18. Chapter 18
Chapter eighteen
~DECLAN~
I’m not a man who lets his guard down when life is going well.
But everything is finally working.
It's Tuesday morning, three days after I spent the night with Darcy in my apartment, and I'm walking into Steele's Boxing Gym in Chelsea at six A.M., feeling better than I have in years.
The feeling might be unfamiliar, but the smell of the gym I used to frequent is not.
The behemoth of a building dedicated to men who like to pummel the shit out of each other smells of sweat and leather, the air thick with humidity despite the fans running at full speed overhead.
A handful of regulars are already here. Tony on the heavy bag, Ronald doing burpees in the corner, some kid I don't recognize working the speed bag with terrible form.
And in the ring, wearing shorts and gloves and looking like he hasn't slept in a week, is Quinn.
My baby brother.
The one who's been practically MIA since his wedding five weeks ago.
Heading his way, I drop my gym bag, strip off my shirt, and start wrapping my hands.
"Well, well," I call out when I’m within striking distance. "Look who decided to rejoin the living."
Quinn looks up and grins, blue eyes twinkling. "Dec. Didn't expect to see you here."
"Could say the same."
"Jessica kicked me out. Said I needed to 'reconnect with my masculine energy' or some shit."
"Did she actually say that?"
"No. She said I was getting soft and if I didn't go to the gym she was going to make me take a Pilates class with her."
I laugh, climbing into the ring. "Smart woman."
“Scary as hell woman." He bounces on his toes, loosening up. "You here to work or talk?"
"Both."
"Good. I need someone to hit."
We start slow, just moving, feeling each other out, the familiar rhythm of footwork and breathing we've had since we were kids.
Dad used to bring us here when we were young. Before everything went to shit. Before the bankruptcy and the heart attack and the twenty-four years of rebuilding.
This gym is one of the few places that still feels like him.
"So," Quinn says, throwing a lazy jab that I deflect easily. "Tulum closed."
"It did."
“Great work.”
"Thanks."
"Wyeth says Darcy's the real MVP, that her vendor logistics work was exceptional."
"It was."
"He also says you promoted her."
"We promoted her. Both of us."
"Right." Quinn throws a combination—a jab, cross, and hook—that I block and counter. "And how's that going? The whole boss-employee dynamic?"
"Fine."
"Fine?"
"It's fine, Quinn."
"Because Wyeth mentioned you've been in a suspiciously good mood lately."
"I'm always in a good mood."
"You're literally never in a good mood. You're broody and intense and you scowl at people for fun."
"I don't scowl."
"You're scowling right now."
I cut my eyes at my younger brother, and he grins widely.
"See?" he bellows. "But lately? You've been different. Lighter. Wyeth thinks it's because of her."
"Wyeth needs to mind his own business."
"So it is because of her."
I don't answer, choosing to throw a right hook that Quinn barely dodges.
"Jesus, Dec—"
"You wanted to spar. We're sparring."
We go harder for a few minutes—real exchanges, real combinations, engaging in the kind of physical contact we've been doing since we were kids.
Finally, Quinn backs off, breathing hard.
"I'm happy for you," he says.
"For what?"
"For whatever you’re doing that has you in good spirits. Keep it up. You deserve something good."
The sincerity in his voice makes me almost lose my footing.
"Thanks."
"Just don't fuck it up."
"I'll try."
"I'm serious. And,” he shrugs, tightening his gloves, “if you were really interested in Darcy, after all, I think that shit would be awesome.” His eyebrows raise. “I've seen the way you look at her."
"How do I look at her?"
"Like she's the first person in twenty-four years to make you forget about Dad and continuing his goddamned legacy."
The words land somewhere below my sternum.
I don’t want to tell Quinn just how right he might be.
Because when I'm with Darcy, I'm not the son trying to rebuild what my father lost.
I'm not the enforcer keeping the family business together.
I'm just... Declan.
And I can’t remember the last time I’ve just been him.
"Speaking of Dad," Quinn says, leaning against the ropes, shaking sweat from strands of his sandy-brown hair. "I've been thinking about the Meridian Gala."
"What about it?"
"It's in three weeks. Miami. Black tie. All the major players in hospitality will be there."
"I know."
"The Tulum sellers will be there. And our new investor."
"I know, Quinn."
"This is the moment we've been building toward. Going public with the pivot. Putting our names on something legitimate. You especially."
I stop moving. "What do you mean, me especially?"
"You've always been the silent partner. The enforcer. The one who handles the messy shit while Wyeth and I do the public-facing work."
"That's my role."
"Was your role." Quinn straightens up. "But with Tulum, you're going to be visible. Front and center. Industry events. Press. The whole thing."
My chest tightens.
Fuck, he's right.
The Tulum deal isn't just about the property.
It's about transforming Shaw Entertainment Group from what Dad built—nightclubs, gray-area operations, cash businesses—into something clean.
Something legitimate.
Something that requires me to step out of the shadows.
"I can handle it," I say.
"I know you can. I'm just saying—it's a big shift. Are you ready for that?"
"Are you asking as my brother or as a partner?"
"Both."
I think about Darcy.
About the life I'm starting to imagine—one where I'm not defined by what I lost, but by what I'm building.
"Yeah," I say. "I'm ready."
Quinn studies me for a long moment, then grins again. “Good. Because Jessica already bought our tickets and booked the hotel."
"Of course she did."
"You should bring Darcy."
"What?"
"To the gala. Bring Darcy. She's part of the project. She should be there."
"Quinn—"
"Plus, Jessica will want to see her. And it'll be good for you. Having someone there who isn't family."
The idea of Darcy in Miami, at a black-tie event, meeting the industry people who will shape the next phase of Shaw Entertainment Group—
It should feel wrong.
It should feel like mixing business with personal in a way that's going to blow up in my face.
Instead, it feels so fucking right I’m mad Quinn thought of it first.
I exhale slowly. “I’ll ask her.”
"Good." Quinn pushes off the ropes. "Now come on. One more round. I need to make sure you're not getting soft."
We spar for another twenty minutes.
And the whole time, a small thread of doubt runs down my spine.
Because everything is working.
The deal is closed.
The brothers are aligned.
Darcy is in my life.
I just hope that I know how to keep her there.