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“Sorry it took so long,” I tell Hollis.

“Eh. It’s expected with new hires.”

My gaze jumps to his.

Smiling, he shrugs. “I’d hire you on. You do good work. You’re a fast learner, strong as hell, and you listen better than half my crew. It’s not as glamorous as cage fighting.”

“How’d you know I fight?”

“Who else at 7 Minutes in Sea Haven could’ve been the MMA fighter?”

I didn’t realize he heard that rumor. He didn’t say a word about it at the time.

“That shit isn’t glamorous,” I tell him.

“Would you be interested then?”

The cased opening gets another once-over. It’s not just that I like the end result, I liked the entire process, even the store run. The second I stepped foot in there, I felt like I’d found exactly where I was supposed to be. Instead of the usual notes of blood, sweat, and lapses of judgement the cage holds, it smelled like wood, sawdust, and unlimited potential.

I could do this. I could build new things, repair broken things. I could turn dreams into reality. I could do good, finally, and for a living—an honest fucking living. And according to Hollis, it’s better than minimum wage.

“Yeah, I’m interested.”

We discuss the details, both agreeing on next week as my start date.

Having more faith in me than I have in myself, Hollis gives me a couple pointers, then leaves me on my own to paint all the trim we installed. A smile on my face, I get to work. I’m gonna rewrite my story, give myself a future. A happy one with a legit job and Kota and our babies, and I’m going to be one of those selfless, supportive, kind, inspiring men.

I’m gonna get myself out.

I’m getting myself out.

I’m getting out.

I’m doing Wesley’s hair as she finishes her makeup. Technically, we’re redoing her hair and makeup since this is our second time getting ready for the day. Football players only have to be at the stadium two hours before kickoff but cheerleaders have to be here six hours before. Our afternoon was spent on gameday rituals, followed by videos and photos for different news outlets, then we’ve been tailgating the last hour or so. Our break is for both a late lunch and changing/freshening up before we join up with the band for the parade into the stadium.

I tease the curls in the back before setting it all with hairspray. Wesley has gorgeous hair, not only is it down to her belly button, it’s a rich dark brown with natural shine and virtually no frizz. It’s kind of a shame she doesn’t do more with it. Outside of performances, she only ever wears it in two braids.

“That’s about as good as I can get it,” I tell her somewhat apologetically.

Because I won’t let anyone else touch my hair, everybody always assumes it’s because I’m just that good at it. It’s not. It’s because I don’t want them to see what’s beneath the surface.

She doesn’t even look at it before saying, “It’s great.”

I start messing with my own hairstyle, pushing my ponytail up to make my bow higher.

“Is Khaos coming to the game?” Wesley asks.

My eyes widen automatically, making her laugh. Speaking of seeing beneath the surface. Khaos is the only one who gets to. He’s the only one who tries to.

“He’s supposed to.” Even after seeing him in the coffee shop yesterday, I still can’t picture him among Lit U’s student body.

“If it helps, I don’t think you guys being together is wrong.”

That makes one person on our side. Well, Dex and Tina don’t seem to care. Three people. Five with me and Khaos. Five whole people approve of our relationship.

“The chainsawing-his-way-into-your-bedroom part though, that’s a bit concerning.”

I can’t help but smile as I say, “He’s crazy.”