Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
CADEN
The morning light in Bernal Heights always feels different—like it softens just enough to forgive the sharp edges of the city. It pours through my bedroom windows, painting the hardwood, spilling across the rug, turning Theo into something holy where he lies beside me.
My bed hasn’t looked like this in fifteen years—lived in, warm, shared.
I could stay here all morning just to memorize the rise and fall of his chest, the curve of his mouth slack with sleep.
My life has had its good turns, its hard-won wins, but nothing prepared me for the quiet miracle of opening my eyes and finding him here.
He stirs when I shift onto my side, lashes fluttering before he blinks awake. His voice is low, rough-edged. “You’re staring.”
“Yeah,” I admit. “Figured I’ve earned it.”
His mouth tips into that crooked half smile that used to undo me when we were teenagers. “Not creepy at all.”
“Extremely creepy,” I agree, leaning in until I can kiss the corner of his mouth. He hums, catches me in a fuller kiss, and for a second, it’s too easy to forget I’m supposed to go to work today.
The last couple of nights come back in flashes—the way we fumbled across each other’s bodies, mouths hungry and greedy, the taste of him hot and dizzying on my tongue.
Fifteen years of imagining, and then it was real.
Him, coming apart under me. Me, losing my breath when he gasped my name.
I’d thought that door was closed forever, locked behind guilt and time. I’d been wrong.
Now, tangled in sheets that still smell like us, I want more. I could drag him under the covers, keep us here until the day burns out. But I’ve never been able to ignore morning, not when the city’s waking up, and not when my work waits.
I pull back to see his eyes open fully, still soft from sleep. “I’ve got appointments starting at nine,” I say gently. “But I like to train first.”
He stretches onto his back, groaning into his hand. “Of course you do.”
“You’re coming with me,” I remind him, grinning when he gives me a mock glare.
“Right,” he says, and then quieter, “Kinda nervous.”
“Don’t be.” My hand finds his, our fingers threading together. “I want you to see it. Everything I’ve built. You’ve only ever seen me in jerseys or in pieces. Never this.”
His thumb brushes my knuckle, and he holds me like he hears more than I’m saying.
I let out a breath, the confession slipping before I can stop it. “I want you to be proud.”
Theo’s hand tightens around mine. His voice is steady when he says, “I already am.”
That cracks something open in me I didn’t know I’d been bracing against. I kiss him again—slow, grateful—and then roll onto my back before I forget the clock entirely.
The truth is, I’ve done okay for myself.
Not perfect, not easy, but okay. I had money from my two years pro, and thank God I invested when I did.
It carried me far enough: paid for qualifications, physio training, specialization.
My parents tried to cover it, but I couldn’t let them. I needed it to be mine.
By the time I finished, I had enough collateral to buy a small studio and an apartment.
Five years ago, I expanded into a bigger space and bought this house.
A risk, sure, but it worked. I knew people.
I knew what I was doing. AJ and Cam told the right stories, and some of my old contacts from the league passed my name around, and suddenly I was the guy you saw when you wanted to train harder, heal faster, keep your body alive for the game.
It’s not glamorous. But it’s mine.
And today, Theo gets to see it.
I throw the covers back and stand, stretching until my shoulders pop. Theo watches me, his gaze unguarded, and for a second, it feels like it did when we were twenty, except now we’re stronger, older, built out of fire instead of just sparks.
“C’mon,” I say, grinning at his reluctance to leave the bed. “If you’re going to survive San Francisco, you’re going to need coffee first.”
“Coffee,” he repeats, hauling himself up. “That I can get behind.”
My chest feels too full as I head for the shower, knowing he’ll follow me into this day, into my city, into the life I carved out of ruin. Nervous, yeah. But eager. Because if last night had been another night of reclaiming us, today is about showing him the man I became.
The drive to the Mission District is short.
Early enough that the traffic hasn’t stacked yet, the streets still quiet, shops pulling up their security rollers.
Theo sits in the passenger seat, watching the city with that wide-eyed attention that makes me remember he hasn’t ever been here.
His hand rests on his thigh, which is so close to mine, I can feel the warmth radiating.
When we pull up in front of the studio, I see him take it in. Three stories, glass front, the name stenciled cleanly across the door: North Performance & Rehabilitation. Five years in, and the sign still makes my chest thrum with pride.
“You own this whole building?” Theo asks, voice caught somewhere between impressed and skeptical.
“Not the whole thing,” I admit, cutting the engine. “Top floor’s apartments. First two are mine.”
“That’s still….” He shakes his head, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Jesus, Caden.”
“Come on.”
Inside, the air smells like eucalyptus oil and the faint tang of disinfectant. Early-morning light streams through wide windows, falling across polished floors, racks of equipment, treatment tables. It’s quiet now, before clients arrive, and I love it like this. The calm before the grind.
Theo turns in a slow circle, taking it all in. I can’t stop watching his face.
“You built this,” he says finally, soft with awe.
“Brick by brick,” I answer.
Before he can reply, a voice calls from the reception desk, “Morning, boss.”
Lacey stands, tablet in hand, her dark curls piled on top of her head.
Tall, poised, with warm brown skin and a presence that keeps this whole place running, she’s been with me since I opened this location.
She’s organized, unflappable, and the reason the studio doesn’t burn down when I’m juggling too much.
Her eyes flick to Theo, and for once, I see her actually startled.
“Oh.” She blinks, then recovers fast, offering a polite smile. “And you must be…?”
Theo steps forward, hand out, grin easy. “Theo.”
Lacey takes it, then shoots me a look that’s equal parts curious and amused. She’s never seen me bring anyone here. Never had reason to. I’ve only ever talked about him with my parents.
I clear my throat. “Old… friend. Visiting.”
Her brow quirks, but she doesn’t press. “Well, welcome. If you need anything—coffee, tea, an escape route—let me know.”
Theo chuckles. “Good to know.”
We move past the desk and into the gym space. I head for the mats, start stretching out, and to my surprise, Theo kicks off his shoes and drops down beside me. He mirrors my movements. He’s a little stiffer, but game. The sight makes something sharp and warm twist in my chest.
Soon we’re side by side—push-ups, squats, resistance drills—my morning ritual expanded to include him.
His form isn’t perfect, but his determination is, and his gaze keeps catching mine between sets, daring me to push harder.
Sweat drips from me, strength humming in my limbs, but this time I’m not just showing him I can thrive.
I’m moving with him, the rhythm of us syncing like it hasn’t in years.
By the time I towel off, I hear the door open, followed by “Well, well, if it isn’t our fearless leader actually on time for once.”
I turn to see Peppa breezing in. Dark hair in a high ponytail, leggings in some outrageous pattern, grin wide enough to blind. She’s been with me three years and is irreverent and competent in equal measure. She flirts with me constantly, but it’s never serious. Just part of who she is.
Today, though, her attention snags immediately on Theo.
“And who is this snack?” she demands, striding over and extending a hand. “I’m Peppa. Don’t worry, the name’s real. You can imagine the jokes I’ve heard.”
Theo laughs, shaking her hand. “Theo. And, uh, noted.”
She gives him an exaggerated once-over, then glances at me. “You’ve been holding out on us, boss.”
“Pepp—” I warn, but she waves me off.
“Oh, relax. I never flirt with the clients. Clearly I’ve been saving it all up for this moment.” She winks at Theo, leaning in conspiratorially. “You’re safe, though. My taste runs toward bad decisions, not men who look like they’ve actually got their life together.”
Theo grins, eyes bright with amusement. “Then I guess I’m flattered?”
“You should be,” she fires back before turning on her heel and sauntering toward the treatment rooms. “Welcome to the madhouse.”
Theo bursts out laughing, and even I can’t help shaking my head, a smile tugging at my lips despite myself. “She’s harmless,” I assure him.
“She’s fantastic,” Theo counters.
“Trust me,” I mutter, grabbing my water bottle, “Peppa takes no one seriously. Except maybe her dog.”
“Perfect priorities,” Theo says, still grinning.
We settle into the flow of the morning. Lacey comes by with my schedule and runs through the day’s appointments.
My first client, a former basketball player rehabbing his shoulder, will arrive at nine sharp.
Peppa’s already prepping a treatment table, and Theo follows me around like he’s cataloging every detail—the equipment, the staff, the way my name’s on the door.
And beneath all of it, I can feel the buzz under my skin. Nervousness. Pride. I want him to see this life, this work, this version of me that isn’t defined by what I lost, but by what I built after.