Hawk (A Stepbrother Romance #3)(48)

He scoots across the bed and stands up, stretches, and yawns into his hand. I pace away from him and his hands shoot out and take my arms just above the elbows. I struggle for a second but fall into him as he pulls me towards him, my back against his chest, and he slips his arms around me and rests his chin on my head.

I can feel my pulse against his arms, slowing as he holds me. He doesn't say anything, but turns his head down to breathe in my hair, taking in my scent. I rest my hands on his wrists and mold against him with a soft sigh. No matter how complicated I feel about him right now, this is too reassuring and calming to give up. It's like he's made of stone and I feel surrounded and safe.

"When do you think he'll leave?"

Hawk shrugs, his body moving against mine as he does. He lets go and turns to sit on the bed, watching through my window. I click my light off, lift the shade and sit cross-legged next to him.

"We can't go through the house. What if Lance sees us?"

"We're not going out through the door. I'll show you."

"You want me to climb down the side of the house?"

"It's not hard."

"Maybe we should go now," I sigh. "If we try after he leaves we'll lose him."

Hawk turns and stares out the window. There's something distant in his gaze, almost vacant. Beyond the glass, Paradise Falls is starting to light up for the night, a glow popping into windows as lamps turn on. In the distance, it looks like stars reaching out into the dark beyond. Outside of town, away from the buildings, it's pitch black at night, the dark so deep you can't see your hand in front of your face. Hawk taps my back with his fingers and I flinch.

"You're right. Come on. We'll hide out in the yard. Got your keys?"

"Yeah."

He lifts the window sash and climbs out, shuffles to the side, so he's peering around the edge of the window frame. He lowers his voice.

"Swing your legs out. I won't let you fall."

"What do I do?"

"Put your feet on the wall and feel. There's a strip of molding under the window that’ll hold you. Keep a tight grip on the frame."

I nod and take a deep breath, scoot across the bed and slip my legs into the open air. Realizing I'm going to go out backwards, I roll around onto my stomach and slither across the blankets until I can swing my legs down and probe along the wall. Hawk puts his hand on the small of my back and I feel the molding he's talking about, like a shelf, about half as wide as my shoes. I slip out a little further and reach back to grip the window frame, and my heart speeds up.

It starts pounding as I squeeze the old wood in my fingers and hear it creak as I stick my butt out in the air, swing my head under the sash, and stand up, holding on for dear life. Hawk nods at me and I shuffle to the side a little, carefully gripping the windowsill, and he pulls the sash down until it's about an inch above my hands.

Then the back door opens.

My heart pounds against my ribs as I look down and see Tom walk out of the house, right under us.

He stops on the porch, maybe five feet directly under us. If he happens to look up, he'll spot the two of us hanging on for dear life on the outside of the house, clearly climbing out through my bedroom window.

He's just standing there.

My hands start to shake. I'm squeezing the windowsill too hard and it makes it feel like my fingers are going to pop out of joint. Hawk is perfectly still, but I’m shaking harder every second. Tom checks his watch, then pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, taps one free, and sticks it in his mouth. Then he just stands there rolling it around on his lips before bringing a Zippo to the tip. The cigarette lights and casts a baleful red glow on his face as he takes a long puff and… lets it out as he stands there.

Come on, leave already!

My hands are getting tired. Hawk lets go of the strip of molding he's holding with one hand and puts it on my back, pressing me against the wall.

Fatigue begins to burn in my calves. If I relax my legs I'll slip right off the molding. I'm plenty strong enough to hold myself up like this but the longer I stay here without shifting, the more my calves start to burn. Hawk is trembling, too. He brings his hand back and I see his arms tense as he tries to take the pressure off his own legs.

I mouth, "Back inside."

He shakes his head. "Hear the window", he mouths silently.

Tom is still standing there, one hand in the pocket of his khakis, puffing on his cigarette. Finally he looks at it between his fingers, tosses it to the bottom of the porch stairs, and jogs down, stopping to grind it out with his heel. Hawk shifts and starts to move when Tom stops, turns, and walks back up the stairs. I freeze again, my calves on fire. My foot slips and hands in space, and now only one food and my grip on the window is holding me up. My other foot starts to slip, the bottom of my sneaker scraping across the thin strip of molding as my heel tips down. Any second I'm going to slip loose and fall fifteen feet to the porch below.

Hawk grabs my waistband and grits his teeth, lifting me back up my main strength.

Tom jiggles the doorknob below us I get my footing again, but Hawk's own foot slips and he almost drops, sinking a foot right next to me as his leg bends as his other foot hangs in space.

Turning, Tom jogs back down to the yard and then heads for the carriage.

"Move," Hawk chokes in a whisper. "Over to the corner."