I help him gather the rest: a coffee mug with the facility logo, a small desk plant, a pile of notepads. We move slowly, comfortably. I don't have anywhere else to be. Bill never rushes, never raises his voice, even when he's telling fifty kids to straighten up and get in line. I've always respected that about him.
"I can help carry this to your car," I offer when the box is full.
He nods. "Appreciate it. Got another one in the break room."
We walk together through the quiet halls.
"How's that nursing program coming along?" he asks as we cross the parking lot, gravel crunching under our feet.
"Good. Great, actually." I shift the box in my arms. "Just passed my certification exam."
"Knew you would." Genuine pride in his voice. My chest tightens again. I swallow hard. A year ago, this wouldn't have happened. I didn't feel things like this. Now I can't seem to stop.
We reach his car, an ancient blue sedan. He pops the trunk and we load the boxes. When everything's stowed, he hesitates, glancing around the parking lot before turning back to me.
"Almost forgot." His voice drops. "Got something I've been meaning to throw out."
From his jacket pocket, he pulls a small, battered device, a portable radio player, the kind with a belt clip and headphones, straight out of the nineties. Ancient but cared for, the silver surface scratched but clean.
"Been in my desk drawer for years. Helped me through many night shifts," he says, holding it out. "Thought maybe youcould find a use for it. Just don't let anyone know it was me."
My eyes widen. Contraband. I don't even consider refusing. All I can think about is Liam, his face when he talks about the music he misses, how he hums under his breath constantly, how he says music is the only thing he wants from his old life.
"Does it work?" I ask, barely audible.
Bill winks, pressing it into my palm. "Fresh batteries and everything. Radio still picks up the local stations clear as day."
I stare at it. Slip it into my pocket. The small bulge barely noticeable, burning against my thigh.
"Thank you," I say, meaning it for more than the radio.
Bill claps a hand on my shoulder. "You're a good kid, Ethan. Always have been. Just wanted to give you something to remember the old man by."
"I wouldn't have forgotten you anyway."
He smiles, then grows serious. "Be careful with that thing. Don't want you getting in trouble. Don't let old Griff see you."
"I will be careful, sir."
"I'll come visit eventually. Staff says they'll invite me to every potluck. Lucky me." We both chuckle.
We say goodbye with a handshake that turns into a brief hug. I watch him climb into his car, start the engine, drive away. A small piece of my life at Aspire going with him.
Walking back toward the main building, I'm hyperaware of the radio in my pocket. I used to be the model student, the perfect leader. Things changed. The thought of Liam's face when I show him, the surprise, the smile that will spread across his face, something shifts in my chest. Contraband in my pocket, the memory of his kiss on my lips.
The rest of the kids file out after Griff's MMA drills nearly killed us. Sweat trickles down my neck, shirt clinging to my back.
"Mind if Liam and I stay a bit longer, sir? I want to help himwith his defensive technique." Casual. Professional. Like this is purely about training.
Griff glances between us, Liam standing a careful distance away, face flushed, black hair plastered to his forehead.
"You'll clean the mats after," Griff says. Not a question. His eyes linger on my split lip, but he doesn't mention it.
"Yes, sir." I'd clean the entire gym with a toothbrush for time alone with Liam.
Griff nods, grabbing his clipboard. "Lock up when you're done. Thirty minutes, max." He tosses me the keys. I catch them one-handed. He trusts me. I worked years for that trust.
It's all on the line now. And I don’t fucking care.
