The room goes quiet again, and my mind goes to next weekend. Sophie’s supposed to be with her mom.
I wonder if Vanessa will actually show this time. Sophie’s been counting down for days, and every part of me wants to believe it’ll stick—wants to be wrong about her for once.
Still, my mind circles back to the event. I hate the PR angle, but the idea of lacing up—even for show, even for a minute—gets under my skin.
A few hours later, we’re through security and sprawled at the gate. The trainers juggle coffees and protein bars; the guys have their feet up on duffels, half asleep.
Tyler drops into the seat across from me, gives me a look. “You’ve been smiling, Cap. Kinda unnerving.”
Torres leans in like he’s discovered a crime. “Yeah, he even said hi to the ref last night. Nicely.”
“I said it so he’d hear me when I yelled later,” I deadpan.
Tyler smirks. “Uh-huh. Whatever you say.”
I shake my head. Let them chirp. It’s easier than explaining why the edges don’t feel as sharp this week.
“You seem lighter lately,” Tyler says after a beat, half-grinning. “Is it because of the meds or a girl?”
“Pretty sure it’s the drugs,” I deadpan.
Torres laughs. “Nah, come on, Cap. You’ve actually been smiling. Who is she?”
“Nobody you need to know,” I say, adjusting my brace strap. “What youdoneed to know is I’m aiming to be cleared in three weeks, so you better keep this train rolling till I’m back.”
Tyler smirks. “Pressure noted.”
My phone buzzes—Mom.
Perfect timing.
I step away to answer.
“Hey, Ma.”
“Hey, sweetheart!” Her voice is bright. “We watched last night’s game. You looked so sharp in your suit. They kept catching you on camera.”
I huff out a small laugh. “Mostly pacing and pretending I wasn’t dying to grab a stick.”
Dad’s voice pipes up in the background. “Hell of a win, son. Conference Final! Bet it’s killing you not to be out there.”
“It is,” I admit. “But the guys earned it. I’ll be back soon.”
“How soon?” Mom asks, cautious but hopeful.
“Another three weeks if everything stays on track.”
“That’s good to hear.” She pauses, gentler now. “You’re not pushing too hard?”
“Trying not to,” I say, which makes her laugh.
Then, “And how’s Sophie?”
“She’s good. Counting down to next weekend. She’s got plans with her mom.”
“That’s nice,” Mom says carefully.
Dad clears his throat. “And how’s Charlotte?”
