Page 117 of Rebel Hawke

He might not have a lot of direction in life, but one thing he has always been is loyal to a fault. And reliable. Filling in when needed anywhere in the Hawke Enterprises empire without argument—even if he complains about it to us occasionally.

Him not showing up for the tux fitting for Kennedy’s wedding doesn’t sit well with anyone.

Isaac pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks it, muttering something under his breath. Of everyone in the room, he’s the most annoyed with his little brother’s absence and the least likely to give him any grace when he does rush in with some excuse.

Pope takes off his jacket, watching Isaac closely. “Still no word from him?”

The hard set of Isaac’s jaw gives us the answer before he ever speaks. “Nope.”

Cass shifts in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees. “Did you ask your mom and dad?”

Isaac nods while he continues to stare at the phone in his hand. “Yep.” His eyes dart up to meet Cass’. “They haven’t seen him in two days.”

What started as annoyance over Coen being forty-five minutes late has suddenly shifted into something much more serious. The last thing the Hawkes need right now is another problem—like one of us MIA while Satriano lurks around.

I tighten my grip on my drink as my entire body goes rigid. “He’s not, like, missing, is he?”

A scowl tilts Isaac’s lips as he considers my question. “I’m not totally sure. He told me he was heading to Baton Rouge for something a couple of days ago. I haven’t heard from him since. But we all know it’s not totally unusual for him to disappear for a few days and then pop back up. It’s not like he has any sort of set schedule.”

Pope nods, but his hard, dark gaze holds concern. “True, but still, the fact that no one’s heard from him…”

My gut twists, the scotch souring. “He knew about the fitting, right?”

Isaac bobs his head, his thick, dark hair falling over his eyes. “We talked about it at dinner on Sunday.”

I chew on my bottom lip, trying to remember the conversation.

They probably did.

Not that I would know about it.

I was more engrossed in the heated discussion about my upcoming fatherhood with everyone, getting peppered with a million questions we don’t have answers to yet. It beat being drilled about my training and readiness for the fight, but it left me no time to engage with any other topics that may have been mentioned around the long, now-almost-overflowing table.

Cass tenses, his green eyes lifting from his drink to Isaac. “Should we be worried?”

Isaac sighs and slips his phone back into his pocket, running his hand over his head. “I don’t know. If I don’t hear from him by the end of the day, I guess we’ll send Bishop and Saint looking for him.”

Hell.

A somber mood settles over us.

Between my verbal snafu with Jude, and Coen potentially missing, the idea of joking about these stupid tuxes or Kennedy’s bridezilla attitude suddenly holds less appeal.

And her words from a few weeks ago come back, ringing in my ears.

It seems like anytime something good happens in this family, it’s immediately followed by two, sometimes three, bad things…

Wren’s pregnancy is something good.

That wasn’t what Kennedy was referring to at that point, since no one knew. She was concerned about what would happenafterthe opening, but now, I can’t shake the shiver down my spine, thinking she might be right.

Something good followed by two—or three—bad things.

Like a missing Coen.

Cass sits back, scanning the room. “Two weeks, guys…”

Everyone looks over at him.

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