Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Zane
Itold Skylar I was done. No more fights. Told her she didn’t have to worry anymore.
But I’ve got one more fucking fight I can’t get out of.
I couldn’t tell her that. I didn’t want to see the disappointment on her face.
The deal is already locked in. Blood money changing hands before I even step into that cage.
Cash is already in circulation, names signed, bets stacked higher than the bruises I’ve been collecting.
This isn’t some local tournament I can walk away from.
Pulling out now won’t just burn bridges.
It’ll light a fucking match and drop on everything.
And I know the type of people I’m fighting for, they’d come for me if I don’t show up.
If they can’t find me… Then they’ll likely come for her to make sure I feel the punishment.
The one person I swore I’d protect with everything I had.
I should never have fucking got involved in this shit because those sick rich bastards got their hooks in me the second I took that envelope full of cash.
I’m in the shop with Rainer. My jaw’s still swollen, ribs tender as fuck when I twist too fast.
He doesn’t say shit at first, just hands me a wrench and nods toward the busted-up Dodge Neon that smells like someone died in the backseat. I don’t miss the way his eyes flick to the bruises blooming across my cheek, sticking out like a confession.
Skylar notices them, too. Pretends she doesn’t, but when she thinks I’m asleep, her fingers skim over them, featherlight and careful, as if touching them might somehow make them hurt less.
She’s been talking more to Rainer lately. I hear her laugh from the front of the shop when she comes home from school. Rainer’s not much of a talker, but with her, he tries, and I appreciate that.
Mason packs up and bails for the night, the sound of his boots fading, the door slamming shut behind him.
Rainer doesn’t follow. He stays exactly where he is, arms folded, shoulders hunched. He leans against the bench, eyes on me, jaw set, face carved out of stone and silence. That same tired look I’ve seen on him a hundred times.
He’s not mad, just worn the fuck down from caring too long about someone who never gave him a reason to.
I keep my head down, pretending I don’t feel the weight of his stare, or the heaviness of everything unsaid pressing down with his gaze. I focus on the Dodge in front of me, grab the wrench, and twist hard. My ribs bark in protest, but I don’t stop.
He waits. Silent, steady. Then, finally, he speaks.
“You gonna tell me?”
I don’t lift my head. If I meet his eyes, he’ll see every fucking thing I’ve been hiding. So I don’t.
I dig the wrench into the bolt harder than necessary.
It slips, scrapes my knuckles raw, but I don’t flinch.
“Tell you what?” My voice is sharper than I mean it to be.
“Don’t play dumb with me, Zane. You’ve got a shiner and a busted lip. Thought you were past all that.”
My shoulders tense. The wrench in my hand stills against the carburetor. I don’t meet his eyes.
Rainer’s boots sound against the concrete as he steps closer.
“I thought you didn’t have to fight anymore,” he says.
I stare at the rusted metal in front of me, tracing the cracks in the casing.
“I didn’t mean to.”
“You didn’t mean to?” His tone sharpens. “Zane, you’re not some lost fucking kid anymore.”
The words burn.
I clench my jaw. “Maybe I still feel like one.”
Silence stretches with all the things I can’t say.
It’s been there for years. All the nights I spent with blood in my mouth from fights in alleys, the sting of bone meeting skin, the way pain reminded me I was still alive.
Every swing was a prayer, every bruise proof I hadn’t disappeared yet.
And the mornings, lying on a mattress, counting the seconds before the world started demanding something from me again.
Wondering if anyone would ever see me and find something other than a body built to take hits.
Rainer goes quiet for a while.
He stands there, the hum of the light above catching the silver in his hair.
When he finally moves, he steps closer and sets one hand on the edge of the hood of the car.
“You’ve been nothing your whole life. Is that what you think?” His voice cuts through the noise in my head.
I shrug, but my chest twists so tight I can barely breathe. “Feels that way sometimes.”
“Bullshit.” His tone sharpens. “You’re something to me. You’re—fuck, Zane.” He blows out a rough breath, shaking his head. “You’re the closest thing I’ve got to a son.”
The words land deep, somewhere I don’t let anyone touch.
I keep my eyes on the engine, on the bolts and grease, as my throat burns.
He keeps going. “And you sure as shit mean something to that girl.”
My heart stutters. Skylar.
“She needs you,” Rainer says, voice low. “Whether or not you see it. She needs you just like I do. For fuck sake, Zane, you don’t have to keep fighting. You don’t have to do it all alone anymore.”
That’s the part that gets to me.
The way he gives a fuck when he doesn’t have to.
This man isn’t blood, but he’s stood in every place my father should’ve been.
He’s patched me up, yelled at me, and fed me.
My own fucking mother couldn’t give two shits if I lived or died, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why he sees something worth saving. Why Skylar does.
Maybe they’re both blind, or perhaps they see something in me I’ve never been able to find.
Rainer doesn’t just care; he sees me. Not the fists, not the temper, not the fuck-ups.
Me. The kid who didn’t get a chance to be anything else.
I drag my hand across my mouth, the split in my lip pulling, a sting that feels earned. I stare at the floor because I owe him the truth. Especially after everything he’s done for me, the least I can do is not lie to his face.
“I’ve got one more,” I mumble.
He blinks, confusion flickering in his eyes. “One more what?”
“Fight.”
Rainer’s face goes still. His eyes lock on mine, and I can see the disappointment flicker there before he masks it.
“Are you serious?”
I nod once. “Yeah.”
Rainer exhales through his nose.
“You sure it’s just one?” he asks finally, voice low.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “It’s just one.”
“Have you told them that?”
“I told them.”
He studies me for a long time, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Sometimes it’s hard to get out,” he says, almost to himself.
“I’ll get out.”
Rainer’s stare doesn’t waver. “Better be for real. You’ve got more to lose now. Do you love her?” he asks.
I hesitate because standing here talking about this leaves me too exposed.
Rainer’s eyes narrow. “It’s not a trick question, Zane.”
I swallow, the lump in my throat, it’s almost painful. “Yeah. I do.”
He doesn’t speak; he waits, with that steady silence that always pulls more out of me than I mean to give.
“I can’t imagine my life without her,” I say, voice low. The truth scrapes out of me like gravel. “She’s the only thing that makes any sense in all of this.”
He nods. “Then give it up for her,” he says. “She deserves better than this. Better than some guy who keeps choosing pain over peace.”
I know he’s right.
I look down at my hands. Scabbed. Bruised. Torn across the knuckles where skin split open hours ago.
They’re the hands that were built to destroy, not to hold something soft. Skylar deserves hands that don’t carry blood beneath the nails or tremble with anger they can’t bury. She deserves something clean. Something I’ve never been.
“Yeah,” I say, voice low. “She does.”
Rainer lets out a slow breath, something that sounds a lot like relief. “Then make it right.”
“I’ll make it right.”
For a moment, he doesn’t answer. He studies me, his eyes running over everything I try to hide.
“You will,” he says finally, putting his hand on my shoulder, before walking away.
I stare down at my hands again, flexing them until the knuckles ache.
They’ve only ever known how to fight, but maybe, if I try hard enough, they can learn how to hold on.