For a brief moment Molly feared she’d burst into tears. But she rallied, like she always did. “Not exactly the most professional way to begin an office conversation.”
Presley’s eyes widened. “I was joking. I’m sorry. We get along so great that sometimes I forget you’re my boss and I say the same stupid stuff to you that I say to the Divas.”
“I get it. But sometimes we all need a reminder of our place.” Like Deacon did to her last night. Now she had to call in to question everything he’d ever said to her. And she hated—hated—that she’d been so damn gullible. She’d opened up to him. She’d told him things she’d never told anyone.
What had he told her?
Nothing.
Fuck. Her chin wobbled.
“Molly, you’re not acting like yourself. What is going on?”
Just say it. “Deacon and I broke up last night.”
“What?”
“We broke up and I don’t want to talk about it.”
“But—”
“Seriously, Pres, I’m hanging on by a thread. I almost couldn’t get out of bed this morning. So please, don’t push me to talk about this. It’s over.”
“Did that fucker hurt you?”
Molly shook her head.
Presley got right in her face and bit off, “Swear to me that Deacon didn’t do anything to you to cause physical harm anywhere on your body.”
“I swear it.”
“If you change your mind and want to talk . . .”
“Thanks for your concern, but get to work. We have a lot to do today.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
DEACON had self-medicated with a bottle of scotch after the shit had gone down with Molly and Tag. He woke up late in no better mood than when he’d passed out last night.
That fucker Tag could just fuck the fuck off. The instant his cousin had walked in with Molly, Deacon had known the night would turn to shit. Maybe it made him a delusional dick, but he blamed Tag. What the hell had he been thinking, contacting his cousin’s girlfriend and inviting her to dinner? Especially when Tag had made it clear they’d be discussing family business.
You’re really blaming Tag?
Yes.
Tag knew how little Deacon talked about his brother. Tag also knew Deacon and Molly’s relationship was new. Tag should’ve expected that Deacon would share the ugly truth about his past gradually. But by convincing Molly to accompany him to dinner, he’d forced the issue before Deacon had been ready to discuss it.
So fuck yeah, he blamed his goddamn cousin. If Deacon lost Molly over this . . . He clenched his hands on his steering wheel. Fuck. No way. He couldn’t think about that right now. Right now he needed to deal with the anger consuming him, not the fear.
So when he’d entered Black Arts training room nearly three hours after he was scheduled to start training, he felt every pair of eyes on him like he was a criminal walking death row.
Maddox waited for him, his arms crossed over his chest. “What the fuck, Deacon. You’re late.”
“No shit.”
“Where you been?”
“Doin’ cardio outside. Thought you’d be happy.”
“I’d be happy if you didn’t disappear whenever the hell you felt like it.”
Deacon didn’t defend himself or try to explain.
“That’s how it’s gonna be? Fine, you stoic bastard. Let’s knock you down a peg. You’re sparring with—”
“Courey,” Deacon finished.
Silence.
Courey wandered over from the heavy bags, smirk on his face. “Finally find your balls and ready to face me, Con Man?”
“Depends. You have the balls for full-contact, Crusher?”
“No way,” Maddox said, stepping between them. “Mitts and headgear.”
“Then I’m not interested in sparring.” Deacon walked away, heading to the locker bay.
“Goddammit, Deacon. Get back here.”
Deacon stopped and turned around to look at Maddox.
“I’m the trainer. If I tell you to get your mitts and headgear on, you’ll goddamn well do it.”
“No. Full-contact with Courey or nothing.”
Maddox got his mean face on. “Then it’s nothing. And by nothing, I mean I’ll pull you from the Needham fight, McConnell.”
“Do what you have to, Coach.”
“I’m not kidding.”
“Neither am I. All I’ve heard for two weeks is you bitching at me for not sparring or grappling with your new pet. Now it’s two weeks closer to the bout and I’m ready to up my game, and you’re the one saying no. Why?”