But Deacon found himself crawling onto the mattress and curling in behind her. The comforter wasn’t much of a barrier between their bodies, but it was enough.

For now.

His lack of sleep caught up with him, and he drifted off.

The dream always started the same. Surrounded by fog as thick and sticky as a spider’s web. But he was safe inside. Then ghostly fingers crept in through the air vents, covering his mouth and eyes.

So wet and cold. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t hear. Where were they? He opened his mouth to call out, but their names bounced back as if he’d shouted against a wall.

In the next instant the fog dissipated and an image appeared in the distance. A ridged gray and black object. Getting closer and closer.

A tree.

He stared wide-eyed as the massive oak morphed into a talking tree from The Wizard of Oz. The knothole became a mouth open in a silent scream at the moment of impact.

Then the screams became real.

Not his screams, he thought as darkness overcame him.

Breathe, man. Come on!

Then he was floating, watching the scene above his own body, lying lifeless on the gurney along the side of the road.

The EMT yelled at him to breathe, to fight.

Not to die.

He felt his soul being sucked away, vanishing into nothingness like the fog, forever gone. Like he never was.

Until excruciating pain had him gasping for breath.

“That’s it,” a disembodied voice said. “You’re a fighter. Stay with me.”

Deacon shot upright in bed. His heart hammering, his body bathed in sweat, his hands clenched into fists so tight he couldn’t get them unclenched.

It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.

Except . . . it was.

In a panic he glanced over at Molly, afraid his thrashing around had awoken her. Or worse, his scream.

Thankfully, she remained curled into herself, still asleep.

Deacon carefully eased off the bed. He never wanted her to see him like this. Shaken. Haunted.

Broken.

By the time he reached the living room, he no longer felt like he might throw up.

By the time he raced out of the room and reached the playground in front of the motel, he’d stopped shaking.

He’d been shaking so hard he hadn’t realized his cell phone had been vibrating in his back pocket.

The phone had kicked the caller over to voice mail.

Good. He needed a distraction. He waited to return the call until his voice wouldn’t betray him.

Deacon hit RETURN CALL, and the other line rang twice.

“Please tell me you’re on a plane back to Denver,” Maddox said instead of hello.

“Not yet.”

“Any idea when that will be?”

“Nope. There’s still a lot of stuff up in the air.”

“Is she glad you’re there?”

Deacon had asked Ronin if he should go. He said yes. So had Knox, and even Beck had told him to take off. The lone dissenter had been Maddox. “So far.”

“Are you glad you’re there?”

He grunted. “What do you think?”

“I think this is a bad time for you to take off from training and become your girlfriend’s counselor.”

“That’s why you called? Jesus, Mad, I’m not a fucking idiot. It’s not like I’ll be gone a month. I’ll do what I can with cardio and strength training.”

“You also need to spar every day, Deacon.” He paused. “Speaking of sparring . . . guess who walked into the dojo today?”

“Dana White.”

Maddox snorted. “Micah Courey.”

Deacon froze. “No shit?”

“No shit.”

“What did he want?”

“To train here. Specifically, to train with me.”

Fuck. “What did you say?”

“I told him to come back in a few days after I brought it up with Ronin since he has final approval on adding new fighters to the program.”

Pacing in the gravel parking lot kicked up puffs of dust. “Is this your way of cutting me loose?”

“No.”

“Then why are you even considering taking on a champion in my weight division?”

“Nothing has been decided, and nothing will be until you get back here. But you can understand why I’d want that to be sooner rather than later.”

“I’ve been gone one fucking day, Maddox.”

“Deacon. These next six weeks are crucial. You win the next fight against Needham and one of the big fight organizations will sign you. This is what you’ve been working toward.”

“You think I don’t know that?” he shot back. “Fuck. I know Micah Courey is a better bet than me. He’s already signed with Smackdown. He’s already proven himself.”