“Why don’t they just hold them in their backyard?” she mumbled, more annoyed by her lack of strength-training progress than the audition location. “Anyway, at least it’s California.” She was dying to get back to the coast. Maybe she could hire a personal trainer there to help her if she got the part.

When.

When she got the part. Affirm and visualize the outcome you want, she reminded herself.

“Parker, are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes! I’ve read the script. It’s the part I’ve been looking for.”

“The movie might not even make it to the big screen . . .”

She bit her lip, hesitating. She’d never worked hard for a part in an independent before. All of her previous movies had been blockbuster films with big budgets and big-name producers and stars. “It doesn’t matter. I want this role.” Besides, it wasn’t as though she was turning away projects these days.

“Okay . . .” He still sounded reluctant about the whole thing.

“What?” She would have thought her agent would be happy to keep her busy and off his back for a while.

“The casting call sheet we received from the director said preference will be given to actors with athletic builds . . . preferably with some MMA background. I just don’t want you to assume this is a done deal because of who you are. You will probably be one of the biggest names they will see next week, but that doesn’t guarantee you the role.”

She stared at her tiny waist, large chest, and wide hips. Damn it, why couldn’t she be just a little less curvy? Her body shape had always been an asset before. Now it looked like it was going to bite her in the ass. Great. “I’m not assuming anything. I just know how badly I want this part and I know with the right training, I can look the part in three months.” She wasn’t as confident as she sounded, but she was determined.

“Did you at least find a place to train? An MMA fighter willing to help you?” he asked.

“Not yet . . . but I will.” One way or another, she had to convince Tyson Reed to help her. Since leaving his gym the day before, she’d stuck close to her phone, hoping to hear from him. She’d have thought two thousand dollars would have been enough incentive for him to at least try to help her. But he hadn’t called.

“Okay, well, I’ll e-mail you the audition details this afternoon. But Parker . . .”

“I know, I know. Don’t get my hopes up.” Too late, she thought disconnecting the call.

*   *   *

He rested his forehead in his hand and closed his eyes, completely exhausted from lack of sleep the night before. He’d spent two hours cleaning up the mess in his office and disinfecting everything before his fighters arrived that morning. So far, no one had been in his office to notice the broken display case.

Thank God he’d decided to keep living above the gym to be close and keep an eye on things. If Connor had succeeded in taking what he’d come to steal, he’d have a lot more explaining to do that morning. In comparison, the broken glass was easy.

He stared at the display case, not wanting to think about his father’s reaction had the trophies and belts been stolen. He was grateful the older man had left for Japan that morning and would be gone for a while.

Of course Connor had insisted that morning when he finally came to that he’d had no intentions of taking them.

“Come on, man . . . you know I wouldn’t have actually done it,” he’d said, coming out of the bathroom looking a million times better than he had the night before.

Unfortunately, it was probably because he’d done more than just shower in the bathroom for almost forty minutes. He’d noticed a small bag of cocaine in Connor’s pocket the night before. He’d been tempted to destroy it, but he refused to get even remotely involved in his brother’s drug use. He’d given him a place to sleep and shower, because short of calling the cops, he’d had no other choice, but this was as far as their time together went. “I don’t know anything about you anymore. I haven’t seen you or heard from you in almost three years.” He still didn’t know exactly why his brother was there now or what he really wanted.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t think anyone wanted me around.”

He was probably right about that. “If you’re looking for me to disagree, you’re going to be waiting a long time, so why don’t you just say what it is you want and be on your way.” He already knew it had to do with money, and he’d already taken five hundred dollars out of the safe the night before. It was sitting in an envelope on the counter in front of him.

He’d gone back and forth a million times last night on whether giving Connor any money was the right thing to do, but ultimately, he needed his brother out of his gym and out of his life. This was one complication he couldn’t deal with right now. The biggest fight of his career was two months away.

But his brother’s answer had caught him off guard. “I want to get clean,” he’d said. “And I need help.”

Help. Like the help their mother had been trying to get him? His gut tightened and his jaw clenched. “There are lots of clinics . . .”

Connor had stood. “I don’t need a clinic. I need my brother.”

Every part of him wanted to offer the envelope—the get-out-of-my-life money—to his brother and then get back to his own life, his training, his fighters . . . “And just what do you think I can do?” No one had been able to help Connor before. Before, when they’d all still cared enough to try. Before his problems and his addictions had hurt the one person Tyson had loved more than anyone else.

“I just need help getting back on my feet . . . a place to stay, a job. I can help out at the gym.”

He shook his head, his expression hard. “You stay out of my gym.”

Connor looked away.

Tyson slammed his hand down on the counter in front of his brother. “Do you hear me? Stay out of my gym,” he repeated. If his father saw Connor hanging around, all hell would break loose and he didn’t want any of this affecting his fighters. Connor attracted trouble everywhere he went and he didn’t want that anywhere near the life he’d built for himself.

“Okay. I’ll stay away from the gym, but can I stay here at least . . . just for a few nights?”

No. Tell him no. Give him the money and let him disappear again, like he would eventually anyway.

“Please Tys. I’m in trouble, man.”

Shit. Of course he was. It couldn’t possibly be as simple as just wanting to get clean or pretending to want to try. “I don’t need this bullshit right now.”

“I know. You’re defending the belt soon, right?” His brother raised his fists and made several weak jabbing motions. “I saw your championship fight. I was so proud of you, man.”

Why did those empty words mean so fucking much?

“I’ll stay out of your way, I promise. I need to hide out for a bit . . .”

Hide out? This just kept getting better. “In your brother’s home? In your family’s gym? Won’t this be the obvious place to find you?” Years of drug use had really messed up his brother’s once-genius brain. Connor had graduated high school two years early, and the school counselors had labeled him “gifted.” He could have gone on to any college he wanted on full scholarship and done something with his life. Instead, he’d turned to drugs as a way to quiet his overactive thoughts and his life had quickly spiraled out of his control.

He’d slumped onto the couch, looking defeated. “You’re right. Coming here was a bad idea. I’ll get dressed, and I’ll disappear,” Connor had said.

Good. Let him go. The faster he vanishes into thin air again, the better.

“There’s . . . um . . . five hundred in cash. Take it,” he said, nodding toward the envelope.

His brother’s smile was sad. “That wouldn’t even buy me an extra day, man.”

Fucking Christ. How deep had his brother dug himself now? He shook his head. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want any part of this. His brother’s mistakes kept coming one after another and they’d all paid too much for them already. “This isn’t my problem,” he’d said, determined to keep it that way.