Page 45 of Heart of Stone
“Ready?” he asks finally, his thumb tracing circles on my wrist.
No. Yes. Maybe.
“Yeah,” I mutter, pressing my face to his cut. “Let’s go.”
He squeezes my hand once before starting the bike.
I tilt my head up to the sky, letting the stars blur in my vision, the cold wind biting at my cheeks. And then, without warning, a single tear slips free. It trails down my face, cold and foreign, as if my body is purging something I didn’t even know I’ve been holding on to.
Is it relief? Grief? Or just the weight of everything crashing down at once? I don’t know. But I let it fall, swallowed by the wind before I can wipe it away.
Hawk doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look back. But somehow, I feel like he knows. Like he understands in the way he holds steady, his body a quiet, unspoken promise between us.
When we finally pull up to the house, all the windows glow warmly. Through the front window, I see Ginger sprawled on the couch reading, while Tank dozes in the armchair, his boots propped on the coffee table.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say, my voice steady, even if I’m not.
Hawk’s gaze lingers on me, sharp and assessing, and for a moment, I think he might say something. But then he just nods, his lips curving into a slow, knowing smile.
“Anytime, little lamb.”
Hawk’s hand finds the small of my back as we walk up the porch steps, the touch sending tingles up my spine despite the layers between his skin and mine.
The house is quiet except for the soft murmur of the TV and Tank’s gentle snoring.
Ginger looks up from her book, a knowing smile crossing her face. “They were angels,” she says before I can ask. “Even got Adam down without a fuss. Though Steel might need therapy after the tea party makeover.”
“Where’s Steel?” I ask, noting his absence.
“Sent him to bed. Apparently playing with toddlers all night is a bit too much for his manly constitution.” She stretches, catlike. “Tank, baby, wake up. Time to go.”
Tank grumbles but hauls himself up, dropping a kiss on Ginger’s head. They gather their things with the easy familiarity of a long-term couple, and I feel that pang again—that dangerous whisper of wanting.
“Thanks for watching them,” I say softly as they head for the door.
Ginger’s smile is gentle. “Anytime, sugar. Really.” She pulls me in for a warm hug, holding me tight and squeezing me. She smells like vanilla and orange blossom. I stiffen, surprised by the gesture before awkwardly returning her embrace.
She pulls back with a knowing smile, giving me a wink.
Once they’re gone, the house feels different. Quieter. More intimate. Hawk’s presence behind me seems to fill every inch of space, making it hard to breathe.
“I should check on them,” I whisper, already moving toward the hallway. I need to see them, to ground myself after the surreal evening.
The twins’ room is bathed in the soft glow of their nightlight. They’re curled together in one bed as they always end up, dark curls splayed across their pillows, tiny hands linked even in sleep. In the crib, Adam sleeps peacefully, one tiny fist pressed against his cheek.
I feel Hawk before I hear him, a solid warmth at my back. He stays where he is, giving me space while somehow making me aware of every inch between us.
“They’re good kids,” he says softly.
“Yeah.” I turn, finding him leaning against the doorframe, his expression unreadable in the dim light. “They are.”
He moves then, closing the distance between us with deliberate steps. His hand comes up, callused fingers brushing my cheek with surprising gentleness.
“You’re good with them,” he murmurs.
“I try to be.” I swallow hard, fighting the urge to lean into his touch. “They deserve that.”
“So do you.”
