Page 138 of Rebel Hawke

They had a plan for him…

I don’t know how I never suspected as much, given everything else they’ve done, not only for us but for everyone in the community. Between their medical clinic and the charity, they’ve pumped billions into the area and helping anyone they can.

“Did he know?”

She presses her lips together and offers a little half-shrug. “He probably suspected.”

“Then…he really did only bring me back to help Atlas.”

Skye smiles. “He brought you back because he missed you and loved you, and he wanted to spend what time he had left with you. Helping Atlas was just the icing on the cake for him. And you’ve done it. I noticed the change in my son right away. He was smiling again, and he hadn’t done that since the shooting. And the longer you were here, the happier he got, the more focused he became. And then I started seeing the physical changes, how much better his shoulder was getting.”

“So, everyone knew I was working with him?”

She nods and squeezes my hand again before releasing it. “We may not always say it out loud, but the Hawkes pretty much see everything.”

“Yeah.” I nod and stare down into the soup, trying to wrap my head around everything she just told me, all the things the Hawkes have done that I wasn’t even aware of. “I’m coming to understand that.”

She pushes up from her stool and motions to the bowl. “Try to eat more. You and my grandchild need the nourishment.”

Thank God it isn’t twins.

If this baby turns out anything like the other Hawkes, he or she is going to be exactly like their father, and handling and worrying about one Atlas is hard enough.

ATLAS

My fingers itch totouch Wren.

I’ve spent way too much time here at the gym today, far too long away from her—the one person who can actually soothe the beast that rages inside me at times like this.

It’s always hard the week before a fight. The anticipation. The physical toll. But this is different, and she’s the only thing I want right now.

Which is why I’m finally heading home and directly into her arms.

I run my towel over my head one final time, then toss it onto the bench and tug on my shirt.

My phone buzzes with an incoming text just as I’m about to grab my bag. The message from Mom releases a tiny bit of the tension that’s been threatening to cave in my chest all day.

MOM

Wren’s okay. I just checked on her and made her something to eat. Hopefully, she can keep it down.

I run a hand through my damp hair, then lean back and rest my head against the metal lockers.

Hopefully, she can keep it down.

Guilt at leaving her this morning, even though she practically forced me out the door instead of spending the day at home with her, taking care of her, gnaws at my ribcage.

I’ve hidden out here.

I’ve pushed myself harder than I should, trying to battle something I can’t change and have no control over.

Even my talk with Astrid and Isaac hasn’t seemed to make anything better.

I don’t know that anything can, except maybe going home and climbing into bed with Wren, holding her in my arms, whispering to her and the baby, and convincing her—and myself—that things will be okay.

Eventually.

The thought gets my feet moving, and I grab my bag and head through the empty, silent gym and out the front door, locking it behind me.

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