Hawke

I wake up to Hawke sleeping on my chest. The way his body drapes over mine, his head on my chest, his arms wrapped around me, is heartwarming and heartbreaking in the same sense.

This broken, sweet man clings to me even in his dreams. I can’t wait for him to finally realize he’s it for me. The day he finally feels his heart and his secrets are safe with me will be my happiest.

I stroke his hair, combing through it with my fingers, cradling him tightly to me. I want nothing more than to hold and comfort him, loving him every second I’m given. We sit like that for at least an hour while he sleeps. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to wake him out of his blissful slumber, but it’s out of my control when my phone rings on the desk nearby.

His head pops up slightly, his squinted eyes looking for the sound. I shush him and press his cheek back against my chest, running my fingers through his hair as I let it ring and ring.

I know who it is.

He sighs against me, relaxing again for a moment, squeezing me between his arms, releasing a tiny groan before popping his head back up.

“He won’t stop until he knows where you are,” he says with a raspy tone.

I look down at my fingers still threading through his hair, swallowing uncomfortably.

“You’re right,” I whisper.

Hawke sits up, leaving the warm space beside me. He heads towards the side of the bed and changes into his jeans before sitting back down on the edge, facing the wall. He rakes his hands through his hair, resting his elbows on his knees.

The sight breaks me.

I grab the sheet, clinging it to my body, as I walk to the other side of the bed, changing into my clothes for the day. Amidst yesterday’s chaos, I didn’t realize what I was grabbing, so I put on a black t-shirt and flowy mini skirt and quickly fluffed my mess of hair. At least my chucks match.

I crawl to him across the mattress, scooting closer to throw myself around him, draping my arms over his, firmly pressing my front against his back.

His hand comes up, holding my forearm to him, embracing my hold. I litter him with kisses along his neck and on his ear before whispering, “I love you and you alone.”

He sighs again, turning to face me with a weak grin.

“I know, baby. It’s not that. I know how you feel, how you’ve felt. It’s just…everything else you don’t know,” he says, reluctantly looking up into my eyes.

He wants to tell me. He needs to tell me. Especially before going back to face Patrick. I feel the heaviness of this moment. The pain and regret in his eyes. I know he wishes he wasn’t the one to tell me, but it’s time I find out about the things he said would change everything.

“Tell me, Cam. Tell me everything that happened that night.”

I can tell he’s reluctant, but he needs to, for me to finally understand. I’ve come this far alone, figuring out that it couldn’t have been Hawke who killed Ben. He’d never act so reckless when it meant someone he loved was involved. But the rest, I’d never know unless told by someone who was there, in the flesh, the only witness telling the truth of the entire event. With a deep breath, he unleashes it all.

“Believe it or not, Patrick and I used to hang out—not by choice. I always thought he was kind of a prick, but Ben always told me to give people a chance, to not be so hard on him, that it was bad for me more than anything. Ben was literally the nicest guy I’ve ever known. He connected people wherever he went. He always saw the good in everyone and brought it out of them when he was in their presence. He was so vibrant, so positive, so full of energy, everything I’m organically not.” He scoffs at the last part, making me smile.

“He sounded amazing,” I reply with a sad smile, wishing I’d had the chance to meet the special guy that makes Cameron light up the way he does when he talks about him.

“After a football game one Friday night, we all went out to their family cabin to celebrate him playing his first varsity game.”

“Wait, the cabin? The one you guys still go to?”

“Yep.” He nods. “After everything that happened, Ben’s parents gave the cabin to his older brother, Mark. Signed it over and everything. They didn’t want it anymore after losing him. Too many memories, I guess. But his brother moved out of state and some of his friends rented out the place. It’s kind of just a party pad now.”

“Sad,” I say without thinking.

“It is,” Hawke responds, looking sorrowful. “Ben wouldn’t like it.”

I clutch his hand in mine as he continues.

“Anyway, we went to the cabin, partied it up. I mean, we were kids at the time, trying to hang with the older crew. We drank, I did coke, got fucked up, Ben was drunk…”

I see his face holding the pain of the memory he’s spilling onto me. His breathing becomes shallow as he stares down at this little tear in the blue-colored carpet next to the bed. I stroke my hand down his back, attempting to soothe him the best I can.

“W-we were out most of the night. Ben’s mom was calling him nonstop, knowing he was with his brother and probably getting into trouble. Patrick was out there with some of the other football guys, but after realizing they were too drunk to leave, he asked Ben if he could get a ride with him.”

“But wasn’t Ben drinking?”

“Right, and so was I. We were in no position to drive and we knew it. We’d planned to just crash there, but Patrick came up to us while we were outside by ourselves having a smoke and started begging Ben to head out early. He was hounding him, told him he’d drive his car since he hadn’t been drinking, saying he’d drop us off so he could get home for his curfew. He was freaking out about it.” Hawke’s eyes narrow at the floor, remembering.

My jaw tightens hearing this story, already knowing how this is about to play out. Knowing Patrick and knowing his family, I can imagine him on the edge of paranoia for making the mistake of being stranded at a cabin party, leaving himself vulnerable, selfishly doing whatever it took to get home. A sick feeling takes over me, paired with a wave of anger that is uncontrolled.

“Ben, being the nice guy that he was, asked if I was cool with leaving early since we came there together in his car and he was my ride, promising me he’d find some girls for us on a different night. He was always thinking of others before himself.” A tiny grin pulls at his lips.

I smile slightly at the idea of a young Hawke scouting for girls with his best friend, before my smile drops at his sudden pause. He takes a breath, seemingly trying to calm himself while he stares at the little tear in the carpet again, almost needing to focus on it. Needing something to remove the horrifying visuals his mind is playing out before him. His mouth opens to talk, but he stalls for a moment, the seconds feeling heavier than before.

“I made the biggest mistake of my life by agreeing to go. I should’ve put up a fight, told Ben to stop being a fucking people pleaser. Anything to make him focus on himself and what he wanted to do for once. But that wasn’t him. He was the guy that would do anything for anyone…and Patrick fucking knew it and took full advantage of that.”

His eyes connect with mine, looking deeply into the part of me that knows that side of him exists too. It’s all so obvious, sickeningly so. I feel where this is going, and it’s giving me an achingly cold chill down my spine.

“We get in the car, Patrick driving, Ben in the passenger seat, and my fucked-up ass laying down in the back. A few miles into the drive, I started to question how sober Patrick actually was. Mind you, I was lit, and yet…I could still tell shit wasn’t right.”

“What was he doing?” I question, grabbing his hand in mine again, weaving my fingers through for some sort of support.

“He was swerving a bit, went over the median for a second, then hit the hazard strips, making that loud noise under the tires. I remember hearing that.”

“He was drunk,” I state, shaking my head in disbelief.

“I don’t know for sure. I didn’t see him drinking at the party, but I also wasn’t watching. No one saw us leave together because I was outside smoking at the time.”

“So no one could confirm that he left with you guys and that he was driving,” I state, knowingly.

“Exactly.” He nods, licking his lips.

He pauses again, letting out a shaky breath, and I feel the next part of the story is the part he wishes he could forget. The part that destroyed a piece of him he’ll never get back. The part where he lost Ben.

“It’s okay, I’m right here,” I whisper, leaning in closer to him.

Cupping his face to plant kisses along his cheek and jaw, I hold him tightly while rubbing his arm.

“It just happened so fast,” he whispers, his stare never faltering. “So fast that I’m not even sure how we got there. The next thing I remember is the car swerving out of control. It threw me into the space between the front and back seats. The car—” He pauses, closing his eyes tightly.

I grip him harder, kissing his shoulder.

“The car hit something and flipped. I remember being airborne at one point before hitting the roof and getting knocked out in the process. When I came to, I was alone in the car. Somehow I was alright. Banged the fuck up, yeah, bleeding from my head, but I was able to get out. I crawled my way through one of the broken windows in the back, looking around for them.”

I quickly wipe away the tears that are falling from my eyes. I can visualize everything in my mind as he’s telling me the story; the agony of it all hurts me too.

“I saw—” His voice cracks as he stops himself, pinching the bridge between his nose to let out a breath. “I saw Ben laying over by a tree. He had been thrown from the car, had a deep gash on the side of his abdomen, and his head was bleeding. He looked…he looked like…” He pauses to catch his breath again.

“It’s okay,” I whisper again, shaking my head, not needing him to continue.

“I ran to him, picked him up, and held him as he was struggling to breathe. I lied to him and told him it would be alright, that I’d get help, but his eyes told me he knew he wouldn’t make it. Somehow he’d already accepted it.” He bends over into his hands, breathing through the tears, his hands shaking, before running them through his hair and cursing. “Fuck.”

“I’m here, it’s okay, it’s okay,” I continue whispering, holding onto him as he grips my arm, needing to hang on.

“He died in my arms, Cole,” he cries out, the anguish in his tone echoing the unfairness of it all. “I always wondered what his last thoughts were and as sad as it is, I think he was more worried about me than himself, even as he lay dying.”

He loses himself for a moment, wincing his eyes in pain at the memory of that last look. A look of concern for the friend he knew best. Ben was dying and worried about Hawke. Worried about how he’d take it. How he’d be able to move on without him, almost like he knew Hawke would fall apart on his own and head down a dark trail of deep suffering and loss. The thought tells me all I need to know about who Ben was to Hawke—he was the brother he never had. The only family that looked out for him, someone who cared for who he was so deeply, was gone in a second.

“I wish it would’ve been me. It should’ve been me. Ben was good, a better man than me.” He shakes his head, curling his fist and pressing it to his skull, attempting to withdraw the hurt.

After a minute of getting himself together again, his sadness slowly phases into something else entirely. Anger. A deep-rooted anger that’s been so deeply repressed.

“I saw him, standing there on the road, out of the corner of my eye.”

He doesn’t even need to tell me who. I know he’s talking about Patrick.

“He just stood there, watching. I screamed at him at the top of my lungs, wiping the blood out of my eyes to look at him in his. I demanded he go call someone, go do something, anything, but he was just frozen in fear. Fear of knowing what he’d done.”

This is the part that has Hawke tied to Patrick in ways he wished he never was. The part that’s holding him hostage in a situation out of his control.

“Patrick killed Ben. He killed Ben and fled the scene.”