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I harden my jaw, breathing hard. Men walk out of their lives every day. My father did. My stepdad comes and goes when he feels like it, knowing someone will take care of Matty and Bianca. That someone always ends up being a woman.

Jaxon Trent nods. “I know.”

He comes to stand in front of me, and I hold his gaze, trying to control myself. Why am I so upset?

I want to go back to the hideout.

But Hawke’s dad goes on. “The problem with relying only on yourself is that someday you’ll burn out.”

I don’t blink.

“You’ll get tired of the fight, and you’ll give in.” He looks down at me. “You’ll let everything happen to you, because you just don’t have the energy anymore. You’re tired of everything being so hard.”

Yes. Exactly.

I can already feel it coming. I don’t know how, but he knows.

“Is he safe?” his dad asks.

I drop my eyes, nodding.

“Does he need me?”

I want to say yes. It surprises me. I don’t want Hawke hurt in any of this. Maybe I should just end it. Let him go.

“I could take you right now, you know?” he says. “To the police. He’d come out of hiding if I did that.”

“I know,” I murmur. In that instance, I know Hawke wouldn’t let me take the rap alone.

I should tell them where the hideout is. I should get Hawke out of this.

“If he was your kid, what would you do?” Jaxon Trent asks.

I’d do what you’re doing. I’d order my kid home or find them and drag them by the ear if I had to.

I promised him, though. He made me promise I wouldn’t tell anyone.

I shift on my feet, picturing his face at the police station when he knows I ratted us out. I don’t want to give up.

“Trust him,” I tell his dad. “He’s a good person.”

He bugs me a lot, and I’ve only known him a few days, but I know that much.

His dad sighs, and I see him glance at his brother on one side and the mayor on the other, but no one says a word.

I nearly glance at Jared Trent, suddenly remembering the stories of how he married the girl he bullied in high school.

They have no room to talk, quite honestly. They would do what Hawke’s doing.

“If I don’t get back soon, he’ll wake up and know I’m gone,” I blurt out. “He’ll yell at me again.”

Mayor Caruthers chuckles, and I look up to see a small smile on his dad’s face.

“And why did you come out tonight?” Jared presses.

But I clamp my mouth shut. Dream on, douchebag.

They’re quiet for a minute, and I know Hawke’s father is debating whether to make good on his threat to drag me in to the cops in order to force his son home.

“Please take care of him,” he finally says.

I look up, all of them standing there, and for the first time it hits me how truly better Hawke’s life is than mine. His dad loves him. Which is why he’s doing the hardest thing right now and trusting his kid.

It isn’t until I’m out of the park and circling High Street for the third time that I know for sure I’m alone—that no one followed me—and it’s safe to re-enter the hideout. Sneaking back up to the roof, I climb down into our place and shut the door. I run down the hall, peering around corners for any sign of Hawke, but it’s after two in the morning. He should still be asleep.

I stash the bag under the cushion of the recliner in the sitting area, plop down on it a couple of times to even out the lump, and then I jet back down the hall, seeing Hawke’s door is cracked. I don’t see any light coming from inside, though.

Tucking my hair behind my ear, I push the door open until his bed comes into view.

My skin crawls, feeling like I’m being watched. Like he’s up, ready to pounce and yell at me for going outside.

But his bed sits ahead, the headboard against the wall and Hawke lays in the middle, the sheet draped up to his waist.

“Hawke?” I whisper.

Is he really not up? I thought for sure I’d get caught.

I tiptoe into his room and stand at the foot of his bed, the glow from the hallway lighting up his form. The sheet sits just below his stomach, his torso bare, and I inch in, trying to get a closer look.

Heh. You can see his abs even when he’s not flexing. One arm drapes over his stomach, the other lays on the bed at his side, his head turned and his chin down. His lashes don’t move, and the steady rise and fall of his chest is like a metronome you can’t hear. He’s so peaceful.