Leo snorts, but the corner of his mouth tips up. For a second, it’s almost the way we were before: two friends giving each other shit about smoothie ingredients.
We settle across from each other, the city spread out through his floor-to-ceiling windows. Brooklyn hums below us, but up here, it’s quiet enough to hear the weight of everything unsaid.
“We were idiots,” I start. “Fighting in her clinic like that.”
His mouth quirks, humorless. “Yeah. She’s been keeping me at arm’s length since. Answers my texts with one-word responses, says she is too busy to meet up.” He sets his glassdown harder than necessary. “She’s never shut me out before.”
“Can you blame her? We turned her opening into a boxing ring.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “I just...I hate not being there for her right now—” He stops, jaw working.
This is it. The opening I came here for.
“She remembered who it was,” I cut in. No buildup, no soft landing. Leo knows exactly what I mean; his head snaps up, eyes blazing.
“She told you about it?”
“I put two and two together.” My voice goes flat. “Max Miller.”
Leo goes stone still. When he speaks, his voice is deadly quiet. “That bastard.” His fists clench. “She never remembered the face. Just...fragments.” A beat. “I’ll kill him,” he snarls, standing up.
“Sit.” I grab his arm, pull him back down before he can turn his anger into motion. “You throw hands, and the law treats them as weapons—cops, charges, and a PR wreck that costs you the belt.” I let the air out of my chest. “He already spent a night in the ER. No encore needed.” I pause. “You never told me they were on the same campus.”
“It didn’t seem relevant. We cooled things off, didn’t think it mattered,” he says, defensive.
“Except that asshole never cooled off for Eden.” The image hits me hard. “That’s my biggest regret, Leo. Not being there to protect her.”
Silence hums between us. “How did she remember?”
“He showed up at the Garden after our game. The second she heard his voice, it all came back.” I lean in. “I beat him bloody in the tunnel. Concussion. Night in the hospital.”
“Good.” The word is a prayer. “Fucking good.”
We sit with it a moment—the ugly satisfaction of violence meeting violence. It isn’t right or generous or forgiving, but it’s what I have to give.
“So how did you manage to stay out of the news cycle? I haven’t heard a single peep about it.”
“Our new PR team and Jessica O’Reilly made sure of it.”
He nods, then the math catches up. His face drains, and the steel in his voice cracks. “How long since it came back to her?”
“About a month.”
His jaw snaps shut. “She shouldn’t be going through this alone.” His hand slams the table so hard the glass trembles. “And she’s been icing me out, treating me like I’m the enemy? Damn it.” He rubs his face, furious and raw, the frustration folding into regret.
“She’s not alone; she’s got her girls and a solid therapist.” I pause there because I know the next line will sting. “I saw her yesterday.”
His head snaps up, hurt flashing across his face before he can hide it.
“Community service,” I explain quickly. “Clinic at her place—kids, injury prevention. It was good. We had dinner after.”
“How is she? Really?”
The question comes out raw, and I remember this is her big brother. The guy who used to check under her bed for monsters and taught her how to throw a punch.
“She’s strong. Stronger than both of us gave her credit for.” I meet his eyes. “But I know she misses you, Leo.”
For a second, the lines around his mouth soften into shame and resolve braided together. “I was a stupid, overzealous kid.” His voice scrapes. “I thought I wasprotecting her. But now I realize that not telling her all these years—that was the real mistake. I had no right. I’m sorry, brother.”
