Beyond Ecstasy (Beyond #8) (33 page)

“I'll remember that.”

“Can I ask you for a favor?”

She squeezed his hand.

“They're having a memorial for Shipp and Luna in a few days.” He cleared his throat. “Will you come with me?”

Closing her eyes painted a picture of Luna, gasping with mock outrage as Hawk teased her. Jeni rubbed her fingers over her eyes to banish the image and nodded. “Absolutely.”

He turned and brushed a kiss to the top of her head. “Thank you.”

“It's the very least I can do. For you and for them.”

They lapsed into silence. It wasn't comfortable, exactly, but it
was
comforting. Jeni hadn't realized until that moment how very much she needed for Hawk not to hate her. Even if they didn't stand a chance of being together, they could still mean something to one another. She wouldn't lose him for good.

She couldn't lose him for good.

“Well.” Big John propped both hands on his hips. “This car
was
cherry. Damn crying shame, for a host of reasons.” He cursed as he crossed himself.

Hawk stared at the wreckage of his car and tried to let it be just a car, not a symbol for the mess he'd made out of his life. Someone had already ripped out the ruined back seat, but Hawk could reconstruct the crash well enough in his head. The driver's side of the car was bent inward, the metal twisted and split, gaping open. The truck from the city must have slammed into them fast and hard.

It was a miracle they'd pulled him out of there with any of his ribs—or the left side of his body—still intact.

He didn't want to be here, staring at the twisted metal and shredded upholstery. He didn't want to remember dragging Jeni's fingers down to stroke the leather as he told her how building the car had given him hope.

His car had never been just a car. Every moment that mattered had pivoted around it—bringing Shipp back to the farm. Helping Finn and Trix get to Sector Four and earning a place in the O'Kanes in exchange. Bringing Jeni home to meet his family.

All of it, slipped away in the sick crunch of metal.

“I suppose I have to rebuild her,” he said with no real enthusiasm.

Big John snorted. “This isn't a rebuild, it's a salvage job.” He circled the car, his jaw set. “Your frame's bent to hell and back, and there's almost as much body damage. It's a mess.”

That sounded about right, for the car
and
him. “So it's a lost cause?”

“I don't know if I'd go that far.” John rubbed his chin. “Plenty of good parts left, you just have to dig 'em out.”

Maybe John could see the good parts. Hawk couldn't stop staring at the caved-in side. “It feels morbid.”

“Maybe it is. But throwing it away just because it's gonna take some work is a dumbass move.”

Jesus
Christ
that struck home, too.

A little
too
well.

The bittersweet ache that had replaced the Jeni-shaped hole in his heart flared into longing. He wanted to believe there was a future there for them. But the frame of their relationship was twisted beyond repair. The collar, all the rules that went with it—

They'd sat so calmly and listed everything they'd done wrong, and it was all he could see. Just like the crumpled side of his car.

John was a fucking meddlesome old asshole. Hawk squeezed his eyes shut. “If you're gonna call me a dumbass, at least do it for the right reason.”

“Sure you want to open that door, kid?”

No. He wasn't sure of anything anymore, except for the fact that Jeni's collar was burning a hole in his pocket and he couldn't seem to put it aside, even knowing it had done them as much harm as good. “Lay it on me, Big John.”

John leaned on the busted car and eyed Hawk over the top of it. “I've known you for a lot of years. How many is it now?”

“About twenty, give or take a few.”

“Right.” His eyes went a little vague, like he was looking at something far away. “I'd never seen you happy before. Not just with someone—that shit can come and go, believe me. I'm talking about with yourself. Like you finally kinda liked who you were.”

He had. He
did
, and that wasn't just on Jeni. He loved his family, but for all the affection he got in return, he could never forget how firmly their lives rested on his shoulders. How completely responsible he was for their collective future and happiness.

The O'Kanes had been a different kind of family, one he hadn't known how to join at first because he wasn't used to having the responsibility go both ways. The crushing weight of his family's lives wasn't so crushing with Dallas willing to give him land, and Finn ready to help build them houses, and Zan eager to shake down his black market contacts and find whatever was necessary.

Surrounded by O'Kanes who could pick up the slack, he'd finally had room to breathe, to want something for himself. To find someone who could turn his contentment into joy.

And then his pride and fear had fucked everything up.

He reached into his pocket and curled his fist around the collar. The jewels dug into his fingers, but the medallion was cool against his palm. “Jeni and I hurt each other bad inside Eden. She offered to—” He swallowed queasiness at the memory and forced out the words. “She made a deal. Her life for mine. If Coop hadn't rescued us, I'd be here, and they'd be torturing her to death.”

Big John's gaze sharpened. “That's rough.”

Having it acknowledged—having him agree—loosened the tightness in Hawk's chest. “I would have traded places with her in a heartbeat. That means I shouldn't be so upset about it, doesn't it?”

“I don't know. Hell, I don't think
not
getting upset about that is an option, no matter how you're coming at it. It's making me want to puke right now, and I wasn't even there.”

That hysterical, desperate laughter from the hospital bubbled up again. “That's saying something, considering you actually
like
that rotgut you brew up.”

“It ain't the best, but it's what I got.” John dipped his head, then pinned Hawk with another assessing look. “Finding someone who means that much, and who feels the same way about you? It's like running across a Holley four-barrel, mint in the box. You're lucky to have it happen just once.”

“And if your frame's bent to hell and back, and there's too much damage?”

John shrugged. “Fuck it. Start over. Put that Holley carb in something new and make it work.”

Hawk studied the car again. He looked past the damage and saw an intact front fender. The engine was probably fine, and the radiator looked good. He ran his thumb over the medallion in his pocket, then stopped trying to imagine him and Jeni fitting into the framework of collars and ink and things with complicated rules and unspoken expectations.

They'd done so many things wrong, but they'd
cared
, and Big John was right. Only a dumbass would throw that away.

Coming back to her room after dinner with Jared and Lili, Jeni had two things on her mind—an early bedtime and a good, long cry.

Being surrounded by people in love sucked. She'd always known that, but only in the vaguest sense. She knew she was missing out, but the details had been hazy, unformed. Now, she knew exactly what lay behind all those secret looks, the soft glances and casual caresses.

And it hurt. She missed Hawk. Not just the things she'd expected to miss, either—his smile, or having him hold her, or the way his voice went rough when he whispered her name. She missed knowing he was
there
, that he was happy, and that she'd played a role in making that happen.

She climbed the last landing and stopped short. A small, brown-wrapped box sat propped against her door, along with an envelope bearing her name. Nothing else, just four little block letters in handwriting she didn't recognize.

But she had her suspicions. She snatched up the package and the letter and hit the stairs again, this time heading up to the third floor—and Hawk's door.

She had to bang on it five times before it opened. Hawk stood there, his wariness melting into confusion when he glanced from her face to her hands and back. His brow furrowed. “You didn't open it.”

“Not yet.” The paper crumpled a little under her shaking fingers. “Can I come in?”

Silently, he stepped back and pulled the door wide.

Jeni walked in, but she didn't know what to do with the package. Set it on the table? Hand it to him? Go ahead and open it? “What is this?”

Oddly, the question seemed to relax him. His lips twitched, almost forming that warm smile she loved so much. “That's what the letter's for.”

If she looked at it, she'd never forget the words scrawled on the page. They'd be burned into her memory, whether she wanted them there or not, and not even the passage of years would dull them.

She held it out. “If it's that important, I want to hear it straight from you.”

“All right.” Hawk took the envelope and pulled out his pocketknife. He edged the blade under the flap before glancing up at her. “Don't get your hopes up, thinking this'll be all fancy. I'm still not good at words.”

Sometimes the simplest things held the greatest truths. “I don't like fancy words. I like yours.”

“I hope so.” He flipped his knife shut and unfolded the letter. “I'm still going to read it. Just don't laugh at me.”

He looked so nervous that she couldn't even be offended. “I wouldn't.”

“Okay.” He gripped the paper until it crinkled in his fingers and cleared his throat. “We made a list of all the things we did wrong, and there were a lot of them. But while we were listing all our mistakes, we forgot to list the things we did right. And there were a lot of those, too.”

The box rattled in her hands, and his face blurred.

He went on. “The first one was just being able to talk to each other like that. Honest, without getting mad. I can't find words like that with anyone else, but with you it's easy. We did other things right, too. We laughed with each other, and we helped each other. We wanted each other.” His voice went hoarse. “But mostly we loved each other, even if we weren't saying the words.”

She couldn't see him at all now through the haze of tears.

“When you tried to save my life, all I could hear was you saying that I'd be fine without you. But you were also saying that you loved me too much to let me die. And if we love each other that much, so much we'd die for it, then it seems pretty stupid not to try to live for it, too.”

“Hawk—”

He shook his head and took a deep breath. “Sometimes a car's so wrecked there's no putting it back together. But that doesn't mean you can't take the parts that are good and bring them with you when you make something new.” He cleared his throat again and looked up at her, his eyes red. “I'm not asking for collars and ink. I don't need any promise or proof. Just don't give up on loving me, and maybe we can build something good.”

Jeni couldn't speak, not even to tell him that he might
think
he wasn't good with words, but that those were the most beautiful ones she'd ever heard. She set the box on the table instead and crossed the room.

His cheeks were warm under her hands as she cupped his face. “Yes.”

“Yes?” His hands covered hers. His whole body seemed poised, tense—as if he was barely holding back from pouncing on her.

“Yes.” She licked the tears from her lips. “If you love me, that's all that matters.”

“I do,” he said without hesitation. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and he smoothed another tear from the corner. “I love you, Jeni, with everything in me. All the bad parts and especially the good ones.”

It hurt to breathe again, but this time, it was because she was so full of
hope
. “Do you love me enough to kiss me?”

He smiled. “Close your eyes.”

She complied, and he stroked his thumbs over her cheeks and kissed her forehead. Then her eyelids, the tip of her nose. He took a step that brought their bodies close together, and another that pushed her back toward his bed. “I'm so sorry I made you cry.”

“Shh.” She tipped her head back. “Don't be sorry. Be mine.”

He wrapped his arms around her and hauled her up against him, and the world swooped dizzily. She clung to his shoulders, even when he dropped on the bed with her straddling his lap. And then the world kept spinning, because he thrust his hands into her hair and kissed her.

It was the first thing that had felt right in
days
. When Jeni parted her lips, he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping her mouth with the desperate edge of a starving man who would no longer be denied.

He kissed her until she was squirming in his arms. Until she was gasping for breath every time their lips parted only to lose it when he claimed her mouth again. His hands began to move—slipping over the skin bared by her silky halter top, tracing up and down her spine.

His fingers found the tie at the back of her neck and deftly tugged.

The fabric slid over her like a caress. She broke away, running her lips over his cheek to his temple. “I remember the first time I saw you. I had just finished a set, and you were sitting at the bar with Zan and Noelle. You wouldn't even look at me.”

He chuckled, but his cheeks heated under her fingers. “Maybe that first night. After that I couldn't
stop
looking at you.”