Aric still had both arms around Hawk’s neck, holding on like a lifeline. How the fuck could the boy want to be around him?

“Hawk.” Kit’s gaze met his. “Fair’s fair.”

She’d told him about her aunt and uncle. And he’d scared her kid. Had led her on and got her to love him—to love someone way too screwed up to be a good man. He owed her an explanation.

Man up, asshole. “They were okay till my father lost his job. Had to move to another state to find even crappier work. Pissed him off. He took it out on me.”

Hawk stopped, cold seeping into his blood.

“Not before?” Kit prompted.

“Not…much. Till he noticed I looked like him and wanted to toughen me up. Called me a pussy, a coward, stupid and clumsy.” Hawk managed a laugh. “He scared me so much I really was.”

Kit leaned her forehead against his arm. “You had your own Obadiah, didn’t you? Where was your mother?”

Of course Kit would ask. She’d done everything she could to keep Aric out of the firing zone, even when she got hurt instead.

“Her family was around until we moved. Then she took his side…maybe to keep from getting slapped around herself.”

Regan took up position beside Hawk, leaning against him, no less. “Wow, your mama was a stupidhead pendeja.” She looked up, filled with righteous judgment.

He stared down at the girl. The first time they’d met, he’d terrified her and made her cry. What was she doing? And she’d called his mother the Spanish equivalent to asshole?

He glanced at Caz.

His brother’s lips quirked. “What she said.”

Regan grinned.

“You had that scar on your forehead even in the foster home. Your dad?” Bull handed him a beer.

Damn his brothers. He’d always managed to avoid this shit before. Now, though... He was fucked.

Stalling, Hawk downed half of the bottle before handing it back. Get it out. “He was fixing a doorknob. I startled him, and he dropped a screw. So, he threw the screwdriver at me.”

Regan wrapped her arms around him, staring at the white line across his forehead. “I hate your dad.”

Aric’s eyes were filled with tears again—and so were Kit’s as she pulled Hawk down to brush soft fingers over the long, ugly scar. Ugly because his parents hadn’t taken him to get it stitched. Because a doctor might have asked him how it happened.

“No wonder you yelled at Aric. You have first-hand experience of what can happen when things are thrown,” Kit murmured.

Hawk shook his head. “The memory got me. I lost it. Because I’m a—”