Page 119 of The Clinch
29
SPLIT DECISION (LIZ)
We hit Jessica’s building at two fourteen.
Mirrors. Lavender air.
Leo stands close enough that our shoulders almost touch. He keeps his hands to himself and gives nothing away.
My reflection looks composed. The rest of me is a different story.
I can still feel his mouth on my skin. I grip my coffee cup harder than I need to. Blue Mountain, brewed the way I like it, because I mentioned it once and he filed the detail away like it mattered.
Leo’s gaze darts to my ring. Then looks forward again.
The doors open.
Jessica Novak’s office is bright and sharp. Glass walls. Sharp edges. A framed Defenders jersey. A board covered in headlines and schedules.
Order as a weapon.
Jessica is already behind her desk, watching us.
She’s not fond of small talk.
“Hi,” she says. “Please sit.”
We do.
Folding her hands, she looks at us with the steady focus of someone who mapped this conversation before we walked in.
“I’ve got good news,” she starts.
I turn wary anyway.
“The media loves you. The Drake story is buried, and unless one of you commits a felony in daylight, it will stay buried.”
I hear the words clearly. Relief tries to move through me and stalls halfway.
Travis has been quiet for weeks.
Quiet enough that I’ve started letting myself believe quiet means over.
Jessica watches my face. “Any contact from him recently?”
I blink. “What?”
“Drake. Calls, texts, sightings. Anything that changes the threat assessment?”
A Louisiana area code I didn’t answer. A man on a beach who knew my old name. A Google alert earlier today.
“No,” I say.
The answer comes out steady. That’s the thing about four years of rebuilding yourself — you get very good at deciding what a room needs to hear.
Jessica holds my gaze for one second longer than the question requires. Then she moves on and taps the folder in front of her.
“You can stop pretending.”
