CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Lucas
The facility feels different when you’re the first one through the doors.
Only half the lights are on, every noise echoes too loudly, and there’s sounds from the weight and PT machines as they are waking up.
I like it this way. Always have. It’s easier to hear my own thoughts when no one else is around.
I drop my bag by my locker and haven’t even changed before my phone rings.
Coach.
I answer on the second ring. “Yeah.”
“Hale,” he says, all business. “When you get in, come and see me?”
“I’m in the locker room. I’ll be right there.”
There’s a pause. “Great.”
Within seconds, I’m standing in his doorway, shutting the door behind me when he asks me to.
“You’re here early,” he says.
“My running partner was tired and canceled on me,” I say thinking about how she was snuggled up against me, too tired from how late we stayed up and talked. “So I figured I’d come in and work out before practice.”
“Dedicated. I like that.”
“Did you need something?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest, so I don’t fidget and show him I’m anxious over being called in.
“Grant, Dr. Porter, Peter, and I met yesterday afternoon. We went over your progress and performance.”
“And?” My chest tightens.
“We decided to rest Cole on Sunday. We’re handing you the ball. You’re starting.”
For a second, I don’t breathe.
Starting.
The word lands like something sacred. Earned. Dangerous.
Something I took for granted hundreds of times before in my career, but this time feels so much more important. Monumental.
“I’ll be ready,” I say because what else does one say in this situation?
“You’ll get reps with the first squad today and tomorrow,” Coach continues. “Not ideal timing because it’ll only give you two days, but you’ve never needed ideal, have you?”
“There’s no such thing as ideal,” I say, voice steady. “Like I said. I’ll be ready.”
“Expected nothing less from a veteran such as yourself. That’s why we kept you on board,” he says, when we both know damn well it was to mentor Cole.
“And Cole?” I ask.
“Mild sprain. He’ll be fine. We’re just not risking it. Kid’s too important to the season.”
“I told him the same when he hurt it.”
“Great. I’ll see you out there on the field at nine.”
I leave his office and the minute I clear his office window and am in the hall, I pump my fist.
Starter.
Sunday.
This is what I’ve been fighting for.
I head toward one end of the hall and realize in my excitement, that I went the wrong way, so I head back, mind racing and pride surging.
I need to tell Brendan. I need to tell . . . Emery.
The thought settles, my victory every bit as much because of her as it is me.
Grant, Dr. Porter, Peter, and I met yesterday afternoon.
Because I know what it cost her.
I know the line she crossed. The silence she chose. The truth she bent so I could stand on the field on Sunday instead of watching from the sidelines.
I change quickly and head down the hall without thinking too much about where my feet are taking me.
Her office door is closed, so I knock once.
She looks up from her computer when I step inside, and for a split second, the world narrows.
To Emery.
The woman who loves me enough to compromise parts of her own self.
“Hey,” I say quietly. “I just talked to Coach.”
Her lips curve into a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“I heard,” she says.
There it is.
That look.
Pride wrapped in fear. Resolve braced against hesitation.
“I’m starting,” I say anyway, like saying it out loud might make it feel real.
“I know. I knew last night.” She lifts her eyebrows when I gasp. “But I thought you deserved to hear it here, from Coach. Like this.”
And she’s right. Seems she is more than she’s not.
“Thank you,” I say, unable to stop myself from studying her face. Every instinct in me wants to pull her into my arms, to promise her I won’t break, that she won’t have to fix me anymore.
“Please don’t thank me.”
“Everything’s going to be okay,” I whisper.
She doesn’t respond. Instead, she just exhales, stands, and reaches for her tablet. “Let’s go into the therapy room. We need to get you as ready as we can for Sunday.”
“Em—”
She finally looks at me then. Really looks.
“Let’s get you ready,” she repeats, eyebrows lifted, eyes begging me to drop it. For me to remember where we are and that she’s not Em here. “Okay?”
I nod.
Because this is her line in the sand.
And I see it now—clearer than I ever have.
What she compromised so I could stand here.
Her integrity. Her peace. Maybe her career if this goes sideways.
For me.
No one has ever showed up for me like that.
And as she starts talking through reps and flexion movements she can control, I realize something terrifying.
If this goes wrong, it won’t just be my body that breaks.
It’ll be me letting Emery down. It’ll be me proving to her that she risked consequences and compromised her moral code for nothing.
Don’t think that way, Lucas.
Let her do what she does best—prepare you. Let her do all she can so she knows, with absolute certainty, that your arm is ready for this challenge.
Show her that this trust she’s always talking about is a two-way street.