Page 128 of Rebel Hawke

Each and every Hawke came to the ceremony. Even Coen—who apparently decided to end everyone’s worrying and reappear once he heard about Gramps’ death—though he hasn’toffered any real explanation for his temporary absence aside from “it isn’t anyone’s business.”

They all act as though the man being buried today didn’t destroy their family.

That he wasn’t the precipitating factor that led to the death of their patriarch.

How can they be here?

How can they pretend?

How canshe?

The woman who becamemyNana as much as she was to her own grandchildren by blood stands on my other side, holding her umbrella, eyes locked on Gramps’ final resting place, with the grandmother I never met.

Another sob I’ve managed to keep down for the last few minutes climbs up my throat. It rends the chilly early morning air, shattering what should have been a peaceful moment to say our last goodbyes.

Atlas buries his face in my hair, holding me even tighter, while Nana’s continued silence eats away at me like a cancer.

Six days of dancing around the woman, of this truth being out there without either of us saying a word about it. Withoutanyoneuttering a single syllable to me regarding what Gramps did.

The tension of the unspoken words has built and built, like a pot trying to reach a boil. Accepting the heat. Diffusing it into my blood. Getting hotter and hotter. Closer and closer to finally hitting the right temperature to spill over.

My trembling becomes full-blown violent shaking, and I finally can’t take the silence anymore.

“I’m so sorry, Nana.”

Those words I’ve been choking back since the moment Atlas told the Hawkes the truth hang between us, melting into thesound of the falling rain pelting against all the stonework in the cemetery and the tops of our umbrellas.

It takes a moment before she finally turns toward me, her old eyes still sharp as they assess what I’m sure is my disastrous face. I didn’t even bother with makeup this morning. It would’ve all run off long before now—between my tears and the storm.

“Why are you apologizing, dear?”

I huff out a little half-sob.

Is she seriously asking me that?

She watches me, waiting for me to explain something that should be completely obvious.

Atlas presses his lips to my temple. “Little Bird, you don’t have to—”

I pull away from him. “Ido.” Turning back toward Nana again, I swallow past another sob. “Idoneed to apologize—for what he did, for what he caused. I…”

Don’t know what else to say.

Don’t know how to explain this guilt or what it’s doing to me.

Nana closes the short distance between us and rests her old, weathered hand on the arm of my raincoat. “No, dear, you don’t have to apologize. You had nothing to do with it.”

Atlas reaches over and lifts my chin, tilting it back until I face him. “She’s right, Little Bird.”

“But-but it was our fault.” I tug out of his hold and turn back to Nana. “His fault that you lost Sam, that you had to suffer through that…all the things that happened after…”

She squeezes my arm. “No, it wasn’t. If Jimmy knew something was wrong, then Sam did, too.” Her lips press together, and she shakes her head. “Hell, I should have. Ilivedwith the man, was married to him, had five children with him…andIdidn’t notice.” She swallows thickly. “I am just as much at fault for not seeing that he was not completely right before he went into that ring.”

Her own pain makes her voice crack, and Atlas tenses next to me.

Of course, he’s thinking about what’s coming next weekend.

Only a matter of days separate him from the fight that will change his life and those of all the Hawkes forever.

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