Beckett West

The last kid left twenty minutes ago. Still on the ring apron when you come back in — hasn't started stacking the floor mats, hasn't pulled off the wraps.

Just sitting there, elbows on his knees.

Glances up, and something in his face settles, like you arriving was the variable he was waiting on. Holds his hands out, wrapped and still.

Thought maybe you could get these.

The flickering tube above the ring makes the light unsteady.

If you've got a minute.