“What?” My entire body twitched. “No. I… we’ve just started. It’s … I care about her, sure, but—”

“But nothing,” Marcy cut in with glee. “Look at you. You’re going on about her chipmunk smile and her clothes. Her clothes, Rhys. And not in a ‘she wears sexy clothes that make me hot’ kind of dude-bro way.”

“Dude-bro?” I huffed. “And her clothes are sexy.”

Marcy spread her arms as if to say she rested her case. “Guys don’t notice stuff like that unless they’re totally gone on a girl.”

I leveled her a long look but then folded like a card tower. “Fine. I’m into her, yeah? I really like this girl. But love?” No. No. No. Love was … pain. It was loss. Your parents. Your best friend.

Jesus. The mere thought of Dean dying on me made my breath grow thin and fast.

I couldn’t love Parker. I could enjoy my time with her. But love? No. Because one day, I might be like Marcy, sitting alone at my kitchen table, wishing Parker was with me with all my heart and …

Fuck.

I rubbed my chest and swallowed convulsively. A soft hand on my free one had me turning to face Marcy. Understanding lit her eyes.

“It’s good that you found someone to care about, Rhys.” I didn’t miss the emphasis on care. She was throwing me a bone. I caught it and nodded like my heart wasn’t trying to tear itself out of my chest.

“How did you meet?”

Right there. That was my limit on evasion. “Funny thing …” I took a deep breath and started to tell Marcy the whole story. Her eyes got bigger as I explained.

“You’re going to lose the gym?”

“Either that or I have to sell it. Neither option appeals to me.”

“But … how? You’re so responsible with everything.”

I looked away. From the other room came the puffs and clangs of Rose’s video game. I could see a slice of the couch and her small legs swinging back and forth as she played. She moved like a kid who hadn’t a care in the world. But I knew she suffered nightmares now and then. She’d scream out for her daddy, even though she’d only been two when he died. When Marcy told me that, it just about killed me.

I rubbed my chest again. “My dad. He …” I forced myself to meet her worried gaze. “You know he liked to gamble.”

Understanding dawned. “Oh God. Rhys. It was when he gambled on Jake, wasn’t it?”

She might as well have kicked me in the chest. I flinched, the air rushing out of me. “You knew about that?”

I felt sick. Pushing my empty plate back, I rested my face in my hands and tried to breathe.