Lachlan
Three days later – Chiron's Gym, Detroit
I was mid-round on pads with Chiron when I felt it—that shift in the air. Like a door opened somewhere and let something colder in. The kind of feeling your body catches before your mind does. Like your bones remember a threat before your head can name it.
Chiron held the pads steady, expression unreadable, but I could tell he noticed it too. His stance went just a little firmer. Feet more planted. Shoulders tighter. He didn't say a word. Just nodded for me to keep going.
I hit the next combo, but my timing slipped. Not much. Enough for Chiron's eyes to flick toward the entrance, just once.
I followed his glance.
And there he was.
Lance.
Leaning against the frame of the front door like he owned the place. Expensive coat. Hair slicked back. That same smug posture I remembered from when we were kids—chin up, eyes like knives. The kind of man who'd always talk like he was doing you a favor by acknowledging your existence.
He hadn't changed much. Still dressed like the world owed him something. Still looked at me like I was dirt tracked into his polished floors.
I dropped my hands and peeled the gloves off, slow and deliberate.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked. My voice came out calm, but my heart rate had kicked up harder than it did mid-fight.
Lance didn't move. Just smirked like this was funny to him.
"Relax, Lach," he said, stepping inside, his shoes tapping too loud against the gym floor. "Just thought I'd stop by and see the local legend. The 'Ghost,' right? Thought I'd see the circus up close."
I didn't answer.
Chiron shifted beside me, setting the pads down. Not stepping in. But not stepping away, either. He didn't know Lance, but he didn't need to. He read people faster than I did. He saw what Lance was before he opened his mouth.
Lance looked around with a curled lip. "Smells like a locker room and failure in here."
I stayed still.
"I thought maybe you'd have moved up by now," he continued, circling like a shark. "You've got all that attention. A few viral clips. Some poor bastard's jaw hanging off his face. And you're still here. Some cheap gym. Some worn-out mats. Same sad little fantasy."
"Get to the point," I said.
His smile thinned.
"Mom's been asking me to 'reconcile,' so here I am. "
I didn't flinch. Didn't give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
"You didn't come here for that," I said.
"No," he admitted, finally stepping closer. "I came here to see if it's true. If you really think this life means something."
I didn't blink.
"You mean the life I chose?"
He laughed, sharp and humorless.
"You chose this because it's all you could do. Because you were always too wild. Too angry. You never had control, Lach. You just learned how to make the chaos work for you."
He was baiting me.
And I wasn't biting.
"I've got control now," I said evenly.
"Really?" he asked, cocking his head. "That what you told yourself after you turned some guy's face into hamburger meat in a cage in Tennessee? That's not control, baby brother. That's just you proving what we already knew—you're still a dog trying to act like a man."
Silence.
I felt Chiron shift again behind me, like he was ready if this went sideways. But he didn't move. He knew I had to carry this one.
I stepped forward. Close enough that Lance had to look up a little to meet my eyes.
"You came here to feel better about your own soft little life. To see if I was still the same broken kid. I'm not. And the fact that you had to come all the way to my gym to convince yourself of that? Says everything about you."
Lance's jaw tightened, but his eyes flickered—just once.
Hit a nerve.
"Go home," I said.
"Home?" he scoffed. "You mean this dump?"
"No," I said. "I mean the place where you lie to yourself and pretend you won."
Lance held his stare a second longer.
Then he sneered and turned his back.
"Still the same mouthy little bitch," he muttered as he walked out.
The bell rang again as the door swung shut behind him.
I exhaled.
Not from exhaustion.
From restraint.
Chiron didn't speak right away, but when I looked over at him, he gave me a slow nod. That subtle approval only he could give. Like I'd just passed a test I didn't even know I was taking.
"Want to hit the bag again?" he asked.
I looked toward the door, then back at him.
"No," I said. "Think I'd rather call Ria."
He gave me a rare smirk and turned away, muttering as he walked.
"Finally learning to fight smart."
I picked up my phone, still breathing steady.
Lance came looking for a fracture.
But all he found was steel
That night – Detroit streets, cold and quiet
I didn't stay home. I needed to walk it off. The noise Lance stirred up didn't hit like a storm, it landed more like a long, slow pressure in my chest. Old bones aching before the weather changed.
I called Ria. Told her I was coming over, if she was up.
She didn't hesitate. Just said:
"Door's open."
By the time I got there, it was close to midnight. Her place was quiet, soft. Like her. Lamp on in the corner, music low—some grunge song I couldn't name but instantly felt like I'd needed. Ria wore an oversized hoodie and shorts, curled up on her couch with her legs tucked under her, a book balanced on one knee.
She looked up the second I stepped in.
One look at me and she said, "You didn't get punched, but you look like you did."
I closed the door behind me. Didn't speak at first. Just stood there, letting the warmth of her space start to melt the cold off my skin.
"Lance came to the gym today," I said finally.
Her brows knit together.
"What the hell for?"
"To remind me I wasn't supposed to make it," I said, my voice lower now. "To poke around and see if the damage stuck."
She set the book aside, uncurling slowly. "And did it?"
I walked over, dropped down beside her. Didn't answer right away. Just leaned back against the cushions, eyes on the ceiling.
"I thought it might. I thought hearing him again—talking like he always has—would hit something in me. Make me lose grip."
"And?" she asked softly.
I looked at her, and for the first time in a while, I didn't feel that animal hum under my skin. The coil that never fully relaxes.
"And I didn't," I said. "It didn't. I didn't swing. I didn't flinch. I didn't have to."
Ria's expression softened. She slid closer until our legs touched.
"That's growth," she said. "You know that, right?"
I shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just tired of giving people like him what they want."
She nodded slowly, then tilted her head toward me.
"You okay?"
I thought about lying. I thought about saying yeah, all good. No ripples left behind.
But I didn't.
"I don't know," I admitted. "He still gets under my skin. Always has. Like part of me's still stuck in that house, waiting to fight for every inch of space to breathe."
"You're not that kid anymore," she said. "You've got your own air now."
I exhaled, almost smiling.
"I do."
Then she touched my hand—light, like she was checking if I'd break under it.
I didn't.
I turned my palm up and laced my fingers with hers.
"He said I was just a dog pretending to be something more," I muttered. "Like I've been faking it this whole time."
"You know what I see?" she asked. "I see someone who crawled out of the wreckage and built himself again with whatever pieces he had left. That's not pretending, Lachlan. That's surviving. That's becoming."
I looked at her. Not just at her face—but at the way she looked at me.
Like I was worth something.
Like I wasn't too far gone.
"Sometimes I still feel it," I said quietly. "The rage. The violence. Like it's right there under my skin, waiting."
Ria leaned in, resting her forehead against mine.
"I know. But you don't let it own you anymore."
Silence settled between us again. Not the kind that pushes you out—but the kind that lets you rest.
I stayed there a while. In her space. In her calm. In the knowledge that I didn't have to wear the armor here.
Eventually, she shifted and said, "So… what now?"
"Chiron wants me to take another fight. Bigger circuit. West Coast. Could be televised nationally."
She raised her brows. "You gonna take it?"
I nodded.
"I think I am."
"Why?"
"Because I want to fight for something that matters. Not just for survival. Not just for the crowd. But for who I am when the bell rings—and who I am when it's over."
She smiled at that.
"And who's that?"
I squeezed her hand gently.
"I'm still figuring it out. But I think you're helping."
Ria leaned in and kissed me, slow and sure.
And for the first time in a long damn time, I didn't feel like a weapon trying to find its sheath.
I just felt human.
Still healing.
Still becoming.
But no longer alone.