“I know what you meant and you’re the one who doesn’t know real. You are so afraid of letting your guard down, expecting everyone to disappoint you. Well, guess what, Tyson—you’re the one letting yourself down.”

She may be right, but he couldn’t change. He’d been this way for so long . . . never letting anyone in, yet somehow she’d managed to break down his defenses. Luckily, he had just enough strength to put them back up. “You’re leaving.” He shrugged. He didn’t think there was really anything else to say. In a few days, she would be back on a movie set with other actors and Brantley Cruise and he wouldn’t even cross her mind. He couldn’t compete with all of that. He wouldn’t even try. She may think what they’d had was real, but it was just because it was different, new, exciting. Eventually, she would realize that and he wasn’t sure he’d have the strength to walk away then.

It was over.

“I’m not going away forever,” she said, and he cringed at the sound of hope in her voice. “It’s just a few weeks and I’ll be back for Christmas.”

He stood, pushing his chair back and grabbing his motorcycle jacket. If she insisted on staying here and doing this, he would leave. He needed to get away . . . he couldn’t be around her anymore.

“Tyson . . .” She touched his arm as he passed her, and his eyes flew to her hand. “What are you so afraid of?”

This. This thundering beat in his chest and the excruciating urge to grab her and kiss her. This unfamiliar and unwelcome longing. This feeling that he wasn’t the right man for her and he never would be. He took one step closer and risked one moment of complete vulnerability. “I’m afraid that these feelings I have for you will never go away. And I want them to—fuck—I need them to. So, do me a favor and let me go,” he said.

She dropped her hand, but her gaze remained locked with his, daring him to leave, to walk away from her again. This time for good.

So he did.

*   *   *

Tyson’s arms ached. Every muscle in his chest, shoulders, biceps, and forearms burned but he continued hitting the training bag in front of him in the dimly lit gym. The clock on the wall revealed it was after midnight but he knew sleep would elude him if he went upstairs to his empty, silent apartment. Everything in the world he cared about was gone—the championship belt he’d worked for all his life and the only woman with whom he’d ever felt a connection.

The harsh words he’d said to Parker replayed in his mind and no matter what he did, he couldn’t take them back.

She may be hurt now, but it was better this way. He wasn’t lying when he’d told her he wasn’t the right guy for her. She deserved someone who would do all the things she needed, say all the things she needed to hear. Someone who didn’t wake up with an anxiety attack because he’d spent the night sleeping next to her. Someone who fit into her world and someone she could be proud of on her arm at movie premieres and cast parties. He’d never be that guy. All he was—all he’d ever been—was Tyson “The Sledgehammer” Reed, light heavyweight champion . . . and even that might not last after tomorrow night.

He continued to rain jabs and straight rights on the leather, hoping the physical exhaustion he felt would eventually calm his overactive thoughts.

A long time later, he fell to the gym floor, resting his exhausted arms on his knees, as his head fell forward. His thoughts not on the fight the next evening, but instead on Parker and the empty feeling in his chest.

It was no wonder he’d avoided falling in love in the past. It fucking sucked.

*   *   *

How could the belt not have shown up anywhere yet?

“Okay, thank you. Let me know if it comes in,” Parker said into the phone as she paced her living room the next day. She disconnected the call to the twenty-third local pawn shop she’d contacted and sighed. What had Connor done it with it? A private sale? An exchange? She hadn’t believed it when Walker had told her about the stolen belt the night before. How could his own brother do something like that when Tyson had done everything he could to help him?

Parker scanned the list of Las Vegas pawn shops on her iPhone. She’d called them all. Everyone had said they hadn’t seen the belt come in and she believed them because she’d offered to pay an obscene amount for it. She sat at her kitchen table, looking out into her backyard, where the pool had been covered for winter and her patio furniture had been put away. She was leaving the next morning, and winter would have settled over the city by the time she got back.

She scrolled though the list again. Maybe she’d missed calling one. Part of her wanted to be done with this crazy search for Tyson’s belt he was defending in a few hours. The part that was hurt and angry and confused. But the rest of her wanted to find it for him and get it back where it belonged—in the family’s display case after tonight’s fight.

Doubt crept into her mind. Walker had said Tyson’s training that week had been off and he’d had to sweat off extra weight in the sauna. He said Tyson was still as intense and sharp as always, but he suspected his shoulder was bothering him more than he would admit. A shoulder injury he’d suffered on a date with her. She looked at the rock climbing trophy on her mantle above her fireplace next to her various actors guild awards and tears stung the back of her eyes.

How could he keep fighting his feelings for her?

She glanced at that evening’s MFL event pass Walker had given her, where it lay on her table.

Should she go? Did Tyson want her there? Other than their harsh exchange the day before, she’d barely spoken to him in more than a week and the next day she would be in LA filming. He’d told her it was over. What good could come of seeing him now?

He’d warned her. He’d told her he wasn’t a relationship kind of guy. He’d said he wasn’t interested in settling down. Fighting was his life. It was the only thing that truly mattered to him. He’d warned her and she hadn’t listened.

She had no one to blame for her aching heart but herself.

Chapter 13

This was the first fight of his life he wasn’t prepared for. His walk-out music usually set his adrenaline soaring but tonight it only gave him an odd sense of foreboding. Five rounds. This championship fight could potentially go five rounds and he didn’t have the energy for one.

Billy massaged his shoulders behind him, repeating the same words he heard before every fight. “You got this. You’re a Reed. You’re a champion . . .”

Only this time the words were coming from one of his training camp fighters and not his coach. His father hadn’t shown up. For the first time in twelve years, he wouldn’t have his mentor in his corner. His voice mail message that morning had been brief, the words “I can’t watch you lose” tearing a hole through him and continuing to shatter his confidence as the door opened and the music and lights grew louder and brighter in front of him.

“Let’s go,” the security detail on his right said, as he began the long walk toward the cage. Fans on either side cheered wildly and arms flew toward him as he passed. He stared straight ahead, ignoring everything around him, jumping from one foot to the other, but not feeling his legs beneath him. He was numb.

The replacement championship belt around his waist felt heavy and he knew he wouldn’t be leaving the fight with it.

At the cage, Billy lifted his T-shirt over his head, and the official checked his gloves, his mouth guard. Tyson hit his crotch—his cup was in place. Everything was exactly the same as every one of his previous fights, except one thing—the only thing that mattered—him.