Page 69 of Rebel Hawke

Chuckling, I point a finger at him. “You don’t have any money left to bet.”

He leans back in his chair and shakes his head. “True. You took it all tonight, and even if I did, I have a baby to support now.”

Isaac gapes at him. “Hey, I havetwo.”

Pope snorts and grins at him. “Yeah, but you have all that Hawke Enterprises legal counsel money.”

“Oh, yeah.” Isaac scoffs and downs the last sip of his beer. “Like the hospital doesn’t pay you well, not to mention the clinic.”

And the fact that we all have trust funds we gained access to years ago.

Isaac rolls his eyes, pushes out of his chair, and disappears into the kitchen, returning with four fresh beers dangling from his fingertips. He hands them out to each of us and retakes his seat.

I really shouldn’t be drinking tonight, but a couple of beers with the guys this early into camp won’t make any difference.

Not much will right now.

Coen continues to pout across the table, looking like a petulant child.

“Oh, come on, Coen.” I finish separating the different chip colors. “Everybody loses at some point.”

A muscle in his jaw tics. “I don’t. At least, not usually.”

Something cracks in his voice, a hint of concern that far outweighs a friendly Saturday poker night with the cousins.

He’s taking this far too seriously.

We’re all competitive—especially with each other—but it was a measly $500 buy-in and nothing we haven’t done at least once a month for years.

I freeze with my hand over the chips, ready to start putting them back into the metal carrying case. “Everything cool?”

Coen shakes his head to clear whatever was clouding it and nods. “Yeah. Cool.” He takes a long pull from his beer, then sets it down with a sigh. “What about you? How is training coming?”

Shit.

It’s only the first week of camp, and it has been merely a couple of days working with Wren.

There isn’t much to tell them.

At least, nothing good.

Just more of the same.

Pain.

Frustration.

I offer a shrug. “As good as it can, I guess. Still have almost three months.”

That’s what I keep telling myself, and Wren keeps reiterating it as she beats up my shoulder.

Pope eyes me suspiciously. “You’re going to need that time.”

Scowling at him, I push back my chair from the table and cross my arms over my chest. “What makes you say that?”

He clears his throat, looking thoroughly annoyed by my question. “Um…my medical degree?”

I wave a dismissive hand his way. “Fuck off, Dr. Clarke.”

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