We finish our food in lighter conversation—Skeet gossiping about a new singer at his club, me telling him about the producer’s email that came through yesterday. But my mind is only half there.
Because right now, I have somewhere else I need to be.
I glance at the time. “I’ve got to run. Bobby’s session starts in forty minutes and I need to get my butt moving.”
Skeet grins. “Go get ‘em, trainer boy. And text me later if you hear from Mr. Mysterious.”
I hug him quickly and head out, the cool evening air hitting my face as I power-walk toward the private gym where I train Bobby. My legs feel heavy, my thoughts still tangled, but at least moving helps a little.
And deep down, two questions keeps circling:
Where are you, Kirill?
And why does your silence hurt so much more than I expected?
* * *
The private gym space feels almost peaceful tonight, the mirrors reflecting the soft overhead lights and the steady rhythm of Bobby’s breathing as he pushes through another set of Romanian deadlifts. He’s really committing tonight — back straight, core tight, form cleaner than it was even a week ago.
I spot him carefully, offering quiet encouragement between reps.
“You’ve got this, Bobby. Two more… nice and controlled. Yes!Perfect.”
Bobby racks the bar with a satisfied grunt and straightens up, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist. His cheeks are flushed, but there’s a determined spark in his eyes that makes me proud.
For a nineteen-year-old who was thrown into training because his uncle basically ordered it, he’s taken to it surprisingly well. He’s got potential, that’s for sure.
We move to the next station for shoulder presses. Between sets, while Bobby catches his breath and sips water, he glances at me sideways.
“Hey… is everything okay, Teddy? You seem a little... distracted.”
I pause, adjusting the pin on the machine even though it’s already set correctly. The question catches me off guard. I thought I was hiding it better.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically, forcing my usual bright smile. “Just a long day. You know how it is… clients, classes, the usual chaos.”
Bobby doesn’t buy it.
He tilts his head, studying me with those sharp eyes that are so unnervingly like his uncle’s. “It’s about Uncle Kirill, isn’t it?”
My stomach drops. I hesitate just a second too long, and that’s all the confirmation he needs.
Bobby’s expression softens. He sets his water bottle down and leans against the machine. “Look… I know his life iscomplicated. The family business… it’s not normal. It’s dangerous sometimes. People get hurt. Secrets. Lies. All that bullshit. But he’s a good man, Teddy. Deep down, he really is. He would never do anything to hurt you on purpose. Not if he cares about you. And I can tell he does.”
Bobby’s voice is sincere, spoken straight from the heart.
There’s no hesitation, no rehearsed lines. Bobby genuinely believes what he’s saying. I can see the affection and loyalty he has for his uncle shining through.
For a moment, it helps. His words wrap around the anxious knot in my chest like a warm blanket. Kirill is intense, commanding, sometimes terrifying… but the way he looks at me, the way he held me, the way he called me malysh—it never felt cruel. It felt protective. Possessive in a way that made me feel safe even when it scared me.
But then reality creeps back in.
Is that enough?
Can “he’s a good man deep down” really justify walking into what is clearly a very dangerous world? Bullets, betrayals, secrets that could get people killed… including me? I’m twenty-one. I have dreams of acting, a career I’m fighting for, a normal life with Brando and smoothies and silly improv nights with Skeet. Do I really want to risk all of that for a man who disappears for days and won’t tell me what he actually does?
I swallow hard and force another smile. “Thanks, Bobby. That… means a lot. Really.”
He nods, looking like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he straightens up and gestures to the machine. “Ready for the next set?”
