Page 11 of Rebel Hawke

My machines have been ordered, along with everything else I’ll need. I’ve already received my business license, and now, it’s a matter of putting in a little sweat equity.

“Why the rush?”

Besides the fact that I need the money and so does Gramps?

“I need something to occupy my time.”

Otherwise, I’ll be tempted to sit in the gym and watch you train.

I shrug as nonchalantly as I can. “Just trying to keep myself busy, that’s all.”

“You’ll tell me if you need any help?” The genuine concern in his question tugs at something deep in my chest. “You know I have access to plenty of sets of hands willing to come and assist with literally anything.”

Dozens of faces pop into my head—mostly as they looked twenty years ago when I left rather than the more recent pictures of the Hawkes I’ve found in the news.

“Howarethe Hawkes?”

He releases a heavy sigh, and I peek at him again to watch him run his hand through his bleached-blond hair. The tightness in his shoulders keeps them stiff, and worry crinkles the edges of his eyes. “That’s a bit of a loaded question. You’ve been gone for a long time.”

I nod slowly. “I have. Though, Gramps has kept me up to date on a few things, like the hotel. You’re supposed to be fighting at the opening, right?”

His jaw hardens, and a muscle there tics.

Unease radiates off him, and I quickly avert my gaze again.

“Yeah, I’msupposedto be.”

The emphasis he puts on the word makes me freeze. “You’re not going to?”

Tension thickens the air around us, and the playful reunion mood dissipates almost instantly. “I’m planning to.”

A simple answer that doesn’tsoundso simple at all.

“Well, I wish you luck…”

It’s a brush-off, and he knows it, not to mention a real asshole move on my part to try to get him to leave before I have to face him.

“Are you pissed at me about something, Wren?” He shifts closer, his jeans rustling and that scent enveloping me even more. “Can’t even look me in the eye?”

Fuck, I should have known I wouldn’t get away with it.

I don’t want my reunion with Atlas to start on the wrong foot when I’m likely going to have to see him every day around here. He hasn’t done anything to deserve my reticence, and it isn’t as if I can hide from him forever…

Don’t make it any more awkward than it already is.

Swallowing my pride, I prepare to do something that’s never been an issue before. In all the years since the fire, I’ve never hidden myself or the injuries I suffered. I’ve never pretended to be something I’m not, and I’ve done my damnedest to turn my scars into something that can be inspiring for people. A visual representation of how I literally rose from the ashes to rebuild a life after mine went up in flames.

But I know what his reaction is going to be.

And I may not be ready for it.

Pity.

From strangers?

I can accept it.

From the first boy I ever kissed?

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