“That complicated.” I set my coffee down, leaned against the counter. Tried to sound normal instead of like a man who'd spent the past week cataloging every detail of his stepson's body. “We're not fighting. But we're not exactly comfortable either.”
“He was gone a long time.”
“Yeah. You two talk long?”
“Just drinks. Caught up on mutual acquaintances, that sort of thing.” Rafael's expression stayed casual. “I didn't mention I work with you, by the way. Figured that might complicate things given your situation.”
“Probably smart,” I said. Meant it. The last thing I needed was Troy finding out Rafael had connections to me and deciding that was one more reason to be pissed off. “How'd he seem to you?”
“Tense. Drinking like he had things he didn't want to think about.” Rafael studied me with those dark, assessing eyes.
“That hasn't changed.”
“Didn't think it would.” He finished his coffee, set the cup aside. “How's Ralph doing? I saw him working with Sarah earlier. Knee looked better.”
I latched onto the subject change gratefully. Anything to stop talking about Troy. “He's progressing well. Still frustrated with the timeline, but that's normal. Kid wants to be back in the cage already.”
“They always do. Patience isn't exactly a fighter's strong suit.”
“No shit.” I pulled up Ralph's chart on the tablet sitting on the counter, scrolled through the notes. “We've got him on a twelve-week protocol. He's at week thirteen now, ahead of schedule actually, but I don't want to rush the load progression.”
Rafael leaned over to look at the screen. “What's he at now for resistance work?”
“Seventy percent bodyweight on the leg press. Single-leg work is still conservative, maybe forty percent. Balance training is coming along better than expected though. His proprioception is almost back to baseline.”
“That's good. Better than that last ACL case you had, what was his name? Rodriguez?”
“Yeah, but Rodriguez was an idiot who didn't follow protocols and tried to spar at week eight.” I shook my head, remembering the setback that had added another two months to the kid's recovery. “Ralph is smarter than that. Frustrated, but smart.”
“Smart keeps you in the game longer.” Rafael straightened, pulled out his phone to check the time. “Speaking of staying in the game, you still planning to take that fight next month?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Just making sure. I've got someone interested in sponsoring the card. Wanted to confirm you were still on before I finalized anything.”
“I'm on. Who's sponsoring?”
“Local gym equipment company. They want visibility with the fight crowd, figured having you on the card would give them credibility.” He grinned. “Apparently 'old man still kicks ass' is good marketing.”
“Fuck you. I can still put you on your ass.”
“Oh, I know. That's why I stay on your good side.” Rafael pocketed his phone, grabbed his empty coffee cup. “But seriously, the sponsorship's solid. Good money, minimal commitment. Just need you to wear their logo and maybe do a quick interview.”
“Fine. Send me the details.”
“Will do.” He tossed the cup in the recycling, then paused. “You need help with anything while Troy's around? I know having him back can't be easy.”
“I'll manage,” I said. Had been saying for a week now. Kept saying while I lost my mind one bathroom session at a time.
“I'm sure you will. But the offer stands.” He moved toward the door, then stopped and turned back. “And Declan? Don't beat yourself up too much over whatever's eating at you. Family shit is complicated. Always has been.”
I didn't know what to say to that.
Rafael seemed to take my silence as answer enough. He clapped me on the shoulder once, friendly and brief. “I've got to run. Call me if you need anything.”
I stood there holding my coffee, trying not to think about Troy sitting in a bar with Rafael, drinking and talking and being tense in ways I'd caused but didn't know how to fix.
I shook it off and finished my rounds.
