Sweet Ache

We’ve all had some alcohol, and every once in a while Rocket disappears and comes back with the distinctive scent of dope clinging to his clothes. I can see the distaste on Hawke’s face and the random disapproving glances his way.

After the third or fourth glare, Rocket finally says, “Relax!” before tossing his cards on the table and scrapping his hand. “Don’t act like you’re the saint here. Back in the day you had no problem taking a toke.” They stare at one another in an unstated challenge. I’m slightly uncomfortable but notice that no one else at the table is even blinking an eye so this—either Rocket smoking a joint or him challenging Hawkin—must be a regular occurrence within their group hierarchy. “I’m not him and he’s not me, so knock it off, will ya?”

And my assumption that Rocket’s talking about Hunter is confirmed when Hawkin’s phone rings again. He spits out a curse as he shoves the chair back with force. “He’s fucking everywhere,” he mutters as he stalks off.

Rocket starts to stand to go after him, just like I want to. Then Vince advises, “Leave it, man. Hunter’s probably pulling his shit right now.”

Rocket stands there in momentary indecision before shaking his head at Vince and following after Hawke.

And the act makes me fall a little bit more in like with Rocket for worrying about Hawkin when he could have let it go. I’m not sure why it brings me such comfort. Probably because I can sense how much Hawke craves normalcy, and I love to see that he’s succeeded in surrounding himself with a family of his own creation.

“Well, since it seems like we’re taking a break, I’m gonna take a piss,” Gizmo says as he knocks his chair backward before wandering inside.

I watch him go and when I look back toward the table, Vince is eyeing me again. We stare into the silence for what feels like forever, snippets of Hawke’s conversation drifting over to us occasionally.

“You know why he’s pissed, right?” Vince asks, clearly expecting an answer from me. He’s overprotective of Hawkin but I feel like I’m about to be tested and I’m not sure how I feel about it. The fact that he’s testing me though means he senses that I might be more than just a wannabe groupie.

“I’m assuming he’s pissed about something with Hunter.” It’s a safe response on my part that causes Vince to drum his fingers on the table, an internal debate warring over his features as he decides how much to divulge.

“You follow the rags much?”

“You got a point, Vince? Because I’m sensing you want to get something off your chest. I’m worried about whatever is stressing Hawkin out, and honestly, I want to take him upstairs and have my way with him, so patience is not my virtue right now.”

A grin spreads over his lips. “Well damn, woman. You sure know how to get a man’s attention.” And where a moment ago I was annoyed with him, he’s already won me back with his response. “Hawke talk to you at all about his drug charge a couple months back?”

I glance down to his drumming fingers and then back up with a quick shake of my head. “Nah … I figured if he wanted to bring it up he would. His business.”

He raises his eyebrows with a subtle nod of his head. “In a sense it’s a whole lot of people’s business…. Hawke won’t admit it, but he’s taking the fall for Hunter.”

“What? Wait, I’m confused. How’s that even possible?” I ask, but Hawke’s confession about his brother last night rings in my ears, and before Vince answers, I know it’s true.

“Same place, same time, identical twins although they’re anything but identical.” He shakes his head when I just narrow my eyes at him. “Shit, we can’t even tell them apart sometimes. They have their own style now, but when we were younger each would dress up like the other one, and we’d have no fucking clue until they started laughing. They know each other’s mannerisms, speech, everything … so as stupid as it sounds, it’s easy to believe how they could pull it off.” He takes a sip of his beer and tips the bottle toward where Hawke stands. “Look, Hawke’s complicated, stubborn, but he’s also loyal and family comes first. Always. Even if it’s fucked-up family.”

“He told me about his dad,” I murmur and notice Vince widen his eyes and turn his head. “And Hunter and the band.”

“Hm. Well, that should tell you something….”

I can take his comment a few ways and I’m not sure which way I should. Is he saying it’s a big deal Hawkin told me because he doesn’t talk about his past and his confession means he really likes me? Or is he saying, see, he’s fucked-up, a head case from his childhood, and I should lace up my running shoes and run far away?

I know which one I hope he’s saying but I’m uncomfortable now, talking about Hawkin and him not being here. The last thing I want is for a misconception to be made that I’m digging for info on him. I have a feeling that would end any chance of something more between us, so I just sit there, play with my poker chips, and wait out the silence.

“Hunter’s had some run-ins with the law, a pair of drug convictions for one. Hawke won’t elaborate about what happened this time other than the two of them were at a party, he laid his jacket on a chair at some point, picked it up to go just about the same time cops showed up … and somehow the bag of blow was in the pocket and he was busted.” He waits for me to look up and see that he doesn’t buy Hawke’s story. “The way I see it, Hunter gets convicted again, he’s tried under California’s Three Strikes law and gets a lengthy sentence. I don’t know the details but I know that jacket isn’t Hawke’s, and I seem to remember seeing Hunter having one just like it. Hawke’s taking the fall to prevent destroying his family even further. Willing to risk himself to live up to the cruel promise the memory of his father makes him keep.”