Hawk: A Stepbrother Romance Part 7

"She had a stroke and she died."

"You're lying," I screamed, "I knew it, I knew it. You gave her that methyl s.h.i.+t, you-"

He moved so fast I didn't even have time to react. He jammed the heel of his hand into my chin and I stumbled back, fell over one of his guest chairs, and tumbled, landing on my back on the carpet and then my head thumping against the floor and the world wobbled. When I started to roll to get up, his foot got me hard in the ribs and rolled me over again. The wind tore out of my lungs and when I tried to get it back, there wasn't enough, not enough. Another kick was blunted as I turned, rolling onto my side.

I got up and flipped the c.o.c.ktail table over at the same time. The empty decanter and gla.s.ses on the top slid off and crashed to the floor. I kicked the table at him. Round, it rolled but he sidestepped it and came at me fists up, like a boxer, springing on his feet. I didn't know he knew how to fight. I knew he exercised but he was fast, faster than me. I took a swing at him and he ducked it easily and drove his fist into my gut. I stumbled and his fist connected hard to the side of my head, and the world flashed white, followed by dancing stars, like a cloud of fireflies trapped in my eyes.

He put his foot on my back and shoved. I went down, skidded on the carpet.

"Howard," he said, calmly.

I rolled, grabbed the decanter that I'd knocked over, swung it, and smashed it in half on the corner of his desk.

He looked at the rent in the antique wood, the deep gouges, and frowned.

"It's going to cost me a fortune to fix that."

I stumbled to my feet and lunged at him with the broken gla.s.s, stabbing at his stomach. He sidestepped easily, gracefully, seized my wrist and torqued it.

"Stop it, or I'll break your arm."

I couldn't stop him. My hand sprang open and the gla.s.s dropped. He kicked my leg out from under me and I went down and shard of gla.s.s bit into my thigh. He still had my wrist.

Until I bit him.

I sank my teeth into the meat of his palm and his hand flew open. My arm was tingling, felt like jelly. I pulled it to my side and threw myself at his legs, hit him, and he went down on top of me. His fist hit my nose and blood splattered on my face, thick and hot, and filled my mouth with the coppery taste of my own blood. He grabbed my head, pulled, shoved it against he floor. I twisted out of the way and his fist barely missed my face in another ringing blow. I yanked my leg up and drove my knee between his legs and got him right in the b.a.l.l.s.

He howled, rolled off me, but recovered. I kicked at him and went for the door, fell as my leg went out from under me, got up again. Lance was standing at the top of the stairs.

My father stepped out of the office and kicked me in the ribs. Something popped as I smashed against the far wall and fell, clutching my stomach, trying to breathe. He kicked me again, his foot hitting me under my ribs. It hurt like nothing I'd ever felt before. Not even the time I broke my ankle at the swimming hole and had to lean on Alexis to walk back to town. Lance was still standing there, watching.

My father looked up at him.

"Go to your room and close the door."

Lance stumbled backwards and disappeared.

"Help me," I called after him, "Call somebody!"

My father took me by the collar in one hand, by the belt in the other, and threw me. I didn't even know he was that strong. I went up, and for a sickening moment I was in the air, then came down on top of the ma.s.sive slab of a mahogany coffee table in the living room. In movies, tables break when you hit them. In real life, the table breaks you. I though the pain was bad before, but it was otherworldly. I started to roll off and he finished the job with his foot.

I tried to get up, but I just laid on my side while he kicked me in the stomach again and again and again until I wretched and loosed a burning hot wad of vomit onto the floor.

Then, very calmly, he took out his phone. I could barely understand what he was saying.

Four men came to the house and walked inside, and didn't say a word.

I remember two of them. One was enormous, like a gorilla in a business suit, his arms like overstuffed sausages in the sleeves. The other was tall, skinny, and he was a G.o.dd.a.m.n cop. They picked me up by the arms and dragged me outside, my feet sliding over the gravel in the back yard, and lifted me into the bed, and not gently. It hurt like h.e.l.l when the metal rails in the bed of the truck hit my side. The other two were Amish, I thought, except one was driving the truck.

My father talked to the men alone, then walked over to the bed and stood over me, looking down, the sun behind his head. He was like a great, wavering shadow.

"Listen to me very carefully," he said.

"f.u.c.k, you," I choked out.

"Are you picking up your little girlfriend tonight, or is she coming here?"

I froze, icy terror in my chest, spreading down my limbs. Oh G.o.d, Alex.

"She's not, she's..."

"Shut up. This is the deal, Howard. These men are going to take you away. There you'll stay, and you won't come back here. You won't call, write, email, text. You'll have no contact with anyone from Paradise Falls, that annoying little c.u.n.t included. Do you understand?"

I stared up at him and wheezed.

"If you do, I'll have half a dozen men f.u.c.k her to death and leave her in a ditch. Are we clear?"

"Where... where..." I choked out.

"Anywhere but here, Howard. Anywhere but here. You stay away, she'll be just fine. You don't, and I'll make sure you see her before you join her."

He slammed the tailgate shut. Two or three of them got in the truck, I can't remember.

They drove to Philadelphia like that. I was in h.e.l.l. Every b.u.mp carved new trails of agony through my body. By the time we got there, I thought I was going to die.

It was the cop who dropped the tailgate. I didn't know where I was, beyond Philadelphia.

I pa.s.sed out while they were carrying me.

When I woke up laying on a mattress on a cheap, rickety metal bed, I had nothing but my bloodied, stained clothes, and my wallet. Somebody had stuffed five hundred dollars cash inside. My eye was swollen shut, and every time I moved agony cut through my body. Sitting up was a monumental effort, standing a herculean struggle. I didn't know where I was, except that I was sharing a room with another man who sat up when I got to my feet.

"You best lie back down," he said.

"Where the h.e.l.l am I?"

"Lutheran mission. Ridge Avenue."

"Where's that?"

"Philadelphia. United States."

"Right. Thanks."

When I stumbled out of the room, I found myself in a narrow hallway. It turned out to be a low, bunker-like building attached to a church. I knew it was a cla.s.sy place when I saw the churchyard was closed off with barbed wire. People asked me my name, where I came from. I didn't tell them. All I could think about was Alex. Half of me was screaming at the other half. I couldn't leave her alone, I couldn't abandon her and trust my father not to hurt her. The other half screamed louder- if I got back there they'd kick the s.h.i.+t out of me again, maybe kill me, and drop Alex's body on top of me.

I knew my father was a s.h.i.+theel, but nothing like this.

Alex, Alex, Alex, my every thought was Alex. Every thought was sorrow, my grief sucking all the strength out of my legs. I spent more than a week laying on that bed, eating s.h.i.+tty soup and stale bread, going nowhere. I had some cash in my wallet and that was it, nothing else to my name, not even my truck. When I saw myself in the mirror, I realized I was a mess. The cut in my leg must not have been bad; it healed up okay even if I could tell it was going to scar ugly.

I was still limping when I went into the Navy recruiter's office.

They asked me what in the blue f.u.c.k happened to me and I told them the truth, mostly. Father was abusive, mother dead, no prospects. I took a test, aced it, was told where I'd be going and when. The Lutheran Mission kept me until it was time for me to board a bus.

Alexis Now Hawk is so calm, I can barely believe it. He says the last few sentences mechanically, and then it hits me. Part of him is telling me his story. The other part is someplace far away. I think I know where he is. Someplace warm where the cicadas are buzzing, the swimming pond is cool and the air is burning hot, someplace where people we lost are still here, bridges that fell still stand, and the world still turns in its proper place, a good where world where things like this don't happen to us.

All at once I hate myself for being so harsh.

Me. He did it for me.

That's just an excuse, Alex. He abandoned you...

Shut up! I snap at myself.

I rub my arms as though I'm cold and sink back against a tree. My legs fold and I end up sitting on the ground. Before I know it, I choke on a sob and start crying harder, the tears hot on my cheeks. I wince as a rocket bursts overhead, a big one this time. It sends out smaller bombs that go pop, pop, pop and unleash a cascade of lights and streamers through the night. Hawk moves, his motion janky from a weird strobe effect that lights and darkens him as the fireworks burst in the air, and then he's sitting at my side.

He puts his arm around me and I sink into his side and weep softly, not really sure why.

"You left me," I whimper. "I needed you and you left me."

"I know, Alex. I know."

"You don't know," my voice is too loud, I need to stay quiet. "You don't know what they did."

He tenses.

"What did they do?"

"I can't,"

"Tell me, Alex. What did they do?"

"I can't," I whimper, "I can't, Hawk. Please don't make me tell."

He puts both arms around me and buries his face in my hear. "It's all right."

"It's not all right. It's never going to be all right."

One of the big rockets goes off and bathes the trees in light. I flinch against him and he tightens his arms around me as I bury my face in his chest and pull myself onto his lap. I'm still mad at him, but I can't stop myself. I turn sideways in his arms and lean against him, and he doesn't open his big mouth. He just breathes, and I can feel his big chest expanding against me, the warmth of his body and the strength in his limbs.

"Are you going to leave again?"

"My father came to me after I left the festival. Told me I have until tomorrow to get out of town and never come back."

I suck in a breath and dig my fingers into his sides. "Are you leaving?"

"Not a chance in h.e.l.l."

He leans down and touches his lips to the top of my head. His lips are warm but it almost feels cool, a quivering release of tension sliding down my body. His big hand rises and cups my cheek, lightly pressing my head to his chest as he rests his chin on my head. His other arm slips around my waist and his hand rests on my stomach, slowly moving up and down. I curl up in his lap and close my eyes, and breathe deep. I'm still mad at him, G.o.d d.a.m.n it. I chance to open my eyes and look up at him.

Oh G.o.d he's looking at me the way he did at the water park. I can't take it. I have to look away, shame hot on my cheeks. It's not his fault, is it?

They beat him half to death and threatened to kill you, Alex. Of course it's not his fault.

No matter how I try, the sting of betrayal won't leave me. I don't even know if I'm mad at him anymore.

"It wasn't supposed to be this way," I whisper.

"I know."

He runs his fingers through my hair, his fingertips sending s.h.i.+vers down my spine as they stroke the back of my head.

"You know what I never did," he says, "Before?"

"What?"

He tips my head back and kisses me. Heat flutters in my stomach but I pull away, twisting in his lap. He pulls me close and I settle against him.

"After I started school, our parents got married," I tell him.

Alexis Then It was almost five hours in the car. I packed for the week, since I had to be out of the dorm by Wednesday morning unless I obtained special permission, which in hindsight, I should have. The drive was tough on my little Honda, the one I bought with the money I saved up from summer jobs. That year, it was unseasonably warm, but everyone and their mother was on the road, which makes sense I guess. It was Thanksgiving, after all. It should have been a two hour trip from Delaware to Paradise Falls, but there was a wreck on the Blue Route that left me sitting in the car with the windows down, creeping along and hoping I wouldn't run out of gas. They said on the radio that the traffic backup caused another accident on I-95 at the Delaware-Maryland border that snarled traffic from Florida to Maine.

By the time I got off the interstate and headed for Paradise Falls, I was exhausted, annoyed, and depressed. The sight of the bridge towers brought tears to my eyes. I had to scrub them away with my hands until I was across. Everything in town reminded me of Hawk. He was as much a part of my life as my own arm, and his absence was felt just as strongly. We never ate Thanksgiving dinner together -neither of our parents would allow that- but we always spent time together during the break, usually that Friday.

It never hit me until he was gone how relations.h.i.+p-y things were with Hawk. We went on so many dates, we just never called it that, never...

I had to pull over and compose myself before I pulled up to the house. I couldn't believe this was happening. I could see it a street over- it was still Hawk's house in my mind, and the thought of the last time I was there filled me with dread. My mother called me on the phone last week and told me she married that man and had already moved my things into his house. I felt violated. After five minutes of sitting there, I managed to make my face a mask and clean up the tears, and parked out front.

I was unloading my bags when my mother descended the steps. It was an unseasonably warm November and she was in a loose blouse and slacks. Her heels clomp-clomped down the front steps and she folded her arms and glared at me.

"You're late."

"I guess you didn't check the traffic report," I said, coldly.

"Lance!" she called, cheerily.

Hawk's younger brother jogged down the steps. He was sixteen at the time but just as creepy. I wasn't exactly dressed provocatively- sweats and sneakers and a hoodie, but he leered at me anyway, and I swear he tried to look down my top. No easy feat with a hoodie. He grabbed my bags and carried them inside while I hauled the big suitcase up the steps, and I made it five steps inside before May almost knocked me down, throwing her arms around me, burying her face in my chest. I hugged her back and for a brief, warm moment felt something like being at home.

Then it ended when Tom appeared. He walked out of his office and looked at me with his cold flat gaze.

"There you are," he said. "May, show your sister her room."

I shuddered as the two of us carried my bags up the stairs. My stuff, what little I'd left behind, was still in boxes. The furniture was all antiques, stuff that was already there. An unmade bed, an empty dresser. I didn't want to talk to my mother, at least not yet, so I had May help me unpack and fill up my closet and armoire, and put sheets on my bed. We worked in silence for the most part, but she kept shooting me curious looks, and finally closed the door and twisted the lock.

"Have you heard anything?" she asked, so softly.

I shook my head.

"We shouldn't talk about this."