Aric didn’t move, and fuck, it felt as if he was kicking a puppy. Dammit, Mako. It’d be easier to kill a few insurgents than deal with this.

Man up, Calhoun. Hawk forced his voice to stay level. “Get started, boy, before you get cold.”

The kid turned and trudged toward the smokehouse. Slowly.

“Hey.”

Aric turned.

Holding his arm up, Hawk pumped his fist up and down in the army hand signal for go faster.

Aric took two stubbornly slow steps, then his nerve broke, and he started to run. He reached the smokehouse and sprinted back. At the foot of the steps, he caught his breath and looked up at Hawk. Water soaked his hair; his clothes were sopping.

Hawk kept the sympathy off his face. “What’s your gut feel like? Still angry that it’s quiet time?”

Aric scowled.

Yeah, not there yet. “Go again.” Hawk motioned to the smokehouse.

It was a long way for a four-year-old, and by the time Aric got back, he was flagging.

Hawk winced. Kit might murder him for this. Then again, she wasn’t a pushover when it came to her son’s behavior.

Hawk looked at Aric, and this time, his question obtained a shake of Aric’s head rather than a scowl.

Aric stayed quiet even as Hawk helped him into dry clothes and brought him back downstairs. It was fucking tempting to just drop the matter and simply hug the boy.

Finish the lesson.

Hawk tossed a stuffed owl onto the pillow pile at the tunnel opening where he’d left the book. Sitting down, he pulled Aric into his lap.

Aric went stiff, then snuggled against him.

The relief was enormous. “You got angry about quiet time, yeah?”

Head down, Aric nodded, his fingers picking at his shirtsleeve.

“We all get angry when we don’t get our way.” Hawk ran his hand down the damp hair. “But throwing things is a bad choice. I guess you saw Obadiah throw shit?”

After a second, Aric nodded, not looking at Hawk.

“You don’t want to be like him.”

Aric shook his head, chin firming up.

“When I was little, I pretended my anger was a smoke monster that I had to blow away.” Doc Grayson came up with the weirdest shit. But it’d worked.

The big blue gaze turned up to Hawk. “Smoke monster?”

“Yeah. If my gut got pissed-off”—Hawk patted Aric’s stomach—“it’d make a smoke monster.” He’d get so furious, he’d go berserk.

“It’s hard to think with a smoke monster in your face.” When Hawk waved his hand in the air, Aric’s eyes widened as if he could see the imaginary smoke.

“Blow real hard. Make it go away.”

Aric puffed. Over and over.

“That’s it.” Hawk nodded. “When the monster’s gone, it’s easier to figure out what to do.”

Aric’s brows drew together as he considered.