Page 107 of On the Ropes
Eddie ran a hand through his hair, then gave me a slightly mischievous grin. “I can’t help being the grumpy old man in this scenario. I’ve just seen more things that make me pessimistic than optimistic. Things get tough around here. But hell. Guess I could call some Army buddies and run it by them. Even if we just make this Oswald asshole squirm for a bit it’ll be worth it.” He reached into his back pocket. “Your sister and niece saw me at the diner, and Juliet drew me this.”
I took it with a smile. “She told me the other night she wanted to draw you a picture.”
“Yeah, well, I appreciated it. Really did. Don’t know why Pam has three heads, but what do I know about art?”
Eyebrows raised, I glanced down at the sheet of paper and confirmed that, yes, Juliet had drawn what looked like a stick figure of Eddie and a messy swirl of colors that was Pam. The swirl had three floating circles—each with a set of whiskers—and the house she drew over them had flowers and trees growing out of the roof.
“Oh, Eddie, it’s beautiful,” I said, showing it to Dean. A genuine smile pulled at the ends of his lips, and I went warm all over at the sight of it. “What are you going to do with it?”
“Frame it,” he said seriously. “Juliet said she’d draw me another one, so I might get a couple frames at the store just in case.”
I handed it back to him. “I’m taking quite a few pictures with me to Texas too. No three-headed cats, but a lot of drawings of our family eating at the diner.”
He folded it carefully and placed it in his pocket. “She’s a good kid. That whole family of yours are all keepers.”
Eddie shuffled off toward his house, and I couldn’t help but wonder about his story and what came next. The block seemed to be taking care of him just fine, but would he ever allow himself to be helped by a program like the one Rowan wanted Dean to run?
With a sigh, I pulled the door open behind me, and Dean held it open but stayed planted outside. His hesitation was obvious in the way he couldn’t keep eye contact. I did spot his focus land on my backpack.
“Do you want to…” I indicated the living room. I sank onto the couch and dragged my laptop across the coffee table to give my nervous hands something to do. When the door finally closed and Dean was inside, I was torn between relief and that same dread. “It sounds like the neighbors got you pretty caught up on the pocket park situation, but I think our combined efforts—plus I sent a ton of emails to past nonprofit clients asking their advice—should lead us in the right direction, don’t you think? We can’t let anything happen to it. We have to fight.”
He rubbed the back of his head. “Everyone’s ideas are good ones, and I…I trust you. It’s just, if that developer is going to buy it from the city, what can we actually do to fight back? I’m not trying to sound like some asshole here. Just think our hands are tied.”
A wave of dismay threatened to knock me over, but I managed to beat it back—just barely. “You’re not wrong,” I admitted. “Maybe I’m the naïve one. We knew this was likely but didn’t ever—” Take it seriously is what I wanted to say, but the sentiment wasn’t sitting right. “Never really talked about it openly. I feel bad, raising that money and getting people invested with all of the videos, but that’s also why I’m not willing to accept defeat even if it appears as though our hands are tied. This community wants to see this pocket park happen, and I think we owe it to them to try our hardest to make it work.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw—he was all coiled, restrained movement. Like that night we met at Benny’s, and it was so obvious to me Dean Knox-Morelli was holding himself back in ways I didn’t understand yet.
“You shouldn’t feel bad,” he said. “I started all of this without a plan of action. Got everyone involved and excited. Getting Eddie and Alice talking about Annie again. This is why I don’t… This is why I shouldn’t…” He raked a hand through his hair, trailing off when I suspected he wouldn’t have this morning. Before things changed.
“Why you shouldn’t what?” I asked, tucking my feet under me. “Dean, you did the right thing here. I’ve been filming you for a week now, and if you could only see how much everyone loves and respects you regardless—”
“I’m going to take the Vegas job.”
I paused, mouth still open. “You…are?”
He nodded, eyes on the floor.
“The meeting went well, then, I’m assuming?” I said, through a burst of jittery laughter covering up my shock and disappointment. Two emotions I didn’t have a right to express with my own bags packed for a contract I was feeling lukewarm about myself.
“I know it’s a lot to take in. And a surprise. But looks like I need to pack a bag too.”
“For Las Vegas,” I said slowly, trying to picture Dean in a place so different from where we’d grown up was distorting my brain. That and the elephant in the room—that I’d held this man last night as he endured the lingering side effects of his many concussions from the sport he just agreed to represent on television.
“It’ll be an adjustment, like you said. And I’d rather run the steps at the art museum a thousand fucking times than go tell everyone I’m leaving.” His voice was flat and free of emotion. “But after they get used to it, I think they’ll be proud to see me on TV.”
“Of course they’ll be proud,” I said. “Your parents are proud of everything you do. I guess I’m just…” I bit my bottom lip, fingers tapping against my knee. “Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but did you tell them what happened to you last night? Does it seem like they care about injuries like you’ve been saying?”
Dean cut his eyes back to the floor, the motion spiking through my complicated emotions. “Harry doesn’t care about shit like that.”
I bit my tongue to keep from saying He doesn’t care about your health?
“The producer made some promises about change I think he’ll keep,” he finished. I caught the dip and sway of his tone, and it concerned me more than anything else.
“So I’m leaving. And you’re leaving,” he said, that dark-and-stormy gaze rising back to mine and pinning me in place. “Looks like we might meet at an airport sometime after all.”
“Yeah, looks like,” I chirped. “Wow. I’m, well, I thought you were going to work with Rowan and run the food program.”
Dean swallowed. “He’ll find someone more suited for that job.”
