Page 134 of Rebel Hawke

I hold out my hand to Isaac, and he slides his palm against mine, gripping it tightly. He pulls me up from my seat and tugs me in for a chest bump.

Sweat still slickens my skin from the hours spent trying to kill myself today. “You’re going to have to get your suit dry-cleaned after that.”

He hugs me tightly. “I don’t care.”

Astrid laughs lightly. “Jack might when you come home smelling like him.” She grins at me. “I’ll be ringside, cheering you on, too. You know everyone will be.”

I pull back and step around Isaac to get closer to her.

A single tear slips from her eye, and she swats it away. “You know I love you, right? No matter how fucking annoying you can be.”

“Me? Annoying?” I grin at her. “Ditto, sis.”

She didn’t have to tell me she would be there—or that the rest of the family would be. Even if it weren’t happening at the hotel opening, they’realwaysthere to support me at every single fight.

And Jenkins will be there, too.

In spirit, at least.

Represented by his granddaughter and great-grandchild, who will never get the chance to meet him.

All I have to do is make it through the next week and my final cut and then keep it together in the ring for enough rounds to knock that motherfucker Gordon out.

I can do that.

I have to.

20

WREN

The almost-scalding water beats down on me, and I tip my head forward, letting it pelt the back of my neck and release some of the tense muscles there and in my shoulders.

After spending almost the entire morning in bed, I finally had to force myself to move, to get up and come in here and step into the spray. I needed to feel human again—or, at least, try to—before Atlas gets home.

It feels like a nearly impossible task today.

Atlas’ attempts to cheer me up and get me to come into the gym with him, even if I didn’t want to open the studio, weren’t enough to lift this dark haze that has settled over me.

What Nana said at the graveyard should have made me feel better, should have helped me work through all the feelings of guilt and uncertainty that keep threatening to overwhelm all the good things in my life, but instead, they made me feel worse.

Gramps justified letting Sam get into that ring because he was protecting Grandmother and Mom, but by doing that, he let a monster win.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t get it out of my head, and it only makes my unsettled stomach feel so much worse each day.

“Fuck!”

I smack my palm against the wet tile, then force my head up, letting the spray hit my face for a few moments—a last-ditch effort to eradicate the bad feelings and overall ickiness that has clung to me for days.

After a moment or two, I relax, the warm water and the steady sound of it beating against the tile lulling me before I finally crank off the faucet. I slide open the glass door and step out onto the fluffy mat to grab a towel from the warming rack.

Wrapping it around me, the sound of the door opening and slamming shut downstairs carries through the condo and up to me.

Is he finally home?

Even though I know he needs to be at the gym and must continue to prepare for the fight, the thought that I let him go alone this morning has made his absence seem even longer, the condo even emptier.

I quickly towel off as I make my way through the bedroom toward the door.

---