Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“The firemen were able to save part of the house. I found her notebook where she used to jot things down that she was working on in the kitchen, along with the ultrasound she’d had that day – the one that showed we were having a boy.”
I let my hand rest on his side for another moment before I slowly worked my way around his back, trailing my fingers over the ripped muscles. When I reached his other side, my eyes fell on the reflection of the tattoo.
“Can I read it?” I asked.
Hawke watched me for a long moment in the mirror, his eyes dark with some unnamed emotion. And then he nodded.
I dropped my eyes to the tattoo and began reciting the words in my head when Hawke whispered, “Would you read it out loud?”
Emotion threatened to choke me, but I managed to swallow it down and began to read.
“I know I need to keep living
while I wait for you to come home
But I don't know how to tell my heart to stop hurting
since you're the reason it keeps beating on
My days are empty, my eyes full of tears
but the sound of your voice
and the promise of your smile
make it all disappear
You're the other half of my soul
the light that shows me the way
You're my yesterday and my tomorrow
The Angel that keeps me safe.”
I could feel my own tears threatening to fall as I let my fingers dance over the beautiful words. I risked a glance up at Hawk and saw that he was barely holding it together.
“One fucking hour,” he whispered in a guttural tone. Tears shimmered in his eyes and he angrily dashed them away. I lifted my hand to cup his cheek and forced my body between his and the counter. I drew him down until his head was resting against my neck.
“I’m so sorry,” I managed to get out just before Hawke’s arms went around me in a bone-crushing hold.
I felt warm moisture against my skin and knew what it meant. I kept my own emotions in check as I held on to Hawke as tight as I could. When he finally released his grip on me and leaned back, he quietly said, “Tate” as he shook his head dejectedly.
“You don’t have to, Hawke,” I interrupted. “Last night…tonight, whatever happens, you don’t owe me any explanations. I’ll take any piece of you I can get,” I said. I searched out the shaving cream and put some in my hand. I pressed my lips against his in the briefest of kisses and whispered, “Just let me take care of you for a few minutes, okay?”
Hawke stared at me for the longest time and then nodded the tiniest bit. But as I began to spread the shaving cream over his face, I heard a small sigh leave his lips and there was the slightest release of tension in his big body.
And as I reached for his razor, I realized it was enough.
It would have to be.
Chapter Seventeen
Hawke
“Are you sure, Mr. Duncan?” Tate asked the frail old man who just kept shaking his head. Frustration coursed through me and I felt the urge to throw something. I took a step back on the small, rickety porch and braced my hands behind me on the porch railing so I wouldn’t be tempted to do just that with one of the half dozen dying potted plants all around us.
“Ain’t seen Buck or Denny for almost two years now,” Mr. Duncan announced. “Rumor has it they died in that explosion.”
Tate glanced over his shoulder at me and I did my best to school my reaction. We’d been interviewing people for several hours now and I knew the walk down memory lane wasn’t good for Tate, especially considering how many people had looked at him with open distaste. I had no doubt that despite Tate’s inherent goodness, he hadn’t been able to escape the negative association forced upon him simply because he carried the Buckley name. Mr. Duncan, who it turned out had once been Tate’s math teacher, had been the only one who hadn’t spoken to Tate through the door. And so far he was the only one who’d had more than a few words to say about what may or may not have happened to Buck and Denny.
“Do you mean the explosion at the meth lab near the Weathersby farm?” Tate asked as he turned his attention back to the old man who was rocking back and forth in a decrepit rocking chair.
“Yup…they had the State Police down here for that one. Found a couple bodies too,” Mr. Duncan said with a nod of his head as he reached for his glass of lemonade. “Course there wasn’t much left to identify.”
I ground my teeth together and turned around so that I was facing the street instead of the two men since I didn’t want Mr. Duncan or Tate to see my building anger. In all the years I’d been searching for Buck and Denny, I’d never even considered the possibility that they were dead. My one goal had always been to see the two men dead and buried, but now that I faced the prospect that they already were, it felt hollow. I hadn’t realized how much the prospect of hurting the two men, of making sure they suffered, had meant to me. Before it had just been a bonus, but now that I might not get it, I felt cheated.