Chapter 26
OPEN WORKOUT (LEO)
I’m wrapped up, hands taped, shoulders loose. Ray Calderone has me on the mats in front of the mirrors, mitts up, eyes sharp, mouth set like the session’s already running behind.
“You’re thinking,” he says.
“I’m breathing.”
He snorts. “Worse.”
He fires the first combination. I slip, step, snap a jab into the mitt, and drive a right hand home. The pop is tight. Clean.
“Again,” he says.
We go again. And again—footwork squeaking on rubber, jump ropes slapping somewhere behind us. The work is familiar. It strips my world down to timing, distance, the next decision.
My phone buzzes on the bench behind me. Ray doesn’t look. Pads stay up.
“You’re not checking it.”
“It could be Liz.”
Ray gives me a look. “You hear yourself?”
I do. That’s the problem.
I let the buzz die.
“Camp in three weeks.” Ray shifts his stance. “We build now. We sharpen later. You keep your hands intact.”
“I know.”
“Your manager doesn’t. Sponsors don’t. Fans don’t. They’ll turn you into whatever they need—hero, villain, fantasy—and punish you when you don’t fit.”
I hit the mitt again, harder than I need to.
Ray takes it without flinching. “You’ll do the shoot. You’ll smile. You’ll say the safe things.”
“I’m good at safe. I’m not good at fake.”
Ray’s mouth twitches. “Safe isn’t fake. Safe is repeatable. That’s what I need.”
He drops one mitt. Studies me like he’s checking alignment.
“And your girl.”
I give him nothing.
“Fiancée,” he corrects himself. “Liz.”
I wait.
“You’re letting her into camp territory.”
I don’t answer.
“You don’t get to build your life around her for three weeks and then expect your body not to notice. Not your sleep. Not your timing. Not your head.”
“She’s not a distraction.”
“No. She’s worse.”
I feel that one where it counts. Distraction would be simple. Temporary. Something I could outwork.
This isn’t.
But I don’t give him the reaction he’s looking for.
“Your manager can sell a fantasy. Jessica can manage a story. I don’t care about either one. I care whether your eyes stay in the ring.”
“She can handle the schedule. She can’t handle being watched.”
He didn’t see her dead on her feet after a shift, still sharp enough to clock a room faster than I do. He didn’t see her run me into the ground at dawn.
“Then you don’t improvise. And you don’t turn into her bodyguard and burn your camp down.”
He lifts the pads again.
“Your head stays here. Now show me.”
We work until my shoulders burn and every inhale starts to scrape, until the only thing in my world is contact and correction.
Between rounds, Ray leans in. “Jessica called.”
The combination dies in my shoulders. “Why?”
“Because she’s paid to worry. She says the narrative is shifting. Less threat. More romance.”
“Romance.” The word sits wrong. Too soft. Too public. Too close to something I haven’t said out loud.
Ray shrugs. “You brought her to your parents’ house.”
Before I can answer, the gym door opens behind us.
“Yo.”
Lukas steps onto the floor grinning, with his gear slung over one shoulder. Ray lowers the pads an inch. “You’re late.”
“Traffic. You want me warmed up or thrown straight into hell?”
“Gloves. Pressure rounds. Start slow.”
Lukas rolls his shoulders, checking me once. “Your sister put me on my back twice this morning.”
“You let her?”
He snorts. “I didn’t gift it to her. I just don’t muscle through training like an asshole.” His grin turns quick and pleased. “She earned it. She’s good.”
“She’s with Nate.”
“Yeah,” he says easily. “Lucky bastard.”
I watch him tape up—efficient, methodical, not performing for anyone. Eden trusts him. That matters.
So does the part where he stepped back when Eden drew the line, not claiming what wasn’t his.
I know exactly what that costs.
Ray snaps his fingers once. “Enough. In the ring.”
He looks at me as we move. “Eight rounds. Then you go pick up your girl. And when you do, you keep your face calm.”
“My face is always calm.”
“Your eyes aren’t.”
That night, after Liz falls asleep wrapped around me, my phone buzzes.
JESSICA
We need to talk about how you’re handling the “fake” narrative
We check in next week at Nate’s
I read it twice.
Her head on my chest, Liz breathes slow and even, one hand splayed over me, the ring catching a sliver of moonlight.
On the chair beside the dresser, her ER tote is half packed for the morning. Badge clipped to the strap. A folder for NYU orientation, corners bent from being opened too many times.
The world wants its story. Jessica wants a plan. And right there, in the middle of my room, is the part none of them see. She still has one foot in a life that doesn’t bend around camp. Around me. Around the structures I build and call care.
Fake narrative. As if that’s the problem.
Pickups. Meals. Morning roadwork. Space in my bed.
And she’s still deciding whether to stay.
I type back one word.
LEO
Noted
Then I set the phone facedown and leave it there.
She’s right here. For now.
That’s the bruise.
Wanting. Knowing better.
Her breathing has evened out against my chest.
I don’t move.