“I hear you,” I said, stifling a worried sigh. “And let’s hope not. I think the best plan of action is to do exactly what you’re doing. Two years ago, I spent a lot of time in Baltimore with a neighborhood group that created these ‘pocket parks.’ A tiny splash of green space that made use of vacant sites in the city. The one I was filming was turned into a sunflower garden, no bigger than this lot, I’d say. There were benches and string lights. The whole neighborhood got behind it.”

I felt, more than heard, the notes of curiosity in my voice. The same notes I got when a new story idea appeared in my inbox or a random conversation sparked inspiration.

His heavy brow knit together. “A pocket park?”

“Pretty cool concept, right? I might have done a little research in my spare time yesterday. Just out of pure interest,” I said quickly. And definitely not because I had already gone down a rabbit hole, digging up some of Dean’s old matches and watching them with my mouth slightly open.

The former boxer in front of me grunted a huh response and fixated on the empty space in question. Besides the bend to his nose, there were a few jagged scars under his eye and on his cheeks and one indenting his bottom lip. His knuckles were slightly swollen, wrists thick. I had no clue what the announcers were saying during his fights or the calls the ref made or any of the names of what Dean and his opponent were doing.

I did feel like I finally understood the true meaning of raw, unrestrained power. Seeing him in action was like watching a finely tuned machine. In the ring, his face remained impassive—except for the snarl on his lips and the knife-sharp glint in his eyes. It had been mesmerizing—all those flexing muscles, the sweat gleaming on his skin, the full reach of his arms.

But it was impossible to ignore the dark underbelly of each fight, how every strike to his body had me wincing in sympathy. And that Dean took hit after hit to his head seemingly without complaint.

“Penny for your thoughts?” I asked.

His gaze darted back to mine. “I like that idea of a small park. I can’t see it though. I only see the problem.”

I made a sound of agreement. “I think that’s pretty normal, don’t you? People can’t see the change—or make a change—because the problem is so big it blocks out everything else?”

He was quiet for a moment. “Yeah. That’s true.”