It’s distractingly cheerful. Too cheerful. And entirely on brand.
Almost cute. Until I remember who she is and why I’m here.
“Morning, Captain,” she says brightly, glancing up. “I was beginning to think you were stalling.”
“Had to wait for Sophie’s ride,” I murmur. “Team Services grabbed me after.”
Her expression softens. “How’s she doing?”
“She’s good.” I pause. “Rehearsal after school. She’s usually stage crew, but she’s in the musical this time.”
Charlie smiles. “I haven’t seen Sophie since she was a baby, but David mentioned the show. Maya’s in it too, right?”
“Yeah,” I say. “She and Sophie have been joined at the hip since kindergarten.”
Her smile deepens. “Erin keeps me in the loop. I haven’t had much time with my niece Maya since moving back, but I’m hoping to change that.”
She tilts her head, thoughtful. “Funny how that worked out, huh? Your best friend’s daughter ends up being your daughter’s best friend.”
I grunt. Not sure what to do with that.
She gestures toward the table. “Let’s start with quad sets and straight-leg raises. I want to get a better sense of where your extension tolerance is today.”
I lower myself onto the table, careful with the brace. Everything feels tighter today—swollen, slow. I grit my teeth and start the first set.
Charlie counts reps under her breath. Doesn’t hover. Doesn’t pity.
It’s unnerving how calm she is. I’m not used to being observed like this: injured, slow, vulnerable. She moves like she belongs here. Like nothing about this feels weird or awkward.
She adjusts the angle of my foot with one hand, her fingers firm but clinical.
“Your quad’s firing well. But you’re guarding on the extension.”
“I’m not guarding.”
“You’re absolutely guarding,” she says, not even looking at me. “Your hip’s taking over. You’re compensating.”
I exhale sharply through my nose. “Didn’t realize I was signing up for a lecture series.”
“Nope. Just rehab.” She offers a smile that’s way too patient. “Gotta be ready if the team makes the Playoffs, right?”
“Obviously.”
“Then stop pretending pain means weakness and actually let yourself heal.”
Her voice is calm, but there’s steel under it. It pisses me off. Mostly because she’s right.
I clench my jaw and finish the set.
“You’re supposed to relax,” she says, fingers pressing lightly beside my kneecap.
“I am relaxed,” I grunt.
“Really? Because it seems like you’re clenching as if I just asked you to give a motivational speech to the rookie line.”
That gets me. A low, reluctant breath escapes that almost sounds like a laugh.
Her eyes flick up, victorious. “Knew you had a sense of humor somewhere under all that brooding.”
