“Like hell,” I muttered. Shit. I had been hovering. Like a fretful parent.
He ignored that, thankfully. “So why not get back into fighting? You’re too good for this.” He spread his arms out to encompass the gym. “You’re too good to be running around town as some fake-ass boyfriend—”
“You wanted to be her fake-ass boyfriend.” The thought of Dean with Parker rubbed raw on my skin. “So you’re saying it was okay for you but not me?”
“Yeah,” he countered. “I am. I’m the fuck-up. I don’t have a job. You …” He pointed a finger in my direction. “Were a world-class boxer, a fucking champion. If I had that talent, I wouldn’t be wasting my life in this shitty gym.”
“Don’t call this place shitty.”
“Don’t prevaricate.”
“Using big words on the stupid ox brother?”
“Don’t pretend to be stupid. You’re smarter than you look!”
We were face-to-face now, yelling at each other with increasing volume.
Dean took another step closer, eyeing me as good as any old opponent would have done. “And don’t fucking try to change the subject. You keep saying that Dad’s death took the fight out of you. But I can’t believe it. Tell me the truth for once. I’m an adult—”
“All evidence to the contrary.”
“You clearly aren’t in mourning over Dad anymore,” he went on as if I hadn’t spoken. “So why won’t you go back to boxing?”
“None of your fucking business.”
“Are you scared?”
I scoffed at his taunt. “Scared? Fuck you.”
He didn’t blink. “Scared that you will suck? That you’ll get your fat ass out there and someone will kick it?”
“The day I’m afraid of someone kicking my ass is the day I lay down and die.”
He sneered. “You’re already dead. You’re just walking around like an animated corpse. A fucking waste.”
I grabbed his collar and hauled him close. He didn’t resist. My voice came out in a snarl. “You should talk, you little shit—”
“Yeah, yeah.” The rage in his eyes was unavoidable. “Tell me another one. Won’t change the fact that you’re a fucking chicken—”
“Shut up!”
“No. Tell me why! Why, Rhys?” His words hammered into my skull, pushed against my chest. “Why won’t you go back? Huh? Why?”
“Because I can’t!” I shouted, my voice breaking. My body sagged. “I can’t … Jake. He … I …”
Dean’s face became a blur, and I let him go, thrusting him away and turning my back on him. Chest heaving, I tried to draw in a breath, looking for that calm, dead place that I lived in now.
Behind me, Dean uttered a soft curse. When he talked, his voice was small and hesitant. “It’s because of Jake?”
Bracing my hands low on my hips to hide their shaking, I blinked up at the ceiling. “I saw him die.” I swallowed convulsively. “I knew it was going to happen. The second he took that hit … I knew it was over. The light went out of his eyes. And I knew.”
I could still see it. Nausea surged up my gut, and I swallowed again.
Dean appeared at my side. I hadn’t heard him move. “That was shitty of me, pushing you. I’m … I’m sorry, Rhys.”
I knew he was apologizing for Jake too. A sound of wry amusement mixed with ugly pain left me, sharp and loud. “Yeah, well, it’s what we do.”
He didn’t smile but moved a bit closer. I felt the brush of his arm against mine, and I swear to God, I wanted to run out of the room. I was too close to breaking. I took a few deep breaths, refusing to move away.
“I can’t get in that ring again,” I said in a low, tight voice.
“I get it,” he said softly.
I nodded, and we both fell silent. After a minute, Dean stirred, clearing his throat. “I used to love coming here. Back when you were training.”
I stayed as still as I could, just breathing.
He kept talking, tentative, reaching for a truce. “It was great. And you’re right. It could be great again.”
“I’m working on that,” I bit out, the words costing me. Talking meant acknowledging that I was there. When I wanted to be any place but.
“I know you are. It’s a good plan.” He glanced over at me, regret painted on every line of his face. He’d never truly understand that I never wanted him to feel regret. I never wanted regret to be his burden.
“I’ll help you, Rhys.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. It took everything in me to hold onto the fragile thread of calm I’d gained back. “All right.”
He nodded, looking pleased. “Any tips you need for handling Parker?”
A rusty laugh broke free. “You think I need help with women? That’s cute.”
He rolled his eyes. “I meant more along the lines of hanging out with her geeky friends and coworkers.”
An evil grin spread as I remembered peppering those gossipy little asshats with paint bullets. That smug weasel Pete had actually squealed. So satisfying. “I got that covered.”