Page 129 of Rebel Hawke

I glance up at him to find him watching his grandmother closely, tears brimming in his eyes. But he doesn’t say a word—either because he can’t or he doesn’t want to.

He hasn’t said much since we left the hospital.

Not about the fight or about what Gramps did.

Whenever I’ve tried to bring up either, he’s silenced me with a gentle kiss and a plea not to worry and to let it go.

As if it’s that easy.

This isn’t something to justlet go.

And it would be impossible for menotto be worried about the fight with everything that’s happened.

Antonia inhales, long and slow, then blows it out, her breath misting in the chilly air. “There’s so much blame to pass around, but none of it falls on you, Wren. Me, Sam himself, Dom.” She tightens her grip on her umbrella with both hands until her knuckles whiten. “That man destroyed so many lives, and after all this time, learning his role in Sam’s death—”

“It was intentional.” Atlas’ deep voice sends another chill through me, and he shifts beside me, pressing his chest into my shoulder and pulling me against him again. “Dom was always in love with you, Nana. I don’t think there’s any question about that. He set his sights on you, and he removed the fucking competition.” He grits the words through clenched teeth. “It wasneverabout the money, the bets. That man wantedyou, plain and simple. And as soon as Grandfather was gone, he stepped in and tried to sink his claws into you and your kids.”

She shudders and squeezes her eyes closed, shaking her head. “And I should have seen it.”

“No one is to blame buthim, Nana.”

Her eyes open slowly, and she looks at her grandson. “That may be easy for you to say, but I’ve spent all these years wondering if there was something I could have done.”

Atlas releases a little incredulous snort. “Do you think you could have stopped him from getting into the ring even if you had noticed it and said something about sensing he was off?”

Releasing a humorless laugh that seems to carry across the cemetery, Nana shakes her head. “There was no stopping Sam. And that’s exactly why I didn’t want any of my boys or grandkids to follow in his footsteps”—her gaze cuts to Atlas—“because I know how the Hawke men are.”

Nana doesn’t mean it the way Bishop did, but it has the same punch.

The same meaning, just in different contexts.

They’re passionate and loyal.

They’re brutal and unrelenting.

And they’renotquitters.

Atlas has fought his way back from an injury that should have stolen his career, and now, with less than two weeks until Vince Gordon tries to keep him from the belt he’s worked his whole life for, he’s ready.

At least physically.

But I don’t know about mentally anymore.

Nana steps in front of us slowly and leans up to press a kiss on Atlas’ cheek, offering him a sad smile. “I’ll see you back at the house.” She stops in front of me, her eyes dropping to where her great-grandchild grows. “Don’t hang onto the guilt that isn’t yours, dear. Trust me when I tell you, it only eats you alive.”

She couldn’t be more right.

That’s what the last week has felt like.

And while what Nana and Atlas said today rings true, I can’t shake the feeling of everything being so unsettled.

Guilt and love so twisted that they can’t be extricated from each other.

Clouding my ability to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

If there even is one…

Antonia steps away, leaving Atlas and me to stare at the grave marker.

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