Page 164 of Rebel Hawke

None ofthatmatters.

All that does is Wren’s words rattling around in my head.

“If you intentionally lose the fight, then you’re losing me, too.”

I bounce on my feet in the locker room, throwing a few light jabs, keeping myself loose and warm because, in ten minutes, I’ll be in that ring, and as soon as the first bell sounds, my entire life is on the line.

In more ways than one.

As soon as I climb through those ropes, I have to be “The Hurricane,” even when, inside, the cyclone of emotions wants to take over, threatens to break me with its power and force me to relinquish control over my own life.

That’swhat made me run from her.

The feeling of spinning and not knowing what was up or down, of wanting to cling to her like a lifeline when I can’t. Turning my back on Wren and leaving was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but that woman can short-circuit my brain with one look. One touch is all it takes for me to come undone completely, to become putty in her hands. And I needed a clear head going into tonight.

One that will allow me to make a game-time decision that could determine not only my future but Wren’s, our baby’s, Coen’s, and that of the entire fucking family.

“Fuck!”

For the hundredth time tonight, I contemplate smashing my fist into the wall, shattering my knuckles so the fight will have to be canceled…and I’ll be free from having to hurt someone I love—one way or the other.

The door opening stops me from doing just that, and Isaac slips into the locker room. Bishop follows right behind, with Pope and Grayson bringing up the rear.

I motion to Pope. “What are you doing back here?”

He smirks and inclines his head toward Grayson, who leans against the wall, holding his signature black leather bag. “You already have the best cut man in the business, but I asked Grayson if he could use a good assistant. God knows Bishop can’t do it.”

She scowls at her brother and flips him off before she throws her thumb over her shoulder toward the hallway. “The ref is on his way in to check your gear.”

I barely hear her, trying to block them out as they circle, examining me intently. Looking for flaws. Keen eyes alert for anything I might try to hide or could be a problem in the ring.

They have no idea what I’m really concealing.

My shoulder feels stronger than ever—thanks to Wren’s tough love and attention. If I go down, it won’t be because I’m not physically ready to take on Gordon. It will be because I make a big fucking mistake—one way or the other. Either by letting him land the perfect shot or by following through with Satriano’s demand.

No one says a word as I continue to warm up.

Everyone in this room knows I don’t need a pep talk before the fight.

I don’t need a hype man.

Since I started fighting professionally, I much prefer quiet, where I can think, run through the plan in my head without anyone yammering in my ear.

Usually.

Tonight is different.

The silence in the locker room allows the noise from the gathering crowd only a handful of yards from us to seep through the walls and the crack under the door.

It only amps me up more, makes me twitchier—even more ready to charge out there with so many things uncertain.

I shake out my arms again and pace, cracking my neck side to side, rolling my shoulders. Having everyone watch me feels like being a caged animal at the damn zoo, and I toss an annoyed look at all of them.

Bishop immediately stops circling me and leans back against a locker, attempting to appear casual when she’s wound just as tightly as I am. “Everyone’s ringside.”

Freezing for a second, I glance over at her. “Everyone?”

I’m not about to reveal anything that happened to anyone in this room, but since I didn’t return home after our argument, I wasn’t sure Wren was even going to show up tonight.

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