Page 52 of The Clinch
My father’s voice turns precise. “Explain.”
“It’s an arrangement.” The words taste like metal. “It started as…damage control.”
My hands won’t be still. I pick at the seam of my scrubs, the smoothie stain, anything.
My mother doesn’t blink. “Damage control for what?”
Something swells at the base of my throat. “Travis found me.”
There’s no soft version of that.
“He made a scene at a bar,” I add quickly, like speed might make it smaller. “Leo stepped in. Cameras caught enough to turn it into a story.” I force myself to keep going. “Jessica—his publicist—thought it would stabilize the narrative. Make him seem settled. Not reckless. And it keeps Travis from thinking I’m fair game.”
My mother’s expression doesn’t change, but her eyes sharpen. “So you’re pretending to be engaged to Leo Carver. A heavyweight boxer.”
I almost laugh.
“He’s Eden’s brother,” I say. “I know him. More than I meant to.”
My father leans back slightly, like he’s giving the conversation room to breathe.
“You two look persuasive together,” my mother says carefully, watching my face. “Too persuasive. Do you think this will make you safe from Travis?”
I hesitate. Then choose my words. “I’ve been thinking,” I say slowly. “About my options.” A breath. “How would you feel if I came to Ulm?”
Silence.
Not the bad kind. The kind that means they’re taking me seriously.
“Not to visit,” I rush to clarify. “For med school.”
My mother exhales first. “Lil,” she says gently. “We would love to have you here. You know that.”
“Always,” Dad adds.
I feel the relief too fast and resent it immediately.
Then Mom tilts her head, just slightly. The way she used to when I was twelve and telling a half-truth.
“But you can’t keep running from that man,” she says.
I stiffen. “I don’t want him in my orbit.”
She doesn’t rush. She never does.
“He has already taken more from you than he ever had a right to.” She waits. “Olympics. Medical school. A child.” Another beat. “You cannot let him take another year from you.”
The words jam somewhere behind my teeth.
“You’ve earned your place where you are,” my father says. “A top program. Full funding.” He holds my gaze. “If you came here, you could make it work. Eventually. But you’d lose time. A year, at least. You’d be starting over. Again.”
“That’s not—” I start. Stop. “That doesn’t solve the problem. He knows where I live. Where I work. He probably knows I’m starting NYU in a few weeks.”
My mother’s voice stays soft. “Lil. Of course you’re afraid. But you know the difference between survival and escape.”
Germany means distance. A different language. Streets Travis doesn’t know. A place I could disappear into and actually stay disappeared.
But even as I reach for it, something in me already knows the truth.
