“You and Victoria.” He shakes his head slowly. “That’s clearly never going to work. Anyone with eyes can see that’s a disaster waiting to happen. You two were wrong for each other from the start.”
“I know.” I scrub a hand over my face. “I tried to tell Emma that, but she’s so convinced she’s being selfish by staying, she can’t hear it.”
Dom’s quiet again. “I can’t blame her for wondering, though,” he says finally. “Emma, I mean. She loves Chloe. That’s obvious to anyone who’s seen them together. And it was obvious at dinner how obsessed Chloe is with Emma. She worships her. I think Emma could give Jack a run for his money as Chloe’s favorite person in the world. And now she’s watching your ex suddenly show up and play mom of the year, talking about moving back, making all these grand promises.” He uncrosses his arms, shifts his weight. “She’s probably feeling insecure as hell. It makes sense she’d spiral a little.”
I blink at him. “That’s... surprisingly insightful.”
“Don’t sound so shocked.” He gives me a look. “I’m not a complete idiot.”
“I never said you were. I just know you hate talking about this stuff.” I gesture vaguely between us. “Feelings. Relationships. Anything that can’t be solved by hitting the heavy bag.”
“Yeah, well.” He shrugs. “You’re my brother. And you look like shit. So I’m making an exception.”
We stand there in silence for a moment, the afternoon light slanting through the garage windows, dust motes floating in the air. Somewhere outside, a bird is calling, and I can hear the distant sound of a boat engine on the water.
Dom shifts uncomfortably. “You remember Brooke’s article? Like fifteen years or so back?”
Hard not to. Brooke had been his girlfriend in high school, just briefly if I recall. I was too young to know the details at the time, but it had ended and after college she’d become a sports reporter for theSeattle Times. That’s when Dom had been a young MMA coach on the rise, destined to manage the world’s best fighters.
The part Idorecall is how she’d made her career writing an exposé revealing that Dom’s best fighter had been using performance-enhancing drugs. Dom had no idea—he ran a clean gym—but the scandal imploded his coaching career overnight. Brooke moved on to a big east coast newspaper while Dom’s dreams of coaching a world champion went up in smoke.
“Yeah,” I say carefully. “I remember.”
Dom doesn’t talk about it much. None of us bring it up. But it’s family history at this point.
“That was my lowest point,” Dom says, still not looking at me. “Lost my coaching position and my reputation. Everything I’d built, just gone, overnight, because of something I didn’t even know was happening.” He pauses.
“Dom...” I start, but he holds up a hand.
“The point is, I thought I’d never come back from it. I thought my life was over, and that I’d never be able to show myface in the industry again.” He finally looks at me. “But I did come back. Built back up Dad’s gym and made it successful. I pivoted, and who knows. With how good things are going right now, I just might make it back to coaching pro fighters. Even if I don’t, though, the gym is better than I ever thought it could be.”
I nod slowly. The gym is thriving. Dom’s a hell of a businessman, and we talk shop sometimes, compare notes on running our respective operations. I’ve always admired how he runs the gym.
“So,” Dom continues, “if this is your lowest point, you’ll come back from it too. Whether Emma needs a few days to get her head on straight, or if worst case scenario, she decides to step away for real. Even if it’s hell for a while, you’ll survive. You’ll recover.” He meets my eyes. “You’re tougher than I am.”
I actually laugh at that. “What? Tougher than you?”
He rolls his eyes. “You’re the one who’s always the mediator. The peacekeeper. Patient as hell even when the rest of us are losing our shit. You keep this family together.” He’s looking at the floor now, clearly hating every second of this conversation but pushing through anyway. “When Mom got sick. When Dad died. All the times Calvin and I have butted heads over the years. That whole mess with the house when I was being an ass about selling it.”
I don’t know what to say. Dom isn’t one for speeches or pep talks. The fact that he’s standing here saying all this, looking like he’d rather be literally anywhere else, is pretty touching.
“Emma will come around,” he says, his voice gruff. “Give her the space she asked for. Let her work through whatever she needs to work through, but I bet she’ll figure it out. And if she doesn’t, it’ll suck but you’ll get through it anyway, because that’s what you do.”
We stand there in silence for a moment. Outside, the light is starting to shift toward evening, the shadows lengthening across the garage floor.
“Thanks,” I manage finally. “That actually helps.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Dom mutters, pushing off the workbench and grabbing the belt sander from the shelf. “This is my quota of emotional conversation for the year. Maybe the decade.”
“Noted.” I almost smile. “I appreciate it anyway.”
He nods, tucking the sander under his arm. “Call me if you need anything.”
He claps me on the shoulder, hard enough to jolt me, and then he’s heading back to his car. The silence settles back in around me, but it feels different now. Less oppressive. I stand there for a long moment, processing everything, then turn back to the slab of black walnut, full of potential.
CHAPTER 26
Emma
