Page 175 of The Clinch
Drake snorts. “That what you do now? Hide behind process?”
Leo’s expression doesn’t change. “You put your hands on her in public.”
“I touched her arm.”
“You put your hands on her after she told you not to.”
“She’s my wife.”
“No,” I say, before Leo can. “I’m your ex-wife, and you need to get that through your skull.”
His head snaps toward me so fast, my body flinches before I can stop it.
Leo shifts at once, cutting off the line between us without laying a hand on me. He doesn’t reach back for me. Doesn’t take my wrist. Doesn’t box me in. He just changes the line of access.
The distinction lands hard enough to feel physical. Drake sees it happen and hates it.
“You think this is protection?” he says to Leo, but loud enough for me to hear. “You think moving her into your place, playing hero?—”
Leo cuts across him. “You don’t get to say another word about her.”
Drake’s eyes flash. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
Leo doesn’t answer, which somehow makes it more dangerous.
Every word out of Drake’s mouth is trying to drag this into the gutter, and Leo refuses to follow.
Drake tilts his head, studying him. “What, you too good for it out here?” His smile goes sharp and ugly. “That belt makes you soft?”
Leo’s grip tightens once around the keys. That’s the only visible sign that anything in him is moving at all.
Then he says, “You’re not worth the paperwork.”
The dog walker, fully watching now, barks out a laugh before he can stop himself.
Drake hears it. The color in his neck darkens.
Good.
He advances, pushing again, trying to force Leo into a body decision. “Funny. I thought fighters liked crowds.”
Leo doesn’t give him the line he wants. “Real ones do.”
Drake’s mouth hardens.
He tries one more time, meaner now, more naked. “What’s the matter? Don’t want your girl seeing what happens when someone hits back?”
“Drake,” Leo says, and now his tone is so low I feel it more than hear it, “walk away.”
That does it.
Not because it sounds loud. Because it sounds final. Just a man standing inside his own control and making Drake look cheap by comparison.
For one ugly second, I think Drake is going to push anyway. I see it flicker through him—the need to reclaim something, to make this messy enough to feel like a draw.
Then he looks past Leo and sees the eyes on him. Another couple watching. The women near the curb. Witnesses.
His lip curls.
