Page 26 of Ringer's Freedom

Lilah leaves me sitting alone at the table to help with a small rush that comes through the door. I only stay about twenty minutes to watch her work before I take off.

Pulling up to my dad's garage, I glare at the punk that I fought in the ring on Saturday. Satisfaction creeps through my veins as I get closer and notice the black eye he’s sporting, courtesy of the knockout punch I threw his way. I grin only for him to scowl at me and turn in the opposite direction.

“Hey, Pop,” I greet my dad, who is laid out under a car on a small lift. I kick the bottom of his boot with the toe of mine when I get close enough.

Wheeling himself out from under the Impala, he huffs as he lifts himself up.

“Gotta lay off those damn cigars, old man,” I joke.

“Ain't that the damn truth. Ghost is going to end up with COPD by the time he’s 40 with the way he chokes ’em down,” Dad grumbles.

I follow him as he ambles over to the small office in the corner. I smile at the picture on his desk, taken a few weeks before the car accident that took my mom's life. It’s of the four of us sitting on a picnic table at the club. Our mom was a tiny little thing, but her Russian temper was something else.

Dad throws himself down into his chair and nods to the small armchair against the wall.

“So let’s cut to the chase,” I say, breaking the silence. “Why’d you call me in here?”

Dad chuckles, lighting up the familiar scented cigar he’s favored my entire life. “Have you thought of what you’re wanting to do, now that you’re out?”

“I want to open a gym.”

He nods, a smile breaking his lips. “Still on that kick, huh?”

“It’s not a secret I’ve got a thing with using my fists.”

“Have you talked to your brother about it?”

“I just got out two days ago, Dad.”

“Well you’ve got my vote. I’ve also got some money stowed away if you need help.”

“I appreciate that, Pops.”

Before I went to prison, my goal was always to open up a full service gym with fully functional boxing rings, octagons, and certified trainers. I wanted it to be a place where kids and adults of all kinds can come to let off steam and learn to direct their aggression in the right way.

I spent many nights, staring at the bunk above me, dreaming of the gym that I would one day make a reality.

“I’m sure your brother and the rest of the club will be all for it. The club recently purchased a plaza off of Rose Street. We’ve been working on building Pebbles a dance studio, and I’m sure your brother would jump at the idea of a gym in there too.”

I think about what he says, excitement bubbling in my stomach. It would be fucking amazing if that were to happen.

“I’ll bring it to the table if you want me too,” Dad offers.

“Let me talk to Ghost first, just to put the feeler out and see what his thoughts are.”

Dad nods, finishing off his cigar. “Well, you got me in your corner, son. It’s damn good to have you home.”

“It’s good to be home, Pops.”

“If you don’t want to stay at the clubhouse, you are more than welcome to come stay in your old room. You know that.”

“Thanks, Dad. I’ll keep that in mind.”

I spend the rest of the afternoon with Dad at the garage. It feels good to push my sleeves up and get elbow deep in grease like I used to love doing with him.

* * *

The sun has set and the moon hangs high in the sky by the time I guide my bike through the gates of the parking lot at the clubhouse. I nod to the young kid Lee who’s currently manning the gatehouse and back into an open parking space.

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