Page 184 of The Clinch
I take one more step.
“You remember it? I was bleeding. I told you I was scared. You put your hands on me anyway.”
“Liz—” Leo says, rough now, from somewhere to my left.
I don’t turn.
“You hit me. You shoved me. I miscarried. And you’re standing here with a straight face telling me I’m still yours.”
His lip curls. “You are.”
“No.”
His voice rises. “You made vows.”
“And you broke them when you put your hands on me.”
The gym goes quieter. Jessica types faster. Lukas mutters something vicious under his breath. Even Ray looks ready to kill him.
Travis stares at me with that same old certainty, that same rotten conviction that if he says a thing enough times it becomes true.
“You’re my wife. You can run. You can play house with him. Doesn’t change what we are.”
“You’re never touching me again.”
His face changes, ugly and fast. “We’ll see.”
That’s when Leo speaks.
“Drake.”
One word. Low. Flat. Deadly enough that even Travis finally looks at the right man.
The air in the gym goes hard around it.
I turn then.
Leo is at the ropes now, one gloved hand locked around the top strand hard enough to make it groan, his face blank in the dangerous way that means he’s one decision away from violence.
“Step away from her,” he says.
Travis laughs without humor. “What, you want privacy?”
Leo doesn’t blink. “Step away.”
Travis looks at me instead. “You should leave, Lillian. This part isn’t for you.”
The words are so grotesque, so absurdly, historically male, that for one second, I almost laugh.
Instead, my gaze sweeps the room again.
The cameras. The phone in Jessica’s hand. The cutman with his kit. Ray positioned like a referee. Signed papers laid out on the folding table.
Not a back-alley brawl. A controlled, witnessed, recorded event.
And they set it up without telling me.
Decided I didn’t need to know.
