Chapter 18
18
WREN
B uildings and people whiz outside the car window, and my stomach lurches, that now-familiar sourness starting to make its way up my throat.
Oh, God.
I suck harder on the piece of ginger candy I already had in my mouth to try to stave off just this. Prior to Atlas knocking me up, I never experienced motion sickness, but now, it seems to be a constant thing any time my body is moving.
Please, God, don’t let me be sick.
Please, God, don’t let me be sick.
Not all over Bishop’s beautiful car.
“Are you good, Wren?”
I glance over at Bishop behind the wheel and nod, gulping back the bile threatening to make an appearance like it already did this morning. “Yeah, thanks again for picking me up.”
She laughs. “What else was I going to do? We’re going to the same place and you need a twenty-four-hour bodyguard, right?”
I roll my eyes and immediately regret the motion when it makes me feel even sicker. “Apparently.”
“Did you really think he was going to lighten up on that now that you’re pregnant? Frankly, I’m surprised he doesn’t have one of us stationed outside your condo door every fucking minute of every fucking day, even when he’s with you.”
Honestly, so am I.
Likely the only reason he doesn’t is that he wants his privacy and no one to potentially eavesdrop on anything coming out of our place or Isaac and Jack’s.
“I mean, there is security down in the lobby and the code to get up and everything.”
He’s assured me over and over again that the building is impenetrable—even the glass now.
Too little, too late for Atlas.
But I try not to dwell on it or worry about what might happen when I step outside the supposedly impregnable castle that our tower apparently is. If I thought about all the ways Satriano—or any other Hawke enemy—might get to me and this baby, I wouldn’t ever leave.
Bishop nods, turning at the next corner. “True, it’s pretty damn safe, but I warned you about him.”
“You sure did.” I huff out a little laugh, thinking about how, at the time, I thought she was exaggerating and being a little melodramatic. In reality, her warning paled in comparison to what Atlas is really like with me. “Do you think the dress fitting will take long?” I swallow down another wave of nausea. “I’m not sure how long I can stand in a tight gown when I feel like this.”
She offers a sympathetic look quickly, then shakes her head as she refocuses on the road. “Shouldn’t be too long, I don’t think, and I’m sure Kennedy will understand if you need to get out of there quickly.”
No doubt she would.
Which makes my apprehension about being included today come rushing back.
I force a tight smile. “It was really nice of her to ask me to be a bridesmaid, especially since she made all the plans before I even showed up.”
Bishop’s brows rise above the top of her sunglasses as she turns, and she glances over at me once before going straight again. “Did you really think she wouldn’t? You’re part of the family now, babe, stuck with us forever.”
“I know.” I twist my hands on my lap. “I just feel kind of awkward, I guess, being part of the ceremony when I feel like I haven’t been around much.”
She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter with us, once a Hawke, always a Hawke. She was an officiant at your wedding, after all.”
I bark out a laugh. “That she was.”
“You know, she takes pride in being the one to hook you and Atlas up.”
“We were eight .”
Bishop takes another turn, nearing the dress shop now, and it can’t come soon enough for me or my stomach. “It doesn’t matter. She thinks it stuck.”
It stuck.
A grin pulls at my lips, running those words over in my head. “I guess it kind of did.”
My phone rings in my purse, and I dig around to find it and pull it out.
An unknown number?
Normally, I’d let it go to voicemail because it’s likely just some stupid telemarketer trying to sell me something, but something tugs deep in my chest, telling me to answer it. “Hello?”
“Hi, is this Wren Mason speaking?”
The unfamiliar voice carries a heaviness to it, despite trying to sound cheerful. “
“It is.”
“Hi, Wren. My name is Sandy.” Some rustling of papers comes through the line. “I’m a nurse at University Medical Center. Your grandfather was brought in.”
A vise wraps around my chest, tightening. “Oh, my God, is he all right?”
“I don’t have any information on his condition at the moment. You were listed as an emergency contact in his phone, and he was able to ask the emergency room staff to have us call you.”
“I’ll-I’ll be right there.” I end the call, trying to fight the tightness forming in my ribcage. “I—”
Bishop glances over. “Wren, what’s wrong?”
I suck in a wheezing breath, my lungs constricting.
“Wren?”
“My grandfather…”
She slows and pulls over to the side of the road, throws the car into park, and grabs my arm. “Wren, what happened?”
“That was the hospital, my grandfather.”
It’s all I can get out between the sob threatening to crawl up my throat and the pressure around my chest.
“Okay, UMC? I’m taking you there right now.”
I nod and rummage in my purse, looking for my inhaler. The last thing I need right now is an attack when I don’t know what the hell is going on with Gramps.
Bishop throws the car back into gear and pulls out into traffic, speeding away and pulling a U-turn to head back in the opposite direction. “I’ll call the girls when we get there and let them know why we’re not at the fitting.”
“No”—I managed to get out before I take a puff from my inhaler. Holding it in my lungs, I put up a palm to let her know I have more to say. I release it and take another breath. “You should go. Just…drop me off.”
She snorts. “I’m not leaving you at the hospital. Not with you like this and Jenkins… The dresses can fucking wait.”
They can.
But what about Gramps?
It only takes us five minutes to arrive at the UMC emergency room, but it feels like an eternity by the time I finally climb from the car on unsteady feet, still fighting the tension in my chest.
Bishop grabs my arm and walks me in through the sliding doors to the nurses’ station. “Hi, her grandfather, Jimmy Jenkins, was brought in.”
The nurse seated behind it looks up. “Let me just check on that.” She types up something on her keyboard as I try to get my eyes to focus through the tears. “If you take a seat, I’ll let the nurse handling this case know that you’re here.”
I can’t even manage to respond with more than a nod, my body trembling and an oddly numb sensation overcoming me. “Okay…”
Bishop leads me over to a chair in the waiting area. “Do you need your inhaler again?”
I look over at her and shake my head, trying to breathe deep and slow my heart rate before I really do have a full-on attack and end up in one of the beds here myself. “I’m okay.”
“Wren, if you need it, use it. You’re pregnant now. You can’t be—”
“I know.”
Shit .
I squeeze my eyes closed.
The last thing I need to be reminded of is how vulnerable I am at this moment. Not when Gramps might be… I can’t even think of the possibilities. Instead, I cling to the hope that I get from knowing he was able to speak and ask for me when he was brought in.
“Wren Mason?”
My name carries through the waiting area, and I stand as a woman in green scrubs approaches us.
“How’s my grandfather?”
The nurse gives me a tight smile. “Why don’t you come with me, and I’ll explain as we walk?”
That doesn’t sound good.
The vise around my chest continues to tighten, only adding to the light-headedness and churning in my stomach, but Bishop keeps her arm locked with mine, making me walk steady as we make our way down the hall.
“He suffered a heart attack. He was apparently at his apartment building, and another resident found him in the hall.”
“Oh, God…” I stumble a step, but Bishop keeps me upright, making me move forward, following the nurse. “Is he…”
I can’t even voice the question. Can’t possibly fathom the possibility that something changed since I got that call and Gramps isn’t here anymore.
The nurse glances over her shoulder at us and gives me a tight smile. “He’s alive but very weak. I’ll let the doctor explain when she gets to the room.”
I know what that means.
I’m smart enough to read between the lines, and my medical training kicks in, all the things I learned in school about the human body and what happens to it as we age.
The man is almost eighty-five years old.
Of course, a heart attack isn’t going to end well for him.
We reach a series of small rooms along one wall, and she leads us into the second one on the right.
He lies on the bed, attached to wires and tubes, the slow beep of a heart rate monitor the only sound besides the hustle and bustle of the hospital surrounding us.
I stumble to his bedside and drop into the chair next to it, clutching his frail hand tightly. “Gramps, I’m here.”
His head turns toward me on the pillow, and his eyelids flutter. “Birdie?”
Tears blind me, and I squeeze as hard as I can, trying to reinforce that I am here. “Yeah, it’s me.”
Bishop steps back from the bed. “I’m going to go call everyone, let them know what’s going on.”
I glance over at her, hazy through the tears welling in my eyes. “Get Atlas here. Fast .”
She nods and slips from the room, the nurse right after her, likely to locate the doctor she said would speak with me.
“Wren, I…”
Gramps struggles, trying to shift on the hospital bed.
“No, it’s okay, Gramps. Don’t try to move or talk.”
He swallows thickly and tilts his head toward me, getting as close as he can.
I lean in and press a kiss to his forehead. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re going to be okay.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I’m not. It’s time for me to finally pay the price for my sins.”
The price for his sins?
“What? What are you talking about, Gramps?”
Jimmy Jenkins has never been a religious man. As a child, I don’t ever remember him taking me to a church or even mentioning religion in any way, save for vague references to God and angels watching over me.
This babbling must have been brought on by his condition.
His lips quiver. “I should have—”—he coughs—”should have told you a long time ago. I should have told all of them.”
I bring his hand to my lips and press a kiss to the back of it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Gramps, but now isn’t the time.”
He squeezes me hard. “Now is the only time. It’s about Sam.”
What the hell is Gramps rambling about?
“Atlas’ grandfather?”
He nods.
I’ve always known how guilty Gramps felt about what happened in the ring, but none of it was his fault. No one can predict an aneurysm. No one can know when one is going to rupture or when someone might fall prey to it, especially back then. They didn’t have the medical technology we have today. They didn’t monitor fighters in training camp the way we do or have the capability to see inside someone’s head. And if he is dying, like I think he is, I won’t let him die with that weight on his soul.
“Gramps, you don’t have to say anything. None of it was your fault.”
“That’s just it, Birdie.” He opens his eyes to meet mine, tears soaking both our gazes. “It was.”
I try to object again, but he manages to lift his other hand.
“No, let me finish.” He tries to swallow and coughs, his voice getting weaker. “I knew. I knew something was wrong.”
My back stiffens as I struggle to process the words. “What do you mean?”
“I knew Sam for two decades, had trained with him, and then became his trainer. I knew fighters, and I knew Sam inside and out, all his weaknesses and strengths.” He coughs again, the sound rattly and thick, like fluid is filling his lungs. “I knew something was wrong with him before that fight…”
“How?”
He shakes his head. “His reactions were slower, sluggish…like he was in a fog some of the time.” He looks at me again, and for a split second, I don’t see him as the old, dying man he is but as the young, energetic one he was back then. “I went to Dom.”
The name makes my blood run cold. “Dominic Abello?”
“Yes…they were…best friends. I told him I didn’t think Sam should be fighting, that there was something wrong and he should pull out of the fight. But—”
A rattling cough shakes him, and I reach out and slide my hand along his back, helping support him as it attacks his body. My lungs scream along with his, threatening to steal my air even as he struggles for his own.
Somehow, a tiny sob slips from his old lips. “But instead of pulling him, Dom fixed the bets…bet against him. Told me to keep him in the fight…that he’d be fine…”
The reality of what he’s telling me threatens to crush me, but I keep myself upright and hold on to him, clinging to any few moments I might have left. “Why didn’t you warn Sam? Why didn’t you pull him?”
“Because…of your mother, your grandmother. Because Dom was the most powerful man in New Orleans and the most dangerous.” Another aggressive round of coughs hits him, and he battles through it. “Because he would have hurt our family if I had done or said anything to interfere…”
Jesus Christ.
I swipe at the tears streaming down my face, and he pulls his hand from mine, shaking as he brings it to his mouth.
“I killed him.” He shakes his head as his own tears slide down his cheeks. “If I hadn’t let him in that ring…”—his breaths come thick—“if I had insisted he’d get another medical check…if I had warned him, he might still be alive today.” His gaze cuts to mine. “If Atlas isn’t ready, don’t let him fight. I won’t be here to stop him. I can’t be responsible for another Hawke dying that way—”
“He is ready, Gramps.”
And I actually believe the words.
After working so hard for so long, he’s finally ready.
“I-I think he is, too, but I-I don’t trust myself anymore.” He sobs again, trying to cover it with his trembling hand. “No one should.”
“Gramps, don’t say that.” I rise to my unsteady feet, lean over, and press another kiss to his forehead. “You’re going to be okay…”
He shakes his head gently—barely a movement at all. His eyes drift closed. “No, Birdie. I’m not…”
ATLAS
The moment they slide open, I charge through the hospital doors, rushing straight past a packed waiting room and the registration desk and back into the ER, against the protestations of several staff members. But I know my way around this place and don’t give a shit if it pisses anyone off to see me bypass protocol.
Fuck protocol.
No stupid rule will stop me from getting to Wren and Jenkins, and it would take all the guards in the hospital to drag me out of here.
I turn the corner toward the patient rooms, and Aunt Nora stands at the nurses’ station and looks up as I approach her, skidding to a halt.
After rushing out of the tux fitting and racing over here, driving far faster than was probably wise, I struggle to voice even the most basic question, terrified of the answer she might give me.
Instead of risking learning the truth, I ask the easier thing. “Where is she?”
Nora sets down her tablet on the desk and turns toward me, offering me a sympathetic look that says a thousand words without her uttering a single one.
No…
She takes a step toward me. “I have her in my office—”
“Oh, God…”
“He died ten minutes ago.”
Her words barely register, and the hallway starts to spin around me. I stumble and grip the edge of the counter to stay up on my feet.
“She was with him.” She approaches and wraps her arms around me. “I’m so sorry, Atlas. I know how close you were to Jimmy.”
“He’s…gone?”
It can’t be true.
Doesn’t feel real.
He was going to outlive all of us.
Nora pulls back and squeezes my arms—stuck somewhere between caring aunt and head of the very emergency room that couldn’t save him. “It was a heart attack. By the time they got him here, it was clear he wouldn’t survive any attempts at surgery. He was too old. Too weak.”
Her words make sense.
I’ve seen him really starting to show his age lately, but he was always so strong, so seemingly invincible.
“Did-did she get to talk to him?”
She nods. “I think so. She didn’t say much when I got to her after dealing with one of my patients.”
“Shit.” I press my hand against my forehead, trying to clear my brain enough to make my feet move. “I can’t believe…”
“Head on up to my office.” Nora squeezes my arms again. “She needs you.”
I nod and try to swallow past the emotion clogging my throat. Everything around me goes fuzzy around the edges as I push away from the counter and stumble toward the stairwell that will take me up to Nora’s office.
I’ve been in this hospital a thousand times for stupid little injuries suffered playing around as a kid or in the ring when I took a particularly hard shot. It never held a particularly bad feeling for me. Even when Kennedy, Isaac, and Uncle Stone were shot, and it looked like we might lose him for those awful few days…it was just always where Nora and Pope worked. It was where Stone was saved.
Now, it’s different.
I’ve never been here for this.
Never because someone I love is gone.
The pain attacks my chest like a sledgehammer, smashing into it, over and over again, as I take the stairs up two at a time.
I struggle against the agony, trying to push it down like I have so many other times with the physical kind. Because I need to be there for Wren. It isn’t about my loss but hers.
Her entire biological family is gone now.
The last person she had in this world.
And the only grandfather I ever knew.
I stagger toward Nora’s office on unsteady feet, struggling to keep focus on the task at hand rather than give in to the desire to sag against the fucking wall and scream.
How can he be gone?
The door stands slightly ajar just in front of me, and I pause and take a deep breath before I push it open.
Pull yourself together, Atlas.
It won’t do Wren any good to have you falling apart before you even get to her.
She needs you to be strong.
Her sobs reach me before I step inside, and the sound alone is enough to bring my own that I’ve been fighting so damn hard.
She sits curled up in a chair, her face buried in her palms. Those slender shoulders that carry so much weight rise and fall with each gasping breath she struggles to take through her tears.
“Little Bird…”
Her head rises at my voice, and her red, puffy, tear-soaked eyes meet mine. Pink streaks down her cheeks mark the path of her pain, one that matches my own. “He’s gone.”
I step in and nudge the door closed behind me before I cross the short distance between us and pull her up into my arms. She collapses against me, releasing a strangled sob into my chest.
Tears finally stream unbidden from my own eyes, and I bury my face in her hair and hold her, letting her unleash her anguish as my own envelops me.
Years of memories wash over me.
Running around the gym as a child while Jenkins barked instructions to Dad, Stone, Savage, Saint, and anyone else they dragged in for a good, old-fashioned ass-kicking.
Getting older and having that sharp tongue directed at me as I learned the ropes.
The way he single-handedly molded me into the fighter I am today.
All the wins.
The less frequent losses that were so necessary for me to make mistakes so I wouldn’t ever repeat them.
So many memories filled with pain, laughter, and love.
The barrage continues as we stand, holding each other, each one like another blow from that sledgehammer threatening to split me open.
But I hear the struggle in Wren’s breathing—the shorter, tighter inhales, her inability to find it through her crying and sobs.
“Wren, baby, you have to breathe.”
She pulls back and hiccups a little breath that’s barely anything.
“Where’s your inhaler?”
Her gaze darts around, and I finally see her purse on the floor and release her long enough to bend down, grab it, and pull out the medicine she so badly needs.
I slip it into her hand, then settle into the chair and tug her down onto my lap, allowing her to settle against me. “Use it.”
Her loss is crippling, but she can’t shut down so completely that she isn’t thinking and not taking care of herself.
Not on my watch.
She nods and shakes the container before she takes a long inhalation, holding it in as long as she can before releasing it. I rub her back gently, trying to offer her any support or comfort I can when it all feels so useless right now.
After a few minutes, her breathing returns to normal, but the tears and little hiccupped sobs don’t stop.
I wipe a few of my own away, adjusting her position to tuck her head under my chin. “Did you see him?”
“Yeah…” She’s quiet for what feels like forever, long enough that I don’t want to push her by asking anything else that might set off another round I’m not sure her body can handle right now. “He said something crazy.”
“What do you mean crazy ?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know. It doesn’t seem possible, but…”
Her words seem frantic, but she seems to struggle to explain. Like whatever her grandfather told her is impossible for her to wrap her head around.
Tightening my hold on her, I kiss her forehead, trying to soothe her so she can find the words. “Wren, babe, what are you talking about?”
“I-I thought he was just rambling, that maybe the heart attack had done something to him mentally, but he seemed so sure.”
I take her face in my palms and try to wipe away her tears, but they’re quickly replaced by others. “About what?”
Fear fills her eyes—the same I saw that day in the studio when I went after Satriano. As if she doesn’t trust me and thinks whatever Jenkins said might set me off.
What the hell could he have said that would rattle her like this?
“Little Bird…just tell me what he told you.”
She swallows, keeping her gaze locked with mine only because I won’t let her turn away. “He said…he told me that he was the reason your grandfather died.”
“What?”
What the hell is she talking about?
Wren sniffles, tears flowing again. “I don’t…” She tries to regain her breath. “I don’t know. Something about him knowing there was something off before the fight but not pulling your grandfather because Dom wanted the fight to go on.”
“Dom?”
Even though they’re jagged pieces that seem like they come from different puzzles, I start to see them click into place.
All the things I’ve been told over the years about Luca’s father, the monster who was Dominic Abello.
The man who pretended to be Grandfather and Nana’s friend but who always had secret agendas and a violent intent.
What Wren thought were merely crazy ramblings could very well hold a truth none of us ever knew, something that’s been hidden since that night Sam “the Savage” Hawke dropped in the ring.
I try to control the trembling of my own body so I won’t scare her, but with my hands on her face, she has to feel how badly the revelation has rattled me. “Little Bird, what exactly did he say?”
She sniffles again. “That he warned Dom that Sam shouldn’t fight, but instead of pulling him, Dom demanded he go on. Then Dom fixed the odds and placed bets against him, knowing he would lose.”
“Jesus Christ.” A weird, icy coolness settles over me like I’m stepping through a cold fog. “That can’t be.” I shake my head and squeeze my eyes closed. “No, Jenkins would never do that. He wouldn’t.”
“He would…for his wife and child.”
I open my eyes to meet hers, and I see the truth there in her gaze.
Because I know I would do anything for her and our baby.
Anything for any member of the family.
Taking that bullet so the girls could get to safety already proved that what Jenkins said he did was the truth.
Wren releases another sob and pulls from my hold, shaking her head. “It seemed like he had to tell me, that he hung on so he could get the truth out. He didn’t even say goodbye, just confessed like it was the only thing keeping him here.”
Jesus.
The man took his last moments on this planet with his granddaughter to confess something like that to her.
“I’m so sorry, Little Bird.”
I tug her against me, letting her sob as the strange truth he revealed rattles around my head, replacing the pain in my chest with a fury that can’t be released because the fucking man responsible is already dead.
Dominic Abello’s sinister stain has tainted the Hawkes since before I was even born. He destroyed so many of us in so many ways we didn’t even realize. And now, to find out he was responsible for what happened to Grandfather…
“Please don’t be mad at him, Atlas. Please don’t. I can’t bear it if you hate him.”
I tunnel my hands in her hair and tug her head back. “Who?”
“Gramps. I can’t lose him…and then have you hating him and me.”
“Oh, Little Bird.” I lower my lips to her forehead and leave them there, smelling her tears and that almond and cherry scent that seems to have grown sweeter since she got pregnant. “I could never hate him or hold anything he did against you.”
The door to Nora’s office swings open, and Pope steps in. His jaw set hard, the sympathetic gaze in his eyes tells me Nora filled him in when he arrived. “Hey, you two okay?”
I gave him a sharp nod. “As much as we can be.”
He steps in and closes the door, ensuring we retain our privacy. “Aunt Nora’s taking care of all the paperwork.”
Something I’m sure Wren wouldn’t even be able to contemplate right now. His words draw a strong sob from her, and she clings to me tighter, fingers tugging at my T-shirt.
I incline my head toward him. “Thank you.”
One of his dark brows rises as he watches Wren fall apart in my arms. “Can I get you anything?”
Maybe a fucking lobotomy because right now I feel like the world’s gone mad and everything has been flipped upside down.
We lost Jenkins.
And gained one massive, ugly secret that will shatter the Hawkes.
I shake my head. “No.”
He nods, steps in, and squeezes my shoulder before returning to the door. “Everyone’s downstairs if you need anything.”
“You can all go.” I glance down at Wren, who is certainly not in any shape to talk with anyone else at the moment. “There’s no reason for everyone to be here now. Not when he’s already gone.”
Not when all that’s left is the unsettling truth he dumped on Wren before he left us, and the pure rage building inside me.