming out of the bitter cold and plunging into a warm bath. The bite breathtaking, but necessary.
Emory’s silence left me in the cold while the sick fuck in me kept looking for a way in, a way to bathe in the heat and soothe my craving for the sting. Torment and restlessness took over to the point I was aggressive with that shit, ready to bite heads off at the slightest provocation, leaving Hawk and Penn giving me a serious wide berth.
Which was why I stood here, a couple hundred bucks lighter in the wallet, their favorite beer in the fridge and pineapple pizza—something I’d never pay money for again because really, who the hell ate that bullshit—watching them talk shit to each other over a boxing match on Pay-Per-View.
A fight I didn’t give one shit about. Instead of enjoying the pummeling of fists into jaws, I spent the time obsessively checking my phone and forgetting about the beer in my hand until it turned to stagnant piss temperature sludge in the bottle.
I glanced up and caught Penn giving me a curious look. I was off, they knew it, I sure as hell knew it, and I had no clue how to fix it.
Manners would have had old Emory reaching out to apologize. We’d have a conversation. We’d go back to our unofficial standoff, not ideal, but I would know where we stood. But the girl I’d known had changed. Strong, confident, mouthy as all get-out, yeah, this Emory sure as hell wasn’t going to apologize.
She might even be sticking needles into a voodoo doll version of me as we speak.
This Emory, yeah, I’d bet my left nut she enjoyed leaving me twisting in the wind, only adding fuel to my fire. Where she led me by the nose, I all but followed. I’d driven to her place three times since the call, but never once got out of the car because I knew damn well what would happen if I walked into her space again.
She might be mad as hell at me, but the fucking heat we generated breathing the same air would eclipse every other emotion flowing between us, all the reasons why anything more would be total disaster, and we’d cross the line.
What the hell would we do once we got there?
Everything.
Every. Last. Damn. Thing.
I’d taste every last inch of her skin. I’d mark her with my touch until she writhed under me, over me, unable to form words, leaving her divulging everything in her head and her heart with those haunting eyes of hers.
I’d end up with memories so much more vivid than the ones I carried now.
I’d tip into the wasteland of ruin.
Every tool I’d used to shut down my urge to fuck her deep, hard, and long had pretty much lost all effectiveness, leaving me to wonder if this was it, my final destination of suck. No going back, no moving forward.
I’d lost all desire to seek out other women
or call any of the noteworthy ones I’d spent time with in the past. A glaring reminder I’d lost all control and focus. I needed to purge her from my head and my blood, but she invaded all of my systems. There was no carving out this addiction; it lived in my every cell.
Dumping my beer down the drain, I grabbed a fresh one out of the fridge, twisted off the cap, and sucked back half the bottle in a long series of gulps.
“Yeah!” Penn yelled, shooting his fist into the air, aiming a smirk at Hawk. “You’re going to owe me fifty bucks.”
Hawk leaned on the edge of my leather recliner, his elbows propped on his knees, his eyes locked on the screen. “The fight’s not over yet.”
Fifty dollars didn’t mean shit to him; it was the competition, the thrill of knowing he’d calculated the probabilities and picked the right boxer from the beginning. Hawk’s pride lay in his insight which made what I knowingly did to him every day I danced with temptation so much worse.
Mistakes, the lies by omission, the slights, how no matter how wrong I knew it was, I continued to go behind Hawk’s back because I couldn’t get Emory out of internal places I’d rather cut my own tongue out than acknowledge out loud.
“Anyone can see he’s going down in the next round,” Penn said with a satisfied grin on his face as he spread his arms wide over the back of my couch. He craned his neck and looked at me. “You’re the one who dropped a hundred bucks on the fight; aren’t you at least going to watch the ending?”
“I can see.”
“Man, I don’t know what’s got your thong in a fucking knot, but that shit has to have rubbed your chocolate Cheerio raw judging by the ‘tude you’ve had going all week,” Penn said, throwing his hands up in the air in a rare show of frustration for the laid-back partner of the bunch.
“Yeah, well, why are you so interested in my asshole anyway?” I said, pushing away from the counter.
“How long are you going to hold a grudge about the contract, dude?” Hawk said, tossing me a brief glance before turning back to the screen.
“I’m not, the grudge is for the uniform,” I lied. I couldn’t tell him the truth, and at the same time, I sure as hell wouldn’t let him think this all hinged on the contract.
Made up of ninety percent dick energy, just enough to betray him with my intentions, actions, every single thought running through my traitorous head. But apparently not enough of a dick to let him take the blame. Not when he might be one of only a handful of people who ever believed in me.
“Since you mentioned it, I guess I should tell you they’re in,” Hawk said with a wiggle of his eyebrows, lightening the friction grating between the three of us.
Well, between me and them.
“Of course they are,” I said, tipping back my beer, wishing I had liquor. I’d have to get serious about drinking for the beer to get a good flow going through me, numbing…everything.
“When the match is over, I’ll grab them. They’re in the car.”
“Ha, ha!” Penn said, shooting up from his chair and jabbing his finger in the direction of the screen. “I told you. Look at him. Look. At. Him. He’s roadkill.”
Maxim Cane stood over his opponent, sweat running rivers over his face and down his neck. Blood trickled from his right eye and ear as he weaved on his feet.
“Shit,” Hawk muttered, grabbing his wallet.
“Thank you,” Penn said, snatching the fifty-dollar bill from Hawk’s hands.
“Yeah, anytime,” Hawk said with a roll of his eyes.
Penn snickered. “Your luck is shit lately. First, the chick from the bar, now this. I used to look up to you dude.”
“Don’t count the chick out yet. I plan on stopping by her place tomorrow. I’ll be right back,” Hawk said, his strides eating up the space between him and the door.
The minute the door clicked shut behind him, Penn pinned me with a hard look. “What the hell’s up with you?”
“Nothing.” Everything.
I’d told myself no news was good news where Emory and Hawk were concerned, but maybe no news meant I was now on the fucking outs.
“Nothing my ass. You’re all stilted and shit every time you get around Hawk.”
“What are you, a fucking therapist now?”
“Why, you finally looking to do something about that glowing personality of yours?”
“Cute. Maybe you should worry about your own hang-ups instead of looking for problems that don’t exist.”
“Look, I just don’t want this all to turn to shit. It’s a whole lot more real now since we’re all tied to one another by contracts. There’s no quitting and walking away. Not without getting a mountain of lawyers involved.”
Hawk came through the door, a satisfied grin on his face that only slipped when he looked at each of us. “Did I miss something?”
“Just Penn here talking about getting in the cockpit again at some point,” I said to divert the attention.
Penn shot me a hard glare, his jaw clenched tight.
I hit him where it hurt and hated doing it, but he’d always been the perceptive one of the group, and the last thing I needed was for him to get a better whiff of this fucked-up triangle.
“You ready for that?” Hawk asked.
Penn glared at me. “I’ve been thinking about it. It’s early days yet, but when I decide to go up, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Glad to hear it. I don’t want to lose your engine skills, but it’d be great to have you in the air again,” Hawk said quietly. He turned to me and nodded. “Listen, I felt bad about tricking you, so I did you a solid to make it up to you.”
Hawk thrust a garment bag in my hand and took a step back.
Probably so I wouldn’t punch him.
Resigned to being constricted by a stifling suit each and every flight from here on out, I yanked at the zipper. Peeling the vinyl back, I hung the metal hanger from the hook on my door.
I expected black pants and a crisp short-sleeved white shirt with epaulets on each shoulder.
But no, not Hawk.
He compromised when he didn’t have to, and I recognized the effort for what it was, a peace offering for tricking me.
My gut burned with contempt.
For myself.
Because even with this, all I could think about was his plan to stop by Emory’s place tomorrow. What would they do? Say?
I swallowed hard staring at Hawk’s generous compromise. Black slacks, a black dress shirt with pockets on each breast, each shoulder decorated with silver four-bar epaulettes, and a black tie with silver almost iridescent accents, making the tie look threaded with liquid silver.
“I asked you a long time ago why you hated these uniforms and you said, ‘because they weren’t black, like your soul.’ I know you were kidding, but I figured I’d take a shot that this might be better. If you’re cool with this, I’ll order the rest to match.”
Penn let out a low whistle and slid his hands in his pockets. “Shit, that’s almost enough to get me in the cockpit again. Hell, if not, hook me up with one anyway, man. I could use a good pussy magnet.”
“You get the suit when you get back in the air,” Hawk said, a direct challenge in his voice.
Even in this Hawk had my back. He took the time to find the right look so I’d fall in with his vision and still be comfortable. “I’m cool with it.”
I just wasn’t so cool with myself anymore.
11
Lorenzo giggled and flopped into my lap with a Matchbox Lamborghini clutched in his chubby little hand.
“See what I gots?” he said, his eyes wide with the sheer exuberance only being a child could bring. I ruffled his hair and kissed the top of his head, trying not to be jealous how all he had to do each day was play, eat, snuggle, and generally be cute.
Basically, the kid had it made until he hit the pit-stick-necessary double digits.
I gladly took a few minutes of floor time with a tiny man who only wanted my rapt attention, nothing more. Because at least thi
s little dude I could figure out.
The big dude who’d burst onto the scene recently…not so much.
“It’s my favorite color. Can I play with it?” I asked, giving his warm, squirmy little body a squeeze.
He squinted, his little eyebrows full of distrust the way they dropped over his eyes, so much like his grumbly father. “I guess so,” he muttered. He hesitated, only letting go of the car when he’d picked out another one for himself.
We raced down the double track spiraling around the outside of the plastic parking garage. Lorenzo’s eyes lit up as we streaked side by side. By the time they flew out the double doors on the bottom, my car had the edge as it zipped straight into the connected car wash.
“I want to do it,” he said; his disgruntled expression told me just what he thought of me kicking his butt.
Thems the breaks, kid.
He snatched the car back in the rushed way little kids did, plunging me right back into my own thoughts.
Falcon.
I should have apologized. But the prick was probably sitting over there smirking at his phone, waiting for me to do just that. Ten years passed, sure, but the man knew damn well my parents had taught me manners. They’d taught him manners too.
Only mine seemed to stick.
Well, I meant every last word I said so why the hell should I apologize? My parents had been through enough. He could just keep on with his whole, “I’m doing what’s best for everybody shit,” and stay away. If that’s the hill he wanted to die on, fine. But I’d be damned if I would call it anything other than what it was.
Falcon being a fucking coward.
And if I ever saw him again, I’d call him on it. Who the hell did he think he was, asking me if I was off-limits like he actually planned to act on that shit? Please.
I’d been a puppet for Vera for the better part of four years; she yanked the strings and I danced. I’d finally shed her and her shit. I had freedom for all of three hours before he slid right in and picked up the strings, thinking he could yank them too.
