Ford asks, “So, he’s good? Everyone’s happy? No issues?”
My nod is jerky at best. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re good.”
“How much?” Roman questions.
Nausea swirls in my stomach. I don’t want to lie to them. But I also don’t want to tell them the truth. If I do, they’ll be pissed and will respond in one of two ways. One, they’ll try to talk me out of it. We’ll get into a fight. Shit hits the fan. Everything ends in disaster. Or two, they’ll let me go through with it but pad the bets or withdraw from making their own wagers entirely, which will be a major red flag and more ammunition slash evidence of us rigging a Harden Event. And then? Shit hits the fan. Everything ends in disaster. And we wind up right where we left off.
Talk about a rock and a hard place.
The problem is, I don’t lie to my brothers. None of us do. It’s an unspoken rule. Something so crystal clear we didn’t have to discuss it. Not when we were little, and not now.
Squeezing the back of my neck, I choose my response carefully. “Trust me, you don’t want to know what I had to give up for this.”
As Ford considers my reply, he scratches his jaw and exchanges a look with Roman while Hawke pins me with his stare, still leaning against the fireplace. Hell, I can practically see the wheels turning in each of their heads. Usually, I appreciate it. Their constant vigilance for sniffing out bullshit. Now, it only makes my skin feel itchy.
“Why the frowns, gentlemen?” I say, calling them out.
“Nothing, it’s just…” Roman hesitates then offers a shrug. “I guess we’re a little surprised he caved so easily.”
“I wouldn’t say easily,” I defend, giving them as much of the truth as I can. “But it’s done. We came to an agreement. My girl will be happy. My family’s safe. And, as a bonus,”—a lump grows beneath my Adam’s apple, and I choke it back—“Morgan agreed to another fight.”
Ford’s brows raise. “What?”
“The asshole and I agreed to a rematch,” I announce. “One week from today.”
Damn, I think I might puke.
“Hold up.” Roman raises his hand into the air. “Morgan agreed to a rematch even after you beat the shit out of him at The Bean Scene?”
“Guess he feels like he has something to prove,” I offer.
“No shit?” The disbelief in Ford’s tone is so thick, it’s like molasses.
I sit up a little taller, forcing a cocky grin. It feels nothing but hollow while all the potential fallouts flash through my mind like a fucking laser show. “No shit.”
“All right, I’ll see what I can do.” With his hands on his thighs, Ford stands from the couch and starts toward his room.
“Hey, Ford,” I call.
He glances over his shoulder at me. “Yeah, man?”
“Let everyone know it’s a rematch between me and Morgan.”
His brows raise. “You want me to announce it before the fight?”
“It’s what the people want, isn’t it?”
“Well, yeah, but…” Ford’s attention shifts to Roman and Hawke.
“How’d you convince him to agree to a rematch?” Hawke challenges. “He would’ve lost if he hadn’t cheated the first time.”
Damn. The man’s too astute for his own good. Well, formyown good, considering the circumstances. I shouldn’t be surprised. Hawke’s bullshit meter has always been spot-on.
“Guess he doesn’t see it that way,” I reply coolly.
“Who’s to say he won’t cheat again?” Roman interjects.
“I’m not worried,” I lie. “Besides, do you really think I’ll let him get away with taking Violet’s house without any repercussions?”
