Page 84 of The Clinch

---

This isn’t practical. It’s retreat.

I do it anyway.

21

AFTERSHOCK (LEO)

The rope slaps the floor in a steady rhythm, leather whispering against wood. My shoulders burn. My calves are tense. Sweat runs down my spine and disappears into the waistband of my shorts.

I keep going. Jump. Land. Reset.

I don’t count. Counting turns it into a negotiation, and I’m not negotiating this morning.

The house is silent beyond the gym walls. Just the fan overhead and the rope cutting the air.

She didn’t come back.

The thought lands flat.

She slept somewhere else.

My grip tightens. The rope snaps harder against the floor before I force it loose again.

Her weight on top of me. Her mouth. The way she said it like she was offering mercy instead of distance. Like halfway was supposed to be enough.

Last night still hasn’t let go of me.

Wanting her.

Stopping.

That part was harder than anything I’ve done in a ring.

I’d do it again.

So I keep the rope moving and let the burn climb until discipline is the only thing left in the room.

The gym door opens behind me.

I don’t stop.

Adam steps in first, hoodie on, hair damp, still half asleep. He takes one look at me and slows.

“You’re early,” he says.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

That’s enough explanation.

He takes that and heads for the squat rack without pushing, but I can feel him clocking the fact that I’m going hard before sunrise for no obvious reason.

A minute later, the door opens again.

Matthias comes in, takes in me, the rope, the sweat darkening the mat, and leans against the wall. “Heard you downstairs. You’ve been at it awhile.”

The rope stutters. I correct.

“You’re muscling it.”

---