Janie
I’d woken to a blanket of heavy darkness, the kind of emptiness I’d become well-acquainted with since my mother’s death and my diagnosis. At least Hawk hadn’t been lying beside me, waking to find me crashed into the pit of hell.
Knowing I probably didn’t have much time, I forced my aching, exhausted legs to move and half-stumbled into the bathroom, desperate to escape the sure heartache to come once he returned.
I bit my fist at the first sob, but the second escaped. A soft knock and Hawk’s gentle voice calling my name brought the fucking tears on full-force. Unstoppable. Unrelenting.
He stepped into the shower with me, fully clothed, and I tried to curl in on myself, needing to shield myself, the truth of my illness that would ruin the best thing I’d ever found.
Warm arms, steady heartbeat against my ear … but no peace.
Sure he would leave once he learned the truth, I continued to hold myself from clinging to him while my sobs echoed in the damn motel bathroom.
He would put me on the first plane. Never call, never text, just like every other guy I’d snagged for a few days.
Although he apologized—God knew what for—nothing could stop the stream of tears until they ran dry.
In silence we stood, me unyielding, him in soaked clothes, his body like an oven around me even though the bathroom filled with steam. He rubbed my upper arm and half-rocked me like a baby until I quieted.
I wanted him to leave without saying a word. I wanted him to kiss me, make the shroud of shit over my brain and heart disappear.
“Janie?” he questioned, pulling away slightly.
I kept my head down, but he tipped my chin with a finger until I relented. My gaze latched on his mouth, and I refused to look any higher.
“What’s wrong, baby?”
Lips pursed, I shook my head.
“Did I hurt you last night?”
I shook my head again.
“Then what?”
“I—I can’t…”
“Did you wash yet?” he asked when I didn’t finish my thought.
I shook my head.
Hawk unwrapped the small square soap provided by the motel, lathered his hands, and took his time caressing every inch of me, not lingering on my breasts or between my thighs like I’d expected—and didn’t want him to.
Once crashed, my body had zero desire for a cock, let alone a man touching me in a sexual way. As though my thoughts had snagged in glue, I couldn’t process, couldn’t make any decision if I’d wanted to.
The world had lost its color for me. Everything had dulled, the edges of my world blurring.
A small bottle of shampoo provided the bubbles Hawk worked through my hair, every gentle touch tightening my throat again. I refused to meet his eyes and closed mine when he encouraged me to tip my head back into the spray.
Once finished, Hawk pulled me toward him again, his hands on my hips, his hard chest and thighs pressing against me.
“Want to get out of here and have some coffee?” he asked a few minutes later as the steam continued to rise, the hot shower spitting at us both.
I managed a nod but kept my head down, my arms wrapping around myself the second he released me and stepped out of the shower.
Hawk held open a towel, and I stepped out, my legs shaking. As though all my energy and fuel had been drained over the previous couple of days, I fought to stay upright as he wrapped me in the length of rough cotton. I didn’t care about anything—the dripping water, the squeak of the nozzle as Hawk shut off the water, him peeling off his soaked clothes and knotting a towel around his hips, the cool air that licked over my skin when he opened the bathroom door. I clutched the towel tight across my breasts as my nipples pebbled.
“Come on,” he said, grasping my elbow and encouraging me into the main room.
I stood a few feet from the bed, swaying and staring at the floor while listening to Hawk rummage in my bag. Hell, I didn’t even give a shit that he might come across my wallet and ID with my real name I kept hidden in the bottom.
“Leggings and t-shirt okay?” he asked, holding the clothes in my line of sight.
I nodded.
“Want me to help you dress?”
“No,” I managed to whisper.
Hawk sat on the edge of the bed while I dried off and dressed, my movements mechanical in the darkness coating my brain.
Withholding the truth would only lengthen the looming, heartbreaking goodbye. Even though I’d hoped that maybe, just maybe, he liked me enough to stand by my side through the shit, I knew the plummet I’d taken would be too much.
Although I wanted to curl back up on the bed in a fetal position and plug my ears, I remained on my feet and ran the towel over my damp hair one last time.
“I got you some coffee,” he said, coming close enough his feet came into my line of sight, “but it’s not too hot now. Want it?”
I shook my head, lower lip between my teeth and listened as he went to the bathroom and discarded the coffee.
“I crashed,” I whispered the second he returned to my side, needing to get it over with before the tear factory started back up.
“What?”
“My high fucking ended, and this is my low.” I forced myself to look him in the eye. See for myself the rejection so I wouldn’t have any lingering hope.
Concern filled his face as he searched mine, skin creasing between his brows. “I don’t understand.”
“My neurotransmitters and circuits are all fucked up, just like my mom’s.”
“What can I do to help?”
No trace of disgust. No curl of the lips. No stepping away as though needing to put distance between us lest he catch my mental illness. He stepped close and rested a palm on my hip.
Tears filled my eyes again as hope he didn’t just misunderstand flitted through my brain. I couldn’t be so lucky.
“There’s no cure, but I take meds to help lessen the swings,” I whispered, thinking of the bottles with my real last name buried in the bottom of my bathroom bag. “Sticking to a schedule seems to help me, too.” A huff of tear-filled laughter puffed my lips as I hugged myself tighter. “Crossing country like this and staying up all hours of the night definitely didn’t help.”
“I’m glad you did.”
Four words—not the ones I expected to hear. I actually smiled for real even though the black shroud still smothered me.
Hawk pushed my hair over my shoulder. “So this is your low.”
I nodded, focusing on the scrolled tattoo on his chest.
“Are you feeling depressed?”
“Worse than you can imagine.” Again, my voice came out as a breathless whisper.
“I’ve dealt with a bit of depression lately. Not that I know what you’re experiencing, but we’ll do whatever you need to feel better, all right?”
My heart ached, and more tears filled my eyes, wavering the image of his water-pebbled beard.
“Want to get something to eat?”
I shrugged while drawing a somewhat fortifying breath.
“Tell you what—” Hawk glanced at the door leading outside as though he could see through it, his hands lifting to massage my upper arms. “We’ll spend the day here. Rest and relax. Maybe take a dip in that nasty pool out front.”
“What about your brothers?”
“We were going to split off from them eventually to take you back to New York, so we’ll just split a little earlier than planned.”
“You’re sure?”
“Dead.”
Tears slid down my cheeks, but I held my heart and head in check. If my fucked-up head ran its usual cycle, he’d be sick of my blah, sometimes pissy nature before day’s end. “M’kay.”
Hawk cradled my head in his hands and swiped the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs. “I’ll go talk to Jonny, then we’ll see about getting some breakfast.”
“I’m not hungry.”
He kissed my forehead. My nose. “I know the depression makes you feel that way, but your body needs fuel.” I opened my mouth to argue, but he gently kissed my lips. “You’re going to let me take care of you, little butterfly.”
I nodded, and he turned away.
Twelve hours earlier, I’d have been salivating as he bared every inch of his skin to me and bent to retrieve new, dry clothes from his own bag.
Another wave of sadness slammed into me, and I sank onto the edge of the bed. Eyes closed, I let myself down onto the mattress and breathed a deep sigh.
“Be back in a few, baby.”
I nodded that I’d heard, and the door clicked shut behind him.
At least I didn’t feel all combative and bitchy like I sometimes did when crashing after such a manic high. My father always let me beat on his chest and scream—half of the shit I spewed from my lips I couldn’t ever remember. He never spoke of it. Just held me until I slumped into a pile on the floor, and he’d put me to bed.
Dad.
More tears, more twists of agony in my stomach.
Without a doubt, I’d find myself back in New York all too soon—by plane—a slumped, tears-dried-up husk of the vivacious woman Hawk had been so attracted to.
More tears slid from my clenched eyes to drip onto the flat pillow beneath my head. I pulled my knees up to my chest and hugged my shins, giving over to the unrelenting, depressing thoughts.