Chapter 11
11
ATLAS
S hoving my poker chips into the already large pile in the center of the table, I do my best to keep my game face. Not giving away anything. Because every single man at this table is a vicious opponent who will tear me apart while I’m still breathing, just to hear me scream.
Mostly so they can brag about it at Sunday dinner.
“All in.”
I watch across the table as Coen’s eyes flick up from his cards to meet mine. He doesn’t give anything away, either. An absolutely unmovable mask.
No flinch.
No tell.
Stone-cold.
He wears the same expression I do in the ring.
The tension builds the longer we consider each other until it’s palpable—a living, breathing thing across the round table.
Seated next to his brother, Isaac rubs his hands together and grins. “Oh, this is going to be good .”
Pope chuckles and takes a sip of his beer, watching the stare-down as if it were the O.K. Corral and not my condo. “If I had any money left, I’d be placing it on Atlas right now.”
Coen’s gaze darts to him, and he scowls. “Gee, thanks, asshole.”
Offering a shrug, Pope points his bottle at him. “Just being honest. You look nervous, buddy.”
I wouldn’t say he looks nervous .
As far as I can see, he’s cool, calm, and collected. But Pope has super-secret doctor talents that I don’t. Maybe he’s noticed some slight, almost imperceptible physical change in Coen that I’m missing…
Either way, the ball is in his court now.
It all comes down to one hand—and it can’t be over fast enough for me.
Let’s go, Coen.
Even though Wren is only across the hall at Isaac and Jack’s place, being away from her this long has made me antsy. Though, that may be more about what I have planned for her once everyone leaves than the few hours we’ve spent apart tonight.
Coen tilts his hand toward his chest and pushes in the rest of his chips. “All in. What do you have?”
About fucking time.
I lay out my hand, fighting a grin. “Full house. Kings over aces.”
“Fuck.” He tosses his cards face-down across the table, crosses his arms over his chest, and leans back with a huff, looking annoyed as hell.
Given how pissed he is, I shouldn’t rub it in, but I can’t fight the smirk that pulls at my lips as I grab the pile and drag it over to my side of the table.
Victory at the Hawke family poker table is always sweet.
Pope gives me a golf clap. “I told you, my money was on Atlas.”
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 have two .”
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.”
If I don’t end this conversation now, it’s going down a road I don’t want it to, and I don’t need anything ruining a night that’s supposed to be relaxing and fun for all of us.
Not that I’m exactly relaxed.
My gaze drifts toward the condo door, my knee bouncing rapidly, pondering what the girls might be up to—and what they might be discussing.
Like me.
Those women know me better than anyone.
All my secrets.
My faults.
My frailties.
The things I don’t ever want Wren to know or see.
We’re still too new, and already, so much has happened in such a short amount of time. And here I am, wanting to go over there, scoop her up, and drag her back here with me after only a few hours apart—even though I know she’s perfectly safe with the new bulletproof glass installed and the heavily armed and capable women with her.
I still can’t shake that worry or the desire to have her in my arms.
“Hey”—Isaac leans into my field of view, blocking the door—“the girls are fine. You know Bishop and Jack aren’t going to let anything happen to them.”
I force a smile and rap my knuckles on the tabletop. “That’s true.”
Even if Bishop weren’t there, Giacomina is kind of a badass. She can probably handle a gun better than any of us, if necessary. And with all the kids over there, too, God knows, if anything were to happen, if bullets did start flying, she’d find a way to end it before anyone got hurt.
The same way I tried to.
Tried and failed.
All I managed was to almost die and just about drag Astrid into the grave with me.
Pope rises from his seat and stretches, extending his long arms above him to try to crack his back after sitting at the table for hours. “How’s that going?”
I shift my focus to him. “How’s what going?”
He motions across the hall. “You and Wren. I mean, you moved her in with you pretty fucking quick.”
Understatement.
Somehow, I went from the guy who never pictured himself settling down to the one who demands a woman cohabitate within a day of sleeping with her for the first time.
I take a sip of my beer, trying to let the cold, hoppy liquid calm my unease. “It’s great.”
Except the woman won’t let me fuck her…
Or even touch her the way I want to.
Sleeping next to her in that bed every night with her warm, lithe body pressed against mine has been utter agony, and not because I want to get off.
Because I crave seeing that pleasure cross her face.
I live for the way she completely releases it all when I make her come.
It isn’t about me at all, except maybe the satisfaction I get out of hers.
I don’t know how I’m going to last three months without experiencing that again when I’ve barely lasted three days.
Pope raises a brow. “She’s opening Monday?”
I nod slowly. “Yep, and I didn’t really have a choice about moving her in. Would any of you have done anything different if it had been Jack or Allie and Satriano had shown up like that?”
Isaac and Pope exchange a look, and we all glance at Coen to chime in.
He holds up his hands. “Don’t look at me. I’m painfully single, remember? No woman to protect.”
I snort. “I don’t know. The way you’ve been sneaking around and acting shady lately, I’m starting to wonder if there isn’t a secret one.”
His shoulders tense, and he shifts in his chair, shaking his head. “No secret woman, I promise. Just”—he lifts a shoulder and lets it fall—“been busy.”
Isaac gives his little brother a look that tells me he doesn’t believe it any more than I do. “Mm-hmm.”
Coen fiddles with the label on his beer, peeling it off slowly, ignoring the pointed question in Isaac’s gaze. I have no intention of stepping into whatever might be going on between them.
Not when I have my own shit to worry about.
I climb from my chair and pace over to the now-bulletproof windows that overlook the river. Peaceful and calm this time of night, currently free of boats floating along it or tourists clambering along the banks, it really is beautiful. But I can’t enjoy it when my skin feels too tight and my entire body seems to be tensing up again after the brief respite my poker win gave me.
And it’s all because of one man.
“I don’t trust Satriano…” I glance back at the table for confirmation of my fears.
Pope drops his arms and nods. “You shouldn’t. That man has agenda upon agenda upon agenda. And he’s never going to let any of us in on them.”
“Did he say anything to you that night he picked you up? Because he showed up at Wren’s place like four hours later.”
And I still don’t know why.
That’s what’s been nagging at me the most.
The uncertainty.
This seeming “peace” since the last Roselli was put into the ground doesn’t feel real or lasting. More like a game of chess where we aren’t even in control of our own pieces, just being nudged into place on the board by an unseen force with shiny silver hair and a silky Italian accent.
Pope considers the question for a moment and takes a sip of his beer before answering. “No, just showed up, got me into the car, took me to the clinic, and had me treat one of his guys who had taken a bullet to the abdomen.”
I hiss, the memory of what it felt like to be hit by that sniper’s shot still so hotly vibrant in my mind. Absently, I reach up and rub at my shoulder as a shiver rolls through me. “Was it bad?”
He shakes his head. “No. Missed all of his vital organs.”
“Fuck.” I snort. “Why do criminals like that walk away practically unscathed while I get stuck with the short end of the fucking stick?”
The whole room goes dead silent.
Well, hell…
I didn’t even realize what I was saying, and now three sets of inquisitive eyes are locked on me.
Waiting.
For me to snap.
For me to shatter.
For me to finally break down after all this time.
They’ll have to just keep waiting…
It isn’t happening tonight. Or ever, if I can keep my shit together.
But I have to say something.
I shrug, trying to brush off the importance and truth of my own remark. “Rehab was a bitch. That guy’s probably going to be fine in two weeks.”
Pope nods slowly, still eyeing me suspiciously. “You’re right. He probably will be.”
Leaning my good shoulder against the glass, I watch a lonely boat make its way down the river, running lights glittering off the water, chugging along as slowly as my recovery seems to be.
Isaac walks over and joins me, leaning against the glass to face me. He follows my line of vision for a moment, then releases a little sigh. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Saying ‘no’ has never stopped you from doing it before.”
He smirks and sips at his beer. “This thing with Wren… Is it real, or is it just some macho overreaction to finding Satriano with her?”
My first reaction is to lash out at him, call him a fucking asshole for even suggesting it, but it’s a fair question, given the circumstances. Not to mention my history with women.
“It’s real. I already felt it even before he showed up…”
Twenty damn years ago.
Though, I won’t admit that to him.
“So, what now?” He looks my way, Hawke-blue eyes sparking with question. “You’re going to keep her here and have Bishop or one of the other guys on her at all times?”
The way he says it, like it sounds insane, makes me bristle. “What would you do?”
Isaac sighs and runs a hand through his thick, dark hair. “The same. I already have guys on Jack and the kids when I’m not with them, even though she can more than defend herself.”
“She definitely can.”
He taps the lip of his bottle against the glass. “I have a feeling he’s up to something again. Why come for Wren?”
Exactly.
“There wouldn’t be any reason to, except she was fresh meat. Maybe he thought he could somehow get to her without us knowing about it.”
Isaac shakes his head. “Nah, the man is too smart for that. He knew you’d be there. He knew you’d show up and react.”
“To what end, though?”
“Remains to be seen.” He takes a sip and considers the problem at hand for a moment, the same way I’ve been obsessing over it for days. “Until then, you just keep your woman safe.”
WREN
I finish dropping the last of the takeout containers into the garbage, then make my way back to the long table where Kennedy, Astrid, Bishop, Allie, and Angie all wait, chatting excitedly amongst themselves.
Astrid’s eyes flick up to meet mine as I approach, and she grins, reaching down to pull out something from a bag near her feet. “Now that we’re done eating, we can really get down to business .”
Pausing behind the chair I just vacated, I wrap my hands around the top of it, examining Atlas’ twin sister for any hint as to what she’s talking about. “What business?”
She holds up her computer. “Well”—she sets it on the table and opens it—“We’ve been working on something the last couple of days that I need to show you.”
“Me?” I glance around at the rest of the girls, but none of them offer me anything but excited grins.
What is going on?
They’re acting a little weird—even for them.
It’s strange how easily we’ve all fallen back into the friendships we shared as children and how quickly a new one has formed with Jack.
Almost as if I never left.
But after a rather laid-back evening of playing Scrabble and messing around with the kids before they crashed, then some amazing takeout, the sudden shift in the mood has the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.
Astrid motions me over. “Come around.”
“Okay…”
All eyes stay on me as I slowly round the table to her chair and stand behind her.
While it’s been nice to have all the girls around, now that they’re all staring at me like they know something, some big secret I’ve not been let in on, I’m starting to feel like the odd woman out again.
Astrid clicks on a few icons on her desktop, and a website pops up in her browser. “Check it out.”
I lean over her shoulder, trying to get a better view, and all the air rushes from my lungs.
Early Bird Pilates…
The stunningly beautiful welcome screen stares back at me, but my brain can’t seem to process what I’m seeing.
“What is this?”
She peeks over at me and grins, then shares a look with the rest of the girls conspiratorially. “We all decided you needed an incredible website.”
“So, you made one?”
Astrid nods enthusiastically, her blond hair floating around her face in her excitement. “We all helped, but Kennedy and I did most of it since we’ve worked on sites before.”
Kennedy flicks her golden locks over her shoulder. “Did a pretty good job, too, if I do say so.”
A pretty good job.
Talk about an understatement.
It’s absolutely stunning.
Bright and vibrant, with soft pastels and elegant script that would make anyone want to spend more time scrolling, reading, and hopefully clicking to find out more.
“Oh, my God…” I struggle to find words as I examine the screen, trying to take it all in. “You guys didn’t have to do this.”
Astrid reaches up and rests her hand on mine. “We wanted to. Really.”
A serious tone settles over the table, and Bishop nods.
“I know you’ve only been back a couple of weeks, and right off the bat, you ran into our Satriano bullshit.”
I snort. “Yeah. More like he just appeared.”
Blue eyes that match Atlas’ meet mine, full of sympathy, and Astrid gives me a knowing smile. “Well, I know it changed things for you fast, and you haven’t had the time you thought you would to really work on anything like a website. We just wanted your opening to go well…”
Tears blur my vision, and I swipe them away as emotion tightens my throat. “Thank you. This is incredible.”
Astrid starts scrolling down the site. “They can book classes straight through here, and it also has a whole section on one-on-ones and arranging those. The calendar can be easily synced on your phone, so you’ll have access to it at all times to see how many people are signed up for each class and to manage last-minute cancellations and openings.”
“I-I can’t believe you did all this.”
Even staring at it and seeing it, I’m having a hard time imagining that this didn’t exist a week ago.
It couldn’t have.
They did this for me.
Just more proof that the Hawkes have always been family, even when I wasn’t here; even when we didn’t see each other for so many years, they embraced me the same way as they did then.
And then some.
Angelina smiles from next to Astrid. “Really, honey, it’s the least we can do. We’re happy to have you back.”
The eldest of the Hawke children, who I always remembered as the one chasing all of us and trying to wrangle us into submission, has so quickly become more of a friend .
Allie nods and works on dealing out a deck of cards in what appears to be a game of WAR with Jack. “We want your opening to be incredible and for it to succeed so you don’t run away again.”
Angie smacks her little sister’s arm and offers a chastising look—much more on par with how I remember her always trying to keep us in line. “Stop it.”
I chuckle, though the comment does sting a little, knowing they maybe believed that’s what I did. “I didn’t run away.”
“Okay, maybe you didn’t”—Astrid waves a dismissive hand—“but we figure if you have a successful business, even my brother won’t be able to scare you off.”
I chuckle and squeeze Astrid’s shoulder. “Your brother isn’t scaring me off.”
“Oh, he will.” She gives me a warning look. “Believe me, he will.”
I retake my seat across the table from her, and she slides the computer across to me so I can examine the site.
“You can change anything you want to on here, even the template. I just thought this one was really pretty.”
“It’s beautiful.” I scroll down the page some more, clicking the sub-pages briefly to see them all. “I’ll double-check everything that’s on here, but right off the bat, I don’t see anything I want to change.”
She beams and gives an air high five to Kennedy at the head of the table. “Excellent.”
Kennedy beams and leans back, taking a drink of her margarita.
Jack glances toward the door, motioning with her thumb. “What do you think the boys are doing over there?”
Bishop snorts, glancing up from her phone. “Consuming far too much beer and bitching about us, no doubt.”
Allie smacks her with the back of her hand. “Pope has absolutely nothing to complain about when it comes to me.”
His older sister chuckles. “Oh, yeah , sure .” She nods. “All right. Whatever you say…”
Kennedy runs her finger on the edge of her drink. “I wish Cass could have come tonight. It’s been a while since he’s been able to hang out with the guys.”
There was such a flurry of activity when everyone arrived and we were ushered across the hall that I hadn’t even realized Cassius was missing. “Why isn’t he here?”
She glances up, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. “I’m not totally sure. He said he had something to take care of. A surprise.”
Angie claps excitedly. “Ooh, something for the wedding?”
Kennedy shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
Astrid leans toward her. “Why do you look so worried?”
My gut twists, watching her unease.
She’s been through a lot.
Now that Atlas has filled me in on all the intricacies of the Kennedy/Cass relationship, I can see how their upcoming wedding is almost more important to the family than the hotel opening.
It’s a fresh start for her.
One she greatly deserves after everything she’s been through.
She sighs, running a hand through her hair while everyone waits for her to explain. “I just feel like he’s keeping something from me lately. It doesn’t have anything to do with the wedding or the hotel opening.”
Angie gets up, walks over to Kennedy’s chair, and squats to wrap her arm around her. “Oh, honey, I’m sure it’s nothing. That man fucking worships you. He’s not going anywhere. If he’s hiding something, it’s probably some incredible surprise you’re going to love.”
She scowls. “I fucking hate surprises.”
Allie nods. “To be fair, we haven’t had very many good ones lately.”
Bishop shakes her head. “No, we have not.” She grabs her drink and raises it toward me. “Except Wren coming back!”
She beams at me, and the heat of a blush spreads over my cheeks.
I duck my head, embarrassed by the affection they’ve been showering on me. “Thanks, guys. It is great to be home.”
Allie reclines in her chair, apparently abandoning the card game that never got started. “Are you nervous about the opening on Monday?”
I take a sip of water and try to figure out if I should lie or answer it truthfully.
Something tells me if I tried to put one past the Hawke women, it wouldn’t go over very well.
Plus, they’re my friends.
My only friends.
If I can’t lean on them for support when I need it, then I’m going to have a very hard time here in New Orleans.
“I’m fucking terrified.” Even after spending time with the girls, knowing how much they care, it still feels weird to talk to them about something so personal and admit such a huge weakness. “I am worried that if this doesn’t succeed, I’m not going to have any way to support Gramps. He’s not going to be able to keep training Atlas for long, and I’m all the family he has left, the only one who can ensure he’s cared for.”
An uneasy quiet settles over the table, and Astrid shares a look with Bishop before turning her focus to me.
“Is he okay?”
“Who?” I look between them. “My grandfather or Atlas?”
Astrid twists her hands in front of her on the table nervously, almost like she’s afraid of what my answer might be. “Atlas. He’s been off lately, even with me.”
My chest tightens at her words and the worry in her eyes when they flick up to meet mine. She’s his other half in a very literal way, yet he’s shutting her out. Keeping something so incredibly important from her. Only sharing it with me.
And it isn’t my place to rat him out, no matter how badly I might want to ease her concern.
“I think he’s just nervous about the fight.”
Feasible.
She drums her fingers on the table. “That’s what I’m worried about. Atlas doesn’t get nervous. Ever .”
Bishop shrugs. “It is his first fight back after the shooting.”
My eyes automatically drift to the wall of glass that leads out to the patio and matches the one on Atlas’ side of the condo building. That’s where the shots came from, including the one that destroyed his shoulder and broke his will.
This is where it all happened, though you’d never know it seeing the place now.
When I turn back, everyone is staring at me again. “I’m sorry…” I probably shouldn’t be asking this, shouldn’t be bringing up the elephant in the room, but Bishop opened the door with her comment, and now that it’s there, I need to step through it, to try to understand. “Was it as bad as I think it was?”
Allie, Kennedy, and Astrid share a look, and in unison, they all nod emphatically.
Astrid locks her gaze with mine, and something darkens her eyes. Fear. Anger. Maybe a mix of both. “Yeah, it was. Atlas almost died.” Her hand drifts down to her side. “I almost did, too. And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t change me. So, maybe we can’t expect Atlas to be back to his normal self. Maybe he won’t ever be.”
On the one hand, I know exactly what she’s saying.
I can never go back to being who I was before the fire.
But I hope she’s wrong about Atlas.
It isn’t just the physical limitations affecting him now; it’s the mental blocks he’s put in place. The belief that he’s permanently broken has been drilled into his head by himself and doctors so hard that prying it free may be impossible.
If I’m wrong and it isn’t possible, I might be wasting my time trying to get him back to where he was before the shooting. To the man I watched in the ring in all those videos.
That unstoppable force even a bullet can’t knock off course.
He has to want it, has to want to give one hundred and ten percent and be committed to getting better.
If he’s not, it doesn’t matter what I do.
He’s going to lose, and I don’t know what that would do to him.
I don’t even want to think about it being a possibility.