Quickly, she called back, and surprise filled her when Poppy’s voice greeted her instead of Hawthorne’s.
“Hey, Avery.” Poppy sounded so tired, and Avery’s heart went out to her friend.
“How’s it going?”
Poppy had no update on her dad, but her next words dropped a curtain of cold over Avery, despite the coat she still wore, “Is Hawthorne with you?”
Avery sat up straight, looking around her small living room for the face she knew wasn’t there. “What? No. He’s still at the hospital, isn’t he?”
15
Hawthorne stared at the video game controller in his hands and listened to Shayne swear at the character he’d just blown up. He hadn’t seen Shayne and Craig since the night Avery had scolded them at the bar. He hadn’t really missed them, but when the thought of walking into his dad’s hospital room had been too much to handle, he’d left without a word to his sisters and caught a cab to Shayne’s apartment.
It was just a bad coincidence that he happened to live in the same giant apartment complex as Avery. She was only four buildings away — close enough to walk, even in the cold night. She didn’t know he was a coward yet, and he pictured her warm smile when she saw him at her door. The physical relief he knew would come at her very presence called to him, a siren from around the corner.
Avery would find out eventually that he wasn’t the man she hoped he was. He’d almost fooled himself into thinking he could be the guy with a wife and work responsibilities. Almost. Until the reality of taking over was staring him in the face, struggling to speak and looking at him with confused eyes and a slack jaw.
“Boom! That’s what I’m talking about!” Shayne exclaimed.
Hawthorne sighed and punched the button to respawn his character. Trying to pull his focus away from his own impossible situation, he tried to talk to Shayne. “No plans for Thanksgiving?”
Shayne twisted the controller and his body, trying to force his on-screen character to dodge a piece of shrapnel. “What? Oh, my mom had the whole family over—my weird uncles and everything. I grabbed lunch and then bailed on those losers.” Shayne’s cruel laugh grated Hawthorne’s nerves.
How was he friends with someone so ungrateful and selfish? Shayne hadn’t even asked why Hawthorne was there or why he hadn’t been around lately. Why did he come here? He could have gone to Josh’s. Or Avery’s.
Again, the urge to walk to her place was overwhelming, but his insecurities chained him to the couch. Both Josh and Avery would never let him get away with his current behavior. Oh, they’d go about it in different ways—he could already picture Josh’s raised eyebrow and incredulous, “Really, dude?”
And Avery? She’d either punch him on the shoulder or give him an icy glare. Or the same look of disappointment she’d given him at the bar. It would be a thousand times worse now, knowing how it felt to have her look at him with admiration and love. She loved him, or at least the man he’d been impersonating. Avery loved the idea of a Hawthorne who was responsible and trustworthy and could handle the blows of life. He wasn’t that man.
It was so much easier to hang out here, killing zombies with someone holding no expectations of him—or themselves, for that matter. Even if that someone seemed more immature and irritating by the minute.
Shayne yelled in celebration as he hit the last target and set down his controller. Heading to the kitchen, he casually asked Hawthorne if he wanted another drink.
Did he? It would be easy to have another. He could sleep here all night and drown his own unhappiness and self-doubt in the bottom of a bottle and meaningless conversation. That’s what he had done most nights since his company went under. Until a month ago. Until Avery.
He’d been happier in the last month than he had in years, and he realized it didn’t all have to do with Avery. That was part of it, definitely. He’d made other changes, though. It seemed like weeks had passed, but what he’d said to Avery this afternoon was true—he’d been reading his Bible. His faith had been strong once upon a time, and the wake-up call Avery gave him that night in the bar was the push he needed.
He’d been sleeping better, praying more. He’d been happier and more grateful. Patient with his sisters. All because he’d ditched his loser friends and started focusing on Jesus? It seemed too easy.
And spending time with Avery. Was it cliché to say she made him want to be a better man? Maybe. But it didn’t mean it wasn’t true. Had he really ever thought these superficial conversations and wasted time were fun?
Shayne handed him a bottle and after opening the cap on his own, tossed Hawthorne the bottle opener. Hawthorne positioned the opener against the top but held it there, unwilling to apply the slight pressure that would bend the metal bottle cap just enough to break the seal.
He set the bottle and the opener down on the coffee table, next to the controller he’d been using. “I gotta run, man. Thanks for letting me hide out here for a bit.”
Bathed in the glow of flickering blue light, Shayne waved a hand but didn’t look away from the screen, already completely engrossed in his game. Hawthorne slipped his shoes on and zipped up his jacket. He needed to see someone who cared.
Ten minutes later, he rapped a knuckle on Avery’s apartment door. The neighbor’s light flicked on and Hawthorne had the sudden realization that he had no idea what time it was. He’d never gone back to the farm to get his phone, and he’d been at Shayne’s at least long enough for them to order pizza and beat three or four levels in the game. Was it 8 o’clock? Maybe 9?
He knocked again. Please let her open the door, he prayed.
Finally, the door opened and he felt the tension drain from his body at the sight of Avery’s sleep-laden eyes and rumpled hair. She wore loose pajama pants covered in beakers and electron diagrams, and tightened a sweater around her shoulders before opening the door wider and gesturing him in wordlessly.
He stepped out of his shoes and followed her as she ambled ahead of him to turn into the kitchen.
“Coffee?” she asked, already filling up the coffee pot.
“Coffee sounds great.” Hawthorne watched the woman he loved scoop coffee into the filter and retrieve mugs from the cabinet, stretching on her bare tiptoes to reach the shelf.
“My dad—” Hawthorne started to speak, but Avery held up a hand.
“Coffee first.” She glanced at the clock, “It’s midnight.”
Hawthorne followed her gaze and read the green numbers for himself. How was that even possible?
“I’m sorry, Aves. I’ll go and come back another time.”
Avery shook her head. “Not a chance. Go sit down.” She pulled creamer from the fridge before turning back to him. “My phone is on the table. Text your sisters and let them know you’re okay. They’ve been worried sick.”
Hawthorne felt the heavy weight settle in the pit of his stomach this time. His sisters. He winced. “I’m the worst—” he started, but once again was interrupted.
“Go. Tell your family you are okay.” Hawthorne nodded his agreement. Avery was right; the self-pity could wait. For now, he had to start making the right choice. Coming here was the first one, reassuring his family was the next. After that? He still wasn’t sure.
Standing in the hospital with his mother and letting her lean on him had seemed natural. Stepping up on the farm and contributing ideas was becoming easier every day. Taking control and coordinating the caravan from the farm to the hospital had been instinctual in a moment of chaos.
But the thought of running the farm? Filling his father’s shoes seemed impossible, like he’d be a toddler playing dress-up, destined to fall flat on his face after one step.
16
Avery put both hands on the kitchen counter and released a heavy breath. What was Hawthorne thinking? Since Poppy called around eight o’clock, Avery had swung back and forth from worry to anger to understanding and back again. She’d continued to pray fervently for Hawthorne until she finally drifted back to sleep. It was amaz
ing how emotional marathons were just as exhausting as actual workouts. Hence, the coffee being brewed before her still-blurry eyes.
Coffee first, then glasses.
As soon as there was enough coffee in the pot for two mugs, Avery interrupted the brewing process, added cream, and carried the drinks to the living room. Hawthorne sat on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together under his forehead.
Sliding a coaster closer to him, she set his coffee on it and then carried her own to her bathroom. With her glasses on, Avery could clearly see the smudged makeup she’d never washed off, the blotchy cheeks from tears she’d cried, and the messy bun that had officially crossed over from casually cute to definitely disastrous. She settled for a quick swipe of makeup remover under her eyes and a hurried re-positioning of the ponytail. Good enough for midnight.
Hawthorne didn’t appear to have moved a muscle and she settled soundlessly onto the arm chair across the room from him. In the silence of the apartment, though, he heard her and looked up. A smile flickered across his face.
“I’m sorry, Avery,” he said, breaking the peaceful stillness of the room.
A tortured expression haunted his features and her heart broke for him. If she felt like she’d run a marathon, he must feel like he’d been run over and tied in knots by a hay baler.
“Tell me what happened,” Avery responded.
Hawthorne grabbed his coffee, still leaning over his knees and perched on the edge of the sofa. “We got to the hospital and there was nothing we could do except wait. I told the paramedics exactly what we saw. How dad was—” his voice broke “—how he was perfectly fine until he just… wasn’t.”
Staring into the black well of his mug, Hawthorne continued, “Mom gripped my arm so hard she left bruises when the doctor came out.”
“I can’t imagine what she must be feeling,” Avery said absently.
Hawthorne leaned back and shook his head, looking at Avery. “I’m starting to, I think. The idea of losing the person who makes you feel whole? It’s terrifying.”
Avery’s heart fluttered, but they hadn’t covered the important part yet.
“What happened next? Why did you disappear?” She kept hoping she would hear him say how he went back to the farm to care for animals. Or that he went to a church to pray. Somehow, she knew that wouldn’t be the explanation.
“I called a cab from the hospital and went to Shayne’s.”
Avery recoiled. “You skipped out on your family at the hospital and refused to see your father after his stroke to go visit Shayne?”
Hawthorne set his untouched coffee back on the table. “I know, it was stupid. I just needed to not think for a while. I needed to go somewhere with no expectations.” He ran his hands over his cheeks and chin. “You were talking about how my mom and my sisters need me. How I could step up and run the farm for my dad until he is better. If he gets better,” he said with anguish. Then, his voice full of self-loathing, “I just panicked.”
Indignation rose in her throat and Avery tried to push it down and find sympathy without success. Skepticism filled her voice instead as she responded, “And now?”
Hawthorne glanced at her. “Honestly? I’m still panicking. But I realized I needed to be with someone who cared and who makes me want to be better. That isn’t Shayne and the mindless video games.” He slid from the couch and made his way in front of her chair, laying his hand on her knee and his back against the chair leg. “I needed to be with you. I don’t know how to navigate this, Avery. I need you and I need God, but it took me a while to realize it.”
With his admission, Avery felt the deep wave of sympathy and love pull her under. This man, the man she loved, was hurting and she hurt with him. This vulnerability was new. The confident, charming boy she’d idealized fifteen years ago was in pieces on the floor in front of her. The warm, intelligent, strong man she’d professed to loving fifteen hours ago had been beaten down by the day.
He needed her. For years, she’d been seeking stability—looking for someone she could lean on. And now, Hawthorne needed to lean on her. Did that mean he wasn’t the anchor she needed?
Maybe she had confused Brandon’s selfishness for instability. She had never been able to rely on Brandon, that was true. But really, it hadn’t been that he was irresponsible. It had been selfishness, pure and simple.
Could she depend on Hawthorne? Her heart leapt with the answer. If the tables were turned and she needed Hawthorne—he would be there, no questions asked. There was no doubt in her mind. Stability wasn’t the same as independence. What they really needed was dependence on each other and on God. A cord of three strands.
Avery ran a hand through his impossibly soft brown hair, massaging his scalp absently, and he leaned his head into her. “I’m here, Hawthorne, but you shouldn’t be.”
Silky strands of hair fell through her fingers as he turned with a confused and hurt look.
Avery smiled kindly, “You need to be with your family, Hawthorne. They need you.”
Hawthorne closed his eyes. “But,” he whispered, “I need you.”
Reveling in the warmth of his shoulder against her leg and his heart so wide open to her, she placed a kiss on the crown of his head. “You have me, but for now, your family comes first. Be the man I fell in love with. Step up and be the leader I know you are. You won’t fail.”
* * *
Her faith in him was humbling. “I’m afraid I can’t fill his shoes,” he admitted.
“I think you’ll be surprised how well they fit,” Avery responded after a moment. He smiled at her continuation of the analogy.
“Will you pray with me?” he asked. He’d been working on his own faith over the past weeks, uncovering a foundation he’d nearly forgotten. Today had tested him and he’d wavered, but he wasn’t giving up. As much as he needed Avery, he knew he needed God more. God’s strength wouldn’t fail.
Still, as they prayed, Hawthorne realized that being with Avery and knowing she stood behind him was exactly what he needed. Something about love made it possible to stand in the face of opposition, imagined or not. For the first time in hours, his heart lightened, and he began to see more than the despair of the situation.
They finished praying, and he shifted gears. Hawthorne allowed the thoughts he’d pushed away all day to flood his mind. Plans started to take shape about what needed done at the farm, and who could do each critical task.
If he was going to do this, he needed a notebook. He asked, and Avery pointed at one on the coffee table. He spent fifteen minutes pouring out his thoughts, while Avery curled up behind him sipping her coffee. After the deluge of concerns was laid out on paper, he leaned back again against her flannel-clad legs.
“Thank you, Avery,” he said quietly. “I love you.”
She smiled behind her empty mug and set it down. “I love you, too. But now, you have to go before my neighbors get the wrong idea about this midnight visit.” She nudged him forward with her leg.
Hawthorne laughed softly. “Fine. I’ll go.” He stood and grabbed her hand to pull her up to him. “How did I get so lucky?” he asked before kissing her.
She pulled away with a laugh, “Thank your sisters. Somewhere along the way, it’s probably all their fault. Or your mom, who invited me over. Repeatedly,” she added.
He kissed her again before responding, “Mmm, I’ll be sure to do that.”
Another kiss and she pushed him away. “Okay, seriously, you have to go.” Needing a shield, she reached back for her coffee.
“There’s just one little problem,” he said with an embarrassed smile. “I walked here from Shayne’s and I don’t have a car.”
17
After Avery dropped him off at the farm, Hawthorne went upstairs and found his phone. Ignoring the thirty-nine notifications from text messages and missed calls, he sent a text message to his sisters calling a family meeting the next morning.
Main house, 9 a.m.
It was nearly
two in the morning, he didn’t expect anyone to answer. But it would seem trouble sleeping was an epidemic tonight, because replies kept buzzing in.
I’ll be there after I feed the animals.
That was Rose, the animals always came first. Replies from Poppy and Lily chimed in minutes later.
I’ll make breakfast for everyone.
Glad you came to your senses.
Then, he heard Daisy knock lightly on his bedroom door before it opened a crack.
“Come on in,” he said, looking up from the notebook he’d commandeered from Avery’s apartment.
Daisy walked across the room and hugged his shoulders and neck before folding herself into a sitting position on the bed where he could see her from his desk chair.
“You okay?” she asked.
He nodded, “Yeah. Better late than never, but I’m good.”
“Good. I didn’t know…” she swallowed and released a breath, “I didn’t know what to expect when I heard you come in this late.”
Hawthorne’s shoulders sagged and he rolled his chair closer to the bed. “I’m sorry I haven’t been a great brother. You should never have had to worry about me. And I promise that life is behind me. I was doing some soul-searching tonight. But I didn’t need to look in a bar.”
Daisy leaned forward and hugged him again. “Today was awful. I’m glad you are here now.”
“Me too, Daze.” He hugged his sister tightly.
The next morning, Hawthorne stopped by the barn and helped Rose with the animals. She greeted him wordlessly, tossing him a small rectangular bale of hay and pointing to the goat pen. A grunt at the impact of the hay bale escaped and he shook his head. Rose never pulled punches, and she had every right to be angry with him. She thawed as they worked, and by the end, she pulled him in for a hug. Rose was his youngest sister, still fresh out of college. Sometimes he still felt like she should be the baby he remembered holding when he was ten years old. Here she was, up before dawn and single-handedly managing the pigs, goats, chickens, and horses. How could she be twenty-three and more ready for responsibility than he was at thirty-three?
Hoping for Hawthorne Page 9
