I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon
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Chapter 50— Just Another Afternoon.
The air in the MMA gym was thick with the scent of sweat, disinfectant, and determination. Jon unwrapped the tape from his hands after finishing a long session with the heavy bag. His arms ached, but it was a good kind of ache—the kind that made him feel grounded, capable. Real.
He headed to the showers, let the hot water hit his back until his mind finally stopped spinning. No more overthinking, no more wondering why. It was what it was. Sam needed space, and today, he gave it to her.
He got dressed, slung his gym bag over his shoulder, and made his way to the exit.
Just as he passed the main training area, he caught a glimpse of her—Sam. She was pounding away at the heavy bag with the same intensity he had just been using, her ponytail swaying with each punch, her movements sharp and controlled. Focused.
She looked over. Their eyes met.
Jon gave her a simple wave. No lingering. No questions. Just... a wave.
Sam gave a quick nod in return. That was enough.
Jon stepped outside and took a deep breath. The sky was clear, the sun was just warm enough to be pleasant. He climbed into his car, started the engine, and smiled a little to himself.
This... this felt okay.
He had done the right thing. No pressure. No drama. Just space, exactly as she asked. And it didn't even hurt—not like it did yesterday. Maybe it would later. Maybe it wouldn't. But right now? He felt good.
A few hours later, Jon was back in his room at the Pritchett house, Ghost curled up beside his food bowl as Jon spooned out the kitten's lunch. Ghost meowed, impatient as ever, and Jon chuckled. "Yeah, yeah. I get it. You're starving. It's been a whole two hours."
The phone buzzed on his nightstand. Jon glanced over, expecting maybe a text or some random app notification. Instead, it was a call. Terry.
He picked up. "Hey, what's up?"
"Basketball," Terry said. "Me and a couple of the guys are hitting the court in like thirty minutes. You in?"
Jon hesitated for a breath, then looked down at Ghost, who was now happily chewing on dry kibble like it was the best meal in the universe.
"Yeah," Jon said. "I'm in."
"Cool. I'll text you the address."
Jon ended the call, ruffled Ghost's head, and stood. "Looks like I'm trading gloves for sneakers today, buddy."
He grabbed his bag, threw on a hoodie, and headed out the door. The engine of his car roared to life as he pulled out of the driveway.
It is a good day. The air felt lighter. The space didn't feel like a void anymore—it felt like possibility.
The afternoon sun glinted off the backboards as sneakers squeaked across the concrete and the ball thudded like a steady heartbeat against the court. Jon and Terry were in their rhythm, flowing through the game like a two-man orchestra tuned to the same frequency.
Jon dribbled at the top of the key, feinted a drive, then pivoted and launched a perfect no-look bounce pass that threaded the defense. Terry caught it mid-stride and took flight—his sneakers barely kissed the ground as he soared up and slammed the ball through the hoop with a resounding boom.
"Game!" someone shouted.
Their team exploded into cheers and high-fives while the opposing players groaned in mock defeat. Terry jogged back to Jon and grinned. "Dude. That pass? Unreal."
Jon laughed, breathless. "You were wide open. Gravity could've made that pass."
"Maybe. But gravity doesn't throw dimes like you do."
They flopped down on a bench by the sidelines, water bottles in hand, shirts drenched in sweat. The park buzzed around them with casual games and lazy weekend chatter. It was the kind of Sunday that reminded Jon what peace felt like—not the absence of conflict, but the presence of something real. Grounded.
Terry tilted his head. "You good, man?"
Jon blinked. "Yeah. Why?"
Terry shrugged. "You just… seem different today. Calmer. Not in a bad way, just... different."
Jon was quiet for a beat. He hadn't expected anyone to notice—he'd spent the whole day telling himself he was fine. But somehow, the question landed deeper than he thought it would. It felt good, being seen. No act. No pretending.
He sighed, leaning forward on his elbows. "Things with Sam are… complicated right now."
Terry didn't immediately say anything. He just nodded, like that was all he needed to know.
Jon continued, "We're on a break. Whatever that means."
Terry's brow furrowed. "Like... a Ross and Rachel break?"
Jon chuckled softly, despite himself. "God, I hope not."
Terry gave him a solid pat on the back. "You and Sam? You'll figure it out. You always do."
And just like that, the weight in Jon's chest didn't vanish—but it shifted. Moved somewhere lighter. Terry didn't need the details. He didn't ask for drama. He was just there.
Jon took a long sip of water and nodded. "Thanks, man."
The sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting golden light across the court. Jon leaned back against the bench, sweat cooling on his skin, the ache of the game settling into his muscles.