Page 11 of Blurred Lines

“I know you’re driving her insane, hovering like a shadow every second of every day.”

I see the muscle twitch at the back of his jaw, his teeth grinding hard as his nostrils flare. Sighing heavily, I try to reason with him. “I know you’re concerned about her. I am too. She’s not herself, but suffocating her isn’t going to help. Hadley’s like a feral cat. You can’t just trap her and bring her into your house and expect her to suddenly be a house cat. You have to work up to that. Start by leaving her scraps and a bowl of milk each day, then work up to petting her. Then, when she trusts you enough, she will come into the house on her own.”

When I’m finished with my rant, he just looks at me with such an unreadable expression. I couldn’t even begin to decipher what he’s thinking.

“You want me to feed and pet her?” His nose wrinkles, and he looks like I just told him he should dance naked in front of her.

I roll my eyes at his obtuseness. “No, you idiot. You need to let her come to you on her own. Let her know you’re here, but don’t force her. She’ll open up when she’s ready.”

I realize the irony of me repeating Wilder’s words to Hawk, but I quickly brush it off as he speaks. “I’m not forcing—”

“This, right here”—I start, waving my hand around the small aisle we’re standing in—“this is you suffocating her. Without even meaning to, you are backing her into a corner. You aren’t giving her the chance to decide for herself if she wants to confide in you. You’re hovering, expectantly, waiting for her to crack.”

I see it when understanding dawns. His shoulders slump, and the frown ingrained in his face shifts. Sighing, he runs a hand over his face, looking as though he’s at his wits’ end. I can see the same exhaustion in the lines around his eyes as I see on Hadley.

“I don’t know what else I can do.” His words are a soft exhale. I’m not even sure if I was meant to hear them, but damn, the defeat in his voice crushes me.

Part of me really wants to give him a hug right now, and I feel like I have to actively keep my feet planted on the ground. I'm concerned my body is going to act of its own accord and move closer to him.

“Give her time…and a little bit of space.” I lift one side of my lips, and he huffs out a small chuckle. “I promise I’m keeping an eye on her.”

He relents. “I know you are. I trust her with you, I just…”

“I know. You worry.”

He’s staring at me with so much intensity, making me feel strangely exposed. It’s like he can see parts of me I never wanted him to, and I suddenly realize, I’m seeing a side of Hawk he doesn’t show many people—that softer, vulnerable part of him that I was pretty sure didn’t exist until right now.

“It’s not something I’m used to doing.” His voice sounds gruffer than it did before.

There’s a long moment where we just look at one another. I’m not sure whathesees, butIfeel like I’m seeing him—really seeing him—for the first time. Don’t get me wrong, there’s still that outer, asshole, defensive persona, but underneath that hard shell is something softer, and I find myself strangely curious to delve deeper.

The moment should be awkward, neither of us saying anything, but it’s not. It’s fraught with too much tension and charged with something electrifying that I can’t place. I can’t do anything but stare into his chaotic gray eyes, taking in the turmoil churning within them. It reminds me of that moment when I first knocked on his door at the beginning of the semester. There’s that same loss of awareness. The world shrinks down until it’s nothing but me and him. It’s unnerving, and scary, yet it feels strangely right.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” a student mumbles as they enter the aisle, breaking the moment as we both turn to look at him. His gaze jumps between the two of us, his eyes widening before he mumbles an excuse and darts away.

Clearing my throat, I blink away the after effects of whatever that was. “I should, uh, be getting back.”

“Right. I have stuff to do.”

With a nod goodbye, and acting as though nothing weird just happened between us, Hawk walks past me. I turn to watch him leave, but he doesn’t look back before he turns the corner, disappearing down the aisle and out of sight.

***

“I’m hoping, with four hours of sleep a night and only fifteen minute breaks for meals, I’ll be able to fit everything in that I need to,” I explain to Hadley, gnawing on my bottom lip as I look over my study schedule again. I just about managed to squeeze in enough time for each subject, but even then, it feels like I’m forgetting something. “Maybe I should—”

My precious little laminated schedule is snatched from my hands, and Wilder gives it little more than a cursory glance before frowning like it’s the least appealing thing he’s seen all day. “I don’t see any time to have fun.”

Of course he doesn’t, because that’s all Wilder Clearwater knows how to do—have fun. His entire fucking day is about having fun. He barely drags his ass to class, I have yet to see him open even one textbook, and he struts around the school without a care in the world, while the rest of us are all in pre-exam panic mode.

Furious—and admittedly a tad stressed out—I snatch my schedule back from him before he can do something stupid, like cut it up into little pieces. “Not every minute of the day is about enjoying yourself. Just because you like to flit from minute to minute with no plan or purpose doesn’t mean that’s how the rest of us like to live.”

He shrugs, completely unaffected by my hostile glare or barbed tone. I swear, absolutely nothing fazes this guy.

“Just think, you need to reward yourself every now and again to help keep you motivated.”

Huh. A reward system. Why hadn’t I thought about that? Unwilling to admit aloud that his theory has some merit, I frown down at my schedule, trying to work in tiny pockets of time where I could reward myself, maybe with half an hour of reading, or a movie night. Well, maybe not a whole movie. A forty-five minute episode of something, yeah that I could maybe manage.

“I guess I could—”

---