"Pretty sure that's just you."
"Probably," she mutters, rolling her eyes. "But still. I'm so glad I don't feel like I'm dying today."
I chuckle, relieved. "Good. I'm glad."
"When did you come back? This morning?"
"No, last night," I say. "Caroline and I drove back right after the game. You were already out cold when I got home. Didn't wanna wake you."
Sam gives me a small, sad smile and stands.
She walks over and sits beside me on the bed, leaning her head on my shoulder. Her hand curls around my forearm.
"Sorry about the game," she murmurs. "Bet you're pretty bummed."
"Yeah," I sigh. "It sucks. Can't believe we lost two games back-to-back."
"Yeah, losing sucks," she says plainly. "Like, big time. I'd cry too if I trained that hard just to play like garbage."
I shoot her a look.
She grins. "Relax, I'm kidding."
I huff, but she nudges me with her shoulder.
"But seriously, Zachy... it happens," she says. "Even to the strongest team — which you guys are. You're allowed to have off days. There's nothing wrong with losing one or two games."
She goes on, "Just don't do that thing where you go all sulky and moody or lock yourself in your room like some hockey hermit beating yourself up. One bad weekend isn't going to erase every good game you've played."
I raise a brow. "Do I really do that?"
She gives me a flat, verySamlook. "Yes. It's very annoying, actually."
A reluctant smile tugs at my mouth.
Sam taps my arm, a little gently, "You'll bounce back. You always do. Just... don't be so hard on yourself, okay?"
I nod, letting out a breath.
"Yeah, I won't. I actually promised Caroline I'd only give myself, like... two hours to mope about the losses. And I did. Clocked out right on time before bed."
Sam snorts. "Good. Because what do you think she'd do if youdidn'tstick to that?"
I make a face. "Yeah, no thanks. I'm not testing that. I just got back on her good graces— I'm not stupid enough to mess that up."
Sam laughs, finally looking like herself again.
I shift on the bed, turning fully toward her. I tug her hand gently, lacing our fingers together.
"You sure you're really feeling better?"
Sam gives me a small, honest smile — the kind that's a lot calmer than her usual sunshine one. "Yeah. Really. I feel a whole lot better today."
I squeeze her hand, but there's still this annoying knot sitting somewhere in my chest.
Part of me knows shelooksbetter... but another part of me won't relax until someone with an actual medical degree tells me everything's fine.
"Angel," I say quietly, "we should still get you checked out. Just to be safe. You've been getting sick a lot, and... I don't know. I just...I want a doctor to actually look at you properly—tests, bloodwork, whatever they need to do. I just need to know you're really okay."
