Sweet Ache

“Relax,” Hunter says with a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head as if the comment is irrelevant. His facetious attitude is a complete contrast to the humorless ones of Hawkin and Vince. “I’ll hold my end of the bargain, brother.” He says the last word with a disdained sarcasm that even ruffles my feathers. Hunter’s eyes track over to me and stop. “You can always ensure that I will though by sharing.”

“Come again?” The retort is off my tongue before I even think it through. If he’s saying what I think he’s saying he can move right along.

Hawkin is in Hunter’s face within a split second of my comment, hand fisted in the front of his shirt, nose to nose. “Leave her out of the bullshit between us! You had your chance and blew it. That’s on you. You want something I have again, you best figure out how to get your shit straightened out and get it yourself. Your second chances are wearing thin here, brother,” Hawkin says, mimicking Hunter’s tone, his voice quiet, yet the steel in his attitude more than obvious.

There is a tense few seconds where they remain toe to toe, their unspoken battle filling up the room, until Vince steps forward and grips Hawkin’s shoulder. At first he resists Vince trying to force them apart and then relents.

“It’s best you leave, Hunt,” Vince says with a cluck of his tongue. “You’re a bit outnumbered here, if you catch my drift. Door’s that way.” He gestures behind him, not backing down while Hawkin stalks down the length of the hallway, hands laced on the back of his neck, face grimaced in restraint.

“Ah, so cute you have your bodyguard to make sure you don’t get hurt,” Hunter sneers like a child.

“You’ve worn out your welcome, and I don’t have any promises that I’ve made keeping me from plowing my fist in your face,” Vince says with a shrug of his shoulders that’s anything but apologetic. “I’d love nothing more than for you to give me a reason….”

Hunter nods, teeth biting his bottom lip to fight the smirk playing there, like all of this is humorous to him. He looks over to where I’m frozen with uncertainty over what to do, and lifts his chin.

“You’ll learn soon that these guys aren’t worth your time. I look forward to seeing you again. Soon.” The shuffling of Hawke’s feet on the wood floor instantly falls silent at the same time Hunter lifts his eyebrows, smirk bordering arrogant, before turning and heading toward the front door like he hasn’t a care in the world. “You guys need to loosen the fuck up in this place,” he throws over his shoulder as he strides out of the house, his mocking laughter fading with him.

The front door slams, but no one moves. Despite Hunter’s departure, the tension still vibrates off the walls. I’m so uncomfortable, unsure what to do, but all I know is that the look on Hawkin’s face calls me to comfort him. But I don’t react right away. I barely know this man and as much as I want to fulfill my inherent need to soothe our ache—a quick fuck in the bedroom upstairs might fix him for a little bit—but it won’t make me feel very good.

“Sorry about that,” Vince says, breaking his stare away from Hawkin’s and turning on me, trying to relieve the tension. “Brotherly love.” He smiles, but it’s strained and never reaches his eyes. “Will you excuse us a moment?” he asks but is already walking toward Hawkin before I can respond.

As Vince approaches him, I wonder what the hell that was all about and what has Hawkin so agitated that he won’t meet my eyes. They stand face-to-face, their harsh whispers echoing off the wood floor, but only a few words at a time come back to me. And they are not enough for me to piece together the conversation.

“I’m Rocket.” The voice startles me to the point that I gasp because I was so focused on them that I never noticed Rocket standing in the doorway.

My eyes flash up to his, and I smile. “Hi, I’m Quinlan,” I offer, unsure what else to say as Hawkin’s temper escalates, their words unmistakable now.

“I know what I promised, Vince,” Hawke shouts.

“You know he’s going to take what he wants just to fuck you over anyway,” Vince says, glancing our way and then back to Hawkin before saying something I can’t hear.

“Sorry about all of this,” Rocket says, motioning to the two of them and sensing my discomfort. “Those two go way back. They’re close. Closer than Hunt and Hawke are.”

“They’re not close?” I pry, asking Rocket what I should be asking Hawkin myself but given his aversion in the car to questions about him, I know he’ll avoid answering.

Rocket’s laugh is low and cavalier. “Do they look like it?” His sarcasm is overtaken by Hawkin barking “Enough” to Vince.

“You’re dangling a motherfucking carrot in front of him, Hawke,” Vince yells and then blows out a breath in frustration. “If he can’t have X, then he’s gonna take Y.”

“Like you have to remind me. I’ve got it handled. Don’t bring it up again.” Hawkin slams a hand down against the console next to him, the sound echoing through the room. He stalks toward me, anger vibrating off him, and I have a feeling it’s from a combination of Vince and Hunter.

“Give me a minute,” he growls as he passes me without meeting my eyes, his angst palpable. I watch him retreat down a hallway and when I look back, Rocket has his eyebrows raised and a look of resignation on his handsome face.

“Welcome to Bent,” Rocket says with an exasperated laugh.