Hawke (Cold Fury Hockey, #5)(13)
Without waiting for his answer, I spin on Hawke. “Did you buy that for him? He shouldn’t be eating that.”
Hawke doesn’t say a word, but narrows his eyes further at me.
“Honey,” Dad says, and I spin back on him. “You, um…forgot to turn on the Crock-Pot, and I didn’t realize it until a bit ago. So…we, um…we just ordered some pizza.”
My stomach bottoms out, sad to not have roast for dinner, and filled with leaden guilt that I forgot to turn on the cooker. I was so damn tired this morning when I rolled out of bed, it must have just slipped my mind.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur as I lean down and kiss my dad’s cheek. “I forgot, and I hate that you had to eat pizza. You need to eat better than that.”
“It’s okay,” he says as his hand comes up to palm my cheek, holding me a second so my lips stay pressed to him. He then pats me and I pull back. “You’ve got a lot on your plate and I don’t need you doting over me.”
I look down at my father, worry and love I know evident on my face, because his eyes get shiny with warmth. We stare at each other a moment as he silently communicates to me that it’s all going to be okay.
Except, I don’t know that it is.
Setting my purse and keys down on the table beside my dad’s chair, I lean over to grab the pizza box. Shooting a quick glance at Hawke, I bite out, “So, what, you decided to stop by and check in on an old friend?”
“Something like that,” he growls. “Of course, it would have helped if you’d just told me what the hell was going on when I asked about your dad today at the arena.”
I slam the top of the pizza box over the remaining contents—two pieces of New York style with pepperoni, and my stomach grumbles again.
“Now why would I tell you that, Hawke?” My voice is bitter with confusion and anger. “It’s not like you kept in touch with him all these years. Why would anything about my dad be any of your business?”
“Vale,” my dad says in warning. “Ease up.”
“Whatever,” I mutter, and stalk off into the kitchen. I head to the garbage can, stomp my foot on the pedal at the base, and when the lid raises, I try to stuff the box inside.
Except it’s about two sizes too big, so I wrestle with it, taking my frustration out on the cardboard and the two aromatic pieces still in there taunting me. I feel tears welling in my eyes as I push and punch at the box, trying to get it to conform.
“Not hungry?” Hawke asks quietly from behind me.
My body stiffens as I make a last hard push to cram it all in and I blink my eyes rapidly to dispel the moisture. “No,” I say sullenly.
Starved, more like it.
“Your dad says you have a second job training people at a gym,” he says conversationally.
I ignore the remark and instead turn on him. “Seriously, Hawke…why are you here?”
“Because I was worried about your dad,” he says simply. “I knew you were hiding something from me, and while I might have lost contact over the years, I still like and respect your dad very much. Why wouldn’t I check in to say hello?”
He has a point, and I don’t like it, because I don’t like anything about Hawke being back in my life. It dredges up too many memories and flares my guilt and heartache back to life. My heart is already full to bursting with worry and dread; I don’t have room for all of the emotions that come with the territory of Hawke Therrien even talking to me.
“Fine,” I say, my voice heavy with exhaustion. “You’re concerned about him. You’ve come to visit. You can feel good now about making contact with old friends.”
No mistaking the sarcasm in my voice.
I turn to the refrigerator and pull out a protein shake I keep stocked. It won’t satisfy my hunger, but at least it will give me something. As I twist the cap, I notice Hawke lean back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Why are you so angry with me?” he asks softly. “I’m not the one that abandoned first.”
My eyes widen with surprise even as guilt flushes through me. He’s right, I’m the one that cut ties, but surely he has to admit that I tried to rectify…
No, wait…doesn’t matter. What’s done is done.
“Listen, it’s late for me and I need to get a shower, head to bed,” I tell him firmly as I move past him.
His hand shoots out, lands on my shoulder. His fingers curl in to stop me, and I hate the sudden flash of euphoria over his touch. That shouldn’t happen. I should never feel that way from one simple touch.
“Why, Vale?” he whispers, his eyes hard yet filled with need.
My breath seizes in my lungs, the urge to rail against him clogging up my most basic need to survive. I swallow hard, suck in deep through my nose. “Why? You want to know why now?”
“Yes,” he grunts with exasperation.
More hot anger flashes through me, giving me a resurgence of energy. “Maybe you should have asked why back when—”
The sounds of Pharrell Williams’s “Happy” starts bleating from my phone, a ringtone that generally puts a smile on my face. The most it serves to do is shock me into instant recognition that I forgot to call Todd again.
I pull away from Hawke’s grasp and pull my phone from the case clipped to my hip. I don’t even give him a glance as I connect the call and put it to my ear. “Hi, honey,” I breathe into the phone. “I’m so sorry I didn’t call.”