“Oh. I didn’t know that.” I tucked my feet beneath me. It wasn’t like I had any claim to where Dean ended up or what job I thought was the best fit for him. This still hurt though.

His gaze slid to mine then behind me, and his jaw tightened. “I think there’s a developer looking at the vacant lot.”

“What?”

I joined him at the curtain, ducking under his arm. A few guys wearing construction gear were milling about on the sidewalk in front of a large black truck that read Oswald Properties. My stomach pitched.

“Do you know who they are?” I asked, dread filling me.

“Yeah.”

His phone started ringing again, and I thought he might break it between his fingers.

“Are they good news or bad news?”

He stepped back, away from me. “They’re bad fucking news.”

32. Dean

Thirty-Two

Dean

At the height of my training with Sly, the warning he repeated the most was to never let myself get cocky when I ducked under those ropes. A quiet confidence was one thing. Feeling like you deserved every victory just by being there wasn’t.

His warnings were true. The few times as an amateur when I stepped into the ring cocky, I took a surprise hit below the belt every time. Couple of those and you straighten up, real quick.

How do I feel, Tabitha?

I’d been boasting, hadn’t I? Woken up on that couch flush with the kind of head rush I always got when I was no longer in pain. As if our secret sharing, that sex, this entire morning could exist without consequences.

As if I ever thought falling in love with Tabitha Tyler would have a happy ending. But now I had Harry calling me nonstop, developers on the block, and Tabitha shyly admitting it was better for her to leave.

“New plan,” she said, pulling her hair up into a ponytail. “You take your call or…get ready for your meeting, I guess, and I’ll go talk to Mr. Bad Fucking News. See if I can’t shake out what’s going on.”

She changed quickly, mouth tight, and I caught her peeking at my prescription bottle open on the coffee table. She’d looked shocked that I hadn’t turned down the commentator gig. A good part of me was shocked too. But now that feeling was competing with an uneasy guilt. I’d bared my soul, had told her all of my complicated issues about the industry and my own injuries. She’d seen the effects last night, feeding me pills because I was in too much agony to take them myself.

With a polite smile, Tabitha slid on her shoes and walked outside. I couldn’t worry about Oswald Properties and the terrible fucking things they’d been known to do across this city. Yet. Instead, I answered my ringing phone with a weary sigh.