Page 108 of The Clinch
“Yo.”
Lukas steps onto the floor grinning, with his gear slung over one shoulder. Ray lowers the pads an inch. “You’re late.”
“Traffic. You want me warmed up or thrown straight into hell?”
“Gloves. Pressure rounds. Start slow.”
Lukas rolls his shoulders, checking me once. “Your sister put me on my back twice this morning.”
“You let her?”
He snorts. “I didn’t gift it to her. I just don’t muscle through training like an asshole.” His grin turns quick and pleased. “She earned it. She’s good.”
“She’s with Nate.”
“Yeah,” he says easily. “Lucky bastard.”
I watch him tape up—efficient, methodical, not performing for anyone. Eden trusts him. That matters.
So does the part where he stepped back when Eden drew the line, not claiming what wasn’t his.
I know exactly what that costs.
Ray snaps his fingers once. “Enough. In the ring.”
He looks at me as we move. “Eight rounds. Then you go pick up your girl. And when you do, you keep your face calm.”
“My face is always calm.”
“Your eyes aren’t.”
That night,after Liz falls asleep wrapped around me, my phone buzzes.
JESSICA
We need to talk about how you’re handling the “fake” narrative
We check in next week at Nate’s
I read it twice.
Her head on my chest, Liz breathes slow and even, one hand splayed over me, the ring catching a sliver of moonlight.
On the chair beside the dresser, her ER tote is half packed for the morning. Badge clipped to the strap. A folder for NYU orientation, corners bent from being opened too many times.
The world wants its story. Jessica wants a plan. And right there, in the middle of my room, is the part none of them see. She still has one foot in a life that doesn’t bend around camp. Around me. Around the structures I build and call care.
Fake narrative. As if that’s the problem.
Pickups. Meals. Morning roadwork. Space in my bed.
And she’s still deciding whether to stay.
I type back one word.
LEO
Noted
