Sebastian Lockwood looked at him. "I know that match was important to you."
Ryder Sharp stared at him, his voice hoarse and dry from the alcohol, his eyes bloodshot. "Sebastian Lockwood, you don't know..."
"I would have rather died in the ring!"
Sebastian looked at him. "You have your convictions. I'm a doctor, and I have to be responsible for every decision I make."
"Most importantly..."
"I didn't want to lose you as a friend."
Ryder's hand, holding the glass, froze.
He looked away, raised his glass, and downed it in one go.
"You know your own body better than anyone. If you had only lost an arm, I, as your good friend and brother, could have been your right-hand man for the rest of your life."
"But that's on the condition that..."
"You didn't die in the ring."
Ryder didn't say anything, just refilled his glass.
"Ryder, you don't actually need any match to prove anything," Sebastian looked at him. "In my heart..."
"You'll always be the champion."
