“Thought maybe what? That I’d come?” His brother couldn’t be serious. The front door to the gym opened and his father entered. Perfect timing. He hadn’t seen his dad since their argument about Dane and now he was showing up while he was talking to Connor?
“No. You’re right. That’s too much to ask. I. . .uh . . . I’m sorry, man.”
His brother hung up just as his father entered the office.
“Hey,” he said, stacking the fighter files on the corner of his desk.
“Hi.”
“So, your brother’s in rehab,” he said.
“I heard.” About four seconds ago.
His father looked uncomfortable as he rocked back and forth on his heels. “I thought maybe I’d drive out there tonight.”
Tyson’s mouth fell. His father was going to go to the Desert Hope Treatment Center’s family dinner?
“The lady from the support group called. She said it helps when the family offers support throughout the process.”
His jaw tightened. Wasn’t that what he’d tried to do? Wasn’t that what his mother had tried to do? They’d all failed. What made anyone believe Connor was serious about this now? Hadn’t his brother’s failed attempts cost their family enough?
“Anyway, I wasn’t sure if you planned to go or not.”
“No.”
He nodded. “That’s fair. You tried already; no one expects more from you. I’m the one who stood back and let everyone else shoulder the impact this has had on our family over the years. It’s time I stepped up . . . for my son.”
Tyson’s gaze fell to the desk. “Dad, about the fight . . .”
His father crossed the room and placed a hand on his head. “Don’t. I’ve failed both of you over the years and it’s me who should be sorry. I forced you to become something I wanted you to be and I pushed Connor away because he was a distraction who could never be the idea of perfection I thought our family legacy needed. Fuck family legacy—it’s time to focus on family.”
The lump in his throat at his father’s words preventing him from speaking, so he nodded.
“We will get the belt back. That is, if you want it back.”
“Of course I do.” It was the only goal he’d ever worked toward. He didn’t know anything else.
“Anyway, I should go if I’m going to make it on time.” He hesitated for a second at the door, then nodded. “Okay, see you later, son.”
“Hey, Dad,” he called as he father left the room. “Uh, tell Connor . . .” What? He had nothing. He shrugged.
His dad nodded. “Will do.”
* * *
A week later, Tyson scanned the crowd inside ShadowDancers at Walker’s bachelor party. Billy and Carlos were at the bar doing shots off of one of the dancer’s chest and he grinned. They better enjoy it while they could. Starting the following morning, they were training twenty-four-seven in preparation for their upcoming fights. His loss had already done enough damage to his camp’s reputation. His fighters were going to be ready for their fights.
Across from him in the booth, the groom-to-be was texting, a goofy grin on his face.
“You know, I thought the point of a bachelor party was for a final hoopla before you cut your balls off and yet all night you’ve been sitting in this booth texting Gracie,” he said, but he understood. Walker had found a good one; you didn’t mess that up.
At least his buddy was smart enough not to.
“She’s in Lovelock at her bachelorette party,” he said.
“And you’re keeping tabs on her?”
Walker laughed. “There are exactly three single men in Lovelock—none of them under the age of fifty. She’s with her mother, my sister, and my grandmother at the tiniest bar imaginable. I’m okay with this.”
Tyson nodded as he checked his watch. “Well, I think I’m going to head out.” He tossed enough money onto the table to cover the evening’s tab and offered a fist bump to Walker. “Congrats again. You got a good one.”
Walker shot him a look. “You had a good one too.”
Tyson just shook his head. “See you tomorrow morning at the gym. Make sure those two make it into a cab, okay?” he said, nodding toward the young fighters at the bar.
He couldn’t stay any longer, pretending to have a good time. His thoughts continually drifted to Parker and the night they’d been there together, when she’d come on to him and he’d refused her. He should have continued to refuse her—for both of their sakes.
On his way to the door, a pretty redhead touched his arm. “Hi, aren’t you Tyson Reed?”
He nodded.
“I’m a big fan,” she said, twirling a strand of hair around her index finger.
Obviously she hadn’t seen his last fight. “Thank you,” he mumbled, looking past her longingly at the door. So close.
“Do you want to grab a drink?” she asked, sliding out of the booth.
Her short skirt and knee-high boots were exactly the kind he used to take home, but tonight he shook his head. “Sorry. I was just leaving.”
“That’s cool,” she said with a shrug, grabbing her purse. “I was ready to go anyway.”
Shit. For once that wasn’t what he meant. “Sorry,” he said again. “I’m leaving alone.”
She pouted. “Really?”
Really. He nodded.
“Fine, well, can I at least get your autograph?”
He wasn’t sure it was worth much anymore. “Sure.”
He waited as she opened her purse and retrieved a pen. Then almost predictably, she lowered the edge of her shirt, exposing a freckled breast. Once his former self would have kissed every inch of her into all hours of the morning. Now his body offered no reaction to the sight. Parker had somehow managed to break his heart and his dick.
Fantastic.
He hesitated, then ignoring her chest, he reached for a napkin on the table. He scribbled his name quickly and handed it to her.
She looked disgusted as she took it. “Thanks,” she mumbled.
“Have a good night,” he said quickly, once again dashing for the door.
This was just great. He couldn’t be with the woman he wanted, and now he didn’t want to be with anyone else.
At home an hour later, he turned on his television and flipped on his Netflix. He scanned the list of movies until he found the ones he was looking for.
When Parker’s face appeared on his flatscreen moments later, he leaned forward, not hearing the words she said, just mesmerized by her presence. Not seeing her the last few weeks was driving him mad. And if he had to watch and rewatch all of her old movies just to see her, that’s what he planned to do—pathetic and a perhaps a little psychotic—but he didn’t care.
He missed seeing her every day at the gym . . . in bed together at night. He missed the way she argued with him over everything he instructed her to do but did it anyway. He missed the laughter she brought to the otherwise intense, fierce environment of the gym. He missed the way she smelled, the way she felt . . .
Damn, he knew he never should have let her into his gym, into his life, or into his heart. Now, all three felt empty and the anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach that things may not ever feel the same without her made him feel desperate and alone.
He leaned back on the couch and rested his head against the cushions. She was gone and all he had were these movies to try to fill the void she’d left. He closed his eyes and listened to her voice . . . then the sound of the leading man saying, “Being with you is what makes this decision the right one. I didn’t know what it was to love—really love someone—until I met you.”
Wow, an actor’s words had never resonated with him before. But now, on screen some make-believe character in a make-believe world was saying everything he felt for real, for one very real woman.
Get better at pretending, she’d said when he’d claimed no real guy spoke this way. Well, he didn’t need to pretend. He just needed to somehow grow balls big enough to find a way to say it to her. To tell her not only what she wanted to hear, but what he wanted—needed—to say. To tell her his life had been empty without her. His days had been full and busy chasing a fleeting, cruel goal that didn’t matter in the end. That she’d changed things.