Hawk held out his free hand. “Grab on. Go at your own pace.”

She froze.

Hell, what had he been thinking? She wouldn’t accept help from someone who looked like him. Sure wouldn’t touch him.

Even as he started to pull his arm back, she took his hand. Her hand was cold and tiny, but as he closed his fingers around hers, he could feel her callused skin. Even three weeks of being laid-up hadn’t eradicated the evidence of hard work.

Her wary gaze met his, and then, using him as an anchor, she slid forward on the couch. After rising to her feet, she released his hand. “That helped. Thank you.”

Damn. Unexpected pleasure swept through him. She’d let him assist.

Frankie shook her head. “I have trouble extracting myself from this sectional, too, and I don’t have broken ribs. We’ll find a smaller chair for you to use.”

“No, it’s fine,” Kit protested. “I—”

“There’s an extra armchair in Mako’s quarters.” Hawk turned toward the guest bedroom with Aric and ignored Bull’s surprise at his words.

So, yeah, maybe he didn’t like change and didn’t want strangers touching the sarge’s things. Maybe he’d been pissed off when his brothers let Gabe’s officer, JJ, stay there. However, Kit needed a chair she could sit in. He was just being practical.

In the guest bedroom, Aric’s cot was next to the bigger bed. Same setup as the kid had used in Hawk’s bedroom.

Stepping around Hawk, Kit flipped the covers back.

After laying Aric down, Hawk slid the kid’s shoes and socks off. “He just had a bath,” he muttered.

“Thank you.” She tucked the covers around her son. “I can see he’s gained weight. Has a suntan. And he isn’t terrified all the time.” When she looked up at Hawk, tears filled her eyes. “You’ve taken good care of him.”

Hawk backed away. Crying. Fuck no. There should be a law or something—no crying around him. “No problem.”

Words exhausted, he walked out.

In the living room, Bull and Frankie watched him.

When Bull smiled, Hawk considered planting a fist in his brother’s face. “Let’s get that fucking chair.”

As Kit closed the door of her bedroom, she heard the men talking in the living room. Bull had an incredibly deep voice. Hawk’s was almost as deep, but with a gravelly, harsh timbre.

Such different men. Bull was open, friendly, and completely straightforward. He reminded her of a wide, slow-moving river so clear one could see the sparkling stones in the depths.

Hawk was more like a mountain glacier. Slow-moving and unstoppable. Hiding everything submerged within the ice, yet with unexpected sparkling waterfalls.

And so very, very deep.

When he’d seen she couldn’t rise without help, he’d offered his hand. And scared her.