Page 6 of Thawed Gladiator: Cassius

“This could be exactly what Cassius needs,” she says eagerly. “A way to rebuild his physical skills without the pressure of a clinical setting.”

As the meeting wraps up, Dr. Reeves pulls me aside. “Diana, I’m impressed. You’ve clearly put a lot of thought into this. I think you’re going to make a real difference in Cassius’s life.”

Her words warm me, giving me a much-needed confidence boost. Maybe I won’t mess this up after all.

Driving back to my apartment, my mind whirls with plans. I may not have fancy degrees or years of experience, but I have something just as important: I know firsthand how horses can heal people. They saved my life once. Now maybe they can help save someone else’s.

Tomorrow I start this job for real—with an actual client, a two-thousand-year-old one. Cassius may have lost his past, but I’m determined to help him build a future. One day at a time, one gentle horse nuzzle at a time.

Chapter Five

Diana

I’m singing off-key to my radio, feeling on top of the world as I pull into my parking spot at my apartment. The meeting with Cassius’s medical team went better than I’d dared hope. But as I walk toward my door, a flash of white paper stops me dead in my tracks.

There’s an envelope stuck to my door, “NOTICE” printed in big red letters. My hands shake as I rip it open, already knowing what I’ll find inside.

“No, no, no.” The words blur as I scan the legal jargon. Eviction notice. My landlord’s kicking me out with thirty days’ notice so he can renovate. He didn’t put it in writing, but everyone knows he’s doing this to jack up the rent. Great for him. A nightmare for me.

I stumble into my apartment, drop my backpack, and crumple onto my beat-up sofa. A string of curses spills out as I read the notice again, hoping somehow the words have changed. But nope, they’re still there, cold and unforgiving. My landlord and his fancy attorney clearly don’t care that this piece of paper has come into my life like a wrecking ball.

“This can’t be happening.” My voice sounds hollow in the empty room. This apartment might be small and outdated, but it was the only place in town I could afford. And now, even that’s being yanked away.

My brain scrambles for solutions, but each option looks worse than the last. The sanctuary job pays well, but not enough for the crazy rents around here. And commuting from a cheaper town that’s farther away? Not happening with the weird hours I’ll need to work.

My friend Jen in St. Louis has been nagging me to move back, teasing me about slinging hash browns at Waffle House. She’s always reminding me I’m meant for better things than dishing out orders that are “scattered, smothered, chunked, and covered.” That’s waffle-house-speak for crispy, add onions, ham chunks, and cheese. We used to laugh about it, but it’s not so funny after working there.

For a second, hope flares at the thought of moving in with her, but reality squashes it fast. Moving back to St. Louis, hours away in good traffic, means giving up my dream job at the sanctuary, abandoning everything before it begins.

The thought makes my chest ache. This job, this chance to be part of something that’s never been done before—it’s more than I ever dreamed possible. And Cassius… the idea of meeting him, starting his therapy, only to vanish after a couple of weeks feels cruel.

My hand trembles as I reach for my phone. Laura needs to know ASAP so she can find my replacement. My finger hovers over her name, dreading the call that will end this dream before it starts.

Taking a deep breath, I press her name. The phone rings twice before Laura’s warm voice answers.

“Diana? Everything okay? Was there a problem with the staff meeting?”

“Laura, I…” My voice catches, and I order myself not to cry until after we hang up. “I’m so sorry. I hate doing this, but I just got an eviction notice. My landlord’s renovating and raising the rent. There’s nowhere else in town I can afford right now.” I let the regret show in my voice—she has to know I’d never do this if I had options.

“I wanted to tell you right away so you can find someone else. The men deserve someone who can be dedicated. I don’t want to start what I can’t finish.”

There’s a pause, and I brace for her disappointment. But when Laura speaks, her tone is thoughtful.

“Diana, we’ve just finished building some tiny houses on the sanctuary property. We planned them as alternative housingfor gladiators who might want their own space away from the bunkhouse. They’re not being used yet. Would you be interested in living in one of them? At least for the time being?”

“No! I couldn’t take the gladiators’ housing. That sounds so wrong.”

“None of the men are ready to leave their barracks yet, and when they are, there are two other tiny houses ready to go. It’s a sincere offer. I’ll deduct five hundred dollars a month from your salary to cover your room and board. Does that sound reasonable?”

For a moment, I’m speechless. I mentally repeat everything she just said, not believing my ears until I hear it again in my mind. “I… are you sure? You know, I wouldn’t want to impose. And five hundred a month? That’s way too cheap.”

“Nonsense,” Laura says firmly. “You’re part of our team now, Diana. And having you on-site could benefit the program. It will be good for those rowdy guys to have some more estrogen around.” She laughs. “It’s a testosterone fest out here with only me and Thrax’s girlfriend, Skye, on the property. Plus, it’ll save you the commute.”

Relief floods through me, and my body comes down off high alert. “Laura, thank you so much. This job means everything to me.”

“Don’t mention it.” Her tone rings with sincerity. “You can move in anytime, even before your lease is up if you’d like.”

As I hang up, I look around my small apartment with fresh eyes. What seemed like a catastrophe just moments ago has turned into an unexpected blessing. Not only will I keep my job, but I’ll be living right on the sanctuary grounds in the middle of all the action. I’ll get to know all the gladiators and watch them transform from newcomers to this world into men who belong here.

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