Connor shrugged. “Nothing. He was just asking me if I knew about any fights cards coming up.”

“Fight cards? As in illegal, unsanctioned fights?” Motherfucker. His hands clenched.

“They are not all illegal and unsanctioned, man. There are other legitimate fighting organizations others than the MFL.”

Not ones he wanted his training camp associated with.

“Besides, not all fighters grow up with Alan ‘The Steel Fist’ Reed as a father. Some fighters only make it to the minors.”

“Dane’s not one of them. He’s already proving he can throw down with the best. He’s already fought in the MFL, and I’m working on getting him more fights.” Why was he even having this conversation with his brother? “Look, either way, it doesn’t matter. You asked for a job around the gym, just do the job. No talking to my fighters.”

Connor shook his head and mumbled something under his breath.

Tyson swung back around. “Care to repeat that a little louder?”

He stopped mopping. “I said you sound like Dad. Your fighters? What the hell, man? You act like some hotshot who can dictate to these guys what they can and can’t do.”

He was not in the mood for a lecture from Connor, the guy who couldn’t make a good decision to save his life. “I’m helping these guys be the best they can be. I wouldn’t expect you to understand anything about it.” He turned to walk away.

“Just like Dad made you the best you can be?”

He paused. His brother needed to shut up.

“Is that why you’re so far up his ass . . .”

He turned and strode back toward him. “Listen to me. If Dad knew you were back . . . if he knew I was letting you anywhere near the gym, he would . . .” He relaxed his fist and forced a calming breath. Connor hadn’t asked for the job, he’d offered it. This was all on him. He could regret the decision, but he couldn’t pass off the blame.

Connor looked past him. “I guess we are about to find out what Dad would do.”

Turning, he saw his father come into the gym. Shit. He hadn’t seen him around much since he’d gotten back from Japan. Though, with the fight drawing closer, he knew his father would be around to help.

He pointed at Connor. “Don’t open your mouth.”

He gave a mock salute. “Yes, sir, Coach.”

Tyson met his father halfway across the gym, and derailed him toward the office. “Let’s talk in here,” he said quietly.

Some of the other fighters were training and he didn’t want an audience to watch this battle with his dad.

Closing the door to his office, he waited for the “What the hell is going on speech” but his father just stared at him.

“Look, he showed up weeks ago. He needed a place to stay . . .”

His father’s gaze was on the new display case. “That’s the real story behind the broken case.” It wasn’t a question.

Tyson placed his hands on his hips. “He said he wanted to get clean. What was I supposed to do?”

“You were supposed to remember the last time he said those words and send him packing.”

“Really? That’s what you would have done?”

“Yes.”

“He’s your son, Dad.” Like it or not, they were family.

His father stood and came toward him. “No. You are my son. My only son. That guy out there is a manipulator, a user, a no-good drug addict who will drag everyone around him down with him.” He touched his shoulders. “You can’t help him. I can’t help him. Your mother tried and . . .” His voice trailed.

He knew the truth in his father’s words, but he’d also seen his brother sweating it out, fighting the demons plaguing him these last several weeks. He seemed to be trying, even if he was a pain in the ass and didn’t know how to mind his own business.

The problem was, as much as his brother had changed over the years, despite the problems and pain he’d caused their family, a part of him still remembered the brother he’d once looked up to.

“So, what do you want me to do?”

“You’ve already made your decision. Now all we can do is sit back and wait for the next train wreck to occur . . . and it will.” He opened the office door. “Let me know if you need my help again before your fight.”

Damn.

He watched as his father headed toward the door. Connor walked toward him, but his father simply held a hand out to stop him. A familiar gesture. One that still made Tyson feel as though he’d been kicked in the gut.

The next train wreck . . .

*   *   *

Tyson picked up his office phone and dialed Erik Johansen’s number before he could find another reason to delay the call any longer. It was no secret he and the MFL matchmaker disliked each other. In fact, if Tyson wasn’t the fighter he was, he knew he’d never have gotten another contract with the MFL beyond his first fight, after messing around with Erik’s former girlfriend.

Three rings later, Erik answered. “Tyson, I have four minutes before my next appointment. Talk fast,” he said.

Tyson gave the phone a middle finger before saying, “We need to talk about the upcoming fight cards. I have guys who want to fight soon.” He scanned the fighter files on the desk in front of him, knowing Erik would be looking at a similar layout on his end.

“And I need fighters, so go—who do you have for the December card? I need a welterweight and a middleweight.”

Perfect. Erik was stepping right into the discussion he wanted to have, but first he’d deal with the easy negotiation. “For welter, I have Billy Carson. The kid fought last year on an undercard and won by decision.”

“I remember him.” He paused and Tyson heard papers shuffling on the other end.

He waited.

“Didn’t he tear a ligament in his left knee in training six months ago?”

Fuck. The man remembered everything. “All better.”

“You have a medical clearance form that says that?”

No asshole, I let my fighters walk into battles injured, he thought bitterly. He grabbed the medical clearance form from the file and went to the fax machine. “Sending it to you right now.”

“Great. Two minutes left. Who do you have at middleweight, besides Walker Adams—he’s already scheduled for January’s card . . . Hey, why didn’t we get him for December?”

Tyson smiled. This would be fun, at least. “Because he and your ex-girlfriend Gracie are getting married in Cancun over the holidays, which is also fight week, remember?” He had no idea if the executive had heard his former fiancé was newly engaged and planning a destination wedding, but either way he loved being the one to mention it. Erik had been such an asshole to Gracie while she’d worked for him and they’d dated, the guy deserved to be jealous and realize what he’d lost.

But Erik just cleared his throat and if he was frazzled by the news, he hid it well. “Fine. Walker’s out. Who else?”

“Dane Hardy.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“His record sucks.”

“It doesn’t. It’s eighteen and six. That’s not bad for a middleweight with a wrestling background . . . and he’s a fan favorite, so it doesn’t even matter.”

“Look, I know fans love him, but he’d be going up against Mark Peterson. He won’t win and if his record keeps getting shittier, I won’t be able to put him on cards just because he is the most popular fighter. I need guys who win.”

“I’ve been working with him. I’ll keep working with him. He will be ready.”

“No.”

“Look, either Dane fights or you don’t get Billy.” If Billy heard him using him as leverage to secure a fight for Dane, the kid would bust his balls, but that’s how this worked. He’d never admit it to the guys, but he used whatever he had to negotiate with to get all of his fighters the opportunities they deserved. Dane was working harder, training harder, and he would make sure by December’s fight event that the guy would be ready to compete, in the best shape of his career.

“What makes you think I’m that desperate?” Erik asked.