An Iron-Body Fighter Told Single Mom "Your Punches Are Useless" — She Was Down, 6 Seconds Later He Regretted!
Chapter 36
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"Sounds like a man I would have liked," Thomas says, his voice thick. "I'm sorry I never got the chance to know him. Sorry still that I wasn't here for you after.""You're here now.""I am." He squeezes her hand once, firm and steady. "Late, but here."Silas stands nearby, a rare, unguarded smile breaking across his weathered face, watching two people he's cared about for decades finally find their way back to each other. "12 years I trained you both," Silas says quietly, mostly to himself, though Opal, standing close enough to hear, nods in quiet agreement. "Knew this day would come eventually; just didn't know it'd take this long, or look quite like this."Opal steps forward then, taking Thomas's hand in both of hers. "22 years," she says, "and you never once let me know you were all right.""I'm sorry, Opal. I didn't think I deserved to.""That was never yours to decide alone." Her voice is gentle, but firm—the same voice she's used on Callie all week. "This town's got more forgiveness in it than you gave it credit for. Took a while to prove that, but we got there."Later, once the crowd has thinned, the two men find a quiet corner near the stage. Silas and Thomas stand together for a long moment without speaking—the easy silence of two people who've known each other longer than most marriages last."You kept your promise," Thomas says finally. "All these years—never told her.""Wasn't always easy," Silas admits. "Watching her walk past that shoebox every week, never knowing what was in it.""I don't know how to thank you for that.""You don't have to." Silas claps him once on the shoulder—the closest thing to affection either man seems comfortable showing in public. "Just don't disappear on her again. That's the only thanks I need.""I won't," Thomas says—and for the first time all evening, he sounds entirely certain of something.It takes the better part of an hour for the community center to sort itself back into any kind of order. Bronson is helped off the stage by two members of the sports network's crew, his earlier bravado replaced entirely by stunned silence. Gordon Aldridge attempts to slip toward the exit during the confusion; he doesn't get far—his path is blocked by Harold Kepler and two off-duty police officers who happened to be in attendance for the memorial."Mr. Aldridge," one of the officers says, "we'd like a word about an anonymous note left at this building yesterday, and about some footage that just aired in front of a few hundred witnesses.""This is absurd," Gordon says, though his voice lacks its usual polish. "I run a legitimate business. Whatever my client did on that stage has nothing to do with me.""Maybe," the officer says. "But the handwriting on that note matches the property offer sitting in Mr. Whitmore's filing cabinet. And there's a security camera above that front desk that's been recording for two years. Figured you'd want the chance to explain yourself before this gets any bigger than it already is."