Page 85 of Restless Hawke
He can relay all the relevant information from the shakedown. After all, he’s the only one who could ever really understand how I got into a position like this. He can’t judge me—much—considering what he did for Abello all those years ago.
At least, that’s my hope.
A sliver of understanding.
I certainly won’t get it anywhere else.
Every day I’ve been back, it has been like walking on eggshells around everyone, with them all watching me with thatlookin their eyes, as if they expect me to break at any point.
Or they’re waiting for the other shoe to fall.
Mom squeezes me tightly, then pulls back, searching my face, clasping my cheeks between her palms—fully indoctor mommode now. That look is all too familiar. The one she wears when she knows there’s something wrong and she’s desperate to fix it with a hug, a long talk, or medication, if necessary.
Her intelligent eyes look for any signs of illness or injury. “Baby, you’re worrying me.”
I force a tight smile. “I’m okay, really. It’s been good being back, working at the hotel…”
It isn’t a complete lie.
I actually enjoy it there far more than I have any of the other Hawke establishments I’ve spent time in over the years, slinging drinks, helping wait tables, managing other employees at the various businesses.
Maybe it’s because it’s a casino; somehow, it feels more like home after how much time I’ve basically lived in them. Maybe it’s knowing how important the success of Hawke Hotel is to everyone. Or maybe it’s just because what I do there—help put out fires and manage the property—feels like something I’m actuallygoodat.
Mom doesn’t appear convinced, though.
Squeezing her wrists, I pull her hands down. “Really.”
She lets out a long sigh as footsteps sound on the stairs, interrupting whatever medical rundown she would have probably given me otherwise.
Every muscle in my body tenses, waiting, and I turn to see Dad making his way down slowly. Left hand braced on the banister. Right on the cane he now needs, since one of Satriano’s bullets tore through his hip and damaged the nerves in his leg.
His gaze lands on me and narrows immediately. “Is everything okay?”
Because I would never just be here to say hello to him and Mom…
If I’m here, it means I’ve fucked up again. He doesn’tsaythat, but he doesn’t have to. The look he’s giving me—and the one Mom did the moment I walked in the door—is enough to convey it loud and clear.
Mom sighs, squeezing my arm before stepping away to the counter and grabbing her coffee again. “He says it is but that he needs to talk to you about something.”
Dad finally reaches the bottom step and makes his way into the kitchen, glancing back at me. “Coffee?”
I shake my head. “No thanks. I’m going to stop by the Grind before I head to the hotel.”
He sets to work making it while Mom downs whatever is left in her mug, sets it in the sink, and gathers her purse from the stool at the counter. “Well, I was just on my way to the hospital, but if you need me to stay?—”
“No, Mom. I appreciate the concern, but?—”
She holds up a hand. “Don’t you tell me it is unwarranted or that I’m overreacting. You disappeared for amonth, Coen. Not even a damn phone call to tell us you were all right and not dead at the bottom of the ocean or being tortured in Satriano’s dungeon somewhere. Don’teverdo something like that to me again.”
There it is.
One of thosethingspeople haven’t been saying but that I can see in their eyes. Hearing her finally voice it makes my chest tighten—the guilt threatening to suffocate me.
Of all the people I left behind when I disappeared from the wedding, Mom was the hardest for me.
And apparently it was for her, too.
I’m surprised it’s taken her this long to finally unleash on me.
