CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Emery
I don’t go to the team meeting.
I tell myself it’s because I have charts to update and protocols to finalize and a proposal deadline breathing down my neck—but the truth is simpler than that.
I’ve been preparing myself for days—hell, weeks—about having to ruin Lucas and all he’s ever worked for with my final diagnosis.
And then, I didn’t have to give it. He gave me a look, like he finally got it, like it finally hit him what was being asked of me, and he didn’t make me have to say the words.
He didn’t make the end of his career land on my shoulders, on my diagnosis.
And now, my body is slowly coming down from the emotion of what I thought I’d have to do. What Coach and Grant offered Lucas in turn.
My head’s spinning and I just needed some time to myself. Besides, if I go in there, if I watch the announcement and see the emotion on Lucas’s face and hear the excitement from the guys—everyone will know I had—have—so much more than just my professional skin in this game.
So I don’t go to the meeting.
I stay in my office while the rest of the facility funnels into the conference room down the hall.
I hear it anyway—the muted rise and fall of voices through the walls, the scrape of chairs, the cheer that goes up when they announce Lucas’s new role, the low hum of anticipation that seems to buzz through the entire building.
Today, I don’t have to worry about how I’m going to ruin someone’s career.
What a weight off my shoulders.
The meeting ends without ceremony as the hallway outside my door slowly comes back to life—voices talking, laughter here and there, the rhythm of normalcy creeping back in like nothing monumental just happened.
There’s a knock at my door.
My heart swells. “Took you long enough,” I say as I look up to Lucas standing in the doorway.
He’s still wearing the sling, still moving carefully, but there’s something different about him—something grounded. Settled. Like a man who’s finally stopped running from the truth.
He closes the door behind him and doesn’t say anything right away.
Neither do I.
We just look at each other.
And in this moment, it doesn’t feel like we’re braced for impact.
“I didn’t see you in there,” he says finally, his voice low.
“I didn’t trust myself to be in there,” I admit. “I don’t think it would go unnoticed that the team doctor was crying tears of joy, pride, love, at her patient getting a second chance at the game he loves.”
“Yeah, that might have caught a few people’s attention.” He smiles. “Can you believe what they offered me? That I get to stay on?”
“Yes, of course. Your experience, your attitude, your track record is incredible. They’re lucky you accepted their offer.” I shake my head. “Look at them being greedy, trying to snatch you up before you went on the coaching free market.”
“Now you’re just trying to boost my ego.”
“It’s warranted.” I shrug. “When you’re good, you’re good, Hale.”
He takes a step closer, stopping just in front of my desk. Close enough my pulse races but far enough anyone walking by won’t think twice.
“I need you to hear something,” he says gently. “I accepted the offer, even though that’s a completely unexpected development. I stayed because this place is where you are.”
My breath catches so hard it almost hurts.
Lucas’s gaze doesn’t waver.
“I was ready to walk away,” he continues.
“At least I told myself I was. I thought that was my only option. But when they offered this position, the chance to be here every day—this building, this team—and what I saw wasn’t the chance to stay on the field”—his Adam’s apple bobs—“it was the chance to start over and make a life with you.”
The room tilts.
“Lucas . . .”
“I get to make a choice, and I choose you. I choose this. I choose getting out of those shitty apartments and finding a place to live together.”
“You mean settle?” I tease.
“God, I still hate that word, but yes, settle. Because there’s no such thing when it comes to you.”
My heart swells at his words, at his confessions. “Shitty apartments or not, I choose you too.”
He laughs. God how I love that sound. “Deal. As long as we keep choosing each other.”
“I could kiss you right now,” I whisper, grateful no one is around.
“That would be one helluva way to let management know I’m sleeping with the team doc.” His eyes flicker down to my lips and then back up. “And the thought has definitely crossed my mind.”
“Maybe we should wait until my probation period is over to tell them.”
“If you insist,” he teases. “But it won’t stop me from thinking about doing dirty things to you on that desk with nothing but your heels and your glasses on.”
“You just got a new job and I’m trying to prove I deserve mine, so let’s save that scenario for the office in our new house.”
His eyes light up—he’s as excited to hear those words as I am to say them. “That’s a deal, but in the meantime, the kitchen counter will have to suffice.”
“Deal.” I grin. “I’m proud of you. I’m sorry for what you’ve lost, but I’m so happy for you and what you’ve gained.”
“You. This. A life after football that’s still in football.”
“I love you,” I mouth the words.
“I love you,” he whispers back.
He opens the door and heads out, and I stare after him with a smile on my face. Finally, the future doesn’t feel like something we’re bracing for.
It feels like something we’re choosing.
Together.