CHAPTER 4
HAWK
Standing outside Rhiannon’s door feels like I’ve been thrown back in time.
Rather than knocking right away to let her know I’m here for breakfast, I take a moment to allow the memories to resurface.
Five years ago, this was a regular thing. Going over to visit Rhi at her apartment, bearing pizza or Chinese or subs and a six-pack of her favorite beer. Some nights it was just us watching the newest action movie or docuseries on Netflix; other times the whole team would show up and we’d spend the evening playing games or catching whatever game was on TV.
I had my own key to her place, though I never used it. But she insisted, claiming that if something ever happened to her on a mission and she didn’t come back, she wanted me to be the one to pack up her things.
“I know it’s a big ask,” she’d told me when she handed over the key, “but my parents couldn’t handle it. Not to mention, with all the media attention they’d get, it would only make them feel worse. Could you do it? Just in case?”
While I hated the idea of it, of course I said yes. It was what best friends did for each other. And I knew Rhiannon wouldn’t hesitate to do the same thing for me.
But she made it back home every time, just like everyone on our team did.
We were luckier than most. There may have been injuries and more near-misses than I could count, but every time we went out on an op, all twelve of us came back.
I never got cocky about it, though. None of us did. We knew the risks and accepted them as part of the job. As part of stepping up to protect our country when most people wouldn’t.
But once we left the Army, everyone was supposed to be safe. Or at least, that’s what I let myself believe. Was it foolish? Ignorant? Or just wishful thinking?
I’m not sure.
Given that my former teammates aren’t all living quiet lives with white picket fences and boring office jobs, I should have known there was always a chance of one of them getting hurt. Or worse yet, killed.
After all, Niall and Xavier and Rhiannon are working for a security company, one that protects high-value clients from potential attacks. Rafe’s a bounty hunter. Knox is out in Vermont helping build a private security agency there. So there’s always a risk.
Shit, something could happen to one of them just driving across town. Or from a simple trip to the grocery store. And I’m not one to talk about safety, out on a fishing boat in Alaska for most of the year, when a simple misstep could mean an icy death.
Sometimes I wonder why I chose such a dangerous job after years of putting my life on the line for my country. Wouldn’t I want to settle down? Live a peaceful life? Find a wife and have kids like some of my friends have done?
Am I just in search of adventure, like I let people believe?
Do I have a death wish?
Or is it a form of penance?
But my own career choice aside, I believed my closest friends were safe. Happy. Living their best lives, like I see people posting about on social media.
I thought Rhiannon was safe. It was the only way I could make myself stay away.
First in California, working as a paramedic, with the support of her family. And then here, surrounded by people I’d trust above anyone to protect her.
Well. Not anyone. I would?—
Shit. I didn’t, though, did I?
Not back in the Army, and not last night.
Both times I failed Rhi. Badly.
I still can’t stop seeing it. The car exploding as she sprinted away from it, her body flung roughly to the ground. And then those terrible, terrifying moments when I wasn’t sure if she was alive or dead.
Should I even be here? Do I have the right to be knocking at her front door like the past never happened?
Does she really even want me here? Or was her invitation for breakfast an empty one she’d rather I declined?
As I stand in front of her door, my hand halfway to the doorbell, I don’t feel like the confident Special Forces operator I always prided myself on being. The strong soldier who would meet any threat without blinking. The man who welcomes danger because it’s an excuse not to remember.
Should I leave before I’m faced with the truth I’ve been avoiding for years?
Except. How could I not be here, knowing that Rhiannon’s hurt and possibly—no, more than possibly, likely—in danger?
“Hawk?”
The door opens to reveal Rhiannon peering at me curiously. Her hair is pulled into a long ponytail, dark and gleaming, smelling freshly of coconut and some kind of fruit. She’s wearing a gray workout top that reveals her toned shoulders and arms, and her stretchy pants cling to every inch of her slender but muscular legs.
As she moves, her top lifts just enough to expose a sliver of belly, and it’s all I can do to keep my eyes from lingering there.
No , I command myself sternly. Do not ogle Rhiannon’s body, no matter how incredible it is.
“Is everything okay?” Her brows wing up into a questioning V as she looks at me. “Did you knock and I didn’t hear it?”
My gaze flickers to the little camera positioned above her door.
I barely stifle a groan. Great . While I’ve been lost in my thoughts, Rhi has probably been wondering why I’m standing here like an idiot instead of ringing the doorbell like a normal person would.
“No, I didn’t knock.” As her forehead wrinkles, I quickly add, “I was just…” What? Thinking about how close of a call she had last night? About how much I miss her? About how I wish I could go back in time and do things differently?
How I’m not sure I made the right decision four years ago?
Her teeth dig into her lower lip. “If you’re not up for breakfast, that’s okay.” She wraps her arms around her waist, hugging herself. “It was just a thought. But?—”
Is that disappointment in her eyes?
Is it possible Rhiannon’s missed me even a fraction of how much I’ve missed her?
Now that I’m this close to her, every cell in my body is begging me to stay. “No, I am. Up for breakfast, I mean. If the invitation is still open.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then her lips curve into a smile. “Of course it is.” She steps back into her apartment and gestures for me to come in. “Why would I have asked you over if I didn’t mean it?”
Good question. Maybe I doubted her offer because my guilty conscience is still clinging to the punishment it thinks I deserve?
But it’s not the time or place for that. Not now, when Rhi’s offering the proverbial olive branch in the form of breakfast and her favorite Ethiopian blend. And definitely not when she’s looking at me with an expression that looks almost hopeful, like she really wants to spend time with me.
“You’re right.” I grin at her and take an exaggerated sniff. “Is that the fancy stuff you’re brewing?”
“It is.” Her face brightens. As she walks further into the apartment, she adds, “It’s not from the place in L.A. anymore, though. I found this amazing coffee shop right in Seguin—it’s the closest town to us—that stocks the best coffee. The owner is lovely, and I really like supporting the local economy, so I’ve started buying all my coffee from there now.”
We pass through an open-concept living space as we make our way to the kitchen, and I take an opportunity to check out the place she’s been living for the past two years. A couch and two armchairs in a soft blue shade face an electric fireplace with a TV mounted above it. Twin bookshelves flank the fireplace on either side, filled with a variety of books and framed pictures of her friends and family. The walls are decorated with gorgeous photographs—landscapes of mountain ranges and lakes and views of the ocean.
Rhiannon notices me looking at them and says, “All the photos were taken by Finn’s wife, Hanna. Have you met her? She’s such a talented photographer. Everyone has her work in their apartments, and there are more scattered all over the ranch.”
“I met her once,” I reply. “When I was out in Vermont visiting Knox. I took a detour to Sleepy Hollow to see everyone there. We went?—”
But the second I see her face, my mouth clamps shut abruptly. Her smile has dimmed, and the light in her eyes is gone, leaving behind a hint of sorrow.
And I wonder, yet again, if I made a tremendous mistake.
“Anyway,” I continue quickly, at once desperate to see her smile reappear, “It looks great in here.” Nodding at the carefully arranged pillows on the couch, I add, “I can see you still love your pillows.”
Almost to the kitchen, Rhiannon turns back to look at them. Her lips lift. “I know. The guys all make fun of them. But I think they add a nice touch.”
“They do,” I agree. Without thinking, I gently nudge her side with my elbow. “Especially with the little karate chops on each of them.”
A beat later, I freeze.
Shit. Was that too much?
We used to do stuff like that all the time. Touch each other, I mean. Not in a romantic way—I’d never allow myself the temptation—but like good friends often do, with little nudges and pats on the shoulder and the occasional quick hug.
But it’s been years. And I’m not so sure that kind of touching is appropriate anymore.
“Yes.” Her smile gets bigger, and my held breath releases. “Karate chops and all.” Reaching the kitchen, she walks over to the coffeemaker and removes the carafe. As she pours the steaming liquid into two mugs, she says, “I know it seems silly. But the interior decorator my parents used to use always did it. And all the people on HGTV.”
Knowing how much she loves watching HGTV, my voice takes a teasing note as I reply, “Well, if the people on HGTV do it…”
“It’s a good way to get out frustration, too.” She grins. “If I’m having a rough day, I can come back and take out my stress on the pillows. So my living room looks nice and I’m less stressed.”
“Good point.” I take the mug Rhiannon holds out to me and inhale the rich aroma. “This smells amazing, Rhi. So much better than the crap I’ve been drinking.”
Reaching into the oven, she pulls out a casserole dish topped with bubbling cheese and sets it down on the top of the stove. Turning back to me, she says, “I guess there’s not much opportunity for gourmet coffee on a fishing boat in Alaska, is there?”
“Not much,” I agree. “Mostly instant or the dregs of whatever we could find. And we definitely didn’t have stuff like that” —I angle my chin at the baking dish—“for breakfast.”
With an efficiency of movement, she pulls two plates from the cabinet above the counter and puts a heaping serving of what I now recognize as her special breakfast casserole on one before setting it on the white marble island in front of me. “Do you want to eat here?” she asks. “Or we can sit at the table in the dining room if you’d prefer.”
“This is fine.” I walk around the counter, waiting beside the stool for Rhiannon to sit before I do. Once we’re both seated, rather than taking a bite right away, I stare at the plate for a few seconds as the realization of what she’s done sinks in.
Did she remember?
It’s not just any breakfast casserole, but one with all my favorites in it—green and red peppers, diced potatoes, sausage, and mushrooms. Back in the old days, Rhi would make it whenever we got back from a mission, and while she claimed the inclusion of mushrooms was gross, she always added them because I liked them.
Did she make this specially for me?
No. That would be ridiculous. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.
“Don’t you like it?” Rhiannon glances over at me with her eyebrows raised. “I thought this was…” As she trails off, her cheeks flush a faint pink. “If you’d rather have something else, I could throw together some scrambled eggs. Or pancakes.”
“It’s great,” I assure her, taking a huge bite for emphasis. “But when did you find the time to make this?”
“Last night.” She pokes at the eggs with her fork before looking back at me. “I couldn’t get to sleep. So I thought I’d get it ready so I could just pop it in the oven this morning. And I remembered you always liked this recipe. So it could be kind of like a celebration of you visiting.”
My throat gets unexpectedly thick.
Now I’m picturing Rhiannon up into the early hours of the morning, cutting vegetables when she should have been getting some much needed sleep. And for what reason? Because she remembered I liked it? Because she wanted to celebrate me being here?
Shit.
The more time I spend here, the more I think I may have royally fucked up. Again.
“Thank you,” I manage while trying to swallow down the guilt lodged firmly in my esophagus. “I can’t believe you even put in the mushrooms.”
An unexpectedly shy smile curves her lips. “I know they’re your favorite.” A beat later, a teasing glint turns her eyes a sparkling sapphire. “Even if they are kind of gross.”
“Gross? They’re delicious.” I spear a piece of mushroom. “I never understood how you couldn’t appreciate them.”
Glancing at Rhiannon’s plate, I notice a small pile of sad little mushrooms pushed off to the side. “But you didn’t have to add them?—”
Her smile brightens. “I don’t mind. It’s not that hard to pick them out. And anyway, I blame my parents for my aversion to mushrooms.”
“Their vegan stage, right?”
“Yup. Two years of tofu and portobello mushrooms for almost every meal.” Rhiannon laughs. “You try being served a hunk of slimy mushroom instead of a steak and tell me you wouldn’t want to avoid them, too.”
I make a mock shudder. “You have a point.” After a pause, I add, “How are your parents doing? Are they still after you to move back to L.A.?”
Sighing, she flicks her ponytail behind her shoulder, the gauze bandage around her forearm catching my eye. Inwardly, I wince at the reminder of her close call last night, and the resulting pain she must still be suffering.
All at once, I’m seized with an instinctive desire to carry Rhiannon over to the couch to take care of her, bribing her with episodes of House Hunters to stay still. I would cook for her instead of her cooking for me, making pizza bagels and celery with cream cheese, which I’ve never forgotten was her favorite snack.
It’s not the first time I’ve felt this way, but just like all the times before, I have to lock it down. Remind myself that we don’t have that kind of relationship.
“They mention it every time I call,” she replies, oblivious to my own inner struggle. “My dad tells me all about the parts he could get for me.” Her voice dips in imitation of her dad, who I’ve met on several occasions. “There’s a great supporting role in my next movie, Rhiannon. I think it would be perfect for you. And if you’re really set on not acting, I could set you up to apprentice with the director. Just say the word, and I’ll arrange it.”
I yank my gaze away from the glaring white of her bandage. “I thought they’d be happier now that you’re out of the Army?”
“They are.” Fine lines form across her forehead. “My mom definitely is. But you know how badly they wanted me to get into acting. Follow the family tradition and all that. They’ll never come out and say it, but my career has always been a huge disappointment.”
“They should be proud of you,” I reply while trying to hide the irritation in my voice. I know her parents—and grandparents, and great grandparents, for that matter—have been involved in the film industry for decades, and they always wanted Rhiannon to follow in their footsteps. When she announced she was enlisting in the Army instead, they were far from happy about it. Over the years they became more accepting of her choice, but never gave her the respect I felt she was due.
I mean, shit. Rhi was one of the very first female Green Berets, and what she went through to get there; what she went through to stay there…
“It’s not that bad, Hawk.” She reaches over to pat my arm. Her soft fingers leave searing marks behind. “They’ve accepted it. I think they just ask out of habit now. And anyway, once I get a little older, they’ll stop asking about the acting, anyway.”
“You’re thirty-three. Hardly ancient.”
“Old enough.” She chuckles. “You know how Hollywood is. Once I hit thirty-five, I would be called in for grandmother casting. But really, it’s fine. Things are good with my parents most of the time. And they’re happy I’m more settled now. That I can come visit more often.”
For a few seconds, silence falls as we both turn to our food. My mind feels scattered, as things I once thought I was certain about fall into question.
Interrupting the quiet, Rhiannon’s phone buzzes from the end of the island. She stretches over to grab it, unsuccessfully hiding a wince. And as she moves, I catch a glimpse of another bandage, this one just above the small of her back.
She reads the message and quickly taps out a reply, then turns back to me. An apologetic expression crosses her face. “I’m sorry, Hawk. I hate to cut this short. But that was Isla. She was wondering if I could stop over to look at Dove before our meeting.”
“Is something wrong with the baby?”
“Not really. She’s had a bit of a rash the last few days, but nothing serious. I think it might be a mild allergy. But Isla’s nervous, with this being her first baby and all.”
“And since you trained as a medic…” Both Dante and Rhiannon were combat medics for their teams, but I can understand why Isla might feel more comfortable with a woman.
“That’s part of it. But I also spent some time training in pediatric emergency medicine when I was out in California. So I know more about babies than Dante does.”
She glances at her watch, then hops off the stool and grabs her half-empty plate. “If you want to stay to finish, you’re welcome to.”
I slide off my stool and follow Rhi to the sink with my plate in hand. “No, I’ll head out, too. Maybe check out the gym before the meeting.”
“Okay.” After running some water on the plates, she heads through the kitchen and into the living room. Scooping up a blue duffel bag sitting beside the front door, she loops it over her shoulder. “Once the meeting is over, I’m heading there myself. Get in a couple hours at least.”
My gaze drops to the bandage on her arm again. And to the little cut just below her eye. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Working out today?”
Surprise flickers across her face. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Because you’re hurt,” I reply tersely. “And you should be resting.”
Preferably on the couch while watching HGTV. And not doing anything remotely stressful.
Rhiannon tips her head back to meet my gaze, and I’m reminded how much smaller she is than me. Not that she’s tiny, but she’s easily eight inches shorter than my own six-foot-four and probably weighs half as much as me. But despite her physical size, not once have I ever doubted her strength.
“I’m fine ,” she says with a narrowed gaze. “This isn’t the first time I’ve done a workout after a minor injury, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.”
My brain stalls on the injury part. Won’t be the last?
Dammit.
I thought she was supposed to be safe.
“You should rest today.” I wave my hand at the couch. “Let your body heal. Not push yourself out of stubbornness.”
“ What ?” She stiffens. Fire flares in her eyes. “You’re saying I’m being stubborn? For working out? It’s my job to stay in shape.”
My words come out unfiltered. All I can think of is Rhiannon flying through the air, smashing into the ground, seeing her laying there, bleeding… And I’m picturing her running on the treadmill at her usual punishing pace, tearing the stitches in her arm, possibly passing out, falling, seriously hurting herself…
“At the risk of your health?” I shoot back. “You don’t have to prove anything anymore. The guys won’t care if you?—”
“Hawk.” Her voice is a whip snapping. And I realize I’ve pushed way too far. “This isn’t your decision. It’s mine. And you haven’t been here. You have no idea.”
Backpedaling, I start, “I know that. But I’m just worried.”
“You weren’t worried before,” she fires back. “When you didn’t answer my texts. Or I’d be lucky to get a message once a month if that. I don’t remember you ever asking me if I was hurt. If I was sick. If I was pushing myself too hard. But now you’re all concerned?”
Shit.
She’s right.
But she’s also wrong.
I didn’t ask her. But I always kept track. I asked Xavier and Niall every time I talked to them. And I may have recruited an old Army buddy with some killer computer skills to keep tabs on her. Not to invade Rhiannon’s privacy, but just to make sure she was okay.
And I always, always worried.
“I’m sorry, Rhi.” She blinks at my sudden change of tack. “I shouldn’t have said that. I know you’re not being stubborn.” Well, she is. But that’s one of the things I always liked about her. “I guess after last night… I’m just worried.”
Rhiannon stares at me for a moment, an unreadable expression in her eyes.
As I wait for her to respond, I don’t know if she’s about to kick me out or accept my apology.
Why do I keep fucking things up with the person who means more than anything?
Then.
She sighs. Her shoulders relax. “Okay.” A beat, and then her gaze softens. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I snapped at you. If the positions were reversed, I’d be worried about you, too.”
The knot in my chest releases. “Yeah. Still. I’m sorry. You made this nice breakfast for me, and here I am?—”
“It’s okay.” Rhiannon opens the door and takes a step into the hallway, waiting for me to follow. “We all had a late night last night. And I am a bit tired.” She pauses to give me a little smile. “I’ll take it easy today. Alright?”
“You mean only ten miles on the treadmill instead of twenty?”
Her smile brightens. “I was thinking more like fifteen. But I’ll compromise on twelve. How does that sound?”
I return her smile with one of my own. “That sounds perfect.”