Chapter 28 Keys to the Kingdom （Eden）
KEYS TO THE KINGDOM (EDEN)
The mats are slick with sweat, the air sharp with disinfectant and effort. Lukas plants his palm on my shoulder and smirks as he pins me flat on my back.
“You’re slow today, gorgeous. Jet lag?”
“Shut up.” I twist, get my hips under me, and roll free. My body’s tired but light, as if I could float. I get to my knees, breathless, and collapse beside him.
He stretches his arms overhead, studying me. “So…you gonna tell me why you’re walking like you danced the night away?”
I choke on my water. “I am not.”
“You’ve got that post-getting-laid glow. Who’s the lucky bastard?”
My face burns, but I can’t stop the smile spreading across my face. “No one you know. Mind your own business.”
Lukas laughs, pushes to his feet, and offers me a hand. “It suits you. And hey, if it doesn’t work out, you know where to find me.”
I let him haul me up, rolling my eyes but still beaming. “Keep on dreaming, lover boy.”
An hour later, I’m standing in the middle of the York Avenue clinic with Liz, sneakers squeaking on the dusty hardwood.
The place smells faintly of plaster and old paint. Sunlight pours through the big front windows, spilling across the scuffed floor. Liz spins in a slow circle, arms flung wide. “Okay, I’m obsessed. This is it. This is where you’re going to change lives.”
I clutch the lease paperwork. “It’s also where I’m going to hemorrhage money if I screw this up.”
“That’s not in the cards, my friend.” She points at the back wall. “I can already see it. The Carver Method logo right there. Modern reception seating. Clients lined up.”
My pulse races as the vision solidifies. “Athletes recovering from surgery, dancers with chronic injuries, weekend warriors who’ve heard I rehabbed a professional goalie. The hockey league visibility should bring in referrals I couldn’t get any other way.”
“And you’ll crush it,” Liz cuts in, fierce and certain.
“I’ll help however I can. I’ve got a friend who builds websites for pennies.
We’ll find someone to do the marketing. Melissa can refer you to her attorney.
You’ll figure the rest out. February first, baby.
That’s your launch. You’ll be killing it by spring. ”
The words settle into me. February first. Less than six weeks to turn this empty shell into a business.
“You’re right.” Ideas spill faster than I can catch them.
“Custom rehabilitation protocols, biomechanical analysis, electrical stimulation, ultrasound, maybe partner with a nutritionist who understands athletic performance. Leo can send referrals from his gym. And once word spreads about the Defenders work…”
Each thought makes me braver, the nervous energy transforming into pure determination.
I walk slowly across the space, imagining treatment tables positioned for optimal natural light, a reception desk by the windows, a small training corner with resistance equipment and movement analysis tools. My whole body feels electric with possibility.
I’m doing it.
“Let’s go home and get started. You’re making dinner.” I beam, and Liz hugs me before tugging me toward the door.
By the time we lock up, I’m vibrating, hands trembling around the key the realtor pressed into my palm.
That night I’m curled up on the couch in leggings, laptop balanced on my knees, scrolling flooring options when my phone buzzes.
Leo.
I answer, excitement cracking my voice. “Hey, big brother.”
“Hey, baby sis.” He sounds tired but warm, gym noise fading. “How’s Manhattan treating you today?”
“Pretty good,” I say, and the satisfaction spreads across my face before I can stop it. “I, uh…I signed the lease. On that space I told you about.”
There’s a beat of silence, then a slow exhale, letting the news settle. “You did?”
“Yeah. It’s real now.”
“Eden.” The warmth comes through the line. “I’m so damn proud of you.”
Unexpected emotion stings my throat. “Thanks. It’s scary, but…I’m ready.”
“You are. You’ve been ready.”
“The timing helps,” I say, nerves and pride tangled. “The Defenders deal is kicking up buzz. Athletes want someone who speaks their language. Word travels fast in sports med.”
“I bet. Once you’re open, my guys will line up. After the tune-ups you gave them, they swear by you. You still calling it the Carver Method?”
My throat goes tight. “Yeah. The Carver Method.” I can’t stop smiling. “And yes, keep sending them my way. That means a lot, Leo.”
“Always.” His tone shifts practical, big-brother-meets-manager. “Just…protect the brand. People talk. Optics matter when you’re building something from scratch.”
My throat tightens, but I keep my voice steady. “I know. I’m careful.”
“I’m not saying don’t take the big opportunities. I want you to. But keep your name clean while you do it.”
“I will.”
He lets that sit, then brightens. “Listen, Janice Russo called yesterday. She’s inviting everyone out to Fire Island for Christmas. Ryan’s family will be at Dmitri Sokolov’s place a few houses down, so there’s room for everyone. Be good to hang out.”
My stomach does a small, traitorous flip. “Oh.”
“She said she got me both a big boxing bag and a speed bag, and there’s space to hang them in the gym. She knows I’ll need to train. And she promised clean food for me and Nate.”
“Yeah, that sounds like Mama Russo,” I say, twisting the hoodie drawstring around my finger.
“So you’re coming, right?”
“I don’t know.” The hesitation coils tight. “Melissa’s clinic is closed, and I want to keep momentum—set up accounting, get marketing going, find an attorney. If I wait till January, I’ll lose steam.”
He whistles low. “That sounds like a lot.” A beat, then, “I can ask Jessica O’Reilly; she’s sharp, knows everyone in PR. She’ll have a rec for you.”
Relief loosens my shoulders. “That would be amazing.”
“And for the money side…talk to Antonio Russo,” he adds, easy and casual, though we both know he’s dangling bait. “He’s done books for half the families out there. I’m sure he’d sit down with you.”
My pulse flickers. “I’ll think about it,” I say lightly.
He pauses, choosing his next step. “Speaking of your business,” he says, easy. “Nate dropped by the gym the other day. Said you’re his PT now.”
My stomach tips even though I knew it was coming. “Yeah.”
“So, it’s going well?”
“It is. He’s high profile. That kind of visibility matters.”
He hums. “I get it. I just want to make sure you’re good. You two have history.” A pause, then, “If it gets messy, say the word, and I’ll have him step back.”
“This is a big opportunity, Leo. I’m not walking away.”
“Fair.” A beat. “Be mindful of optics though. If anyone thinks there’s a personal thing, it will get messy fast. You’re building from zero. Protect that.”
“I am.”
He hesitates. “When he asked about you, it felt…more than casual.”
I swallow. The room narrows.
He doesn’t push. “You know the line.”
“I do.” I shift my laptop on my knees. “We good?”
“We’re good.” His voice softens. “I’m proud of you, E. Send photos.”
“You’ll get them.” I breathe out. “Love you.”
“Love you more.”
I stare at the flooring grid on my screen and try not to replay the way he said more than casual. Leo’s instincts have kept me upright more times than I can count. His words hum in my head, right alongside the quieter, riskier truth:
No one has ever made me feel safer—or more wanted—than Nate Russo.