“I’d say so.”

“He flies to San Francisco a lot. His understanding is he’ll be holding seminars with other dojos associated with House of Kenji.” Deacon paused. “I’d lay odds at some point during his travels he’ll find another punk-ass kid who needs direction like I did.” The instant the words were out of his mouth, he regretted opening the can of worms his father had been keeping the lid on.

“He gave you what you needed at the time. I’m grateful to him for that. Maddox is giving you what you need now. But what happens a few years down the road, after you’re done fightin’?”

“No idea. It depends on how far I go.”

“What’re the odds you’ll ever get a title shot?”

Fuck. Not this again. “Slim. But that don’t mean I won’t try. I realize I’m not twenty, but I’m not washed-up at thirty, either.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“I’m in the best shape of my life,” he said defensively. “I finally feel like I’m getting somewhere.”

“And getting somewhere will always take you farther away from Texas, won’t it?” his dad said softly.

“Don’t. You fuckin’ know why I’m not there, wearing a monkey suit, collecting a big goddamn check, nothin’ but a waste of space—”

“You’ll never be a waste of space. Jesus, boy. When will you ever get it through that bald head of yours that after Dante—”

“Not goin’ there, Dad. Talk about something else or I’ll hang up.”

“I hate this. I can’t even say his name or you lose your shit.”

“I lost a fuck load more than my shit when my brother died and you fuckin’ know it. So next goddamn question.”

A phlegmy cough sounded and faded, as if his dad had put his hand over the phone to hide it.

“Dad? You sick or something?” he said gruffly.

A beat later he answered. “Just old-age stuff.”

“Sixty-five ain’t old.”

“I feel it every damn day. And I’ll channel your mother here for a moment and remind you that when I was your age, I’d just gotten married.”

Only because a social-climbing, money-grubbing beauty queen hooked you as her lifetime meal ticket.

Nice way to talk about Mom, bro.

Deacon closed his eyes. He used to welcome his brother’s voice inside his head, because he’d always been the more reasonable one of the two of them, but today that superior tone annoyed him.

Shut it, Dante.

Would it kill you to give him something? So he knows you’re happy outside the ring?

Fuck.

“I’m a long way from that stage, but I am, ah . . . seeing someone.”

See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?

Fuck off, Dante.

Phantom laughter echoed in his head and then vanished. People would think him certifiable if he admitted it was more than just his dead brother’s voice; it felt like part of Dante’s conscience hadn’t moved on but had remained with Deacon all these years.

“Tag mentioned to me that you’d met someone.”

Gossipy damn family.

“So? Tell me about her,” his dad prompted.

“She’s . . . smart. And strong.” And gorgeous, and sweet, and funny, and sexy, and I’m so crazy about her it scares the shit out of me.

“What’s her name, and how’d you meet?”

“Her name is Molly. We met at Black Arts when she took my kickboxing class. She’s the office manager for Hardwick Designs—that’s Ronin’s wife Amery’s business.”

“How long have you been dating?”

“A couple weeks. But I’ve known her for almost two years.” Why had he shared that?

“I’d like to meet her.”

I’m sure you would. “She’ll be at my next fight.”

“There’s an added incentive to go.” His dad chuckled. “I imagine you won’t be bringing her home to meet your mother. Does that mean I can’t tell her you’ve met someone?”

“Why ask? You’ll do whatever you want. But Molly isn’t up for discussion with either of you.”

“You sound happy. That’s all I care about. But I won’t speak for Julianne. Take care, son, and keep me informed on the fight.”

“Will do. Later.” Deacon hung up.

He ran his palm over his bald pate. His head was wet. Why did talking to his dad make him sweat?

Because you’re still convinced he’s judging you.

Christ, Dante. He is. You’re dead, and I still don’t measure up to you.