Page 18 of The Clinch
No one builds a new life from nothing unless the old one was unbearable.
I glance down at my hands. Split knuckles. Blood drying on my shirt. I put myself in the crosshairs tonight. Professional fighters don’t brawl in bars. The commission could bury me for this.
I rise from the chair and cross the room slowly, giving her time to stop me if she wants. She doesn’t move. All of her is braced for the worst version of me.
I sit beside her and touch her arm carefully. Not demanding. Just an anchor.
“Liz,” I say, low and steady.
She lifts her head, wary. Her eyes are glassy—anger, fear, and exhaustion tangled together.
“It’ll be all right. You’ll be safe here.”
She checks my face for the catch.
Eden steps in, voice gentling. “Leo’s place is closer to Brooklyn Hospital. This is temporary. Once the storm settles, you go back to your own life. By the time med school starts, you’re back on the Upper East Side.”
Liz’s brow tightens.
I exhale slowly and make an offer.
“This mess with Drake could cost me,” I say calmly. “I need your help to keep it contained.”
Her eyes lock on mine. Something settles behind them, a decision forming through fear and instinct.
She checks Eden, then comes back to me. “Fine,” she says at last. “Six weeks.”
Jessica is already typing. “Good. I’ll draft a statement for tomorrow. You two stay here tonight—together.”
“I’ll bring you a bag from the apartment first thing in the morning,” Nate offers.
“Text me a list. I’ll pack it tonight,” Eden adds.
“Now let’s go.” Jessica picks up her purse. “I’ve got a job to do, and you two need to settle in.”
She herds everyone toward the door. Eden gives me a long look—worried, protective, screaming “behave yourself”with her eyes.
Finn claps my shoulder on his way out. “You’re in good hands with Jessica. Don’t worry, she’ll make this go away”
The door shuts behind them, and the apartment changes shape. Quieter. Smaller. Every sound amplified.
She’s by the window again, arms locked tight, that silk dress catching the skyline. An hour ago she was moving against me like a spark catching dry tinder.
Now she won’t meet my eyes.
I step closer slowly.
“Not exactly how I imagined you coming home with me tonight.” I let a faint smile pull at my mouth. It’s the obvious thing we need to say to move forward.
She doesn’t answer immediately. She doesn’t smile at the joke. But the grip on her own ribs eases a fraction.
“I’m sorry for pulling you into my mess,” she says quietly. “It’s been so long since I left him. I started to think... hope... that he’d moved on.”
Who knows what Drake did to make her leave. And here she is, apologizing.
“I’m sorry he did this to you. We’ll handle it. I promise.”
Her shoulders twitch.
