Page 46 of Thawed Gladiator: Cassius

I nod, touching my translator. “Yes. I can understand English, but I cannot speak it well,” I say in Latin.

He must understand some of what I say, because he murmurs, “Fascinating. I’m Father Michael. And you must be…” His eyes light with sudden recognition. “One of the gladiators from Second Chance? We’ve heard about you in the news.”

“Yes. I am Cassius.” I point to my chest, trying to help him understand.

“What brings you to our church tonight, Cassius?”

The story spills out of me, but after a few moments of seeing him straining—and failing—to understand me, I get a flash of inspiration. Removing my translator from my ear, I pass it to him.

“Ah.Egregie. Brilliant!”

Then I speak more rapidly, telling him of my recovered memories, my arrogance, how I hurt Diana and the others, my flight from the gala.

“It seems to me,” he says when I finish, “that recognizing our faults is the first step toward correcting them.”

“But how can I correct years of being that person? The memories that return… I was cruel, arrogant. I used people as though they were tools for my advancement. I hurt a woman, Diana, who has been nothing but kind to me.” Lowering my voice, I inspect my shoes as I add, “More than kind.”

He considers this as he passes the translator back to me. “The man you were and the man you are now—they’re both part of you. The question isn’t how to erase your past, but how to learn from it.”

His words strike something deep within me. “I want to be better,” I admit in English. “Not just for Diana, but for myself. But I don’t know how.”

“That you want to change is important,” Father Michael says. “Many never reach that point.” He pauses, studying me. “Would you like to return to Second Chance?”

We discover that the tiny button on the earpiece increases the volume. We just have to hold the translator close to our ears to hear, so we pass it quickly back and forth between us.

My heart leaps at the possibility of returning to Second Chance, even as fear grips me. “Yes, but… I need to prove myself worthyfirst. Worthy of their forgiveness. Of Diana’s…” I trail off, unable to speak the word “love” aloud.

“Love isn’t about worthiness, Cassius. It’s about growth, about choosing to be better every day.” He stands. “Wait here. Let me make some calls.”

I watch him disappear into a side room, my mind turning over his words. Perhaps he’s right—I don’t need to be perfect before returning. I just need to be committed to change.

When he returns, his face is pleased. “I’ve spoken with Laura. She said someone named Dara called and said you disappeared from a party. They’ve been worried about you. A car will be here within the hour to take you home.”

Home. The word echoes in my chest. Is that what Second Chance has become?

My stomach takes that opportunity to growl, loudly.

Without saying a word, he walks quickly to a door at the side of the altar. A few minutes later, he returns with a sandwich thick with meat and cheese and a bottle of water. After guzzling half the bottle of cold water, I take a huge bite of the sandwich.

He leaves me in peace to finish my meal while he speaks softly to an elderly lady sitting in the pew in front of the altar.

He returns to me as I swallow the last of the delicious sandwich, washing it down with the rest of the water.

“Why are you helping me?” I ask.

“Because you asked for it,” he replies simply. He settles back into the pew. “Now, while we wait, shall we talk more about this change you wish to make?”

As we talk, a plan forms in my mind. I’ll return to Second Chance, but humbly, ready to work and learn. Apologies will come not through words or grand gestures, but through consistent actions. I’ll help with the youth program, not as a favor, but because it matters.

And Diana… my heart aches at the thought of her. I love her—the certainty of it fills me like sunlight. But I won’t tell her, not yet. Not until I’ve proven, through actions rather than words, that I can be the man she deserves.

“Your ride is here,” Father Michael says eventually, nodding toward the entrance where headlights illuminate the stained glass.

I stand and reach to grip his forearm in the Roman way before remembering myself and offering my hand instead. He shakes it, smiling.

As I turn to leave, Father Michael calls out, “Memento, Cassi, peccatum non cadere, sed cadere.”Remember, Cassius—the sin lies not in falling, but in remaining fallen.

I step out into the night; the rain has stopped, the air cool but no longer threatening. The path ahead won’t be easy, but for the first time, I’m ready to walk it. Not as a patrician, not as agladiator, but simply as a man trying to be better than he was yesterday.

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