Page 161 of Rebel Hawke

So damn much.

But I need him to tell me. I need him to give me the details instead of the snippets I caught while trying to eavesdrop up here.

“Is that what happened the other day, Atlas?” I reach out and grip the railing that surrounds the landing, staring down at him at the bar—the last place he should be the night before a fight. “Satriano showed up?”

He nods, tipping back his drink and hissing as he sets the tumbler down. “He came to the gym as I was leaving to come home to you…”

I slowly make my way down the stairs, watching him and trying to gauge how close he is to going nuclear. “And he wants you to throw the fight?”

His hand tightens on the glass. “It isn’t just about Coen, Little Bird. He set odds that I was going to lose, and if I win…”

Stopping at the bottom step, gripping the banister until my knuckles whiten, Ifinallysee why he’s been so out of sorts this week.

It wasn’t nerves.

It had nothing to do with his shoulder.

It had nothing to do with losing Gramps.

It had nothing to do with that final cut.

It was the fact that he had been put in an impossible position.

“You can’t throw the fight.”

He whirls toward me, frigid turmoil swirling in icy-blue eyes as he advances toward me. “You think I don’tknowthat? Christ, I spent my whole life working for this, Wren. The family needs me to win. I need to win for you and your grandfather.Ineed to win forme. But winning would give him reason to come after me, Coen, and the rest of the family.” His body vibrates so badly that I can feel it, even though we are still inches apart. “I have to protect everyone”—he slides his hand over my stomach—“and that includes you and the baby.”

Tears stream down my cheeks now, watching him be torn apart by this, knowing what having this decision weigh on him must feel like. There is nowinningin this. Either way,someoneis going to get hurt.

But he’s seeing this all wrong.

He’s spent so many years protecting everyone else, so long on the defensive where the Hawkes are concerned against any enemies who rear their ugly heads, that he can’t even see the forest for the trees.

He can’t see what this will do tohim.

Tous.

“Don’t make this about me, Atlas.” I lace my fingers over his on my belly and press them into my body. “I don’t need the protection. I’m tougher than I look.”

His eyes flicker up to meet mine, a tumultuous cyclone of confusion and love spinning across the blue waters. “Believe me, Little Bird. I know how fucking tough you are, but there are some things you can’t fight. Satriano is one of them.”

Which is the entire point.

That’s what he can’t or won’t see.

That thereisno way to win.

Not really.

Only different ways to lose—some better than others.

“Atlas, I know I haven’t been around for most of this thing with Satriano, but I’ve been here long enough to know that he’s not going anywhere. This tension with him existedlongbefore this fight, and it won’t go away if you throw it.”

Damon isn’t leaving New Orleans.

He isn’t breaking his ties with the Hawkes.

There will always be the threat and uncertainty.

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