Savage tosses me the tenth dirty look since I arrived very late this morning. I do my best to ignore it. Instead, I try to concentrate on what Ben is telling us about the status of the construction on the location for the next Hawkeye Club.
But I can feel his eyes on me.
I want a cigarette.
Badly.
My hand automatically moves to my pocket and searches for my lighter even though it hasn’t been there for over six months.
Like I don’t already feel guilty enough without having Savage give me the stare-down. I swear, it’s like he can read people with one look sometimes.
“Gabe?”
“Huh?” I hadn’t even realized Ben said anything to me.
“I asked if you want to come in and check out the second floor. The elevator hasn’t been installed yet.”
He doesn’t have to say the rest.
My chest tightens, and my guilt increases three-fold. I know I shouldn’t feel bad for him. Savage’s rebounded from the accident, and his life is amazing now. He has Danika and soon, the baby. He has everything he’s ever wanted. But still, the constant reminders of his very real limitations have to be a slap to the face.
“Yeah, I’ll come up.” I turn to Savage and make direct eye contact for the first time since I arrived. “I’ll take pictures for you to look at.”
He nods but doesn’t speak, and his blue eyes—eyes that are all too similar to the ones I stared into while I fucked his sister last night, and this morning—tell me we will be having a conversation later whether I like it or not.
Wonderful.
I stall inside for as long as I can, asking Ben every mundane question about the status of the build. This location will be slightly different from the original Hawkeye Club. Instead of housing offices on the second floor, there will be additional smaller stages with multiple champagne rooms so we can accommodate more large parties and special requests. This should help us avoid any of the issues we have at the main club with space availability, and we won’t ever have to turn anyone away.
By the time I make it back outside, Savage has already left, and I’m given a brief reprieve.
Thank God.
On the way to the club, against my better judgment and with my conscience screaming at me, I stop and buy a pack of smokes.
I use the back stairs instead of the elevator, so I won’t have to walk past Savage’s office, and high-tail it to my office, closing and locking the door the moment I step inside.
The lighter is sitting exactly where I left it, tucked behind my stapler and boxes of miscellaneous office supplies. There’s less temptation that way.
I pause before I pick it up, the last time I held it running through my mind. It was a couple months after Savage and Danika got married. I had started seeing Doc again—to deal with the swirling mess of shit going on in my head after killing Abello’s men and kissing Skye—and one of my goals was to kick the nasty habit…again.
My hands start shaking, and I drop down into my chair and scrub my hands over my face. I knew it would be bad, the internal ramifications for my actions, but I didn’t expect for it to go that far. I never expected to need Doc again.
The first time I saw her, after my final deployment, I didn’t want to admit I had PTSD. None of us do, but I had reached a point where I saw my life spiraling out of control and knew I had to do something. The nightmares, anxiety, and all-around unease I constantly felt were too much to ignore. And she helped, she really did. Otherwise, I never would have sent Savage to her.
And she helped this last time, too. Sort of. It’s hard for me to blame her for my continuing issues when I didn’t come completely clean about what had been bothering me. Leaving out the kiss with Skye and my feelings for her was probably a bad move. But at least I managed to be able to sleep at night again, and kick the cigs, until now.
This situation with Skye is out of control, and it’s only been twelve hours.
I never should have gone over there last night.
Taking the lighter in my hand, flashes of another beautiful Hawke girl appear and tears well in my eyes. I trace my thumb over the star etched into the lighter case.
She gave it to me before my second deployment, after I had picked up the habit on my first. I still vividly remember what she told me when she placed it in my hand. “You know you shouldn’t be smoking, Gabe. But I know you’ll do it anyway, so, here…at least when you look at it and are reminded of me, maybe it will make you think twice before lighting up.”
She was right. I did think twice; I just continued to do it.
Fuck.
If she were here, things would be so different…with Skye, with Savage, with all the Hawkes. I wouldn’t be sitting here kicking myself and ready to light up again.
What would she think of me and Skye?
I bark out a laugh and dump a stick from the pack. The lighter flicks to life just like it always has, and as I light up, I can’t help but wonder if this is the start of another uncontrolled descent—for both me and Skye.
I stare at my phone, willing it to ring, or buzz, just make any fucking noise. Gabe hasn’t called, and I refuse to be “that girl” and contact him first.
Stay strong, Skye.
Savage could have busted us this morning, that snafu with the phones was a big one. Maybe Gabe is still at work and can’t get away from prying ears. Or maybe he’s down on the club level and couldn’t hear anyway. Or maybe he’s off somewhere with someone else.
No. Stop.
The phone in my office rings, and I groan.
Wrong fucking phone.
With only an hour left on my shift, I have prayed it would remain quiet, and I can get out of here on time.
I’m exhausted from the lack of sleep and extra physical exertion last night…and this morning. I press my thighs together against the tingle brought on by the memories and answer the phone.
“Hey Skye, it’s Pam down in the ER. Would you be able to come down for a few minutes? We have one of your patients down here. Minor car accident, nothing major, but he’s asking for you.”
“Who is it?”
“Maurice Mendenhall.”
That poor old man. He’s one of my favorite patients. An eighty-year-old widower, he’s quick with a joke and sometimes an inappropriate butt squeeze when you walk by. He doesn’t have any family, so I’m sure being alone in the ER is difficult for him.
“I’ll be right down.”
The hallway is quiet, and my shoes squeak on the tile as I make my way across the skywalk. A quick elevator ride down releases me on the first floor, and I head toward the ER.
A hand wraps around my upper arm, and I’m yanked into a supply closet before I can even process what’s happening.
“What the hell?”
I whirl around to see who is dumb enough to nab me like that. Lucas presses against my shoulders, backing me up against the door he just pulled me through. He descends on me, slamming his mouth into mine before I can protest.
The kiss is dark and possessive. I press against his chest, and eventually, he backs away with a grin on his face.
“Seriously, what the hell, Lucas?” I smack his upper arm. “Are you fucking insane?”
His brow wrinkles, and his grin disappears as quickly as it appeared.
Jesus, he actually looks confused about why I’m angry.
“Sorry, I just wanted you to know that I forgive you, for what happened, and to tell you I miss you.”
I cross my arms over my chest and consider his words. He seems genuine in both his apology for what he just did and in his forgiveness of my major faux pas. At least with Lucas, things were always straightforward. I can fuck him without worrying about reprisals from my brother.
Life would be easier with Lucas, and he’s willing to forgive me for something that’s basically unforgiveable. Gabe can’t even bother to call me.
Maybe I owe Lucas another chance?
“Look, Lucas, I just need some time to think.”
Not really.
Who the fuck do I think I’m kidding? Gabe will always win. Always.
His eyes narrow, and his nostrils flare. “Time to think? What’s there to think about?”
“I just have a lot going on right now, that’s all. This isn’t a good time for me to be trying to split my attentions between my job, my family, and…”
Shit.
What do I call him? He was never my boyfriend. Fuck buddy?
“And what? And me?” He throws his hands up in the air and paces in front of me. “Jesus, Skye, four months. Four fucking months…did you ever feel anything for me at all?”
I don’t know, did I?
Of course I care about Lucas. We were good together. Maybe not great, but good. It was calm and easy. And I can’t say the sex wasn’t great.
But that’s all it ever was for me, and I thought we had an understanding about that.
“Lucas, of course I care about you. I’ve really enjoyed our time together—”
“Care about me? Enjoyed our time together? Are you fucking serious right now? Could you be any more patronizing?”
He moves toward me, making me duck instinctively, but he pushes past me, yanks on the handle, and disappears out the door.
What. The. Fuck. Was. That?
I don’t have the energy to worry about Lucas’s hurt feelings. I was upfront with him about what we were, and weren’t. If he let his feelings run away with him, that’s on him, not me.
There’s enough stress in my life without having him pining away for me. Hopefully, I made myself clear.
Now, if I can only make sure things with Gabe are clear.