Page 119 of Restless Hawke

No apology deep enough to even begin to heal the wound I created.

Atlas and I haven’t spoken since the night before the fight when I confessed to him what I had done, the position I had put him in. When I revealed how little faith I had in him.

I couldn’t bring myself to face him after he refused to throw the fight and ended up walking away with the belt—and a major enemy in Satriano. I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eye at the wedding, either.

Not knowing I was the reason he had to take Wren and disappear from New Orleans, or he would be risking their lives.

But Ihaveto meet his gaze now.

And I can still see the anger simmering underneath the icy blue, the same way it did that night I came clean.

I hold out my hands, palms up in surrender. “I’m here because there’s absolutely nothing you can do to me in that ring that I don’t deserve.”

His eyes widen.

Isaac guffaws, uncrossing his arms from his chest to hold up a hand. “You arenotgetting in the ring with Atlas today.”

I scowl at him, already tugging off my shirt. “I don’t need your protection.”

Bishop snorts from where she leans against the wall just behind me. I look over my shoulder and scowl at her, but she has the audacity to just grin at me.

Maybe I should invite her for a match, too.

Next to Atlas, Bishop is the most lethal in the ring, and she would certainly be a challenge.

But right now, my annoyance with her is overpowered by my need to make it up to Atlas somehow.

He scans my face, searching for something. Hesitation maybe. Fear. Thenormalthings someone would feel when offering themselves up as a human punching bag for the light-heavyweight champion of the world. “You really want to do this?”

Astrid’s gaze snaps to her brother. “No, youcan’t.”

Atlas steps back from the ropes, bouncing on his feet. “If it’ll make you feel better for me to kick your ass, I’m more than willing.”

He pops his mouth guard back in, motioning for me to come to him.

That manisgoing to kick my ass.

Anyone with any sense of self-preservation would run in the other direction, but I toss my T-shirt onto the bench that runs along the ring, toe off my shoes, remove my socks, and slide in under the ropes.

The familiar scents of the gym and feel of the mat under my feet help me focus on what I need to do to notdietoday.

Isaac grabs the ropes, face twisted in concern. “Are you fucking nuts? You haven’t trained in months, and Atlas has every reason not to have any control when it comes to you.”

I roll my shoulders and shake out my arms, bouncing on my feet and trying to warm myself up. Bishop appears with tape, gloves, and headgear and climbs in with me to help me put them on, since Isaac clearly won’t. She gives him a look that tells me she’s thinking the same thing, but Bishop also knows what Allegra did, so she understands she’s not going to be able to talk me out of anything.

Not when I need a good beating to distract me from the emotional pain threatening to tear me apart.

Astrid leans into the ring from the other side, murmuring something to Atlas that I can’t quite hear, but he waves her off, dismissing whatever she said with a determined set of his broad, strong shoulders.

My eyes drift to the massive scar across the left one—the very reason I bet against him in the first place.

That bullet should have ended his career.

Instead, he walked away from the devastation with a fiancé, a baby on the way, and the belt.

Was the pain worth it for all that?

Right now, I think I’d give anything not to feel this way. I’d take a bullet. I’ll take a fucking beating…