Chapter 31 Sloane
SLOANE
Ifelt like shit. Personally, professionally, all of it.
I avoided Oliver the night before, telling him I had a headache and wanted to rest. We both knew it was a lie, but I needed the distance.
And for once, even though it hurt, staying away from him was the right choice.
I couldn’t lie to him, and I didn’t want to potentially change his entire career if I didn’t need to. But now the truth was here.
Paroxysmal SVT. Official. Confirmed by the cardiologist that morning with EP data and wearable telemetry and ECHO from the last forty-eight hours. No structural defects. No inflammation. Just electrical chaos.
He hadn’t seen the report yet, didn’t know the official diagnosis. I had.
I walked into the admin conference room at 9:00 sharp.
Booth positioned himself near the window with his arms crossed.
Mac sat at the head of the table, reading the printout from William’s final report.
William was next to me, already scanning vitals on his tablet.
Ivy stood against the wall, the usual upbeat attitude replaced with a somber expression.
It wasn’t every day that news changed an athlete’s life.
No one said good morning.
I sat across from Mac and placed my tablet on the table.
William started. “Confirmed SVT. Triggered in paroxysmal bursts. No sustained arrhythmia, but all four events captured on telemetry were consistent in presentation. His episode during walk-through was the most severe.”
“Is it cardiac or stress-induced?” Booth asked.
“Both,” William said. “Primary origin is electrical misfiring in the atria. No structural cause, no stimulant indicators. But stress and exertion are active triggers.”
Mac looked up from the report. “What’s the recovery window?”
William answered. “We’re recommending a two-week minimum hold from gameplay. Further testing is needed to determine if he’s a candidate for an ablation.”
“And if he doesn’t do the procedure?”
“Then he’ll need constant monitoring. Restricted training schedule. Modified performance plan. Full medical clearance required before each game, medication management for efficacy.”
Booth sighed. “So he’s flagged. Permanently.”
“Yes,” William said.
Mac leaned back in his chair, a forlorn, worried expression on his weathered face. He stared at Ivy a beat, something unsaid between them. The atmosphere was heavy, tense. “Can he play again?”
William glanced at me, one eyebrow raised.
I cleared my throat. “He can. But he won’t be the same. Not right away. Even with treatment, his conditioning will take a hit. Confidence too. He’s not going to come back next week and be himself. And if he refuses treatment, he may never stabilize under stress again.”
No one spoke for a moment.
Booth looked at Mac. “So what do we tell him?”
“I tell him,” Mac said, standing up. He placed a fist on the table, closed his eyes for a second, and hit it. “I’m in charge of the health of these guys. I share the bad news and the good with the team.”
I tried to keep my face neutral, but my gut ached. I wanted to run to Oliver, reassure him, hold him, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t until later.
“I’ll deliver the news,” Mac continued, tapping the report. “But I want Sloane in the room. He’ll need someone to absorb the emotional blow, and it shouldn’t be me.”
Booth cut in. “We still have a compliance issue to discuss.”
My heart sank. What did that mean? Did he mean us? Me and Oliver? Fuck. My pulse beat so fast it physically hurt in my chest. Like someone was squeezing my heart over and over.
Mac didn’t look at me when he said it. “Not now.”
Booth sat back in his chair, arms crossed, jaw tight.
Ivy didn’t move from her spot by the wall, but her jaw was set in a hard line, eyes strained downward. I could practically feel the worry coming off her, as she too cared about Oliver as more than an athlete. God, how would he take this?
I opened Oliver’s chart again on my tablet, needing something to do with my hands. The nervous energy caused my fingers to tremble.
William glanced at Mac. “He’s stable now, but the nature of SVT is unpredictable without intervention. He could go weeks without another episode or have one mid-play under high stress. It’s a liability.”
Mac nodded slowly. “How many players in the league have this on record?”
“Two, that we know of,” William said. “One underwent ablation and returned after eight weeks. The other opted for medication and played one more season under constant monitoring. Both were non-skill positions.”
“Not RBs,” Mac clarified.
“No,” William confirmed. “The workload, contact exposure, and HR variability make it significantly harder to manage in someone with Oliver’s profile.”
“He’s a grenade waiting to detonate," Booth said. “And the League monitors flagged data weekly now. If this leaks, he’s off the protected list.”
“No one outside this room knows,” I said, meeting his eyes.
Mac paced once behind his chair, then stopped. “If he wants to play next Sunday, can we clear him?”
“He meets basic vitals,” William said. “But ethically, it’s a risk. If he spikes again, we can’t predict how quickly he’ll stabilize. He needs another full day of cardiac imaging, and he hasn’t committed to treatment.”
“He’s not cleared,” I said. “Not by our standards.”
Mac looked at me. “If he refuses the ablation?”
“Then he’s a limited-use athlete. No back-to-back games. No high-altitude matchups. No long-field reps. He’d need a customized training program, real-time HR monitoring, and pre-game cardio clearance before every snap.”
“And if he agrees?”
“Six to eight weeks off. Two days of inpatient monitoring post-procedure. No physical exertion for fourteen days. Cardiac clearance before conditioning return. Full-contact simulation four weeks after that.”
“February at the earliest,” Booth muttered.
Ivy finally spoke. “That’s assuming no complications. Even then, his explosiveness might dip. Reaction time too, depending on medication and if the procedure works.”
Silence settled again.
The words sat there. No one wanted to speak them out loud. He was our starting RB. A top-five performer. The team’s core playmaker. And now he was, statistically, high-risk.
Mac rubbed the back of his neck. “We have to be honest with him.”
Booth stood. “And we have to be prepared for the fallout.”
My stomach turned. How would he handle this, when he’d dreamed of where he was at now? How could I be in the room when he learned? I chewed my lip so hard I tasted blood.
William stepped toward the door but paused. “I’ll print the treatment options. He needs to choose before Monday.”
Mac sighed, pinched his nose then pointed at me. “I’ll grab him. Make sure we can calm him down, okay?”
I nodded as the room emptied one by one. Ivy lingered, a heavy sigh leaving her as she slammed her fist on the table, making me jump. “He’ll be okay, Ivy.”
“Fuck!” She groaned and finally removed the mask she wore. Her face twisted with worry as she met my gaze. “He’s finally happy, doing what he loves, and now this shit? It’s not right. He needs more options than a surgery.”
“I read all of them last night, and there are ways to let him keep playing, but it’ll be tough. He won’t have a decade career like he wanted, that I know.” I rubbed my bracelet around my wrist. “Ivy, I’m worried about how he’ll react. Will he shove us out of his life and retreat? Or open up?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, Doc. This is legit. Real. He’s never had a diagnosis before, so this is different. Fuck…“ She stood and smoothed her polo down. “Text me once he knows, okay?”
“Yes, I will.”
She left, and I swallowed the ball of emotion in my throat. I stared down at my tablet again. The cursor blinked on the internal documentation screen. I logged Oliver’s diagnosis officially. I typed the treatment plan options. I entered the flag code into his profile.
High-risk cardiac: under restricted protocol.
I saved the entry. Closed the file.
And stared at the blank screen that followed, wondering how I was supposed to sit across from the man I loved and tell him this was the moment everything changed.
The door to the diagnostics room closed behind me with a soft click.
Oliver was already sitting at the table, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, jaw set, eyes sharp. He looked between Mac and me, a terrified expression on his face. His eyes were too wide, his knee too jittery.
It took everything in me to not reach over and comfort him. My heart broke for him, and I couldn’t react. I had to take his emotions, and I would a thousand times. I remained in the corner, holding my tablet as Mac cleared his throat and stood in front of Oliver.
“We got your results back,” Mac started, his voice steady. “From cardio and neuro.”
Oliver leaned forward slightly, his jaw clenching. “Please tell me.”
Mac looked down at the folder. “You’ve been diagnosed with paroxysmal supraventricular tachycardia.”
Oliver blinked. “What the hell is that?”
“It’s a heart rhythm condition,” I said. My voice came out calmer than I felt. It was like I was outside my own body. “Your heart’s electrical system is misfiring in short bursts. It’s not structural. It’s not life-threatening with treatment, but it affects performance.”
He stared at me, then looked at Mac. “You’re saying I have an official heart condition?”
“Yes,” Mac said. “One that flared during walk-through, and it’s one we can’t ignore, James.”
Oliver stood abruptly, his chair scraping back. “No. No, you don’t get to say that like it’s permanent.”
“It is,” Mac said. “You’re flagged, Oliver. This wasn’t a hiccup. Now, I know you’re probably worried or scared, but—”
His chest rose and fell fast. His hands curled into fists as his voice cracked. “I’m not done. I’m not sick. I can’t be done playing.”
“You’re not dying,” Mac said, his tone comforting and firm. “But you’re not stable. And until you are, you don’t play.”
Oliver turned to me. “Is this why you’ve been weird to me? You knew?”