He fell silent and studied the room with a jaundiced eye, seeing all its flaws. I didn’t know if he cared to remember the old days, or if he saw a different version of it than I did. Likely so. This place had been my second home. It had given me a sense of myself that nothing else ever did. I’d become a fighter here. It was part of me. And if it was worthless, what was I?

Dean met my gaze again and his was still troubled. “If you were fighting, you’d bring in enough money to fix all this. In a heartbeat.”

“Dean …”

“Don’t ‘Dean’ me in that way. Jesus, you sound like Ma when you do that.”

“I sound like Ma? Somehow I doubt that.”

“Well,” he said with a slight smile, “your voice is a lot lower and you’re ugly to boot, but you have that same repressive ‘You’re getting out of hand and do I need to put you in time out?’ tone.”

I laughed again, even though my chest felt tight and heavy.

Dean shook his head in disappointment. “I just don’t get it. You said you took time off to look after me. As if I couldn’t do that at twenty-two.”

“Could you?” I countered, dryly. “Because the way I remember it, you were a fucking wreck, well on your way to becoming a deadbeat drunk.”

Annoyance flashed in his eyes, and he sucked in a sharp breath. “Okay, fine. It was … nice of you to do that.”

I snorted. “High praise.”

“But I’m out of college, and I don’t get drunk anymore. That shit won’t fly anymore. You can’t hover over my life. Unless you’re aiming to become one of those creepy pseudo-helicopter parents? Which, I’ve gotta say, you’re skirting the edge of that already.”

“Like hell,” I muttered. Shit. I had been hovering. Like a fretful parent.

He ignored that, thankfully. “So why not get back into fighting? You’re too good for this.” He spread his arms out to encompass the gym. “You’re too good to be running around town as some fake-ass boyfriend—”

“You wanted to be her fake-ass boyfriend.” The thought of Dean with Parker rubbed raw on my skin. “So you’re saying it was okay for you but not me?”

“Yeah,” he countered. “I am. I’m the fuck-up. I don’t have a job. You …” He pointed a finger in my direction. “Were a world-class boxer, a fucking champion. If I had that talent, I wouldn’t be wasting my life in this shitty gym.”

“Don’t call this place shitty.”

“Don’t prevaricate.”

“Using big words on the stupid ox brother?”

“Don’t pretend to be stupid. You’re smarter than you look!”

We were face-to-face now, yelling at each other with increasing volume.