“Okay sure, the roughing up will be a bonus, but we are short a player.”

“You don’t have to, Dylan, if you’re not used to this kind of thing anymore. I mean let’s face it, you being a city boy now and all, this could be quite hard on you,” Joe said with a straight face.

“I’m an adult, Trainer, I don’t let that shit goad me anymore like it once did.”

“Sure you do, you still have that vein right there.” Joe pointed to his neck, and Dylan resisted the urge to place his hand there. No one had made that vein pulse since he’d left Ryker... or at least not that he’d noticed.

“It was always a barometer for your moods, bud.”

“Maybe he’s just soft now, Joe. It happens, I hear, when you don’t get regular exercise. Hell, look at that fat hanging over the waistband of his shorts.”

“I ran here,” Dylan drawled, “after using the weights in my dad’s garage.” He didn’t need to defend himself, anyone could see he wasn’t carrying any spare fat. He kept in shape, needed to, to keep his mind sharp and fit for the long hours he sometimes pulled at work.

“Pfft,” Fin said. “Weights and a jog. My grandma can do that.”

Dylan was not about to let these two know he was enjoying himself. He didn’t do this stuff in New York. Okay, he had a few people he loosely termed friends, and even played basketball weekly, but nothing like this. No one teased Dylan, or came at him, because most were colleagues who respected, and yes he could admit it, feared him a bit. He could be an asshole when required, and had heard people say he was as warm as a polar blast.

He’d been back in Ryker longer than planned and still hadn’t made plans to leave. This, he’d told himself, was due to his father still being in hospital, Charlie, and Ava. And they were all legitimate reasons, but there was another one too. He didn’t want to leave. It was that simple. Coming here was giving him time to reflect on his life and the man he’d become.

“Yeah, but it’s all good, Dylan. Don’t worry about it. You go on and sit on the seats. I’ll get the knee blanket Aunty Kitty knitted for me out of my car.”

“Fuck you, Trainer, and I know for a fact you don’t have an Aunty Kitty.”

“Ouch,” his old friend said, smiling.

“Dickhead.”

“Shit for brains.”

“My shit for brains were always sharper than yours.”

“Sure, but then like I said, you were softer,” Joe added.

“You sure you won’t cry if I hurt you?”

Fin placed a hand on his chest. “I’m gonna try real hard not to, city boy.”

“Hey.”