Ivy chuckles. “She’s right. You’ve been talking about the floor plan all week.”
“Exaggeration,” I mutter. “More like the past three days max.”
Em ignores me. “It’s a joint venture. My agency will be a strategic partner. We have a few athlete clients who might be interested in doing monthly spotlights and adaptive sport clinics, helping with community outreach. That okay with you?”
“It’s more than I expected, to be honest.”
I’m overwhelmed by the love and support from my friend. I knew she would help, but I never expected this much. She already has a million things on her plate and now she’s taking on another project. I have no idea how she does it, but I couldn’t be more grateful.
“We’ll keep everything legally separate from the agency,” she continues, fully in business mode. “But there’s no reason we can’t share resources. You’ll have visibility, credibility and a hell of a support team backing you up. This is going to be big, Teddy.”
My head spins with all the information and ideas. Everything’s happening so fast. Even if I’m not playing any longer, Em still deals with my sponsorships and public appearances. We agreed that it was the best plan of action for the first year until I have everything with the charity figured out.
Ivy tugs gently on my arm, moving us toward one of the arched windows. “Now the real question: what will you call it?”
I breathe out a slow laugh. “Been stuck on the name for days. There’s no way we’ll use anything linked to Seaborn.”
“Good. Because the Seaborn Foundation exists and anything similar sounds like either a yacht club or an elite prep school for troubled boys,” Em comments.
I purse my lips. “Exactly.”
“Let’s make a list,” she suggests. “Names are a huge part of branding. We need a name that will be easy to pronounce and look strong in a logo. You know, Jasper sent me a text this morning with a list of ideas.”
“Oh god. Please no,” I groan playfully.
Ivy giggles. “Tell him to stick to the donations and naming rights for the coffee machine.”
“He’ll love that,” Em says sarcastically. “Seriously though, whatever we pick, it’ll be good, because the heart of it is right here in this place.”
Ivy leans against the windowsill. “Something about hope and starting again…what aboutSecond Light? It sounds like a new beginning.”
The name makes me think of mornings— when I wake up and the world is not as scary as it used to be after my injury, when Ivy’s voice is the first thing I hear, when I remember I’m still here, and that’s enough. “I like it, but just not for this.”
“Why not?”
“Light already belongs to you,” I say quietly. “It’s your thing. I don’t want the charity to sound like I’m naming it after you.”
“Fair enough. Then what aboutAfter the Storm?”
Em glances up from her phone. “Too dramatic. Sounds like a self-help podcast.”
“Okay,New Ground?” Ivy tries again.
“Better,” I comment, “but still not quite it.”
There’s a beat of silence before Em looks between us. “What aboutHorizon Project? It’s about moving forward, right?”
I test the word over in my mind.Horizon.Something you can keep reaching for, even when you can’t see what’s ahead. “Yeah,” I say finally. “That’s it.”
“Horizon Project it is,” Ivy agrees.
I take another slow turn through the room. We’re standing in the middle of a dusty, sunlit building that needs work and love, admiring what’s coming together here. There’s space for endless possibilities.
Em bumps me. “Alright. Let’s grab food. You’re picking up the tab, Teddy Boy.”
“But I’m the charity,” I protest.
“You’re the face of the charity,” she corrects. “I’m the business partner. Ivy is the dream girl. That makes you the lunch guy.”
