I walked into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water. Right by the sink was a framed picture from one of the matches I won. The ref had my left fist in the air while my right arm dangled at my side. I had a cut on my cheek and a swollen lip. Sweat dripped from my hair and down my chest. The look on my face didn’t resemble some robotic machine at all. I looked like an animal. I looked feral.

“I’m not doing much,” I admitted, putting down my glass and picking up the frame. “But I’m not saying I want to get back into it again.”

“Not even if this could count as your comeback?”

I went still. I’d never admitted to Harry how conflicted I was about retiring sometimes—those low, late-night thoughts that were impossible to ignore. He’d take that ball and run with it, have me signed up for some exhibition in no time.

“Do I want a comeback?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Do you?”

A dull pounding started up at the base of my skull. “Harry.”

“What?”

I hesitated, eyes flicking up to the ceiling. “What’s the network’s stance on concussions and TBIs? Are they doing anything about it?”

This time Harry took a second to respond. “Full disclosure? No. They’re not changing the rules. You’re gonna see boxers take a lot of punches to the head, just like you did.”

“They can’t operate from that mindset,” I said urgently. “These are injuries that boxers can’t just bounce back from. I still have side effects, and I was one of the lucky—”

“Dean,” he interrupted. “Dean, Dean. I get it, okay? Your sport obsession of choice isn’t perfect. And which sport is? But if that’s a question you’d have for them, I can pass it on to the guy I’ve been talking to.”

I stretched my neck from side to side and contemplated hitting Harry just for fun. “I would appreciate that, thanks.”

“Are you at least slightly interested?” he asked.

That picture of me in victory stared at me accusingly. Saying no would be a full lie, even if I didn’t want to admit it. “I’m slightly interested.”

Harry whistled. “Well, okay then. At least I know we can play a little hardball now. I’ll be in touch. It wouldn’t hurt to peek at some apartments in Vegas. In a nice neighborhood, if you catch my drift.”

He disconnected before I could answer. I held the phone out and stared at it, wondering what the actual hell was happening.