Page 37 of The Sunday Brothers Novellas

CHAPTER ONE

JACK

Life with Hawk Sunday was never boring.

“ Psspss . Tch, tch, tch. Pssspsspsspsspssst.”

It was shortly past sunrise and I was still a little bleary as I followed the strange sounds down the wide, oak staircase and around the corner to our large farmhouse kitchen.

The floor was chilly under my feet and though the radiators were dutifully clanking and hissing, there was a distinct draft blowing through the house—enough to make me wish I’d thrown on more than a pair of flannel pajama pants when I’d noticed the empty spot in the bed beside me and gone in search of my missing fiancé.

Most mornings, Hawk was the late riser of the two of us.

Not only did he work every bit as hard as I did, especially now that he was taking on a more active role in some environmental initiatives around the Hollow, but my man also had a late-night reading habit to keep up…

and he didn’t shirk his duty. Sometimes I’d come home from the diner and find him passed out in our hidden library with a paperback on his chest. More often, a stifled gasp or muffled groan would rouse me from sleep in the wee hours of the morning, and I’d roll over to find him curled beside me in the darkness, re ading some brand new Pride and Prejudice variation—Hawk’s drug of choice—on his Kindle with the brightness turned low.

Hawk claimed it was the most satisfying feeling in the world when he could wake in the night, glance out the window at the stars flickering over the dark treetops on our land, cuddle against my warmth, and listen to me snoring softly as he cracked open a story.

Personally, I thought it was much a more satisfying feeling to reach over, haul his lean, naked body against mine, watch him toss his Kindle on the bedside table, and get him to gasp and groan for entirely different reasons.

Also, I did not snore, no matter what Hawk claimed.

But all of that nocturnal reading (and, ahem , not-reading) meant that it was unusual for Hawk to wake before me, and even more unusual for him to drag himself out of our bed before I did, especially on a rare Saturday when neither of us were scheduled to work.

“Baby?” I reached the kitchen and glanced around the cheery space with a frown. The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, but the room was cold and Hawk-less.

One of the French doors moved in the breeze and I walked around the island to glance out at the back porch…

which was where I found the love of my life sitting cross-legged on the deck, shivering slightly in only a t-shirt and pajama pants, and making strange hissing noises in the direction of the forest.

Well. Okay, then.

I grabbed a striped throw blanket from the little nook where we ate most of our meals, grinning a little as I did so.

I’d gone my whole life without seeing the point of shit like throw blankets—if a house was warm enough and a person had adequate clothing, why clutter up a space with useless textiles ?

Hawk, on the other hand, claimed they gave the space character. That they’d made our house a home.

Frankly, I thought Hawk was the one who did that, and since the blankets made him happy, I didn’t utter a single word of protest—not even when the silly things began taking over each room of the house, since it seemed every member of the Little Pippin Hookers needed to crochet, knit, or weave something for their precious Hawklet.

And damned if the blankets weren’t occasionally useful.

Like when snuggling in front of the television on a Sunday afternoon.

Or when your future uncle-in-law dropped by unexpectedly mere moments after you and your very naked partner had finished fucking on the kitchen floor.

Or, like now, when the man you loved had awoken in the morning and decided to begin speaking in tongues while courting hypothermia.

I slid out the open door, closing it behind me to keep the warmth inside, and knelt to drape the blanket over Hawk’s shoulders. “Morning.”

“Morning.” Hawk glanced up at me, brown eyes shining in welcome. “There’s coffee in the?—”

“Mmhmm. I saw.” I sat behind him, spreading my legs on either side of his body, and pulled him back to wrap my arms around his chest. Still half-asleep, I buried my face in his neck and inhaled deeply, feeling my cock stir.

Hawk smelled like clean laundry and the bodywash— my bodywash—I’d used on him in the shower last night.

As I nuzzled his ear, I strongly considered beginning our day with porch sex…

At least until a distinctly cold breeze gusted through the trees, skittering leaves and pine needles across the porch, and I dismissed the idea.

“Hawk. Baby. What the hell are we doing out here?” I mumbled into his skin.

Hawk snorted and leaned forward just enough to remove the blanket separating us.

With a bit of finagling, he draped the blanket over my shoulders instead, then nestled back into the shelter of my arms with a happy sigh.

The feeling of him squirming against me was distracting enough that I almost missed his explanation. “We’re waiting for Potato.”

“For…”

“Potato,” Hawk repeated. He pointed to a small ceramic bowl a couple of feet away, which seemed to have been freshly filled with cat treats. “I got him his favorite Greenies. He always comes when I have Greenies. And I’ve been psp-psp-psp- ing at him for five minutes.”

“Ohhh. Right.” I’d always known Hawk was an animal lover, but I hadn’t realized just how deep the love affair went until we lived together.

He didn’t just enjoy his family’s pets or livestock, he loved all kinds of animals--even the beady-eyed, acorn collecting, trash-picking, garden destroying kind.

But he really, really loved the stray cats that roamed the area, and had even tried to lure them inside when the weather started getting chilly, probably to make sure each one had an adequate supply of throw blankets.

Unfortunately, the closest he’d come after several weeks of effort was getting one cat—a tiny fluff-monster with bi-colored eyes and russet-brown fur that Hawk had named Potato—to eat treats from a bowl on the porch and consent to be petted.

Ordinarily I wouldn’t care much about this, not being much of a pet-person, but I knew Hawk cared a lot.

“Maybe Potato’s sleeping in,” I offered. “It’s Saturday, after all.”

Hawk shook his head, worry in his voice. “He hasn’t come in days, maybe even a week, and last time he was here, he seemed… off.”

“He’s a stray cat, babe. Who the heck knows what kind of health problems he, ah…

” I broke off with a wince. The last thing I wanted was for Hawk to torture himself thinking of what might have befallen his feral friend.

“I mean… he was probably adopted,” I declared.

“By the family that bought the hous e over on Chicory.” I hooked a thumb down the mountain in the direction of town.

“You know, I bet that’s exactly what happened.

I bet he’s playing with their kids right now. ”

Hawk turned his head to give me a withering look that said he knew exactly what I was doing.

His lips twitched with amusement. “Golly gee, Jack, do you think so? Or maybe he and the Muellers’ dog have stowed away on a train and are headed out west for a big adventure!

” He rolled his eyes. “Maybe with little hobo sticks on their shoulders? "

“Shush,” I grumbled, poking his ribs lightly to make him squirm. “I’d rather think of him that way than have either of us assume the worst.” I paused for a moment. “Though personally I’m voting no hobo sticks, given that Potato lacks opposable thumbs.”

He let out a burst of startled laughter, but a moment later, the laughter ended in a sigh.

He pulled my arms more tightly around him.

“I know you’re right. You are. But I can’t help worrying.

And there’s a part of me that just wants to know , you know?

It’s really rough feeling like the one who’s always… ” He swallowed. “Left behind.”

“Ah.” I propped my chin on his shoulder. “We’re not actually talking about Potato, are we?”

“We are!” he protested. Another sigh. “Partly.”

“No word from Reed, I’m guessing?”

Hawk shook his head. “Gage texted. I left him a message. Luke DM’d him on Instagram.

Drew sent him an email. Even Porter called to ask him some advice about a literature professor at school he’s got a problem with.

And I know it’s not super unusual for Reed to go radio silent, sometimes for a lot longer than two weeks.

I know he travels constantly and his work keeps him hopping doing.

..” He turned his head and wrinkled his nose. “What do think-tanks do exactly?”

I shrugged.

“Anyway, I’m sure he’s fine. But it was nice having him home for a while there, and I… I miss him.” Hawk’s shoulders slumped. “A lot.”

“Uh huh. And?” I prompted.

“And…” Hawk sighed. “I miss Crys. She was a good friend. And I knew she didn’t plan to stay in the Hollow forever, but she left really abruptly.” He glanced up at me, eyes narrowed in annoyance. “She didn’t even give you two weeks’ notice at the diner.”

I stroked a hand down his forearm beneath our shared blanket. “I appreciate your loyalty, baby, but I’m not upset. Shit happens, and we made things work. Van and Ernie at the Bugle, though, they were way worse off. Crys and that other kid quit right around the same time?—”

“Other-Chris,” he supplied.

“Right. Him. And Van and Ernie were down two barbacks at once."

“Yeah.” Hawk was silent for a moment. “And did you hear Mrs. Nordwick from the Hookers is moving in with her sister in Portsmouth? And Alan Tracey got a job down in Worcester, so he’s leaving too, which means he won’t be able to play Santa in the kids’ play in December and they might have to cancel it?

I dunno.” He thumped his fist lightly into my knee. “Change sucks, that’s all.”