I rolled my already tightening shoulders back. “I need to talk to you.”

“I bet you do.” He kicked out a chair for me next to his desk. I sank down into it. When he set his gaze on me, the concern there had doubled. “There’s no other way to say this. You look like shit warmed over, dude.”

35. Dean

Thirty-Five

Dean

Rowan swung his office chair around and sat in it backward. “Did you get a migraine last night?”

I rubbed my temples. “Yeah, how’d you know?”

“The looking-like-shit-warmed-over part. Do you still have it?”

He was already standing up and walking to the kitchen. I took the brief moment to scan his office, filled with food donations. But then he appeared next to me with an ice pack in his hand.

“Thank you.” I placed it on the back of my neck. “I went for a hard run just now. Gave myself a tension headache.” At Rowan’s arched eyebrow I said, “I know it was a mistake. One of many today.”

He placed a glass of ice water and a bottle of Tylenol next to it. I swallowed two and finished the glass.

“Easy, big guy,” he said. “The only perfect person in this room is me, so you don’t gotta go all hard on yourself.”

I flipped him a middle finger, which made him laugh. He swung his leg back over the chair. “Seriously though. What the hell is going on? Is Eddie okay?”

“Eddie’s good,” I said. “I talked to him about the food boxes, and he wants to sign up. But only if he can give half to the neighbors.”

A real smile flew across Rowan’s face. “You did it.”

I lifted one shoulder. “It was no big deal. Think he just had to feel comfortable.” I glanced back around at the boxes, the pictures of kids and families on the wall. I listened to the sounds of people working late, someone playing the radio softly. I was feigning being casual about Eddie. Talking to him about what he needed help with had felt important. Knowing this place could help, even a little bit, had warmed my chest. Made me proud. Throughout the meeting with Rex and Harry, they’d kept emphasizing the lifestyle I’d have out there—makeup, lights, being on camera, always having a hot take on some boxer’s skill or lack of.

I’d felt only a hollow, shallow interest that became a spiky panic by the time I’d shaken Rex’s hand and said, “Yeah. I’ll do it.” Maybe it was the greed in Harry’s eyes. Or the fact that it was clear Rex did not, at all, care about the health and well-being of any athlete unless it was giving Game Time bad press.

On Rowan’s computer, he’d stuck a Post-it note that said Every day is your chance to make this city better.