“That was impressive,” she says, matching my pace. “The pattern in his guard, those small corrections. It was so subtle that I didn’t catch it until you pointed it out, and I don’t consider myself a slouch when it comes to this stuff.”
She’s definitely not a slouch. Brooke’s always been the sharpest person in whatever room she walked into and the hardest working, too. Not that I’d ever give her the satisfaction of knowing I respect that about her.
“That’s why he pays me,” I say, not slowing down.
“I’d love to talk more about your coaching approach,” she continues, completely undeterred by my lack of enthusiasm. “The technical side of what you do, how you personally prepare a fighter for a match like this.”
“I thought this was supposed to be a profile on Roman,” I say, finally stopping and turning to face her.
“It’s a profile on both of you,” she says. “The fighter and the coach. You can’t understand one without understanding the other.” She tilts her head, studying me in that way she has, like she’s cataloging every micro-expression for future reference. “What made you decide to train him when you hadn’t trained competitive fighters in years?”
I meet her eyes and hold them. “You of all people know why I stopped coaching competitive fighters.”
She breathes out through her nose, a sharp exhale that I remember from approximately ten thousand arguments we had in high school. “Come on, Dom. Let’s not do this. It’s a fair question for the piece and you know it.”
I clench my jaw, fighting the urge to snap back at her. She’s right, which is incredibly annoying. It is a question that any journalist would ask.
“Well?” She arches an eyebrow at me, tapping her heel against the floor in a rhythm that’s probably designed to be maximally irritating. “Are you going to stand there with that constipated look on your face or are you going to answer my question?”
“Listen, I—“ I stop myself before I say something I’ll regret. She makes it really hard to be the bigger person.
She grins, clearly enjoying watching me struggle. Insufferable. She’s absolutely insufferable.
I take a deep breath. “After everything that happened with my career, I stepped back from competitive coaching and focused on building the gym. Training people, running classes, that kind of thing. I love that work too, but… then Roman walked in about three years ago and I saw real talent. The kind you don’t see very often, but no one out here in Dark River to train him properly. So I took him on.”
“Just like that?” she asks.
“Just like that.” I shrug. “There’s nothing I love more than coaching, and Roman reminded me of that. He deserved a shot, and I could give him one, so I did.”
Brooke is quiet for a moment, and I brace myself for another question or snarky comment. With Brooke it’s always one or the other, and sometimes both at the same time.
“Dom!”
I turn to see two of my brothers. Great. Because what I need right now is a bigger audience for whatever disaster is about to unfold.
Alex is wearing the expression of delight reserved for younger siblings who have just stumbled onto premium blackmail material, while Theo shoots me awhat-the-hell-is-going-on-herelook. My younger brothers never knew much about most of the mess between me and Brooke when we were in high school, but the article that tanked my career has been Midnight family lore for years.
They weave through the equipment toward us, and Alex strides right up to Brooke with his hand extended. “Brooke Bennett, as I live and breathe. You’re a hot shot New York City journalist now, right? You’re the last person I expected to see here.”
Brooke shakes his hand, laughing. “Hot shot, I’ll take it. And yeah, I’m back in town for a bit.” She tilts her head as she studies him. “Alex, right? God, you’re so grown up it took me a second. I think the last time I saw you, I ran into you on your twenty-first at Rusty’s. If I recall, you were so drunk you and your friends were attempting to line dance for what I’m guessing was the first time.”
Alex laughs. “In my defense, someone kept buying me shots and I was too polite to say no.” He throws me a look. “So, should I call the fire department now, or are you two planning to burn the place down later?”
“We’re maintaining a very fragile ceasefire.” Brooke glances at me with amusement. “For the moment at least things are civil. Right, Dom?”
“Yep, very civil,” I say through my teeth.
Theo steps forward and shakes Brooke’s hand, his smile warm but uncertain, like he’s not quite sure what the appropriate greeting is for the woman who torpedoed his brother’s career but is now apparently having a civil conversation with him. “Uh, good to see you again, Brooke. It’s been a while.”
“It really has. You guys are still running Harbor & Ash, right? My parents rave about it, saying it rivals most of the places I’vetaken them to in New York. I keep meaning to stop by while I’m in town.”
“That’s nice of them,” Theo says. “If you stop in, Alex will make you something incredible and then pretend he’s not fishing for compliments about it.” His shoulders drop a little, seemingly relieved now that we’ve landed on something that isn’t a potential minefield.
“I don’t fish for compliments,” Alex says. “I deserve them. There’s a difference.”
“Humble as always,” I say.
“Humility is for people who aren’t sure if they’re good.” He shrugs, completely unbothered. “I’m sure.”
