Page 105 of On the Ropes
I understood what was happening here. It felt just like the past few years, being stripped of power by a force bigger than me. Like a city full of disappointed fans. Or a city full of rich developers who didn’t give a shit about the neighborhoods they built in. I’d put myself out there, had gotten people I cared about to give time and money they didn’t have a lot of.
And was going to disappoint them. Again.
But Tabitha was shaking her head with a determined look on her face. “I sincerely hope we don’t. Because we can save it. I know it.”
“Aren’t you leaving Philly tomorrow anyway?” I asked with an edge I didn’t mean. There was a spark of hurt in her eyes, but she didn’t respond at first. I watched her hide her vulnerability with a pasted-on smile and a straightening of her shoulders.
It was worse than if she’d gotten pissed or frustrated. She hadn’t run from opening up to me this morning, and every cell in my body ached with wanting to fix things for her. To go back in time and tell her mother to fuck the hell off. To convince Tabitha that what had happened wasn’t her burden to carry alone.
I wanted to show her that she could stay. Be honest. Not be afraid.
“I am leaving tomorrow,” she said with a false cheeriness. “But I’ve been known to work a few miracles.” She scooped up her purse and quickly neatened the pillows on the couch where we’d slept. Where she’d taken care of me. Where we’d had sex so intense I’d almost said something stupid after like I’m in love with you. The sight of her removing any trace of us out of politeness ratcheted up those nerves. “Good luck at your meeting. If you can’t find me, I’m sure I’ll be around a kiddie pool trying to convince Alice not to commit an act of violence against that truck parked there.”
She crossed over to her stoop and slipped inside her house with a wave. With a curse, I yanked my own door behind me and strode down the sidewalk. To my left was the pocket park, being measured by a couple contractors to determine its value. It hadn’t looked like much two weeks ago. And yeah, it didn’t look like much now—a couple benches. A few garden beds. Supplies stored in the corner. There wasn’t any grass yet so parts of it still resembled a jagged scar. But because of Tabitha, I knew what it could have been for the people on this street. Maybe something like this wasn’t gonna change the world, but Tabitha had shown me that stuff didn’t always have to be on some dramatic scale as long as what you did was helping a little.
I glared at the lot as I walked past, no different now than the night Tabitha had fallen into my lap. The reality was settling in as I turned the corner toward the coffee shop. The disappointment. The loss. The embarrassment. If I’d been walking to this meeting with Rowan, I know what he would have said—to bail, big time. That I was too angry and much too distracted to put myself back into a professional athlete’s mindset.
But he wasn’t here. By the time I was shoving open the door to the shop a minute later, I didn’t want to talk about boxing at all. I wanted to tug on my gloves and punch the ever-loving-shit out of whatever surface was closest. It must have showed too. I rolled my shoulders back as I approached Harry’s table, and I swore I saw him gulp.
He tapped the arm of the suited-up man next to him. The Game Time producer, Rex Carter, had a fake orange tan and a watch that probably cost twice my mortgage. The obvious look of awe on his face when he saw me activated a darker fight-night power in my chest that I had never felt comfortable with. He was a man who knew this sport inside out, who’d met a lot of the greats and respected their talent. He wasn’t mad. Or full of frustrating sympathy. He stood to shake my hand and gazed up at me like he understood I used to win every night of the week.
“Dean the Machine,” he drawled, gripping my hand tightly. “It’s an honor to meet you in person, and I’m not only saying that. I was telling your agent here that I’ve always been a die-hard fan.”
I inclined my head and sat down. “Nice to meet you, sir. Welcome to Philly.”
“Rex was just talking about the job and what it entails,” Harry said, sliding a cup of coffee my way. “Being on TV. Moving to Vegas. He knows you have a lot of concerns.”
Rex flashed me a smile. “We’re very serious about investing in this as your next career, Dean. Almost as serious as we are about the health and safety of our boxers. If you need some persuading, I’ve got the time today to do that.”
I twisted my coffee between my hands. I was hyperaware that the instincts coursing through my body were not the right ones or even the ethical ones. That the old power I was searching for at this table was flashy and unsustainable. It wasn’t helping people like Eddie or seeing my parents dance in their living room or accepting that transformations take time. It had nothing to do with the confidence that came from Tabitha Tyler kissing me like I was the air she needed to breathe and then holding me when I was in pain.
But that was the thing about instincts, I guess. Sometimes they led you astray.
“I’ve got the time today,” I said. “And I’m open to persuasion.”
