Broken Beautiful Hearts(44)

“Cutter came out of operating room one day and handed in her resignation. Then she fell off the grid. Ten years later, she showed up in Nashville. She told me she’d been living in Asia. But she missed whiskey and Elvis, so she came back.”

“Did she tell anyone why she left?”

We turn onto Hawk’s street and he pulls into the driveway. “Some people want to live life on their own terms. They don’t want anyone else deciding their fate. Cutter has always been that kind of person.”

Hawk walks into the house and Dutch greets us, howling like he wants everyone in town to hear him. My uncle pats the bloodhound on the head with one hand and holds the door open for me with the other.

“You don’t have to hold it open.”

My uncle laughs and closes the door behind us.

“Your grandma would rise up out of her grave if I didn’t.” He drops his keys in a bowl on the table by the door. “It’s a Southern thing. And if the boys don’t hold it open for you, I’ll send her after them, too.”

It’s easy to picture my grandma, a stubborn spitfire like my mom, haunting the Twins because their manners aren’t up to her standards. I’d forgotten how funny my uncle is sometimes. He’s cool, in the uncool way some adults manage to be cool.

“We have dinner around seven after the boys get home from practice,” Hawk says on his way to the kitchen. He stops in the doorway and looks back at me with kind brown eyes that look like Mom’s. “I know you weren’t crazy about the idea of coming to Black Water. Seeing me every day can’t be easy for you. But I’m glad you’re here.”

I wish being around Hawk didn’t remind me of how Dad died—at least the parts I know. I don’t blame Hawk. It wasn’t his fault.

“That’s not the reason I wanted to stay in DC.” Okay … it’s one of them. “I didn’t want it to look like I was running away. I don’t want him to think he broke me.”

“I hear you. But leaving doesn’t always mean you’re running away. Sometimes you have to regroup before you go back and fight another battle.”

“There won’t be another battle. I already lost the war.” And my best friend.

“Don’t be so sure. You’re a fighter like your mom. Don’t let a pathetic excuse for a boy change that.”

At the mention of Reed, a chill runs up the back of my neck. I excuse myself and go up to my Tennessee bedroom—that’s what I’ve decided to call it. I unstrap my RoboCop brace and change into sweats and an oversize T-shirt.

I call Mom and fill her in on the first day. I tell her about my room and Black Water High. I give her the rundown on my classes, minus the Weasel, and I tell her about Grace. I don’t mention April, Titan, Owen, or my demonic locker number. That stuff will just stress her out.

After I get off the phone, I’m out of distractions and my thoughts go straight to Owen.

What’s my problem? Why am I thinking about him?

Because he’s a hot smart-ass, who defended Tucker from bullies … who flirted with me behind a barn and promised to protect me from bears … who made my skin tingle when he touched me. But he’s also a frustrating pain in the ass who thinks I’d be interested in dating a jerk like Titan.

Then there’s the other thing about Owen.…

He’s a fighter.

And I have to do PT with him.

I definitely didn’t see the fighter part coming. Black Water is the land of football. Who kickboxes in a tiny-ass town in Tennessee?

Owen Law.

And he looks hot doing it.

I wish I could snap a picture of Owen and send it to Tess. She’d think he’s good-looking too.

It’s impossible to understand how much you need someone until that person isn’t around. Losing Tess feels permanent, like there’s no way to Krazy Glue our friendship back together.

A long howl followed by an even longer one comes from downstairs.

The front door slams, and it sounds like someone is dropping rocks on the floor downstairs. The howling stops and the bickering starts. The Twins are home.

On my way down to the kitchen, the scent of fried chicken wafts through the air and my stomach rumbles. Suddenly, I’m starving.

So what if Owen is at the YMCA when I’m there?

He’s one guy.

One guy I have to work out with three times a week.

I’ll ignore him during PT and avoid him the rest of the time. If he gives me any crap, I’ll hand it right back to him. Or maybe throw more water bottles at him.

At the bottom of the steps, football helmets and pads are strewn across the floor in a trail leading to the kitchen. That explains the banging I heard. A week with Mom and she’d have the Twins putting away their gear and doing their own laundry.

I step around the pads and follow the smell of fried chicken.

The Twins mill around the kitchen, wearing grass-stained football pants with their sweaty Warriors football shirts. Cam opens the fridge and gulps milk straight from the carton—the only way I’ve seen him drink it so far. Christian tears open a party-size bag of barbecue chips, leans his head back, and shakes the chips directly into his mouth. There’s no sign of the fried chicken I smelled, not even a KFC bucket.

Hawk points at the chips. “Put those back. We’re about to eat. Go sit down.”