Unbeloved (Undeniable #4)(39)

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Dorothy kept going and going and f*cking going, flinging word after word at him like a pitching machine. Like one of those dolls with the strings and after one too many pulls, the string snaps off and the doll just keeps f*cking talking and talking and talking . . .

She’d always f*cking talked too much, especially when she was upset. Hawk could recall countless nights when he’d been forced to listen to her ramble on about Jase, forced to watch her cry, emotionally beating herself up over and over again for reasons he’d early on stopped trying to comprehend. He’d simply f*cked her to shut her up and it had worked . . . for a while.

But she’d chosen Jase over him, and then she’d been shot, and the silence that had followed had been f*cking deafening.

And, f*ck, after all these years of the cold shoulder, barely speaking to each other, feeling like strangers in the same room, he hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed her. Not just being with her, but her. All of her. Even this, her nonsensical rambling, her inability to express absolutely anything without being so motherf*cking emotional. And even then, it was still a garbled mess. He’d missed every damn inch, all five foot nothing of her, the never-ending tears and all the baggage she’d always clung to, insisted on dragging along behind her.

Christ, they were both a disaster. Her with her heart exposed for all the world to see, and him with his locked up so tight, it had taken a random drunken f*ck, some blackmail, a pregnancy, a gunshot wound to the head, years of emptiness, a kidnapping, and a few more gunshots for him to sort his f*cking shit out.

What a goddamn waste.

The silver lining? She’d said she loved him. Last night and again just now, in between something about beating up Jase and Deuce leaving, she’d sure as shit had said she’d loved him, as well as admitting her fear of losing him again. It was a surprising and not so surprising revelation. There had been times that he’d suspected her feelings had run deeper than she’d let on, but she’d never admitted it and so he hadn’t either.

But none of that shit mattered anymore. He was sick of living in the past, of living in a future going nowhere. And he didn’t want to look back anymore.

“Dorothy.”

She just kept talking.

“Dorothy!”

Still, she kept talking. And, goddamn it, if he didn’t love the shit out of this woman, he would most certainly kill her.

“DOROTHY!” His hand flew to his throat as he instantly regretting yelling. Although it seemed to do the trick; she was no longer babbling but instead staring at him.

“For f*ck’s sake,” he rasped, rubbing his throat. “Shut up.”

“Shut up,” she whispered, her face crumpling. “Shut up? You’re seriously going to talk to me like—”

“Yes,” he gritted out, cutting her off. “I’m seriously goin’ to tell you to shut up and get your ass over here.” He attempted moving himself, wincing when the pain in his leg intensified, and decided to hold out his arm to her instead. “Just come here,” he said, gesturing with his hand. “Just shut up and come here.”

A long pause followed, and then she stammered, “I should get dressed.”

“No!” he yelled, growing increasingly frustrated with her and the fact that he couldn’t get off the damn bed to go get her himself. “Get the f*ck over here!”

It was slow going, but eventually she put one foot in front of the other. He waited with his arm outstretched as she moved toward him at a snail’s pace, trying to maintain patience when he felt anything but.

She paused at the edge of the bed, her face still flushed and red from crying as she gripped the towel to her chest. Her gaze skittered up and down his body, then across the bed and even farther, toward the window as she looked anywhere but directly at him.

Realizing what was happening, that Dorothy was being her own worst enemy, he released a heavy sigh and let his arm drop to the mattress.

“Woman,” he said softly. “Stop f*ckin’ thinkin’ so damn much.”

Her gaze lifted, meeting his, and they stared at each other, her green eyes filling with tears, his body itching with the need to bring her close to feel her against him.

And also with the need to pee. Christ, he had to piss. Great f*cking timing too. He’d waited twenty years for her to admit she had feelings for him, and for almost eight just for the chance to touch her again, and he wasn’t going to let an untimely bodily function f*ck this all up.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” she whispered tearfully. “I thought I’d never get another chance.”

“Thought you woulda figured this shit out by now,” he said. “That as long as I’m breathin’, I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

“I know that you were there . . . for Christopher,” she said, her voice small, unsure.

“For both of you,” he corrected her, dropping his gaze to the necklace. “I’ve always been there for both of you.”

With one hand still clutching her towel, she reached up with the other and again clutched the tiny pendant that hung from her neck.

Remembering Christopher’s attempts at trying to convince him that what she really wanted for Christmas was a new video game console, Hawk almost smiled. Almost. But knowing Dorothy, she would misconstrue his smile for something else entirely.