Craving Hawk (The Aces' Sons 3)

“Not so bad anymore,” I replied, as I sat down on the barstool next to him.

“Amy’s got ’em,” he said simply, turning his entire body toward me. “Nothin’ to be ashamed of.”

“Didn’t say I was ashamed.”

“Actin’ like it, are ya not?”

“Go back to bed, old man,” I murmured into my cup. “Your Irish is showing.”

He jerked in surprise, then laughed, “Maybe so.”

“Her dreams get better?” I asked, meeting his eyes.

“Are the dreams better? Can’t say they are,” he said sympathetically. “Happens less and less though, as time goes on. Used to be, she said she had them every night. Now, well, mostly happens when somethin’ triggers a memory.”

“So, the rest of my life then,” I barked out a humorless laugh. “Fuckin’ fantastic.”

“Ah, Thomas,” Poet sighed. “Won’t always be so fresh, yeah? Time’ll dull it a bit.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Your dreams have anythin’ to do with that girl with all the shit in her pretty face?”

“What?” I chuckled.

“Uh…” he snapped his fingers a couple times. “Hawk. That’s her name. The one that hit you in the cock.”

I choked on the sip of coffee I’d just put in my mouth and felt it burn the back of my nose. “Heather?”

“Right! Memory’s shit anymore.”

“Bullshit. You remember what you ate on February 1, 1982. She’s nothin’. Dream didn’t have anything to do with her,” I lied, wiping the coffee that had spilled down my chin. “She knew Micky.”

“His girl?” Poet asked, his tone making my head snap up. He knew something. It was in the way he’d said the words, the way his eyes didn’t leave mine, the way his fingers tapped idly against the side of his coffee mug.

“Nah,” I replied slowly. “They were just friends.”

He hummed in reply, nodding his head.

“She is pretty,” I said, thoughtlessly. It was true, but I would have never actually said it if I wasn’t trying to steer the conversation in a different direction.

“Eh. If she took that metal out of her face.”

I smiled. “She used to have a lot more of it,” I told him, watching as his lips firmed in disgust. “She’s only got the two now, but she used to have snake bites.” I pointed to the corners of my bottom lips. “And she had her eyebrow done and her bridge.”

“Her bridge?” Poet asked in confusion.

“Yeah.” I reached up and pinched the skin on the bridge of my nose right between my eyes and busted out laughing as he shuddered.

“Well, now,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m too old for that shit.”

“What? Women didn’t have piercings when you were a young fella?” I asked jokingly.

“Only the good ones,” his wife, Amy, called quietly as she walked toward us. She wiggled her eyebrows up and down.

“Oh, yeah?” I asked, winking at her.

“No,” Poet said shaking his head. “She’s fuckin’ with ya.”

I couldn’t keep the grin off my face as Amy moved around Poet and smoothed a hand down his beard, trying to tame it, before she reached for the coffee pot.

“It was all I could do not to pull out every one of the rings your Aunt Farrah put in her face when I saw her. That girl just kept addin’ and addin’ ’em.”

“I don’t remember her having that many,” I said in surprise.

“Before you were born, son.” Poet shook his head and then made a shooing motion so I’d scoot to the next barstool, giving Amy a place to sit down. “She’d mellowed quite a bit before you younger kids came around.”

“Having a family will do that to a person,” Amy said thoughtfully, lifting her coffee mug to her lips. “Well, most people anyhow. What are you doing up so early?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“I’m sorry, Tommy,” she said softly.

“It is what it is. What are you two doin’ up?” I glanced at Poet who was grinning from ear to ear. “Don’t answer that,” I muttered.

He started chuckling just as Heather came out of the back hallway carrying Molly’s daughter Rebel. I wasn’t sure how my big brother had landed the sweet Molly, but I was a little impressed by it. She was a nurse up at the hospital, and I remembered when she’d come up to me in the waiting room, the night our family barbecue had been attacked, and brought me down to my brother’s room. She’d seemed like an angel then, with her smooth blonde hair and soft voice.

I turned on my stool as Heather moved toward us, her eyes bleary.

“I need coffee,” she mumbled, rubbing Rebel’s back. “Stat.”

Amy laughed softly as she reached for another mug.

“What are you doin’ with this one?” I asked, reaching out to tickle the bottom of Rebel’s foot.

“She slept with me last night,” Heather huffed, planting her ass on a barstool with the little girl on her lap. “I didn’t realize she’d be up at five in the morning.”