Page 131 of The Clinch
The bell sounds. The round ends. Leo backs off immediately. One hard breath, and then another as he ducks through the ropes.
Ray is already there with a timer in one hand and a towel in the other. He says something low and clipped. Leo drinks water, spits into the bucket, and resets as if even rest here comes with orders attached.
That might be the most unsettling part. Not the violence. The obedience.
Lukas is near the far side of the ring, already wrapped, headgear hanging loose around his neck, talking to one of the trainers while he rolls out his shoulders. He looks up, spots us, and his whole face shifts—easy recognition, no hesitation. He lifts a hand in greeting.
There’s something instantly comfortable about him. The kind of presence that makes a room feel less serious.
I glance at Eden. “How did you never date him?”
She shrugs. “He’s hot, charming, emotionally available, and entirely too pleased with himself. Great guy. Not my guy.”
I laugh under my breath, but the bell rings before I can say more.
Leo is back in before the sound finishes fading.
His partner presses in hard. Leo lets him believe he has ground, then takes it back with interest, landing a shot that snaps the other man’s head just enough to make Eden hiss through her teeth.
“Jesus,” she mutters.
Ray doesn’t flinch. “Hands up,” he barks. “Don’t admire your work.”
Leo resets instantly. He adjusts and goes again, like his body belongs to the command as much as it belongs to him.
The round ends. Leo bends forward, hands braced on his thighs, sweat running down the side of his neck while Ray talks to him in that same flat, brutal cadence.
Ray points across the ring.
Lukas ducks through the ropes.
He moves differently from the first guy. Lighter. Faster. Less brute force, more angles. He bounces once, twice, gloves high, eyes focused.
I glance at Eden. “You’re telling me you can make this guy tap?”
Her smile turns smug. “All the time.”
I look back at Lukas. “That’s hard to believe.”
“He calibrates,” she says lightly. “I don’t.”
Leo rolls his neck, lifts his guard, and the bell rings. This round is different from the start. Less damage. More chess.
Lukas comes in quick, probing range, testing openings, and Leo tracks him with unnerving patience. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t overreach. Just watches, waits, and then cuts him off.
It happens so fast I almost miss it.
One small shift of Leo’s front foot, one shoulder feint, and suddenly Lukas is where Leo wants him instead of where he meant to be.
“Oh, that’s nasty,” Eden says under her breath.
Leo lands a jab, then another. Lukas answers with one of his own. Then Leo catches him with a body shot that sounds thick even through gloves and padding.
And Leo smiles—brief, fierce, not warm in the slightest.
The expression lands harder than any punch because it tells me he likes this—likes pressure, likes resistance, likes the moment another man makes him work for the hurt.
“Oh my God,” I say before I can stop myself.
