Page 111 of Rebel Hawke

I barely get the words out around my laughter and struggling breaths, and I use all my strength to try to get the big guy to budge.

He doesn’t relent, just feathers his lips over my stomach. “I don’t care. I’m talking to the baby.”

Well, damn.

My heart stops for a second before it returns to hammering violently against my ribcage from the exertion of trying to escape this man.

I swear, I never thought I’d be one of those women desperate to have kids, to be knocked up, especially by a man I’ve only been with for a few months. But something about lying in bed with him tonight, after we just saw our baby on a sonogram for the first time, knowing that we’re going to be a family fills me with a kind of joy I didn’t know was possible.

Or one I ever thought I could have.

Things were always so chaotic with Mom.

In and out of rehab.

Disappearing for days or weeks at a time.

Her constant struggle with addiction and no meaningful relationship with Dad meant I never felt truly settled or secure.

Gramps tried to keep all the bad things from me. He did his best to provide what I never got from the two people in the world who should have given it to me but weren’t fully able to.

But I saw the Hawkes.

Almost every day.

So many of them—some not even connected by blood.

With so much love that it practically oozed out of them.

And I craved that—the big, loud, at least seemingly happy family that was eternally there, supporting each other.

Looking back, I know better and understand that no one is ever happyallthe time, that there were always struggles lingering beneath the smiles and dramas happening behind the scenes, but it never changed how they were there for each other.

And me.

They helped Gramps give me the most normal life possible.

Things with the Hawkes aren’t exactly calm right now—not with the opening, the fight, the wedding, and Satrianoconstantly sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong—but I see a light at the end of the tunnel.

A future.

A real one with stability and love I couldn’t even fathom feeling.

All because of Atlas.

“Now, little one, I would appreciate it if you would stop making your mother so nauseous.” He kisses above my belly button and spreads his wide palm across it, his rough fingers tickling me again and making me squirm. His gaze darts up to meet mine, heated with something other than anger.Worry. “I don’t like seeing you sick.”

I laugh and shake my head. “I’m not sick, Atlas. I’m pregnant.”

His lips twist into a scowl. “Well, the baby is making you sick.”

Thankfully, not at this exact moment, though I know better than to think it will stay this way long. Ever since that night at dinner, things have been less than pleasant.

Something Atlas has been on high alert about.

Every minute.

Every day.

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