Page 111 of Restless Hawke

He thinks I left him again.

I probably should have.

It would have been easier if I had just disappeared, if he believed I didn’t care. If he thought I was a cold-hearted bitch who played him to win a tournament, then only used him for some mind-blowing sex before I went on my merry way, it might have been easier for him to accept than the truth.

But that isn’t an option.

Not anymore.

Not after last night.

Not after lying awake for hours, watching him sleep, feeling that steady rise and fall of his chest as he slipped into dreams that made him fitful and sent him reaching for me again.

Not when I knowwhyhe can’t sleep soundly.

I swallow the emotion threatening to choke me, intending to call out to him and let him know I’m still here, but he appears in the archway leading back to the bedroom before I can.

Deliciously disheveled.

Dark hair askew.

Hard muscles on display.

Boxer briefs, that he must have tugged on when he climbed out of bed, hug his package perfectly.

God, he really is a beautiful man.

Inside and out.

And he is who he is because of the Hawkes, because of the love and support they gave him. Because of the role models he had in his life who taught him how to be a truly good person.

That makes all this so much harder.

He runs a hand over his cheek, now covered with dark stubble. “There you are…”

The relief in his voice simultaneously lifts my heart and shatters it at the same time.

Fuck.

I offer him a tight smile as I fight against the sob that threatens to slip out at the mere sight of him. “Here I am.”

He wanders out into the living room, narrowing his eyes on me. “What are you doing sitting out here?” Bending, he feathers a kiss across my lips, grinning against them. “Waking up would’ve been a lot better if you’d still been in bed…forbothof us.”

The promise in his words makes me shiver. Because he can absolutely deliver on it. Spendinganytime like that with Coen is…fucking magical. The kind of thing you only read about in romance novels.

But just like that fiction—this isn’t real.

None of it can last.

Not with the biggest lie of all still filling the space between us.

I force a smile and nod, but he immediately seems to catch my mood, his brow furrowing.

He cradles my face in his palms, examining me carefully. “What’s wrong?”

Fucking EVERYTHING.

I want to scream it at him. I want to scream into the void that feels like it’s been enveloping me for weeks. But it’s been far longer than that, if I’m truly being honest with myself. This spiral has gone on for so long that I don’t even know which way is up anymore.