Chapter 26 Oliver #2
Her fingers worked their way down the side of my face, across my temple, down the hinge of my jaw. Each point she pressed eased some of the pressure behind my eyes. My breathing didn’t even out yet, but it didn’t spike worse.
“I’m not going to tell you you’re fine,” she said, her hand moving to the back of my head. She scratched gently at my scalp, her touch familiar and soft and reassuring. “But you’re here, safe, with me, and not a failure.”
I exhaled. It was shaky. It rattled my entire body.
She reached for my hand next, unclenching my fist. Her fingers curled around mine. “You’ve been white-knuckling for too long. This isn’t you breaking, Oliver. This is your body asking for help, and it’s time to listen.”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. I squeezed her hand once, holding on tighter than I should’ve. If she let go right now, I wasn’t sure I’d make it.
“We’ll move through this. Slowly,” she said, thumb brushing my palm. “But you can’t ignore it anymore. I won’t let you, and I’m speaking both as Doctor Mercer and as the woman you’re seeing.”
The tears came without warning. They didn’t crash. They didn’t choke me. They slipped out, hot and slow, sliding into my hairline while I stayed right there, head in her lap, chest rising too fast.
She didn’t react to them. Didn’t comment. She kept holding my hand. Kept rubbing my scalp. Kept anchoring me to the floor of a goddamn closet.
“I don’t want it to be over,” I whispered.
“I know.” Her voice broke slightly. “It’s not over, but something has to be different.”
I kept my eyes on the pipes above while Sloane’s fingers worked over my scalp—slow and rhythmic. She didn’t talk. Didn’t fill the silence with anything I couldn’t hold. Her hand moved to my temple, then the ridge above my brow, massaging in a way that settled something jagged in my chest.
“Color’s coming back,” she murmured, barely above a whisper. “Heart rate’s still elevated, but your hands aren’t shaking anymore.”
I nodded once. Still couldn’t speak.
“I’m going to document this,” she added, her tone soft but firm. “I don’t want to scare you or punish you, but this is serious.”
“I know,” I whispered.
“You’re not weak, Oliver. This isn’t a failure.”
My jaw clenched. “It feels like one.”
She exhaled slowly, her thumb tracing behind my ear in a slow arc, then again. “You’ve been carrying too much alone for too long,” she said quietly.
Her hand stayed right over my sternum, solid and warm, like she could hold my lungs steady through force of will. My eyes burned again.
“I can’t believe you found me,” I murmured. “I was embarrassed. I—I thought you’d go straight to Mac.”
“I almost did.” Her voice stayed soft but certain. “But I saw your face, and I knew you didn’t need a trainer or a coach. You needed someone to help you breathe. So I chose you first.”
I chose you first.
That simple phrase had my breath catching in my throat for a different reason.
“Try pushing up for me, okay?” She helped me sit up. My limbs trembled, and I hated that I needed her support. She didn’t flinch once or stare at me with pity. God, if there was pity, it would kill me.
Instead, she kept her face blank, strong. I almost needed that from her. She was a fucking doctor and knew her shit. I wouldn’t pick anyone else to be here with me in this moment.
She reached behind her and brought out a sealed water bottle. I hadn’t even noticed she brought it with her. “Small sips,” she said, unscrewing the cap and passing it to me.
I followed her voice, letting myself trust and follow her lead.
The cold hit my mouth, and I blinked hard to stay steady.
She watched me, but her gaze was still soft around the edges.
I knew that look. That was Sloane trying to keep her emotions away.
That meant this was serious, and that freaked me out.
“What happens now?” I asked. “Is there… a report or something?”
“Yes,” she said, no hesitation. “But it’ll stay internal for now. I’ll document the episode, what led up to it, and note a recommendation for further evaluation. William will need to do another cardiac workup today, and I’ll do a neuro-cognitive screen in the morning.”
“Are you required to say what caused it?” I asked, my stomach knotting again. “Because if you write down what happened in that meeting…”
“I won’t.” Her voice lowered. “I’ll mark it as a triggered physiological response during performance review and dehydration. That’s all. I’m not going to write down anything personal. That’s my role here, not because of us.”
I exhaled, nodding slowly before staring at a rust-stain on the ground. “I take it I’m benched now.”
“You’re on a short-term mental health hold for cardiovascular monitoring,” she clarified. “It’s not the same as being benched. You’re still on the active roster. This is about giving your cardiac system the reset it needs.”
“It still sounds like benched.”
She reached out, her fingers brushing mine. “If this were Noah or Ty or Jordan and I saw those numbers paired with this kind of crash response, I’d be putting them in the exact same protocol. You’d back me on that. I know you would.”
I hated how right she was. That made it worse.
“Will the team know?” I asked, voice lower.
She shook her head. “Only Booth and Mac. I’ve already flagged it to them as a precaution. League wellness won’t be looped in unless it repeats or we find something new on the cardiac tests. But for now, this stays quiet.”
I nodded. I didn’t trust myself to speak. My throat burned like I’d swallowed a stone.
She stood first, brushing the dust off her pants. “We’ll take it one day at a time. You’ll meet with William today, and we’ll go from there.”
I stood slower, my whole body aching with something heavier than exhaustion. I wanted to thank her. I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to be anywhere but here.
“And us?” I asked, voice hoarse. “What does this mean for us?”
She hesitated long enough that I felt it in my ribs. “I’m always there for you, Oliver. But right now, I’m your medical lead. I have to do my job. We both need to keep that line clear.”
I nodded, even though I didn’t want any line. I wanted to lean on her and go home with her, not giving a shit if everyone knew. But I couldn’t—wouldn’t—do that to her.
She stood and offered me a hand. I took it, rubbing my fingers over her palm.
She stilled, staring at our hands with a soft smile on her face.
Then, she intertwined our fingers and jutted her chin toward the door.
“Come on. Let’s go before Booth looks for us.
You can do this, Oliver. Get through the day, and tonight we can talk, okay? ”