Hawk (A Stepbrother Romance #3)(18)

She shudders. "I asked him where you were, if he heard anything. I pleaded with him, begged him. Did he know where you were?"

"Yeah. He did."

She laughs, a bitter, humorless sound. More fireworks blast the night with harsh red light and I see silvery tracks on her cheeks and realize she's crying, tears sliding down to her chin.

"Alex-"

"I want it to be like it was," she chokes out, squeezing her fist. "But it's not, and it can't be. You left me."

"Not by choice."

"Then why? What was so much more god damn important than me?"

Rage flares in my chest. I cross the gap in quick strides and seize her arms, and she struggles, but briefly. I wait for her gaze to meet mine and stare into her eyes.

"Nothing. I left for you."

Confusion twists her face.

"I don't understand."

I sigh and shake my head. "Fuck," I mutter.

"Tell me."

"I can't, if I do…"

"What?" She shakes loose again, steps back. "If you're not going to tell me anything you can just leave, Hawk. I'm not going to let you just come crashing into my life with no explanation. I want to believe you, you f*cking *. Do you understand?"

She lowers her voice and looks around. This time two rockets throw harsh shadows through the trees, a red and a blue. Cheers erupt from the meadow.

"Tell me the truth," she pleads.

"Okay," I tell her, moving closer. "Just listen to me, okay."

She stands her ground. I take her hands.

"You remember the last day of school? When I disappeared?"

"Of course," she snaps. "How could I forget?"

"This is what happened."





Hawk





Then





My father stepped into the room. He looked at me and I looked at him, and I looked at the computer. I sat there for a good thirty seconds. His expression never changed. He never said a word. I broke the silence.

Standing I said, "What did you do?"

He looked at me curiously, like I was a unique insect. "How do you mean?"

"You know what I f*cking mean. Methyl iodide, Dad. What's methyl iodide?"

"Do I look like a chemist?"

I stepped around the desk. He didn't move, or take his hands from his pockets. Still as a statue, only his eyes moved as he followed me closer.

"I want to know what happened to my mother."

"She had a stroke and she died.”

"You're lying," I screamed, "I knew it, I knew it. You gave her that methyl shit, you-"

He moved so fast I didn't even have time to react. He jammed the heel of his hand into my chin and I stumbled back, fell over one of his guest chairs, and tumbled, landing on my back on the carpet and then my head thumping against the floor and the world wobbled. When I started to roll to get up, his foot got me hard in the ribs and rolled me over again. The wind tore out of my lungs and when I tried to get it back, there wasn't enough, not enough. Another kick was blunted as I turned, rolling onto my side.

I got up and flipped the cocktail table over at the same time. The empty decanter and glasses on the top slid off and crashed to the floor. I kicked the table at him. Round, it rolled but he sidestepped it and came at me fists up, like a boxer, springing on his feet. I didn't know he knew how to fight. I knew he exercised but he was fast, faster than me. I took a swing at him and he ducked it easily and drove his fist into my gut. I stumbled and his fist connected hard to the side of my head, and the world flashed white, followed by dancing stars, like a cloud of fireflies trapped in my eyes.

He put his foot on my back and shoved. I went down, skidded on the carpet.

"Howard," he said, calmly.

I rolled, grabbed the decanter that I'd knocked over, swung it, and smashed it in half on the corner of his desk.

He looked at the rent in the antique wood, the deep gouges, and frowned.

"It's going to cost me a fortune to fix that."

I stumbled to my feet and lunged at him with the broken glass, stabbing at his stomach. He sidestepped easily, gracefully, seized my wrist and torqued it.

"Stop it, or I'll break your arm."

I couldn't stop him. My hand sprang open and the glass dropped. He kicked my leg out from under me and I went down and shard of glass bit into my thigh. He still had my wrist.

Until I bit him.

I sank my teeth into the meat of his palm and his hand flew open. My arm was tingling, felt like jelly. I pulled it to my side and threw myself at his legs, hit him, and he went down on top of me. His fist hit my nose and blood splattered on my face, thick and hot, and filled my mouth with the coppery taste of my own blood. He grabbed my head, pulled, shoved it against he floor. I twisted out of the way and his fist barely missed my face in another ringing blow. I yanked my leg up and drove my knee between his legs and got him right in the balls.

He howled, rolled off me, but recovered. I kicked at him and went for the door, fell as my leg went out from under me, got up again. Lance was standing at the top of the stairs.

My father stepped out of the office and kicked me in the ribs. Something popped as I smashed against the far wall and fell, clutching my stomach, trying to breathe. He kicked me again, his foot hitting me under my ribs. It hurt like nothing I'd ever felt before. Not even the time I broke my ankle at the swimming hole and had to lean on Alexis to walk back to town. Lance was still standing there, watching.