Chapter 67 The Leap
Harper's POV,
The clinic space was perfect, which made it terrifying.
I stood on the sidewalk in Kitsilano, staring at the "For Lease" sign in the window of a ground-floor unit in an old brick building. Large windows facing the street. High ceilings visible from outside. The previous tenant had been a yoga studio, according to the listing.
Crew squeezed my hand. "You ready to look inside?"
"No. But let's do it anyway."
The landlord—a woman in her sixties named Patricia—was waiting by the door. She smiled when she saw us.
"You must be Harper. And Crew Lawson, right? My grandson is a huge Canucks fan. He's going to lose his mind when I tell him I met you."
"Happy to sign something for him if you'd like," Crew offered.
"That would make his year." She unlocked the door. "Come on in. Let me show you around."
The space was bigger than it looked from outside. Open floor plan, exposed brick on one wall, hardwood floors that needed refinishing. The yoga studio had left behind mirrors on one wall and some built-in shelving.
"It's 1,400 square feet," Patricia said. "Bathroom in the back, small storage room, zoned for commercial medical use. Previous tenant left about six months ago. I've been waiting for the right person."
I walked through slowly, imagining where everything would go. Reception area near the front windows. Two or three treatment rooms partitioned off. Small office space. Waiting area with chairs that didn't look like a doctor's office.
"The mirrors would need to come down," I said, thinking out loud. "And I'd need to build treatment rooms. Install proper medical equipment. Update the bathroom to be accessible."
"All permissible under the lease. You'd just need to submit renovation plans for approval." Patricia pulled out a folder. "Here's the lease terms. $3,200 per month, two-year minimum, first and last month's rent upfront. Utilities are included except electric."
I did the math in my head. $3,200 monthly meant $38,400 annually just in rent. Plus renovations—probably $20,000 minimum. Equipment—another $15,000. Business licensing, insurance, marketing, supplies. I'd need at least $80,000 to get this operational. And that was before paying myself anything.
My settlement money would cover it. Barely. But if the clinic didn't start generating income within six months, I'd be broke.
"Can I have a few days to think about it?" I asked.
"Of course. But I should mention I have two other interested parties looking at the space this week. I can't hold it indefinitely."
After Patricia left, Crew and I stood in the empty space. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating dust motes floating in the air.
"What do you think?" he asked.
"I think it's perfect. I think it's exactly what I've been dreaming about for ten years. I also think it's a massive financial risk that could bankrupt me if it fails."
"So you're scared."
"Terrified." I walked to the windows, looking out at the street. People walking by. Coffee shop across the street. Residential buildings nearby. Good foot traffic. Good neighborhood. "Crew, what if I can't get enough clients? What if moving to a new city means starting from scratch and nobody knows me or trusts me? What if I spend all my settlement money and end up with nothing?"
He came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. "Then you'll have tried. And that's more than most people can say."
"That's very zen but not particularly comforting."
"Okay, practical then. You're a licensed physical therapist with ten years of experience. You specialized in sports medicine. You know hockey injuries better than most doctors. And you're in a city with a professional hockey team, junior teams, amateur leagues, runners, cyclists, everyone who needs exactly what you offer." He turned me around to face him. "Harper, you're not starting from scratch. You're starting with a decade of expertise and connections. Marcus already said the Canucks medical staff would refer players to you. That's built-in clientele."
"What if it's not enough?"
"Then we figure it out together. But you don't get to not try because you're scared of failing. You spent ten years putting your dreams on hold for Joel. Don't put them on hold now because of fear."
I looked around the space again. Imagining it full. Patients on treatment tables. The hum of productive work. My name on the door.
Sinclair Sports Medicine.
My clinic. My dream. Actually real.
"I need to call Maya," I said.
I stepped outside while Crew stayed in the space, giving me privacy. Maya answered on the second ring.
"Please tell me you're calling with good news about the clinic space."
"I'm calling with panic about the clinic space." I paced the sidewalk. "Maya, it's perfect. Which means it's expensive. And risky. And I'm spiraling about whether I can actually do this."
"Of course you can do this. Harper, you've wanted this for ten years."
"Wanting something doesn't mean I'm capable of executing it. What if I'm terrible at running a business? What if I'm only good at being someone's employee and the second I try to be my own boss everything falls apart?"
"Then you'll learn. But Harper, you're not going to be terrible. You're organized, you're competent, you know your field. The only thing holding you back is fear."
"Fear is a pretty good reason to not risk eighty thousand dollars."
"Fear is a terrible reason to not pursue your dream. Look, I'm going to say something you're not going to like." Maya's voice got serious. "You spent ten years sacrificing your career for Joel's. Making yourself smaller so he could be bigger. And now you have a chance to build something that's entirely yours. But you're still making yourself small. Still convincing yourself you're not capable. Still choosing safety over growth."
The words hit hard because they were true.
"I'm scared," I admitted.
"I know. But scared doesn't mean incapable. It just means you care about the outcome." She paused. "Harper, take the space. Sign the lease. Build the clinic. Give yourself permission to want something and actually go after it."
"What if I fail?"
"Then you'll fail having tried. Which is still better than spending the rest of your life wondering what could have been."
After we hung up, I went back inside. Crew was taking photos of the space on his phone.
"For renovation planning," he explained. "I'm texting them to a contractor buddy from Seattle. Getting rough estimates."
"I'm going to do it," I said. The words came out before I could second-guess them. "I'm signing the lease. Opening the clinic. Taking the risk."
Crew's face lit up. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. Maya's right. I've spent ten years making myself small. I'm done with that. This is my dream. I'm doing it."
"I'm so proud of you." He kissed me hard. "When do you want to tell Patricia?"
"Now. Before I lose my nerve."
I called Patricia from the sidewalk. "I want the space. I'll sign the lease. When can we do paperwork?"
"Tomorrow morning? I can bring everything to a coffee shop near you."
"Perfect."
After I hung up, the reality of what I'd just done hit me. I'd committed to a two-year lease. $76,800 in rent alone. Plus all the other costs. Plus the pressure of making it work.
"I just spent almost all my settlement money," I said faintly.
"You just invested in yourself," Crew corrected. "There's a difference."
We went back to the condo. I spent the evening researching Canadian business licensing requirements, making lists of equipment I'd need, sketching clinic layouts on scrap paper. Crew sat next to me, occasionally offering suggestions but mostly just being present.
Around ten PM, my phone rang. Maya.
"I'm proud of you," she said when I answered. "For taking the leap. For choosing yourself."
"I'm terrified I just made a huge mistake."
"You didn't. You made a brave choice. And in six months when the clinic is thriving and you're booked solid, you're going to call me and admit I was right."
"Bold of you to assume I'd ever admit you're right about anything."
"I have faith. Now go celebrate. You just became a business owner."
After she hung up, I looked at Crew. "I'm a business owner."
"You're a business owner," he confirmed.
"That's insane."
"That's amazing." He pulled me onto his lap. "Harper Sinclair, owner of Sinclair Sports Medicine. Has a nice ring to it."
I let myself feel it. The fear, yes. But also the excitement. The possibility. The sense that I was finally building something that was mine.
Ten years of waiting. And now, finally, I was done waiting.
I was doing.
And it felt terrifying and perfect in equal measure.