Shit, right. He’d mounted his pistol in a nightstand gun safe three weeks ago. Because of the kid. Silently, he leaned over, started to touch the fingerprint scanner and—

He narrowed his eyes.

The person in the doorway was short.

Really fucking short.

“Aric.” His voice came out harsher than normal, as if he’d spent two days smoking bad tobacco and drinking rotgut.

The kid wasn’t scared at the sound. Never had been.

Aric came closer, as silent as Caz was when hunting. The kid didn’t speak.

Hawk almost laughed. As a kid, he’d been as uncommunicative—and had annoyed the hell out of his brothers and Mako.

“Your mama okay?”

The gray twilight showed the boy’s nod. He didn’t look frightened or anxious.

Doc Grayson had warned that any deviation in Aric’s life might have him regressing, which was Grayson’s fancy-ass-shrink way of saying the boy would get clingy again.

Because, when scared, he ran to Hawk like a baby bird hiding under its parent’s wing.

Understandable, but…damn. “Kid, your mom’s going to have a shi—uh, will be upset you’re not in bed.” Hawk scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to wake up. Could hardly send the squirt hiking back by himself. He stood up and made the gesture for ride. “Let’s go.”

Although Aric’s mouth flattened—the kid could be righteously stubborn—he let Hawk haul him up and set him on his hip.

Outside, a brightening of the dusk indicated the first hint of sunrise, which meant it was closing in on 4:30 or so. The dew-moistened grass in the courtyard was cold on his bare feet. As they crossed to Bull’s house next door, a light breeze rustled the rushes on the lake shore and reminded Hawk he hadn’t put on a damn shirt, either.

The deck door was unlocked. Before Hawk had walked halfway across the living area, his brother slid open the upstairs bedroom door.

Leaning on the railing, Bull looked down.

None of the brothers slept heavy. Not that Hawk had tried to be especially quiet.

Hawk tilted his head at Aric who was half asleep already and shrugged.

Bull let out a snort, shook his head, and disappeared into his room. Because he had a warm, loving woman in his bed.

Envy was a familiar ache in Hawk’s chest. He’d never have a wife and kids.

Instead of stewing, he headed down the narrow hallway beneath the second floor. The guest bedroom door was open, and he stopped in the doorway.

Kit was sleeping on her undamaged right side. Her long, streaky-brown hair lay loose over her pillow. Her splinted arm was on another pillow, her other arm stretched out toward Aric’s empty cot.

A pang ran through Hawk at the sight, at the knowledge that even in her sleep, she’d wanted to touch her son.