Page 53 of The Clinch
He wouldn’t give up. He would wait.
Dad speaks again, quieter. “You didn’t survive all of that just to keep running.”
“There has to be another way, Lil. One that doesn’t require you to burn your life down,” Mom adds.
The call ends a few minutes later—softly, with love, with promises that don’t feel conditional.
I sit there on the bench long after the phone goes dark. Germany doesn’t vanish. But it stops being an answer.
Travis’s power was never about finding me. It was about waiting me out. And I’m done being waited out.
My shift ends in four hours. Then I go back to Leo’s apartment. Back to the life he’s already standing inside of like he belongs there.
I need a plan that doesn’t start with running.
I’ll figure it out. But I’m starting from Brooklyn.
12
HOLDING CENTER (LEO)
Liz’s day off means the run stretches longer than usual. No rush at the end, no countdown in her stride, just even breathing and measured pace as the city wakes up around us.
She’s always moving. Even sitting still, there’s motion: fingers drumming, eyes tracking exits, her brain three steps ahead of wherever her body is.
I’ve learned not to chase.
Chasing only makes her run faster.
But if I hold center, she circles back. Every time.
I’m trying not to enjoy proving myself right.
She still beats me back to the apartment.
By the timeshe comes out of the shower—hair damp, cheeks flushed—I’m in the kitchen. The blender’s still warm. Same green smoothie as every morning. Fuel. Routine. Something to do with my hands that isn’t touching her.
I hand it to her when she appears.
“Will you let me make you breakfast one of these days?” she asks, taking the glass with a smile.
That sounded comfortable.
“You’ll need clearance from my nutritionist,” I say lightly. “I can get you the paperwork.”
She leans against the counter and drinks half of it in one go. “I could also just enjoy the complementary service,” she laughs. “This is really growing on me.”
I let the moment run longer than I should.
I can’t touch her the way I want. So I do this instead. Put things in her hands. Build routine. Pretend that control is enough when it isn’t.
I clear my throat.
“We should head into the city today.”
Mid-sip, she gives me her full attention. “What’s in the city? Please tell me we don’t need to go perform for a sponsor or a journalist.”
“We need to get you a ring.”
