Page 123 of The Clinch
Finn salutes with the wrap. “Yes, Coach.”
I check my phone once between rounds.
No message.
Good.
I hate that I wanted one anyway.
I put it away.
Ray doesn’t even look at me. “Eyes here.”
“Yes.”
The bell buzzes again. Lukas steps onto the mat with a small bag over one shoulder, already belonging to the room.
Ray turns to Finn. “After this, you’re with Lukas.”
I peel my gloves off, grab the mitts, and step down.
Work first. Always.
I’m parked halfa block from the ambulance bay, leaning against my car.
From here, I can see the sliding doors, the bright wash of fluorescent light, the blur of scrubs moving in and out like the building is breathing.
Then Liz steps through, and it’s just her.
Hair pulled back tight. Green scrubs creased and stained. Tired in a way that makes her sharper. Still carrying the shift in her body.”
Marco walks beside her in that easy way old friends get to. He hands her balloons and a card. Other staff hover around her too—a couple of nurses, someone in scrubs, a few faces I recognize from drop-offs and pickups over the past weeks.
Then a man comes through the doors behind them.
Tall. Late thirties. White coat over his scrubs, ID badge swinging. The kind of build that says he used to play something in college and still misses being good at it.
He says something to Liz, and she turns toward him, and whatever it is makes her laugh—not the polite version, the real one, the one that takes over her whole face before she can catch it.
He touches her arm when he says goodbye.
Not the way Marco does, loose and familiar. Different. A half second longer than necessary. His hand staying there just past the point of professional.
Liz doesn’t notice.
I do.
From thirty feet away, I clock it the same way I clock a tell in the ring—the micro-shift, the fraction of extra hold, the thing that means something even when it looks like nothing.
My back teeth come together.
I make them loosen.
For one ugly second, the instinct is simple—cross the sidewalk, step into the space, make it clear she’s not standing there alone.
I don’t move.
I make my hands uncurl one finger at a time and keep my face blank.
