Page 5 of Yours on the Canvas

I stare at the screen, my mind racing over how I’m going to swing it.

I need to cover the cafe, though Eli usually doesn’t mind picking up extra shifts if he isn’t scheduled. Otherwise, I can ask Mason. I’ve got Chrissy running point on the baking, so the ovens will stay hot whether I’m here or not.

Before I can fully talk myself out of it, a second text pings through, cementing the decision.

It's a hundred thousand pot. If you come,you're the favourite.

Holy shit.

A wave of hot, dizzying relief hits my chest. That’s the kind of money that completely changes the game. It gives me breathing room—hell, a safety net wrapped in a violent bloody bow.

Without giving myself time to overthink it, my fingers tap out two words.

I'm in

Arriving at my apartment, I immediately call Chrissy.

She’s solid, agrees to cover for me, and says her friend can help as long as I slide her some cash.

Easy.

Out of a hundred-thousand-dollar pot, it’s a drop in the bucket.

I spend the rest of the day mapping out my schedule before heading down to the gym to sweat out the nerves.

With Finn teaching, I’m forced to spar with Vance. Vance gets the job done, but he’s a loose cannon. He loves the dirty, no-rules aspect a little too much, forcing me to constantly check his attitude.

I remember one session months back when his knee came up hard and connected flush with my balls.

The blinding, nauseating pain dropped me to my knees, stealing every ounce of air from my lungs. When the haze finally cleared and the agony dulled to a heavy ache, something snapped. I had acted out of anger, kicking him in the head. When he went down, I pulled him into a chokehold before he could blink, locking him down until he went completely limp. It took a full hour for him to wake up.

Our trainer was screaming bloody murder, threatening to ban me forever—right up until Finn walked back in, stepped up to Vance’s unconscious body, and slapped Vance’s pale face a few times before confirming that he was indeed “out like a fucking light.” He had grabbed my bicep, looked our trainer dead in the eyes, and told him that “Vance was lucky I hadn’t killed him” before hauling me away from the wreckage.

Looking back, it’s kind of funny, and Vance never threw a low blow at me again.

Lesson learned.

Simple.

* * *

The week passes in a blur, and by Friday night, I am knee-deep in packing my gear bag I’ll need, when a knock rattles the front door. I pull it open to find Silas and Hale standing on the porch.

“Hope you don’t mind. Hale wanted to come and say goodbye,” Silas says with a small shrug, one heavy hand resting on Hale’s shoulder. The boy is still too skinny, but he’s put on weight since we rescued him, and I notice for the first time that the dark shadows under his eyes have finally vanished. He doesn’t look like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders anymore, he’s just being a kid.

“Yeah, no worries. Come on in,” I say, stepping aside.

Hale walks straight past me, heading for the kitchen, a clear sign he’s learned I keep a constant supply of chocolate chip biscuits in the house. Sure enough, he returns a second later with one in each hand.

“Still packing?” Hale asks quietly, his mouth half full.

Silas looks at me with a soft, steady gaze as I nod. “Yeah, just about finishing,” I say, pointing back toward my bedroom.

“Let me help,” Silas says, quietly

Before I can protest, Silas walks past me to my room. Hale turns on the TV, drops onto the couch, and shoves half a biscuit into his mouth. Given that he was supposedly the one who wanted to say goodbye, he isn’t saying a lot. It reinforces my suspicion that Silas was the one who needed to see me off and just used the kid as an excuse.

I walk into my room to find Silas standing over my open suitcase, frowning down at the contents.