Hawke

He lifts me quickly, hands beneath my bottom, supporting me as we move from the couch to the bedroom, mouths never disconnecting. Laying me back on the mattress, he pulls down my shorts, throwing them across the room before kneeling down at the edge of the bed.

“Hawke,” I moan in anticipation.

His eyes find mine, the moan captivating him, energizing him with his own lust and desire. He loves when I make noises for him, just as I love when he makes noises for me.

“Say it’s us,” he demands, his lips trailing on my inner thigh. “Say you’re mine, all mine.”

His constant need to hear it never bothers me. I want to drown him in my admiration, bury him in endless love.

“Mmm, I’m yours.” I writhe beneath him, needing those lush lips on me immediately. “Always.”

He separates my legs with his hands, his tongue slowly dragging up my inner thigh before finally reaching my clit. His hands wrap around the top of my thighs, holding me in place as he licks the length of me, making me arch my back at the delicious sensation.

“I love the taste of you,” he murmurs against my sex, driving me insane.

His lips suck and kiss me in all the right places. His lip ring, adding the perfect sensation to the already stimulating experience. Pushing a finger inside of me, I cry out breathlessly. He looks up at me through his fallen black hair, his tongue flicking my clit, before applying a forceful pressure against it. He knows my every tic, just as I know his.

“You’re driving me insane.” I groan, grabbing the bed sheets beneath me with white knuckles, attempting to hold off my impending orgasm.

He’s not having it, though. He loves when I come before sex, making me extra wet for him to slide in where he belongs.

Slowly easing another finger inside of me, he begins sliding and withdrawing them at a steady pace. The feeling of him caressing the place that aches so badly to be touched by him drives me to the point of madness.

I run my fingers through the hair at the top of his head, gripping it, then lifting my hips to meet his tongue.

He groans approvingly, loving when I get rough with him, as my muscles seize up and the orgasm washes over me. My head hits the mattress as I call out to God again and again as he milks the pleasure out of me.

Without missing a beat, he’s on top of me, both of us stripped of the rest of our clothes beneath the comforter. Resting his hips between my thighs, he worships the skin of my neck and chest, never seeming to get his fix. I grab the back of his neck, pulling him up to my lips, needing his tongue against mine, moving together in the electrifying way that we do.

“I love you, Cameron Hawke,” I whisper, the breath of my sentence reaching his lips.

He watches me intently in the hypnotic way that he does before I feel his tip graze my sex. With his lips parted, he gazes from my eyes to my lips, then back again, as he buries himself inside me. I struggle to keep my eyes open at the welcomed pain of accommodating him. He slides himself deep, eyes wincing, mouth dropping open as he does. We become stimulated by our wild and aching arousal for each other, both of us moaning out in pure bliss at our connection. His forearms give out as he puts his weight on me, forehead resting against mine, chest against chest, as close as we can possibly be.

“You save me,” he says in a raspy tone. “You wreck me, break me apart, pick up my pieces, and you fucking save me.”

I lose my breath at his statement. I could never feel more connected to another soul than I do with Cameron. I may save him, but he saves me, too. He woke me from a lifetime of sleep, years of walking around without truly being awake. He helped make me the woman I am now by letting me see myself for who I really am, and who I am in the reflection of those ocean eyes. I break him and pick up his pieces, but he obliterates me, tearing down the thoughts that used to make me, building me up again with my own instructions. He makes me the best form of myself. How could I not save him? He’s the only one I’ve ever known worth saving.

We make slow, sweet, and tortuous love. The kind that makes you feel so much you could implode with how wild your heart beats. I feel him beneath my skin, deep within my bones, and everywhere beneath the surface that’s otherwise untouchable. Our souls become so intertwined, locking through our dilated eyes, and direct eye contact that keeps us fully engaged, completely present in one another, consumed by each other. I want to be woven so tightly with him we both forget what it’s like to know loneliness. Time. There isn’t enough time on this earth for us to ever get enough of each other.

Tears stain my cheeks, and he kisses each of them away as we hold each other, breathless in bliss. We heal each other with the love we’re constantly feeling the need to prove. Only we don’t need to prove it. Not even a little bit. How do you prove the intangible? It’s an undefined feeling we embrace and the trust between us, never stronger.

We let it take us to the edge of the cliff as we take that endless step off the ledge together, flying blindly into it, hand in hand as we bask in the feeling of free falling. The promise of forever is written in scars across each other’s hearts. Never will there be a love like ours. We fought against it, but it found us hiding, proving all of this was out of our control. As out of control as it should be.

You don’t plan for these things to happen in life, the insurmountable pain, the torture of misfortune, the agony of losing loved ones too soon. You don’t expect the forces around you to find a way to make good come of it. We as humans try to grasp for meaning during difficult times, telling ourselves to remain hopeful, that everything is for a reason.

Sometimes those reasons make sense, and most times, they don’t. There is always a constant though. Love. It finds its way like a weed growing through the cracks of cement meant to hold it out. It’s determined to show its beautiful self, even in the midst of the darkness surrounding it. Crazy things happen because of love, unimaginable things that seem too rare to be purely coincidence.

A month later, Patrick was officially charged and locked up along with his father for the crimes they committed. The family name was tarnished in a way that was always deserved. Justice finally prevailed, and it was a sweet and beautiful victory for Hawke and Ben. We later sold the house and all of our belongings, including my car. We felt freedom in starting over again with nothing but a couple of bags holding what we owned. There was power in knowing you didn’t need anything but each other, despite the future being unknown.

“That’s it, babe,” I say with a sigh, walking out of 9-5 Slide for the last time. “It’s official. I’m homeless and jobless.”

He pushes off the wall with one of his boots, where he was leaning with a little smirk on his face. Throwing out his cigarette and stomping on it, he approaches me slowly, his eyes trailing my body up and down, leaving fire in their wake. He brushes a few black strands of hair off his forehead, gazing at me before toying with his lip ring. “Hottest homeless woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Cole, wait!” I hear John’s voice coming from behind me as he pushes through the doors.

It wasn’t easy saying goodbye to him. He’s become such a good friend of mine and instrumental in the changing phase of my life. I’m leaving him on a good note, though. Anna had the baby. A little girl named June. His heart has never seemed fuller and his smile, never so radiant.

“Uh-oh. What’d I forget?”

He chuckles. “Nothing. Here,” he says, handing me a small wrapped item. “A gift. From Leonard and I. A start to your new life.”

He hands it to me with glassy eyes. I love how sensitive and empathetic he is. It’s one of his best qualities. I’m going to miss him and Leonard, and this little hole-in-the-wall bar that became like a second home to me.

“I gotta go back in. I can’t watch you guys leave. I’ll be a blubbering mess and no one wants a crying bartender.” He sniffs before giving me another hug, then shakes up with Hawke.

Hawke approaches me from the side, his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, peering at my gift. I rip the newspaper wrapping off like I can’t do it fast enough. My emotions bubble over when I hold the gift in my hands.

It’s a leather hardcover book. On the front, an inscription, ‘Redemption’. I wipe my tears away, opening the freshly bound book, smelling the blank pages as I flip my thumb through them.

“Is that the beginning of our story?” Hawke asks softly, wrapping his arms around me, his head on my shoulder, looking down at the blank book waiting to be filled.

I smile to myself, clenching my jaw tightly, then nod through the falling tears.

He squeezes me, gently kissing the side of my head. I put the book in my backpack, tying it back up as Hawke helps me with my helmet. He straddles the bike first, starting it up while holding onto the bar with his firm grip.

We’re off to California, heading towards the coast, leaving this little town and all it taught us behind, taking every lesson and moving forward. It’s time to start fresh. Time for our chance to live. Really live.

Hawke turns his head to me, waiting for me to hop on. I swing my leg over the warmed seat, slipping my hands beneath his leather coat, taking the opportunity to clutch onto his firm chest and abdomen while breathing him in. Leather, mint, and stale cigarettes. Who would’ve thought this smell would make my heart flutter?

He stiffens, pausing for a moment to take off his helmet. His legs straighten as the goosebumps on his neck become present.

“Unreal,” he whispers in a breathy tone through his lips.

“What? What’s wrong?” I ask, gripping his shirt, trying to turn him to face me.

He chuckles to himself, staring down at something in disbelief. He laughs again and begins shaking his head.

“What is it?” I ask again, confused.

“Do you hear that?”

I try to listen to the sounds around me, but nothing is striking a chord. He turns up the radio on the bike and I get chills that start at the tips of my fingers where I’m holding onto him. They course through my body until I feel completely shook with an unworldly sensation.

The beginning beat always gets me. Like crickets hissing in the grass to the beat of the drums, the guitar strumming those notes you feel deep in your chest.

The song, “In the Air Tonight” by Phil Collins.

Hawke turns to face me with a narrow-eyed smile, his full lips curling into ethereal beauty before me. He knows it, just as I do. He feels every bit of this significant moment, just as I do, truly holding the weight of everything around us. He’s here with us.

And then, at the same time Phil sings he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life, Hawke ends the phrase along with Phil while sitting back down, gripping my hands firmly around his torso again, the both of us smiling like crazy.

“Hold on.”

THE END