“Briefly. Enough to know she doesn’t want either of you circling her right now.” His tone hardens. “Best thing you can do is make it right with Leo and figure out how to get her back on track, not beat each other bloody. Think you can manage that?”
A growl slips out. “Leo?—”
“Can it.” Clean, sharp. “You two sound like sulking royals stuck in opposite corners of the same castle. Grow up. She doesn’t need another tantrum. She needs the men who claim they love her to stop making it about themselves.”
I clamp my jaw. He’s always known. Even when I never said it out loud.
Ryan doesn’t soften. “Fix the mess—together. Or don’t and watch her walk away from both of you.”
Silence stretches. Then he exhales. “You’ve got a game tonight?”
“Yeah. Head’s not exactly in it.”
“Get it there. I’ll be watching on ESPN. Don’t make me regret turning it on.”
He hangs up.
I stare at the screen until it goes black.
Finally, the bell rings, and my pulse flies into a sprint.
Eden stands on my front step in black leggings and a slate sweatshirt under a parka, hair pulled back, clinic bag on her shoulder. Saturday casual. Posture set. Composed.
“Morning,” she says, a hint of softness before she levels out.
“Morning.” I step aside. She slips in, leaves the cold on the porch, and heads straight to the gym without glancing at the smoothies on the island.
She drops her bag by the treatment table, pulls out her tablet, flicks to her notes. “Let’s get started. How’s the hip?”
No small talk. Just the hip.
“It’s good. The treatment works.” And it does. I’ve never been stronger.
I climb onto the table. She eases into the work—cranial sacral release, breath cues, thumb at the base of my skull, then the hip glide. Her hands are steady and detached.
My body doesn’t care. Every press lands. Every shift in her stance tightens the ache in my chest.
“Baby—”
“Don’t.” She doesn’t look up. “Please don’t make this harder on me than it already is.”
I shut my mouth and let her finish. Forty minutes. Maybe fifty. I count each impersonal touch and try not to reach for more.
“Mobility’s where I want it. Tight warm-up, no extra sets—cut them if they’re off.” She shuts the tablet and sets a printout on the table. “Mercer’s got your progressions. He’ll adjust loads if the hip talks back. I’m there tonight; after that, he’s your PT.” Her eyes flick over me, then past. “Sleep if you can before call time.”
I stand with her. “Sit with me a minute. We need to talk.”
She shakes her head, finally meets my eyes. “I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both.” She adjusts the strap on her bag. “I need space, Nate. Time to figure things out without you in the middle of it. I’m repairing damage—to my reputation, the clinic, myself. You keep pushing through my no. It doesn’t help me right now. Give me space.”
The hit lands. “Are you breaking up with me?”
She’s quiet. “I’m asking you to let me be. Let me breathe and sort things out. I’m not ready to go back to what we were.”
I swallow. “It’s cruel, Eden. Knowing you’re here, knowing you exist, and not being able to touch you.”
