“I didn’t do it for you.”
I’d pushed Cassie into the elevator because in the two seconds I’d had to think after that grenade rolled into the lobbyat the paper mill, I’d known exactly what — who — mattered most to me.
“I know. Thank you anyway.”
I nodded and he dropped my hand. I wondered if he would still try to stop Cassie from coming home with us. Her three months was officially over: she’d held up her end of the Hunt contract.
But he just turned to walk away.
“Text you later,” Cassie called out.
He lifted a hand without turning around.
Bram and I still had unfinished business, but for now at least, there was peace between us.
“I’m fucking hungry,” Vigo said. “Anybody else hungry?”
“I could go for something that isn’t mashed or pureed. Something that isn’t bland as fuck.” I turned to Paulette, who was waiting for us to get in the car. “No offense.”
“Baby,” she said, “if the food in this hospital was good, nobody would ever leave. You take care of yourselves now. Take care of each other.”
She pushed the wheelchair back toward the sliding doors.
Jagger opened the passenger side door so I could get in.
“Let’s blow this fucking popsicle stand.”
15
CASSIE
We spentthe first two days after Hawk came home from the hospital in a kind of cocoon. Vigo was more or less fine other than his still-healing ribs, and Jagger’s back and arm were healing, but Hawk still tired easily and the burn on his right side was painful, so we lounged around the house, ordering takeout, watching movies, and sleeping.
It was more than enough for me. I’d come so close to losing them, I was happy just to have them close enough to touch.
Alive.
“What are we ordering tonight?” Vigo asked, his eyes on the video game he was playing with Jagger.
“I was thinking Indian,” Jagger said.
“Indian sounds good.” I looked at Hawk. “What sounds good to you?”
He stared at me from the opposite end of the couch, his eyes smoldering, his hand stroking my bare foot, and I was pretty sure whatever it was that sounded good wasn’t on a takeout menu.
I understood, felt it in my bones: the need to feel his naked body on mine, to feel him inside me.
Proof that he was really alive.
But he was still recovering, and as badly as I wanted him to fuck me — as badly as I wanted them all to fuck me — I didn’t want to cause him more pain or delay his healing.
“Anything,” he said.
I knew he meant it. Hawk had never been as carefree as Vigo, had never seemed particularly attached to his life, but he was less rigid now — about everything — and seemed happy just to be alive.
“Let’s do Indian,” I said.
Jagger picked up his phone to place the order.
