Page 42 of Leading Conviction

“Uh, yeah.” Tommy’s eyes narrowed. “How’d you know that? Do you know Spanish?”

Hawk shook his head slightly. “I learned that one a long time ago. Now it’s one of those things I’ll never forget.”

“Well, she never puts this kinda stuff on her paintings. Not the ones she keeps, anyway.”

Tommy gingerly took the canvas out from underneath Hawk’s hands. As soon as the painting left his fingers, he stretched and balled them into fists to keep from reaching for it again. It’d been so long since he’d held it, but he let Tommy place it lovingly back into a side pocket in the duffel bag.

“This is your duffel bag, isn’t it? Does your mom know you have this?”

“She thinks she lost it a long time ago. It made her sad to look at, so I took it during one of our moves. But I knew she wouldn’t want toactuallylose it, so I’ve kept it until she can look at it again without being sad.” He snapped his head to Hawk and gave him a stern look. “Don’t tell her I have it.”

“I won’t.” Hawk held his hands up in innocence.

“Good.” Tommy nodded once.

“How do you, um… how do you know she loves hercielo?”

“I just know. Her voice gets all soft when she thinks out loud about him and none of her other paintings are signed like that. Besides… she never paints those mountains anymore.”

“She doesn’t?”

“Nope.” Tommy shook his head hard and stood, prompting Hawk to do the same. “Only skies over beaches and Mayan ruins and stuff.”

“Do you know why she doesn’t paint them anymore?” Hawk asked with a frown.

Tommy shrugged. “I asked her once. She said it’s ’cause it hurt too much. It made her miss home.”

Hawk’s chest ached and emotion clogged his throat. This kid was unwittingly putting him through an emotional triple-header. First, there was the heartbreak of hearing that Hannah was in love with someone else, then the guilt and relief that came when he saw the painting, and now knowing she’d missed home.

I missed home, too, dove.

“She talks about him all the time. Or at least she used to,” Tommy continued as he tugged his glove back on. He tossed the ball to Hawk before returning to his position in front of the helipad.

Hawk’s arm stilled midthrow as he asked, “Used to?”

“Yup. She used to talk about him a lot, but she hasn’t for a while. Not since we got that letter that said my dad died. I never read the letter, but I think the guy she loved died, too. When she talks about him now, she’s sadder than she used to be.”

Not for long, if I can help it.

Hawk nodded slowly and returned the ball. Eventually, they fell back into the even tempo.

“My pops and I used to throw the ball like this,” he commented after a while.

Tommy’s face soured. “I wish I had a pops.”

Shit.

Hawk’s heart dropped in his chest and he nearly stumbled as he caught one of Tommy’s particularly hard throws. Possibilities of what to say ran through his head, but nothing helpful magically appeared. Nothing said would ever be enough.

“Me too, little man.”

“It’s okay. Mom said he loved me. He just had to finish saving the world before he could meet me. But then he died.”

Hawk sucked in a breath before returning the ball. It wasn’t lost on him that they were still casually throwing the ball around while also talking about the death of Tommy’s father and Hawk’s best friend. But he’d always found baseball therapeutic. There’d been times in his life when answers could only be found amid the steady cadence of throwing and catching the ball with someone he cared about.

Luckily for him, Tommy seemed to feel the same way.

“What was it like having a dad?” Tommy asked.