“Well shit,” he says, ducking out between the ropes. “Didn’t think I’d see your ass here.”
I offer a shrug and pull him into a quick hug—one of those chest-bump, back-slap deals that says more than either of us would admit. “Missed your pretty face. You’ve got a big one coming up, yeah? January?”
“Yeah. Madison Square Garden. Title fight, defending my belt.”
“You ready?”
He grins, all calm confidence. “I will be.”
We drift toward the drink station. We still hang out—grabbing a beer when our schedules align, trading texts about the Knicks, catching the occasional fight together. But it’s been a minute since I came to him like this. Face to face. Not just as his buddy, but as a guy trying not to mess up my shot with his sister.
“What’s up?” he asks, wiping sweat from his jaw. “You don’t drop by unless you’ve got something on your mind.”
“Wanted to see you.”
He gives me a flat look. “That all?”
I hesitate, then dive in. “It’s about Eden.”
Leo’s posture shifts. “What about her?”
“She’smy new PT.”
He blinks. “Seriously?”
I nod. “Figured you’d want to hear it from me. NDA and all, I know she probably didn’t say anything.”
“No, she didn’t,” he says slowly. “Said she had a new high-profile athlete, left it at that. Guess that tracks.”
“She’s good,” I say. “Magic touch. She ever do craniosacral on you?”
He huffs a laugh. “Fight week, pre-spar, day before weigh-ins—anytime, really. Focus snaps on. Neck lets go. Sleep hits quick. Now the whole gym’s hooked.” He jerks his chin at the mats. “Heavyweights line up for a session whenever she stops by.”
I laugh. He’s not wrong.
Eyes still on me, he takes a pull from the bottle. “And you’re…okay with her treating you?”
“She’s the best. I need the best.”
“Didn’t ask if she’s good. I asked if you’re okay.”
I breathe out. “Working on it. She feels…different now.”
His shoulders tighten—protective, not pissed. “She rebuilt after her ex tore her down. Took years to get her footing.” His voice drops. “And before…her first year in college was worse.”
The jaw, the tone—there’s an ugly story there. It still burns in him.
“What do you mean?”
He shakes his head. “Not my story to tell. What matters is she’s finally herself again. So if she’s letting you in, don’t screw it up.”
I nod, but my head’s gone. She’s got a permanent place there—in my thoughts, under my skin.
“She doesn’t talk much about herself,” I say.
“Not with most people.” He caps the bottle. “She learned to keep her guard up. I didn’t protect her back then. Won’thappen again.” His look sharpens; the air shifts. “Whatever you’re thinking—and don’t insult my intelligence by denying it—remember this. She’s grown and she can handle herself. But I’m still her brother.”
It’s a warning, wrapped in care. He trusts me. He loves her more.
