Unbeloved (Undeniable #4)(7)
And Hawk, after finding out I’d been shot, flew into a very public fit of rage that had shed light on Christopher’s true paternity. His disloyalty to his brother now exposed, Hawk retreated even further into himself, and his visits home to Montana became more infrequent.
Unable to deal with the overwhelming sorrow and the crippling guilt I felt, unable to figure out how to move forward, I simply hid myself away, going so far as to feign ignorance even after my memories had returned to me.
It had taken another near tragedy, this time involving Tegen, for me to finally see past my own nose, to realize that I’d spent my entire life in hiding. Hiding from my past, from my present, and any sort of future I might hope to someday have.
Refusing to let history repeat itself, and done with hiding, I moved my son and myself to San Francisco, not only to see my daughter through her rough patch, but to start fresh.
My wish was for the three of us to become the strong and solid family we always should have been, to live in such a way that didn’t cause anyone any pain, and for the opportunity to make new memories for us all, this time ones that would be worth remembering.
It took some time, but eventually I got my wish.
Since then, Tegen had moved back to Miles City, was happily married to Deuce’s son, Cage, and Christopher was living the peaceful and carefree life of a seven-year-old. Despite whatever resentments still lay between Hawk and me, he was a regular in Christopher’s life, which was all that mattered.
Our son had that effect on us, no matter how strained our relationship with each other. Christopher was our Switzerland, a span of untouched land covered in wildflowers that stretched between two crumbling cities.
Both my children were safe, they were happy, and they were surrounded by those who loved them. There really wasn’t much more a mother could ask for.
But like a glass that had shattered, while you could glue it back together, it would never again be what it once was.
I was a shattered glass, glued back together. And my children, while their wounds had healed, had been cut by my jagged edges.
Sighing, I turned my attention away from the window, back to the cell phone in my lap.
It was Christmas morning. Christopher would be waking soon and yet Hawk wasn’t here. The last text I’d received from him had been days ago, informing me that he’d be here by Christmas Eve. There’d been nothing since, and every call I’d made had gone unanswered.
However strained our relationship with each other was, Hawk had never ignored my calls, and he’d certainly never missed an opportunity to spend time with his son.
Something was wrong.
Setting my coffee down on the windowsill, I quickly typed out a text on my phone.
I’m worried. Please call me.
Pressing Send, I held the phone in my hand and waited. And waited.
Ten minutes went by and still no answer.
I glanced at the clock on the wall, which was silly since my phone told me exactly what time it was, but old habits die hard and I’d been checking clocks long before I’d had a cell phone to tell me the time.
Six thirty a.m. Which meant it was seven thirty in Montana. Deuce and Eva had two young children, and considering it was Christmas morning, might be up already.
I typed out another next, this one to Eva’s cell phone.
Have you heard from Hawk? He’s not here. He hasn’t responded to my calls and I’m worried.
Then I waited, clutching my cell phone, staring at the lit screen so intently that when it brightened even further, flashing Unknown Caller, followed by the ridiculously loud and obnoxious ringing I hadn’t yet figured out how to change, I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“Hello?”
“Dorothy.” Deuce’s deep, rumbling voice filled my ear. “You f*ckin’ know better than to text shit like that to an unsecured line.”
“Merry Christmas to you too,” I said dryly, unconcerned with Deuce’s texting protocols. “Now, where’s Hawk? Why hasn’t he responded to any of my calls?”
“What do you mean he hasn’t responded to your calls?”
For such a smart man, Deuce could really be dense at times.
“What I mean is just that. He hasn’t responded to any of my calls or texts. Not since the day before yesterday.”
Silence followed my words, only serving to worsen the sinking sensation in my stomach.
“Deuce?”
“I’m here. I’m thinkin’ . . .” Another long pause followed, then, “I gotta go, I’ll have Eva call you if I have news.”
“Wait!” I cried, but I was too late. He’d already hung up.
“Dammit!” I shouted, squeezing the phone in my hand with frustration.
Why had I even bothered calling? The Hell’s Horsemen and their seedy business dealings were never something I’d been privy to. And getting any sort of information out of Deuce was the equivalent of demanding answers from a brick wall. Utterly impossible.
“Mom?”
My gaze jerked across the room. Leaning heavily against the hall entranceway, Christopher regarded me with sleepy eyes and a crooked smile.
Tossing aside my phone, I jumped up off the couch. “Merry Christmas, baby,” I said softly. Smiling, I gestured toward the tree and the brightly wrapped presents piled underneath it.
His little face, still slack with sleep, instantly brightened. His green eyes widened, and then he was hurtling across the hardwood flooring. Just as I thought he would run right past me, he skidded to a stop, whirled around, and threw himself at me.