Ryan woke up to blackness. For a moment, he wondered if he’d even awoken or if his mind was playing tricks on him and he was still locked in his dreams, but the searing pain coursing through his body that woke up with him, reassured him he was indeed awake. He shifted in a small bed in an unfamiliar room, trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness while fragmented memories reminded him of what had happened and where he was. His head pounded, his mouth was dry, and his face was nearly numb. He extended his hand and touched it as if to ensure that it was still there.

He blinked a few times and surveyed the small room. His bed was pushed up against the wall, while a metal cabinet stood against the opposite wall. Portraits of boxing champions were displayed next to it. A metal tray on wheels with various medical instruments, such as cotton gauze, plasters, and bandages, stood beneath the photos, and beyond the bed was a small window covered by a dark curtain. The gym’s clinic.

He lifted his hand, shifted the curtain slightly, and looked at the window. Night. He grimaced, remembering the 'fight,' if you can call it that, he had earlier, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. His stupid, reckless, unreliable piece of shit head.

He squinted when the door opened and light spilled in. As he struggled to sit up, a groan escaped his throat, his body protested, but he ignored the pain and pushed on his elbows to look at the figure at the door.

He didn't recognize the man at first, but as he entered the small room and walked too quickly toward Ryan, he winced, raising his hands to protect his face. Muscle memory.

He quickly lowered his hands, hoping that his reaction would go unnoticed. It didn't. Aaron noticed and came to a halt, pulling the chair and sitting slowly in front of Ryan next to the bed. He put his hands on his knees, where Ryan could see them.

“Master Ryan,” he said.

“Don't call me that.” Ryan cut him. “It's just… Ryan.” voice scratchy and chipped.

“Ok. Ryan.”

Ryan braced himself for venomous words. For rage. For violence.

He kept his head lowered, looking at his hands on his lap, as he used to do as a kid, but Aaron's voice was calm as he asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Probably as good as look,” Ryan forced a small smile.

Aaron took a deep breath through his nose and crossed his hands around his chest.

“Can you sit up for me? I want to take a look at your bruises.”

Ryan’s head snapped up at him, his eyes wide. “What?” He asked, baffled. He did not expect that. 

“I’m gonna turn on the lights, ok?”

Ryan nodded. Aaron reached and pressed the light switch. The room was immediately flooded with blinding white light, aggravating Ryan's headache immensely.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Aaron inquired, placing his hands on his knees again.

Ryan hesitated before responding.

"Yes," he finally said. A truth.

Aaron nodded. “Can you take your shirt off?” he went on.

“I won't touch you if you don't want to be touched. I’ll just have a look at the bruises.”

"It's alright," Ryan murmured as he unbuttoned his shirt; he never let anyone look at his injuries. Not like this. Never letting anyone examine his body, looking at all the scars and marks he collected over the years while living with his father.

In an attempt to decipher Aaron's expression, he cast a quick glance beneath his hooded eyelids. He braced himself for his speechless reaction, to remind himself that all he deserved was pity. Not sympathy. But Aaron was stony faced.

He scanned his neck, his chest, his stomach. Examining every dark mark, every black and purple signature on his torso. He reached out a hand to touch Ryan's ribs, where a hideous purple bruise loomed, but stopped before making contact, raising his eyes to meet Ryan's. "Can I?" he asked softly.

Ryan nodded and closed his eyes.

His body shuddered as warm fingertips probed his ribs. Aaron's fingers tenderly pressed around the bruising for a few moments before he announced, "ribs are good."

“Now let me take a look at your face.” He lifted his fingers and touched Ryan’s chin, moving his face left and right, before touching his nose from the bridge to tip.

"You're lucky," he said, breaking contact and returning to the metal cabinet behind him to retrieve the first aid kit and the metal tray next to it. "Nothing's broken.”

“At least no bones are." He went on, locking eyes with Ryan for a split second before tilting Ryan's head up and treating his wounds.

When he finished, he placed the first aid kit on the metal tray behind him and turned to Ryan, crossing his arms once more. After what seemed like an eternity, he asked the most dreadful question Ryan could think of.

“Who did this to you?”

My father.

My father.

My father.

“A bar fight,” he immediately said. A lie.

It did not impress Aaron. He opened his mouth to say something, but Ryan was quicker.

“What time is it?” he asked, changing the subject.

“10 pm.” Aaron replied as he pushed the metal tray away from him, not looking away from Ryan, placing his elbows on his knees.

This is it. In two hours his father’s gonna call him and if the documents are not signed and delivered, he will face more pain and violence. Probably. How foolish he was to believe he could get away from him, how foolish he was to believe he could escape. He was trapped, trapped, trapped. An ache crept up his chest, something hot and overpowering that made it hard to breathe.

“Ryan.” the sound of his name cut through his thoughts. He looked at Aaron, still struggling to take a steady breath.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

Silence.

Silence that tore at him. 

What can he say to that?

I do.

but the words didn’t come. 

Aaron waited for Ryan to collect his thoughts. His words. He'd had far too much experience with children like him. He was well aware that kids like him were surrounded by brick walls, and that tearing them down would take much more time and energy. So he waited. But Ryan didn’t respond, lost in his cage of thoughts, so Aaron exhaled a long and deep sigh and said,

“Look. I'm not good at this kind of talk, but in my long life, I've seen everything. I've met quite a few kids like you. If you ever want to talk, just know that I am here. I won’t judge. I won't ask too many questions if you don't want to. But this place is safe and you’re welcome here anytime you need, yeah?”

“I’m- I’m 26.” 

Aaron snorted. “Exactly. Kids.”

He tapped Ryan on the head twice before standing, walking to the door, and leaning against the door frame. “Tell me what you need,” he said.

Ryan swallowed. “I need you to sign the deal.”

Aaron came to a halt, his arms crossed across his chest, his gaze fixed on Ryan. 

“You said earlier that you are willing to let us have the gym operating.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I just really need you to sign the documents.”

“Why?”

“I’m just…” Ryan searched for words. “I just need to close this deal and then I’m… I’m out.”

Aaron held his gaze and wondered how the man in front of him had suddenly appeared so young, so small compared to the intimidating presence he had when they first met. He said nothing for a few moments, as if assessing Ryan's words' worth. He figured he wouldn't get any more honest answers from Ryan, so the only option he had was to trust his gut instinct about this whole messed up situation.

“Okay.” He finally said after what seemed like hours.

Ryan's shocked expression showed that he didn't understand what was going on, his eyes frantically searching Aaron's face, so he repeated, “I will sign the documents but I have some conditions.”

He could feel the tension in his shoulders dissipate. The relief was so immediate that he felt nauseated. 

"The first is that all decisions concerning this gym and its operations will be made by me."

Ryan nodded.

"And the second is that you come here every morning to train with my sons or, if you don't like them, with me. But you’ll come here every morning and train.”

Sons.

Ryan initially frowned. Trying to figure out what the catch is, what the real reason for this request is. He had no idea why Aaron had asked him that. He searched his eyes and face for answers, but he came up empty-handed. Mornings were never Ryan's favorite time to wake up, but he was willing to give up his habit of waking up at noon to get this deal done.

Finally, Ryan nodded in agreement.

“Then you have a deal,” Aaron said. “I’ll be waiting in the main hall with the contract signed.”

"I thought you only had one son," Ryan said as Aaron turned and walked out the door. 

"Connor is like a son to me," Aaron said after a brief pause. “His parents were good friends of ours. I’ve been raising him since he was 15. He is as much my son as Max is.”

“Definitely less embarrassing to deal with him than with Max.” He laughed loudly before leaving Ryan to himself.