Chapter Twenty-One

The Broken Circle was shut down until further notice, and no amount of arguing that she was fine would convince Dallas—or Noah and Noelle, for that matter—to let Jeni back into the workroom to help with monitoring Eden's current transmissions.

Which meant she was stuck, with nothing to do, and not a damn thing to occupy her thoughts in place of her regrets. So she retreated to the rooftop garden and threw herself into chores there. She watered, she babied the herbs, she thinned plantings, she weeded beds that didn't need weeding.

And she laughed at herself, because she was working so hard so she wouldn't have to think about Hawk, and yet, here she was, in the one place that reminded her of him more than any other.

“Jeni.”

For a heartbeat, she was sure she'd conjured him out of nothing—or that Dylan's gentle warnings about post-traumatic stress were coming to bear. But when she looked up from the spinach planter and brushed her damp hair back from her forehead, Hawk was there.

His hair was shorter, and his beard had been trimmed. The vicious bruise on his cheek was slowly fading from purple to green. Otherwise, he looked the same—jeans, boots, a black T-shirt. If she let herself, she could almost think this was any other day. That she'd never come along and destroyed his life.

She swallowed hard. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He shifted his weight awkwardly. “I hope this is okay, me coming up here.”

“Yeah. I mean, this is more your thing than mine.” She stepped back from the planter and tugged off her gloves. “I didn't know you were out of the hospital.”

He shrugged. “Dylan wasn't thrilled. But I needed to see you.”

Guilt stabbed at her. “I thought about coming by, but I wasn't sure…” No, she couldn't put that on him. “Dallas and Lex haven't been crazy about the idea of me going anywhere.”

“Good.” He took a few steps forward but stopped just out of arm's reach. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stood there, his gaze roaming over her face, the silence building. “I don't know what to say,” he admitted finally. “I thought the right words would just happen if I saw you, but I still don't know what to say.”

That would be too easy, the kind of thing you'd see in a romantic pre-Flare movie, right before the heartfelt declarations of love and the swelling music. A few lines in those always seemed to fix the characters' problems.

But this was real life. “I'm sorry that I hurt you,” she said. “I never meant to.”

“I know.” He swallowed and looked away. “I wanted to hold you so bad, Jeni. Before Coop and Tammy came? You were so hurt and so scared, and I was making it worse instead of better. But I was afraid to touch you.”

“You were upset—”

“No,” he interrupted. “I was terrified. You still don't get it. How far I'd go for you. I didn't even get it until we were standing there. If I'd touched you…” He closed his eyes. “You think I couldn't have made a deal with Peterson to get you out? If he'd asked me to come back here and betray Dallas and Lex…”

Goose bumps prickled over her flesh, and she rubbed her bare arms. “You wouldn't have, Hawk. Never. There's too much at stake.”

“I wouldn't have,” he agreed softly. “But that's how crazy I get when I think about you hurting or dying. I wouldn't have done it...but I would have been tempted.”

It was all a tangled mess of recriminations, one that Jeni couldn't even begin to unravel. She'd made a split-second decision in a moment of weakness, out of broken-hearted desperation—but that didn't mean she thought it was a mistake.

“I would do it again,” she confessed. “The hardest part of all of this has been trying to figure out how to tell you that I was wrong. And I guess it's because I don't think I was. I made the only decision that I could live with, and if I regret anything, it's that it turned out to be for nothing. I hurt you for nothing.”

“We hurt each other,” he corrected. “For nothing.”

“Yeah.” And if that was all it was, harsh words in a moment of unimaginable stress, then it would have been easy to get past it. To work through it. “I think we had a problem before that, though.”

His mouth flattened into a hard line, and his eyes went bleak. “Me. I'm the problem.”

“It's not about blame.” She sank to the low bench along one wall of the greenhouse and patted the spot beside her. “I wanted to give you what you needed. I wanted it so much that I did some not-smart things.”

After a moment, he lowered himself carefully to sit next to her. “Like what?”

One thing loomed larger than all the others, the very beginning of her bad decisions—the collar. She pulled it out of her pocket and held it out to him. “I shouldn't have accepted it. We weren't ready.”

She half-expected him to surge off the bench and refuse it. He stared at her hand forever, his expression impossible to read.

Then he reached out and closed his fist around the leather. “No. We weren't.”

Relief warred with a completely unfair disappointment. It wasn't like she wanted him to argue with her, but something about seeing the collar clutched in his hand was so final. “I knew it was too much, but I took it anyway. Not my finest moment.”

He smiled sadly. “And I offered you ink for all the wrong reasons.”

Hearing that shouldn't have made her feel better. And it didn't, not exactly, but it did make her doubt herself a little less. “We were reckless.”

“War makes a good excuse for recklessness.” He pressed a hand to his ribs and winced as he shifted. “Doesn't keep it from hurting when it blows up, though, does it?”

“No.” Sitting here with him could have felt like a beginning or an end, reflecting on the past or looking toward the future. But all Jeni could focus on was the moment, the truths they were sharing. “It hurt, not knowing whether you really wanted me.”

“That's the one thing you never have to wonder. I wanted you, Jeni. I just…” He trailed off, his expression stormy.

She nudged him with her knee. “You just what?”

He flexed his hand. “When I'm scared, I hold on too tight.”

“Maybe we all do.” Jeni leaned her head on his shoulder. He felt the same as always, solid and strong, steady, but there was a stiffness there too, a distance she hadn't felt since before their first kiss. “I don't know where to go from here. I don't know if we can. But I don't regret it. Even with all the things we fucked up.”

“I don't regret it, either.” Hawk slid his hand over hers and twined their fingers together. “Lex and Dallas won't let me near Five until my ribs are healed, so I'm picking up the slack for Cruz while he oversees the defense. If you need anything, I'll be here most of the time.”

“I'll remember that.”

“Can I ask you for a favor?”

She squeezed his hand.

“They're having a memorial for Shipp and Luna in a few days.” He cleared his throat. “Will you come with me?”

Closing her eyes painted a picture of Luna, gasping with mock outrage as Hawk teased her. Jeni rubbed her fingers over her eyes to banish the image and nodded. “Absolutely.”

He turned and brushed a kiss to the top of her head. “Thank you.”

“It's the very least I can do. For you and for them.”

They lapsed into silence. It wasn't comfortable, exactly, but it was comforting. Jeni hadn't realized until that moment how very much she needed for Hawk not to hate her. Even if they didn't stand a chance of being together, they could still mean something to one another. She wouldn't lose him for good.

She couldn't lose him for good.

“Well.” Big John propped both hands on his hips. “This car was cherry. Damn crying shame, for a host of reasons.” He cursed as he crossed himself.

Hawk stared at the wreckage of his car and tried to let it be just a car, not a symbol for the mess he'd made out of his life. Someone had already ripped out the ruined back seat, but Hawk could reconstruct the crash well enough in his head. The driver's side of the car was bent inward, the metal twisted and split, gaping open. The truck from the city must have slammed into them fast and hard.

It was a miracle they'd pulled him out of there with any of his ribs—or the left side of his body—still intact.

He didn't want to be here, staring at the twisted metal and shredded upholstery. He didn't want to remember dragging Jeni's fingers down to stroke the leather as he told her how building the car had given him hope.

His car had never been just a car. Every moment that mattered had pivoted around it—bringing Shipp back to the farm. Helping Finn and Trix get to Sector Four and earning a place in the O'Kanes in exchange. Bringing Jeni home to meet his family.

All of it, slipped away in the sick crunch of metal.

“I suppose I have to rebuild her,” he said with no real enthusiasm.

Big John snorted. “This isn't a rebuild, it's a salvage job.” He circled the car, his jaw set. “Your frame's bent to hell and back, and there's almost as much body damage. It's a mess.”

That sounded about right, for the car and him. “So it's a lost cause?”

“I don't know if I'd go that far.” John rubbed his chin. “Plenty of good parts left, you just have to dig 'em out.”

Maybe John could see the good parts. Hawk couldn't stop staring at the caved-in side. “It feels morbid.”

“Maybe it is. But throwing it away just because it's gonna take some work is a dumbass move.”

Jesus Christ that struck home, too.

A little too well.

The bittersweet ache that had replaced the Jeni-shaped hole in his heart flared into longing. He wanted to believe there was a future there for them. But the frame of their relationship was twisted beyond repair. The collar, all the rules that went with it—

They'd sat so calmly and listed everything they'd done wrong, and it was all he could see. Just like the crumpled side of his car.

John was a fucking meddlesome old asshole. Hawk squeezed his eyes shut. “If you're gonna call me a dumbass, at least do it for the right reason.”

“Sure you want to open that door, kid?”

No. He wasn't sure of anything anymore, except for the fact that Jeni's collar was burning a hole in his pocket and he couldn't seem to put it aside, even knowing it had done them as much harm as good. “Lay it on me, Big John.”

John leaned on the busted car and eyed Hawk over the top of it. “I've known you for a lot of years. How many is it now?”

“About twenty, give or take a few.”

“Right.” His eyes went a little vague, like he was looking at something far away. “I'd never seen you happy before. Not just with someone—that shit can come and go, believe me. I'm talking about with yourself. Like you finally kinda liked who you were.”

He had. He did, and that wasn't just on Jeni. He loved his family, but for all the affection he got in return, he could never forget how firmly their lives rested on his shoulders. How completely responsible he was for their collective future and happiness.

The O'Kanes had been a different kind of family, one he hadn't known how to join at first because he wasn't used to having the responsibility go both ways. The crushing weight of his family's lives wasn't so crushing with Dallas willing to give him land, and Finn ready to help build them houses, and Zan eager to shake down his black market contacts and find whatever was necessary.

Surrounded by O'Kanes who could pick up the slack, he'd finally had room to breathe, to want something for himself. To find someone who could turn his contentment into joy.

And then his pride and fear had fucked everything up.

He reached into his pocket and curled his fist around the collar. The jewels dug into his fingers, but the medallion was cool against his palm. “Jeni and I hurt each other bad inside Eden. She offered to—” He swallowed queasiness at the memory and forced out the words. “She made a deal. Her life for mine. If Coop hadn't rescued us, I'd be here, and they'd be torturing her to death.”

Big John's gaze sharpened. “That's rough.”

Having it acknowledged—having him agree—loosened the tightness in Hawk's chest. “I would have traded places with her in a heartbeat. That means I shouldn't be so upset about it, doesn't it?”

“I don't know. Hell, I don't think not getting upset about that is an option, no matter how you're coming at it. It's making me want to puke right now, and I wasn't even there.”

That hysterical, desperate laughter from the hospital bubbled up again. “That's saying something, considering you actually like that rotgut you brew up.”

“It ain't the best, but it's what I got.” John dipped his head, then pinned Hawk with another assessing look. “Finding someone who means that much, and who feels the same way about you? It's like running across a Holley four-barrel, mint in the box. You're lucky to have it happen just once.”

“And if your frame's bent to hell and back, and there's too much damage?”

John shrugged. “Fuck it. Start over. Put that Holley carb in something new and make it work.”

Hawk studied the car again. He looked past the damage and saw an intact front fender. The engine was probably fine, and the radiator looked good. He ran his thumb over the medallion in his pocket, then stopped trying to imagine him and Jeni fitting into the framework of collars and ink and things with complicated rules and unspoken expectations.

They'd done so many things wrong, but they'd cared, and Big John was right. Only a dumbass would throw that away.