“And what about you?”
He raises a brow. “What about me?”
“I’ve been trying to figure you out. But I don’t know anything about you.”
Tonight he’s told me more than I learned through any of my research into his background, and even without him explicitly saying it, I know he’s seen things that no one should have to. Experienced similar traumas to the ones I have, just in a different setting.
His jaw hardens. “You know enough.”
There’s a finality in his words.
A definitive statement that says I won’t be getting anything else out of him tonight.
That only adds to the frustration growing inside me like a festering weed that couldn’t be eradicated by what just happened—no matter how damn good it was.
The night air continues to chill, and the sounds of the animals by the lake fill the silence between us as we pass the bottle back and forth several times.
We allow the tension to rebuild, but this isn’t the same tension that made us lay down on this blanket together. It’s the one that’s been plaguing us since I first saw him—that lingering question that I can’t shake.
Finally, I can’t take it anymore. “What are you doing here?”
Gage raises a brow. “The park?”
I shake my head. “No, New Orleans.”
“I told you.” He stares ahead at the quiet lake, the moon reflecting off its surface giving it an almost ethereal glow. “Work.”
“Yeah, but you also told me you’re a mechanic, and you can do that anywhere, so why New Orleans?”
He swallows thickly. “I’ve always loved New Orleans. All of Louisiana, actually—the food, the people, the culture.” Finally, he glances over and gives me a little half-grin. “After I retired from the Army, I moved around a lot. Never really had a place to call home. So, when the opportunity presented itself”—he shrugs—“I came here.”
I nod slowly. “That makes sense, I guess.”
“You guess?”
Fiddling with the edge of the blanket, I attempt to process how I’ve felt around this man since the moment he appeared in my life. There isn’t any reason to believe he isn’t exactly who he appears to be, or that he isn’t here for exactly why he says he is. Yet, I can’t let go of this disquiet in my heart where he’s concerned.
“I’m trying really hard to believe that your interest in me is genuine, Gage.”
He flinches, as if the statement physically hurts him. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Because there are a lot of reasons people try to get close to the Hawkes…”
His back stiffens. “Like what?”
“Their money. Their power. Revenge.” That word hangs in the air between us like a bomb waiting to hit its mark. “You wouldn’t be the first one to show up and weasel your way in with an ulterior motive.”
That’s what Cass did with Kennedy and it almost destroyed her. It almost destroyed us. Then Allegra did the same with Coen, using their closeness to spy on him for her father, our greatest enemy.
It would be impossible not to be suspicious.
The truth is never as simple as people make it out to be.
It’s heavily layered.
Predicated on certain beliefs that themselves could be lies.
After everything that’s happened, I don’t think I have the strength to face the type of betrayal Kennedy did when Cass came clean or Coen suffered when Allegra did.
