I’m not sure if it’s my overall hesitancy or nerves mistaken as a lack of enthusiasm toward Vince, but something about the moment shifts.

Even with Hawke in front of me, I suddenly have doubts about my decision to be okay with this. It’s not Hawke and it’s not Vince, it’s me.

Am I trying to be something I’m not by doing this?

“Stop.” My voice cuts through the lust clouding the room. Hawkin shoves back off me, and the lack of physical connection with him immediately leaves me cold and insecure. So many things flicker through my mind in a flash and the only one I can hold on to is shame.

I know it’s not warranted—I have a right to change my mind—but even with the strength of my feelings for Hawkin I feel like an inadequate little virgin who can’t hang with the big boys.

And then I stop myself and wonder if I just have cold feet. That maybe my buzz has worn off and now I’m letting nerves control my thoughts when I shouldn’t.

“Just go!” Hawke’s voice is low and even and full of an emotion I can’t quite peg, and I hate that I can’t see his face to read his expression. At first I think he’s talking to Vince, but he’s facing me and when he doesn’t move or speak and the only sound in the room is the remnants of the party downstairs, I realize Hawkin is talking to me.

I feel like he’s slapped me although we’re nowhere near touching. The shame I felt but told myself was my own ridiculous insecurity comes back with a vengeance. “Hawke …”

“We’ll deal with—just go!” He bites the words out, and I can hear his feet heavy against the floor as he paces before something slams against the dresser.

What the hell? He’s kicking me out because I changed my mind? Talk about whiplash. “I’m sorry …” I say and am immediately pissed at myself because I shouldn’t be. Besides, what am I apologizing for? For being nervous? For changing my mind? Yes, but I sure as hell am not going to apologize for not being like one of the floozies downstairs who would have dived in headfirst.

“This is … I can’t with you…. You’re not …” I can hear the remorse in his voice as he tries to explain but my embarrassment has now turned into anger. I’m off the bed in an instant, hands reaching in the dark for my clothes because right now all I want is out of here and away from this mess. Hawke takes a step toward me. “Q, don’t you … Vince … FUCK!”

“I knew that she—”

“Shut the fuck up, Vin!” Hawke shouts but my mind is still focused on what Vince said, the amusement in his voice even more confusing than the irritation in Hawkin’s.

If my head wasn’t so hell-bent on leaving I’d laugh at the thought of the two of them, half dressed and yelling at each other, but my focus is on getting dressed. I hurriedly throw on my jeans and shirt, bra left somewhere in the darkness, and open the bedroom door to leave.

“Quin. Wait!” Hawke’s voice calls to me but Vince cuts him off.

“Dude, what’s your fucking problem?” he asks, a mocking tone in his voice I never expected, and I’m so confused how I could have been so wrong about him. I’m instantly pissed at myself and my misjudgment but I can process that later because right now I’m hurt. And angry.

“You. Her. This!” Hawke shouts, but I’m so busy being upset I don’t stop to consider just what he’s referring to.

And I mean so much to Hawke that he chooses to go toe-to-toe with Vince rather than chase after me. The question is after everything that just happened, do I really want him to?

The notion hangs in the back of my mind as I hurry down the stairs, fighting the tears that now come with my head down, the walk of shame written all over my face, and I’m so hurt I don’t care who sees it. A few people ask me if I’m okay but I just keep moving forward because if I’m moving then I’m focused on that and not the shit running around in my head: shame, anger, disbelief at my poor judgment, hurt.

I’m pulled from my internal struggle when I swear I hear my name being called but after I stop for a moment, I don’t hear anything. The hope I had that I was wrong crashes back down around me because if I mattered, if whatever we are mattered, he would be chasing after me, right?

Pushing open the door I hurry into the darkness of the backyard and welcome the cool night air, needing some time to wrap my head around everything. I head as far as possible away from the house, into the shadows of the garden to lose myself for a bit.

People are milling around the grounds but no one gives me a second glance, so lost in their own conversations or so drunk I don’t register. I find a bench and sit down, elbows on my knees and head in my hands. The eddy of chaos still remains and I just need to slow my mind down, feel my way through the fog of everything that happened, deal in concretes, not emotions.

Something is niggling at the back of my mind that I can’t put my finger on and I need to calm down so that I can figure it all out.

Lying back on the bench, I straddle my legs on either side of it and close my eyes as I start to go through everything from the moment that Hawkin came into the room. At first it all seems pretty clear-cut, that there is no room for misinterpretation, but the longer I sit here with the fresh air clearing my mind and my buzz abating, my perspective starts to shift and change.

In my mind, I hear the tone of Hawke’s voice again, the hesitancy, and of course I curse myself for being so nervous that I grabbed him and kissed him and never let him finish whatever he was going to say to me. Because now that I think about it without the anxiety and lust and alcohol interfering with my thoughts, I almost feel like he was going to tell me something.

My mind starts to spin now, to look at everything from another angle, and I realize that Hawkin’s anger wasn’t directed at me, I think it was at Vince. I replay everything over and over again, my heart starting to pound again but for a very different reason as my supposition becomes more and more concrete.

Oh my God. How stupid could I have been? I’m so used to being the one treated like crap in a relationship that I inherently assumed the worst rather than giving him the benefit of the doubt. I sit up and wipe the tears from my cheeks that I didn’t even realize were there and try to steady myself. I have to figure out how to explain my overreaction when there really is nothing I can even say but I’m sorry.

“You’re so stupid, Westin,” I mutter to myself as the tiny bubbles of hope start to rise to the surface. Hawkin didn’t care that I changed my mind, in fact he was probably glad that I did because now with a clear head, I realize he wasn’t mad at me at all. No. He wanted me all to himself, thought enough of me that he didn’t want to share. The revelation buoys me as I start back across the grounds to find him and explain myself as best as possible.

I laugh softly in exasperation as one of my mom’s go-to comments she used to tell me as a teenager flickers through my mind, “If you’re not willing to sound stupid, then you don’t deserve to be in love.”

And then it hits me. My laugh and feet falter, my breath hitches, and my heart stumbles and falls completely off the cliff. I’m in love with Hawkin. The thought staggers me momentarily because my mom was right, with anybody else that I’ve been with, I wouldn’t have even thought twice about feeling stupid. I would have laughed this all off as a misunderstanding and if it worked, it worked, and if it didn’t, it didn’t.

Standing here in the darkness as the awareness hits me, I feel stupid once again, but not only for my freak-out upstairs but because I never saw this coming. I’ve been blindsided. Hell, I’ve fallen for men time and again, but never like this to the point where when the awareness hits, my chest constricts and my heart thunders as every part of me wants to see him right now to right my wrong.

And then I hear him call my name. Relief surges through me and then crashes when a figure steps out of the house’s shadows. It’s not Hawkin, it’s Hunter. I bristle immediately, self-conscious of my braless chest and the cold night air, feeling naked around him even though I’m clothed.

“Where’s the fire?” he asks as he steps in my path. “You’re like a woman on a mission running across the grass and I’m not going to say I mind the view.” His eyes flicker down to my breasts and I immediately cross my arms in front of myself.

“None of your business,” I say as I try to skirt around him. His hand flashes out and grabs my upper arm and I’m more annoyed than anything because I don’t want to deal with him or his shit right now. This is only my second or third encounter and the man can take a hike. I can see why Hawkin has warned me about him.

“What’s this?” he asks, pulling me into him as I try to yank my arm from his grip. I notice his lip is swollen, like he’s been hit, but by the time I process the thought, he speaks. “You’ve been crying? What did wonder boy … oh, OH, you must have found out.” The knowing tone in his voice has me tilting my head in question and narrowing my eyes. “I’m sorry. I told him you deserved more respect than to be the endgame of one of their stupid band bets.”

The words hit my ears but don’t really register. My lips open and close but nothing comes out as I try to ask what bet but I think deep down I already know, vague hints of a conversation flickering briefly through my subconscious.

“Bet?” I croak when I’m finally able to speak, and I’m not sure if I want to know more or would rather be left in the dark. I know I should write off what he’s saying after the staunch warnings Hawke’s given me about how his brother will try to hurt him at all costs, but that red flag warning deep down has me standing still rather than walking away.