Craving Hawk (The Aces' Sons 3)

I’d taken my time with him, and I’d left no trace behind.

And I’d never said a word, protecting my baby brother the only way I could anymore.

I shifted on the bed, and it was enough to knock my dad out of whatever memory he’d been living in. He climbed to his feet and sat next to me, leaning forward until his elbows rested on his knees.

“How’s Heather?” I asked, staring at my hands. They were so torn up I could barely move them.

“Scared,” my dad said quietly. “Upset.”

“I didn’t mean—” my voice broke. “I wasn’t gonna hurt her.”

My dad said nothing.

“Swear to Christ,” I said roughly. “I wouldn’t do that.”

He turned his head slowly and met my eyes, nodding after a moment. “Alright,” he replied softly.

“She’s okay?” I asked, swallowing hard. “She’s not hurt?”

“She’s hurtin’, son,” he answered. “But she’ll be okay.”

“I wasn’t tryin’ to scare her,” I rasped, my throat tight. “I was tryin’ to get to her.”

“We gotta get you some help,” he said gently. “Ain’t no controllin’ you when you’re like that. We gotta figure out how to fix it, son.”

“Okay.” I nodded. “Okay.”

Chapter 17

Heather

“I’m fine,” I told my sister, my throat raw from crying. “I just want to go to sleep.”

After I’d left Grease and Callie’s room that night, I’d found my sister sitting in the hallway, her arms wrapped around her knees. Waiting. She hadn’t understood what was happening and she hadn’t been sure what room I was in, but she’d known I’d needed her.

I’d walked straight to her, my eyes dry, and the moment I held out my hand she’d gripped it tightly and led me out of the clubhouse and right to her car. We’d left without a word to anyone, not even Rocky, and she’d let me sit in silence the entire way to my apartment.

She hadn’t said a word until I’d undressed and climbed into bed.

“You sure you don’t want to talk about it?” she asked quietly, running her fingers through my hair.

“No,” I replied. “Not tonight.”

“Okay.” She climbed up next to me and sat with her back against the headboard, and I automatically scooted over to rest my head on her lap.

I closed my eyes as I felt her cool fingers slide across my forehead.

We stayed like that, both of us silent, until I finally drifted off to sleep.

* * *

“Sisterbeast,” Mel called softly the next morning, rubbing my shoulder. “Callie and Farrah are here to see you.”

“What?” I asked, reaching up to rub my eyes. “What time is it?”

“Nine thirty,” she said. “I asked them to wait outside since you don’t have any pants on.”

“Thanks,” I grumbled. I’d tossed and turned the entire night. It didn’t even feel like I’d slept.

I climbed off the bed and pulled on a pair of sweats and a bra, then waved at Mel to let my visitors in as I walked to the kitchen for some coffee. My head was throbbing.

“Hey, Heather,” Callie said as she came inside. She looked around for a second before setting her purse on the floor and moving further into the room. “How ya doing?”

“Tired,” I replied, giving her a wan smile. “How about you?”

“Same,” she said.

“Well, I feel like shit,” Farrah announced. “You have coffee?”

“Help yourself,” I muttered, moving out of her way. I glanced at my sister, but she was staring at Farrah in horror as she put a ton of sugar in her empty mug then poured her coffee in on top.

“You can sit,” I offered to Callie, gesturing toward the bed.

“Thanks,” she said with a small smile. She kicked off her shoes and surprised me by climbing onto the bed and making herself comfortable.

“Make yourself at home,” I said with a laugh.

She shrugged and patted the bed beside her.

Within minutes, all of us were sitting in a circle on the bed in complete silence.

“How is he?” I asked finally, picking at a loose thread on my comforter.

“He’s—”

“Still an idiot,” Farrah said dryly, cutting Callie off.

Callie shot her a glare, then looked at me. “He’s upset,” she said quietly. “Worried about you.”

My sister snorted.

“Stop,” I mumbled to Mel, laying my hand on her thigh.

“He’s a lot like his mother,” Farrah said, leaning back against my headboard and stretching out her legs. “Said he was fine over and over again until he couldn’t say it anymore.”

“True,” Callie said. She reached for Farrah’s coffee without a word, took a sip and then handed it back. “When I was young, the same thing happened to me. Different symptoms, though.”

I sat silently, waiting for her to continue. I had no idea what to say.

Tommy had terrified me. I had no idea how to even process that.

“I think he has PTSD,” Callie finally said. “I’ve always thought it, but he’s an adult.” She paused, reaching up to pick at the skin on her lips until Farrah smacked her hand back down again. “He refused to see anyone about it.” Callie shrugged. “But he finally agreed last night.”