Dean’s blue eyes, the exact shade of our mother’s, met mine. Sorrow and worry rested in his. “This guy will own a piece of your soul if you do this.”

“Yes,” I said again, because I knew that too. It’s what pissed me off the most.

“Then don’t fucking do it.”

“We need that money, Dean. I either fight or I sell the gym.”

“There are always ways to get money. I’ll get a job.” He leaned in. “A real job. No more messing around. I’ll find something good.”

I gave him a weak smile. “It won’t be enough. Not with the limited time we have left.”

Dean moved to speak, but I lifted a hand. “It’s no longer just the money. That asshole has it in his head to see me fight. This isn’t just about money with Fairchild. The fucker has a psychotic inability to take no for an answer. And he’s made it clear he’ll mess with me if I don’t do this.”

Dean leapt to his feet and paced. “Son of a bitch. There’s gotta be a way around this.”

I sighed and watched Dean pace.

“That … that …”

“Fuck?” I supplied wryly.

Dean grinned wide. “Yeah.” His smile dropped. “He’s treating you like a freaking zoo exhibit. Pay a ticket and watch the great Rhys Morgan step back into the ring. Fucking hell.”

Something sparked and rippled through my mind. “Wait. Stop.”

Dean halted mid stride and faced me. “What?”

That something danced around, growing bigger. “A zoo exhibit, you said.”

“Yeah, uh, what?” He huffed out a laugh. “I’m not following.”

I stood and picked up where he left off pacing. “It struck a chord. What if I did an exhibition fight?”

“Isn’t that what Fairchild wants?”

“Yeah—no. I mean, what if we”—I gestured between us—“organized a fight? An exhibition fight, for charity.”

Dean chewed his lip as he watched me. “For charity? But how does that help us?”

“I don’t know …” I kept pacing. “It might not work. But if I put on a fight, I pull the rug out from under those fuckwads. If we make it for charity, maybe somehow we can find a sponsor for the gym. Find a way to help not just ourselves, but the community too.”

Slowly Dean’s expression lightened. “It could work.” He paced the other way, both of us wearing a groove in the floorboards. His stride grew quicker as he mulled over what I’d said.

“It could work, Rhys.” He sounded excited now. “But I have no clue how to get something like that started. Do you?”