Hawk (A Stepbrother Romance #3)(7)

Alexis is sitting on an upturned bucket, chugging a bottle of water and wiping at her forehead with a napkin as I stride up the sidewalk towards the hot dog carts. She looks up and scrubs her hand over her face, shakes the sweat off, and strides back to the cart.

"Go away, Hawk."

"Nope. We need to talk."

"We can't," she says calmly, looking away from me. She settles in place behind the cart.

Her legs are still shaking. She's trying to look calm.

A guy in a Hawaiian shirt and straw hat walks up to the hot dog stand and I shoulder in front of him.

"We're closed," I say, curtly.

"I’m open," May sighs. "Here, sir."

May slathers mustard on the guy's hot dog while I stare down Alexis, arms folded over my chest.

"We can’t do this here," she says, softly.

That's a step up over we can't, I guess.

"Hawk, I can't be seen with you," she says, lowering her voice further. "Please. You don't understand what you're doing."

"I'll deal with my father."

She looks up. "Will you?"

That one cuts me. I even flinch a little. There's a quiet venom in her voice I've never heard before. God she looks just the same, like I stepped into a dream and stepped back out with no time in between. It's not like she's never been mad at me before but she was never truly angry with me. We used to fight as often as not, and there was once a week when she didn't talk to me and left me with a deep emptiness that at the time I didn't recognize for what it was.

"What do you want?"

"I want to talk."

"We can't talk here. We shouldn't talk at all. It's best for both of us if you leave me alone. Go. Please."

"Alex-"

"Hawk, please." Her voice cracks a little. "If you don't leave your father is going to… show… up…" she trails off.

Alexis freezes like a deer in the headlights and looks over my shoulder. I turn, and there he is.

Tall, an inch taller than me, he's wearing a polo shirt, slacks and boat shoes, and sweating. My father could pass for my brother, age-wise, even if he's a little older than you'd expect for a man with an eldest son my age. The only sign of his years is a flaring wing of gray in his hair on either side of his head, and faint lines around his eyes that only show when he grimaces. He's smiling now, but if you covered the bottom half of his face it would show his smile false, as it doesn't touch his eyes. It never does and never did.

There isn't even a moment of confusion. He recognizes me immediately.

He pretends he doesn't.

"Alexis, is this man bothering you?"

"No, dad, he just-"

Dad. She called him dad. What the f*ck?"

"This man?" I say, smirking. "Dad. Really."

"Hawk?" he says, feigning confusion, then surprise.

Sometimes I think I might be crazy. It's like I'm the only one who sees it. His expressions look natural unless you pay a little too much attention. His eyes are dead, lifeless, like a shark's eyes. Two green buttons without an ounce of empathy or feeling, seeing through you.

"Why aren't you wearing a shirt?"

"Because it's ninety-five f*cking degrees outside."

No reaction. He just stares at me with that same fraudulent smile, but his head cocks to the side a little, like he's studying a prey animal.

"What are you doing here?"

My smile broadens, but there's no joy in it. I'm baring my teeth at him. "I live here."

"Not anymore."

"Well, that's the thing about joining the military, Dad. Eventually they let you out. Maybe if you'd tried it sometime you'd know that."

Nothing. He just stares. I make a broad gesture behind me.

"Mayor, huh? Moving up in the world, I see."

"You should leave," he says, finally.

"Why? Is there a dress code?"

He glances over to his side and nods.

"Yes," a new voice says, "As a matter of fact there is."

I snap around quickly and find myself staring down a Paradise Falls cop. It takes me a second, because of the uniform and the mirrored aviator shades, and then it hits me.

"Lance?"

"'Officer' he corrects."

I read his name tag. Yeah, it's him. He doesn't look all that different than when I left-he's still lanky and skinny like he was when he was sixteen, except now somebody went and made a cop out of my younger brother. He rests his hands on his duty belt, hooking his thumbs under the leather, and one is a little close to the Glock on his hip. He probably does that a lot.

I give him a smile that says, in nonverbal form, if he pulls that piece I'm going to have it up his ass before he can get his finger on the trigger.

"Been a long time, brother."

"Go get a shirt," he says, his voice trembling just a touch.

I smirk, and he frowns. I noticed and he knows I noticed.

"So you're a cop."

"Yeah."

"Makes me wonder what * would trust you with a gun."

HIs hand jerks to his sidearm and closes around the grip.

"Lance," my father says, in a warning tone. "Escort Hawk off the street. He's not to come back."