“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. But 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 that was 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.

Obadiah had considered her fear as a prize. Not Hawk. There had been pain in his blue-gray eyes when she’d cringed. She’d hurt him.

And so, she’d found her courage.

She couldn’t blame herself for being frightened, of any man, really. But Hawk…talk about intimidating.

He had dark blond hair, cut short, and a trim beard that outlined his lean, hard jawline. He moved like…like he was ready for a fight at any moment, and he’d obviously been in a few. The reddish tan of his fair skin contrasted with a long white scar across his forehead and one on his neck. Another scar ran down his cheek into his mustache and was deep enough it pulled his top lip up into a slight sneer.