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“This isn’t a joke, Dylan. You need to finish your degree and start working at the firm. This bullshit”—he gestures around the room—“won’t sustain you forever.”
John glances over his shoulder.
“This bullshit? Brady, you’re the one who brought me here,” I whisper shout, hoping Brady will get that he’s embarrassing me. He introduced me to fighting and he’s the goddamn reason I stay. Why can’t he understand that?
“Yeah, well, if I knew you’d screw your life up for a stupid fight, I never would’ve let you tag along.”
My eyebrows pinch together. I grab my bag and shove my gloves inside before checking my phone. One missed call from Austin. Brady is overbearing enough for the both of them, but I’m sure he’s calling to give me a lecture too, which is fucking bullshit.
“Austin isn’t a lawyer,” I point out, snapping the locker shut with a bang.
John clears his throat and I flinch. Fuck, I hate how mad Brady makes me sometimes.
Brady scowls at the door, then at me, like I’m the one that started the drama. “He got a degree and works at a Michelin star restaurant.”
“So, being a sous chef is fine, but being a championship fighter isn’t? Got it.” I shake my head and pull on my black beanie and matching zip-up hoodie. “You know what’s funny? I have a real chance of making it, and you keep trying to stop me. Are you jealous?” Shoving past him, I make my way out of the room.
Brady and his shitty attitude storm after me. “I’m not jealous of you.”
“You sure about that?” I arch an eyebrow and toss him a look over my shoulder, taking in his outfit. No wrinkles. Shiny shoes. A tie. It’s standard, but not to Brady. This getup is his armor, and he’s been battling the demons of the past ever since he passed the bar.
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“Nothing, Brady. You can stop giving me shit. I’ll go to class.”
“You’ll pass the exam at the end of this session,” he corrects, quickening his pace to fall in step with me. “And you’ll graduate like you’re supposed to.”
I clench my jaw. “Anything else you’d like me to do?”
“Drop the attitude. I’m doing this for you. One day, you’ll thank me.” He unlocks his car, and I don’t stop to say bye. “Don’t forget about the security system!” he shouts at my back.
Lifting my hand, I flip him off and head to my car. With the law school talk, I’d forgotten about Quinn. I drop my bag into the back seat and grab my phone before sliding into the driver’s seat. The door falls shut behind me. The app for the security system registers my face and links me to the camera feed. The first three feeds—the front door, the back door, and the pool—are all empty. But then I lay eyes on her and my balls tighten in response. Quinn is sitting in the kitchen with a blonde I don’t recognize and surrounded by magazines and glue.
I hold the phone closer and squint, but the feed isn’t good enough to make out what they’re doing. Unmuting the system, I invade her privacy even more, rolling my eyes when I hear her friend prattling on about some alphas she’s been dating. Quinn’s gaze keeps straying to a magazine I recognize. Is that—? Shit, it is.
MMA Monthly.
I recognize the cover through the grainy camera feed. That’s my feature month. What’s got Quinn so curious?
Finally, she grabs it.
“Ah-ha! So you do like fighters,” the blonde says.
“Shut up,” Quinn grouses.
“The veins, baby girl. Theveins.”
I glance at my hands at her friend’s words. There are a few veins that are visible. For some reason, the ladies love it. Quinn flips page after page, checking out the various fighters in the magazine. A wrinkle of jealousy makes itself at home between my eyebrows. But then she finds my full-page spread. I hold my breath, waiting for her to turn the page.
She doesn’t.
Quinn stares and stares and stares, and while I’m not there with her, I can’t help but feel like those eyes are boring into me, finding my deepest, darkest secrets. Remembering our stolen moments. My knuckles turn white from how hard I’m gripping the phone.
“He’s fucking hot,” the friend says.
Turning my head to the side, I wait for Quinn’s response. My heart is hammering against my ribcage, and I don’t know if I completely understand why, but I’m desperate to know what Quinn thinks. Does she hate the tattoos? Does she think I’m a failure for fighting, like Brady does?
Does she think anything at all?
