Page 31 of Yours on the Canvas

I nod, a smile stretching my lips. “I promise.”

He nods once, his decision made, and he turns back to the doctor. “We done?”

The doctor smiles at me. “Take it easy Jack. It was good to see you.” I notice he doesn’t say that to Silas, and I laugh quietly as we leave the room.

Silas is a bear of a man; all tough and gruff on the outside, tattoos making people assume he’s dangerous. But to me, and to the few people close enough to know better, he’s an absolute marshmallow.

* * *

The next day, Silas keeps his word and lets me go back to work. He even agrees to let me close, on the condition I don’t lift anything heavy.

And in true me fashion, I ignore it.

I bag up the rubbish as I shut down the café for the night. Finns in his office, and the gym outside is empty now. The quiet settles around me, warm and familiar. I love it here.

Finn and I grew up only knowing pain.

We were thrown into underground fighting when I was eight, and had fought for ten years before I finally escaped to Campbell River. Now I run the café at Finn’s gym which he opened with the trust fund his grandfather left him.

So now, instead of screams, I hear the echoes of kids training and the soft shuffle of sneakers, laughter and music. There are no tears here.

I’m wiping down the counter, the familiar scent of lemon disinfectant mixing with the lingering odour of coffee and pastries, when the bell above the door jingles. I don’t look up at first, because I know Deck and Silas are supposed to be back from whatever pointless errand those two are on, and I’m already bracing myself for ten minutes of bickering about who drove worse.

“If you two brought back another box of unlabeled crap from some abandoned warehouse, I’m throwing it straight into the dumpster.” I call out.

I’m not met with the usual snarky comeback from Silas or a heavy-handed sigh from Deck. I look up ready to tell the customer we’re closed, but, it isn’t Deck or Silas. The air leaves my lungs in a rush and my hand freezes in mid-air as I look at the person standing there, and my heart races as I look at the devil in a suit.

Ray.

He’s wearing a heavy, dark coat that looks far too warm for this time of year, his shoulders squared and his stance familiar enough to make my stomach drop straight through the floorboards.

His salt-and-pepper hair is styled perfectly, and his face carries lines that time has hardened rather than softened.

The cloth slips from my fingers, hitting the counter with a dull, wet slap. My breath catches, locking behind my ribs as the room tilts.

“Hello, Jack, I see you’ made it,” he says, his voice smooth, carrying that exact same chilling tone that used to make the walls of my old house feel like they were closing in.

My hands begin to shake. Not with anger yet, but with the sudden, terrifying snap of old conditioning, the ghost of straps and cold metal flashing behind my eyes.

“Made it?” My voice comes out hoarse, barely scraping past my throat.

Ray steps further inside, his shoes clicking against the floor. He looks around the cafe, his gaze sweeping over the place like an inspector grading property he thinks he might buy.

“Yes, Jackie. Remember, we saw you at the fight, then you disappeared after they dragged that guy off you. We couldn’t find you, so we asked around, that’s when we found you…” He looks at me, a sinister smile curling at his lips. “…in the ditch,” he says calmly, slipping off a pair of leather gloves and tucking them into his coat pocket.

“Guess a man can find a stray dog anywhere, especially when the dog leaves such a trail. We heard about this guy doing the rounds under Frank. Heard he was good. Really good, similar fighting style. And wondered if it might be you.”

His eyes lock with mine as I try to remember seeing him, but I don’t. The doc had said I could have memory loss, but I thought I had remembered everything.

His face wears the same cold appraisal he used to give me before a fight as he looks at me. “Then, we were sent a video, and well, that confirmed it. I must say, I was surprised you’ve still been fighting.”

My stomach twists as he takes slow, precise steps towards me.

“We’ve known you’ve been here since Finn’s father disappeared. And after what happened last month…” he continues, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve, “…your father and I thought it was about time we touch base again. You know, say hi.”

He steps up to the counter, casual in that calculated way that makes my skin crawl.

“We just had to figure out how to get to you without your big soldier around.” His smile sharpens, thin and knowing. “Son, you really should be more careful with who you associate with. Your soldier, he just put a big neon sign right above your head.” The word son hits like a physical blow.