“It’s about realizing the cage is a playpen. We put on gloves. We follow a referee. We fight for plastic trophies and ego. I spent 10 years building myself into a weapon for a war that doesn’t exist. And the real war, the one that happens in the alleys, in the dark—I don’t want any part of it.” Greg stared at her. He opened his mouth, closed it, and rubbed his jaw. He was a man who understood violence as a commodity, as a ticket out of a bad neighborhood. He didn’t understand it as a disease. “You’ve been spending too much time with that crazy old fuck next door,” Greg muttered, shaking his head. “He filling your head with this garbage.”
Chloe felt a sudden sharp spike of adrenaline. Her feet naturally shifted, her hips turning slightly. It was a microscopic adjustment, but it was real. The predatory instinct rearing its head. She took a slow, deep breath, forcing her heels flat against the linoleum floor. She forced her hands to unclench. “Arthur’s a mechanic,” Chloe said, her tone absolute. “And he’s a better man than anyone in this gym. Goodbye, Greg.” She turned and walked out. She didn’t look back at the mats. She didn’t look back at the heavy bag she had spent thousands of hours punishing.
She walked out the front door, the bell jingling cheerfully behind her. It was mid-December now. The cold was a physical presence biting through her thin jacket. She walked around the block and turned into the alleyway. Arthur’s garage door was pulled down halfway to keep the heat from the kerosene heater trapped inside. Chloe ducked under the corrugated metal. Arthur was under a 2010 Subaru Outback. His legs were sticking out, resting on the wheeled creeper. A stereo on a dusty shelf was playing an old blues track, the volume low, competing with the rhythmic scrape of a wire brush against rusted metal.
Chloe didn’t say anything. She walked over to the corner, picked up a heavy push broom with worn bristles, and started sweeping. She swept the concrete floor. She pushed aside the curls of metal shavings, the discarded zip ties, the dried clumps of muddy snow that had fallen off tires. She worked methodically. Ten minutes passed. The scraping under the Subaru stopped. The wheels of the creeper rattled against the concrete as Arthur slid out. He sat up, wiping a smear of black grease from his chin. He looked at Chloe. He looked at the broom. He looked at the surprisingly clean patch of floor she had managed to clear.
