Page 24 of Cherry Picked
Hawk glanced over at me. “You did, though. You’re a good singer.” It was a reluctant admission, like he was throwing me a bone against his better judgment.
“I’m a passably okay singer,” I corrected. “And that’s less about talent and more because I had hours of practice when I cooked at that dinner theater I told you about back in Portland. Now I can hardly cook without singing under my breath. Like Pavlov’s dog.”
“I like it,” he said. “I mean, all of us do. Even the customers talk about it when they catch you singing.”
“Well, if the Narwhals make a comeback to the stage, I’ll be ready.”
Hawk sputtered out a laugh, and I felt victorious. “Oh, god, no. Drew still plays guitar sometimes—mostly for Marco when he’s trying to get back in his good graces after a fuckup.” He shook his head, amused. “He’s not great at it either, which is kinda sweet. He does this really loud, reeeeeally off-key version of ‘You Are So Beautiful,’ and when he gets to the warbly high bit, Sally Ann and Black Bear start barking their heads off like he’s hitting notes only dogs can hear. But Drew doesn’t mind looking a little foolish, as long as it makes Marco smile. I think that’s what true love is.”
I snorted. “I think Marco listening to that racket and smiling anyway is what true love is.” I lifted one shoulder. “Not that I know the first thing about relationship stuff.”
Hawk’s smile faded, and he rolled his eyes. “Maybe the only reason you don’t know aboutrelationship stuffis because you haven’t triedrelationship stuff, just like you weren’t born knowing how to play the damn tuba.”
I opened my mouth, then shut it again and shook my head. “Hawk… what’s going on? I know you’re upset about your dad, but it feels like you’re angry atme. Is this about me saying no to the, uh…” I cleared my throat. “The cherry thing? Because that’s not fair—”
“No,” he bit out. Then a moment later, he dragged a frustrated hand through his hair and admitted, “Or, okay, a little bit yes. It’s not just the turning down. I could deal with that. Probably. But your reasons for it don’t make sense. My brothers? My age? You don’tdorelationships, and I’m required to want one because you say so? It feels like bullshit. And I’m talking ‘Mr. Darcy telling Elizabeth he can’t marry her because of her inferior connections’-level bullshit. You remember how much I hate that part of the book, right?”
“I do,” I said with feeling. “But, Hawk—” I reached for him, but he sidestepped again, bunching his hands into fists, and I let my own hand drop uselessly to my side. I hadn’t realized just how much we’d casually touched—and how much I’d come to expect it—until that moment.
“It’s not all you, though. I’m just so angry at everythingthese days.” He whispered the last words like he was confessing a dark crime. “I don’t feel like myself.”
“I’ve seen you angry before. You were angry the day we met, remember?” I teased gently.
“It’s not the same. This… it’s… I feel like I don’t have control over any part of my life. All the things I love are slipping away, and I don’t know how to hold them. I don’t know what I can count on anymore. I’m angry at my dad for dying and for Webb treating me like a child. I’m angry that the town is all up in my library checkouts but can’t muster the energy to care about the one issue I want them to care about. I’m angry that Evola wants to ruin this place and that poor, old Jeremiah Fogg didn’t… I don’t know… turn the land into a permanent wilderness preserve before he died a hundred years ago.”
“I get it—” I began, but Hawk cut me off.
“Oh, I’m not even close to done. I’m also angry that Helena Fortnum texts like a teenager circa 2009. I’m angry that you’re obviously trying so hard to listen to me, but for the first time, I don’t feel like you’re reallylistening to me. I’m angry at Simon Wentworth for being so freaking nice and handsome when by all rights he should be a warty, mustache-twirling evil villain. I’m angry that my brothers have fallen in love with the most amazing, wonderful men, while I can’t even lose my virginity without embarrassing myself. I’m angry at people for thinking it’s front-page news that I’m angry. And I’m angry at myself forbeing angrywhen none of it makes sense.”
“Hawk—”
“No wonder you don’t want to have sex with me. I have become a veritableriverof salt,and my banks are overflowing,” he said miserably.
I pressed my lips together to keep from pointing out that Simon Wentworth wasn’t really all that handsome—not the point, Jack, god—and focused on Hawk.
Hawk had trusted me with a lot of things over the years, but this felt different. More.Like he was being vulnerable in a new way, showing a side of himself that scared him a little.
He sounded so lost and alone my arms ached to hold him as I had earlier. I wanted to whisper nonsense about everything being okay, that I wouldmakeit okay, that we would make it okay together because I was right beside him and I always would be. Nothing he could do or say would scare me away. No matter what else changed, he could always count on me.
But one look at him told me he wouldn’t welcome any of that. Beneath his hoodie, his whole body was taut as a bowstring, like he was holding himself together by willpower alone, and the slightest touch might send him rocketing to the stratosphere. So I channeled my own frustrated helplessness into kicking a rock off a nearby drop-off—possibly imagining Simon’s face on it, who’s to say?—before opening my mouth.
“I hate that you’re dealing with this,” I said quietly. “But I’m glad you told me. I don’t want you to hold back with me. Okay?”
“Yeah.” He huffed out a laugh and pushed his hair up off his forehead, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Sure.”
“I know some of the things you’re angry about, like your dad, are things you can’t fix or change. But some of the others maybe you just need time to figure out. In the meantime, maybe you need an outlet. When I was younger, I had a lot of pent-up aggression—”
Hawk’s eyes met mine. “Yeah? You never told me that.”
I nodded. “I, uh… Grief is weird, you know? Comes up when you least expect it and sometimes in ways you don’t expect. My mom hadn’t finished her accounting degree yet, so she was working crazy hours, and things were kinda shitty, and I…” I shrugged. I didn’t like talking about this stuff because I didn’t like remembering it. “Anyway. Hitting a punching bag really helped. Have you thought about checking out that new kickboxing studio in Two Rivers?”
He huffed out a laugh, and his posture eased a bit. “Yeah, Crys had some ideas about that, too. First, she suggested jiujitsu since she’s studied it herself—”
I was hesitant to agree with Crys’s suggestions just on principle, but in this case, she might have a point. “Jiujitsu would be good for self-defense. In fact, you should probably get a belt or two before you pursue the hookup app idea, if that was something you were still, ah… thinking about.”
It occurred to me the instant the words were out of my mouth that I probably shouldn’t have brought that up again, especially now.
Hawk’s glare confirmed this. “Didyouget a belt in jiujitsu beforeyouswiped right on Smug Peter or Handsy Donny?”
