Page 122 of The Clinch
Just a hallway. Just him. Just me choosing.
30
HANDS UP (LEO)
Ray walks the perimeter of the ring with the stopwatch in hand, eyes on my feet instead of my fists.
The wraps are tight. Tape clean. No loose ends. I wouldn’t be here if I allowed for any.
He watches me move through the pattern again. Jab. Slip. Step out. Reset.
The silence stretches, my lungs starting to burn. Then he says it, flat and final. “Friday, you belong to camp. This week, we fix what’s still sloppy.”
He clicks the stopwatch. “Again.”
I go again.
The bell over the gym door buzzes.
Finn O’Reilly steps in with a cap low over his eyes and a duffel over one shoulder, acting like this place is a secret. Which, for the Defenders, it is. His head coach would have an aneurysm if he knew his star forward was sparring in his time off.
Ray sweeps him once with a look that says he already regrets this.
Finn lifts two fingers. “Coach.”
Ray points at me instead. “Again.”
Finn drifts to the apron. “So this is what it takes to see you now. Gym rendezvous. Very romantic.”
I don’t answer.
Jab. Slip. Reset.
“How’s Liz?” he asks.
Ray’s eyes flick to him. A sharp warning.
Finn lifts a hand. “What? Normal question.”
“You here to work or gossip, O’Reilly?” Ray says.
“Work.” Then, quieter to me, “You two real?”
I keep moving. “She’s still wearing it.”
That shuts him up.
After Jessica’s office, I expected Liz to pull back. Take the ring off. Hand it back like evidence. She didn’t. She walked out with it still on her finger. She stepped into my hand in the hallway.
It isn’t a promise.
But it isn’t nothing.
I look at Finn. “Hands up.”
His grin comes back. “On it.”
Ray jerks his chin toward the bench. “Wrap. One round. Big gloves. Controlled. Then you’re off my mat.”
