He glances over at me and gives me a tight smile. “I got to see the world at a very young age. Six countries before I was eighteen. I can speak five different languages.”
“Really?”
An almost shy grin pulls at his lips. “Really. So, it was pretty cool, I guess, but it meant making connections with people, lasting ones, was pretty impossible.”
My chest tightens at the admission and the longing in his voice because I’ve always had that luxury. I’ve always lived here, in this place, and been able to have deep, meaningful friendships or relationships, and I chose not to.
Beyond the family, beyond the Hawkes, I’ve kept everyone out. Locked myself away with my core group because I’ve always felt like it was my responsibility to watch out for them.
And Gage saw that the minute we met.
He saw right through me to my deepest, darkest needs that are so basic in life.
“Is that why you went into the Army? Because that’s what your dad did?”
He nods. “I guess so. It was really all I knew.” Clearing his throat, he offers a shrug. “My parents both died when I was in my twenties. By the time I got out of the service, I didn’t really have a place to call home.”
“Is New Orleans going to be that?”
It’s the same thing Nana was asking him at dinner, only now, I truly want to know the answer.
Selfishly, I want him to say that it is, that he won’t be leaving, but for someone like Gage who has never had roots anywhere, putting them down might be terrifying.
He finally turns fully to look at me, his blue eyes shimmering with something I can’t quite place. “I hope so. I really do.”
But I can hear it in his voice, the hesitation.
He’s holding something back.
20
FIVE DAYS LATER
GAGE
I step out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around my waist, another in my hand as I rub it over my wet hair.
Bishop reclines against the headboard of my bed, my copy of Catch 22 open in her hands, but her eyes immediately lift from the pages and land on me. They roam over every inch of exposed skin and dip down to follow the trickle of water rolling down my chest, abs, and into the towel at my waist.
Fighting a smirk, I freeze and give her a second to finish her perusal before her eyes finally flick up to meet mine.
I raise a brow. “What are you doing?”
When I went to take a shower, she was napping, something I’m quite confident she never did before the explosion. If anyone had suggested it then, she likely would have responded by going another round in the ring with Atlas or pinning some unsuspecting sucker on the Jiu-jitsu mat.
But that was before.
Now, she’s battling exhaustion she can’t hide, aches in her muscles and joints, not to mention the headaches that just keep coming back no matter what we try to do to help them.
Since she refuses to take the medication that might relieve some of it, and I’m not about to force it down her throat, it has meant she’s been uncomfortable for days, which in turn has made me miserable watching her suffer.
But the way she’s looking at me now, it does not appear she’s at all uncomfortable.
If anything, she’s eyeing me the same way she accused me of looking at her that day in the gym—like she wants to pin and straddle me.
My cock starts to harden, pushing against the confines of the towel that does very little to hide my reaction to her wearing one of my T-shirts, sitting casually on my bed, like it’s hers and she belongs there.
It would be, if I had my way.
