Page 1 of His for the Holiday

1

HAWK

Alot of men would’ve had my balls for this thought, but right then, I would have preferred to be anywhere else than with the honest-to-God supermodel on my arm. People paid her lots of money for being pretty and she was hanging all over me. With legs two miles long and an ass made for spanking, she should’ve captivated me, but she made me feel nothing but bored and annoyed.

Listening to her voice was like having a cheese grater taken to my ears and we didn’t have a single thing in common. Usually, none of those things would’ve bothered me. As it was, we were on a date that was guaranteed to end with her in my bed, but I was undeniably, completely disinterested in this whole scene tonight.

On yet another date with yet another model in yet another hot nightclub in LA, I was suddenly bored with life. Not that anyone would feel sorry for a thirty-something billionaire bachelor who was tired of fancy parties and wild sex. I worked all day, partied late into the night, and went home with someone new I would never see again once the sun rose.

Over and over again, the days ran together in a haze of pleasure. It was all sex and booze and no inhibitions. I was living the dream until I wasn’t. The shine of that life had been fading fast, and I felt the need for something better, something with substance.

Shifting on the stool I was seated on, I turned away from the model and looked around, wondering if I could slip out without her noticing. Lights flashed red, green, and blue over the packed dance floor below and up here in the VIP area. She seemed adequately entertained by the pretty colors. I could be out the back exit and halfway home before she noticed.

Then she grabbed my arm and squealed in my ear. “This song is a banger! Hawky, baby! Dance with me.”

She put her drink down on the edge of the cocktail table beside us, then pushed herself away from it a little too hard and teetered on her heels. Obviously feeling the effects of the bottle service, she grabbed the edge of the table to keep from falling over. Swaying like a newborn fawn, she tried to regain her balance. Giggles peeled from her full lips as if it was the funniest thing that had ever happened to her.

“Oops.” She winked at me, or at least she attempted to, but it looked more like her eyelid was spazzing out. “Will you dance with me? It has to go on my Insta.”

At that exact moment, my phone buzzed in my pocket and I sighed with quiet relief as I pulled it out. “Sorry, Marla.”

“It’s Darla!”

I nodded. “That’s what I said, baby. Now duty calls.”

I’d planned on letting the call go to voicemail, but as it came out of my inner pocket, I saw my sister’s name on the screen and frowned. Emery never called at this hour. With three young boys and our father to take care of, she was usually wiped out before seven p.m.

“I have to take this. I’ll be back.” I ignored the pouting girl who immediately picked up her drink again.

Since there was no way I’d be able to hear my sister inside, I strode toward the back exit, smoothly leaving through a private door to a quiet balcony on the VIP level. Membership had its privileges. Emery had hung up, but I called her back, worry nagging at me. She hadn’t been calling to talk about the weather.

When she answered, I skipped the pleasantries. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

“No, Hawk. It’s not,” she said, frustration dripping from her tone. “I’m at the hospital with Dad. Again. He’s not doing well.”

I sighed, but before I could respond, she spoke again, her tone urgent and her words clipped, like she knew she needed to get it all out before I could come up with an excuse to get off the phone with her. “The doctor says his Parkinson’s is progressing. Do you hear me? Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Emery. I do, but⁠—”

“No. That’s the thing. I don’t think you really do understand. He’s at the point now where I’m caring for him full-time and trying to run his business. Plus, he’s determined to still be out on the tug every day. I can’t do it all alone anymore, Hawk.” She paused, and I could picture her sitting at her kitchen table, knuckles white as she gripped the phone, brow furrowed in desperation. “I need your help.”

“I already told you I’d handle it.” I moved over to the glass and metal railing around the balcony and gripped it tight, looking out over the thousands of twinkling lights belonging to the city I now called home. “My assistant got him into a really nice home that⁠—”

“No,” she said again, loudly and insistently this time. “You need to come home. Come back to Portsmouth yourself and help me close down the family business and find full-time care for Dad. We’re not just sticking him into a home and forgetting about him.”

“This isn’t just any home, though,” I argued. “I’m telling you, Emery. This place is amazing. Their facilities are state of the art, their care is top notch, and I’ll pay for it all. It won’t cost you a dime.”

“Well, if it won’t cost me a dime,” she said dryly, but I knew she was being sarcastic. A heavy exhale filled the line and I heard her pull in another deep breath. “I know you can afford a place like that, and it does sound amazing, but this is our father. He never wanted to be in a home. You know as well as I do that if we send him there, we might as well be signing his death warrant. We can do better.”

I groaned. She wasn’t wrong.

All the money in the world couldn’t help me buy my way out of the fact that our father’s health was deteriorating and that he would never—even in a million years—willingly agree to move into the home I had lined up for him.

“Thanksgiving is coming up,” Emery said, her voice softer this time. “You haven’t been home in three years. Just come back to Portsmouth for the holidays, please?”

Fuck.

I couldn’t pay my way out of that one either.