I close my eyes, forehead resting on the car seat.
It is bad.
Because I’m still not going to let her go.
17
IVY
Whipped
My hands tremble slightly as I stand at the head of the conference table, the projector displaying data that represents weeks of relentless work. I advance to the next slide, voice steady,
"From the baseline tests, I found three warning signs that predict serious concussion problems eighty-seven percent of the time." I point to the graphs on the screen. "Reaction time changes, eye movement problems, and balance issues. When you see all three together, they show up weeks before players start feeling other symptoms."
Coach Petrov leans forward, his usually gruff expression thoughtful.
"What does that mean for us?"
"It means we catch it early and stop players from getting hit again when their brains are already vulnerable." I click to the next slide, showing the data over time. "We could cut career-ending injuries by forty percent."
The training staff exchanges glances. Dr. Logan nods approvingly from the corner. Even the athletic trainers who initially resisted my presence look impressed.
"How sure are you about this?" Coach asks.
"Eighty-seven percent accurate right now. The more data I collect through the season, the better it gets."
"Alright. Do you need anything from us?"
The question catches me off guard. I expected skepticism or pushback, not immediate acceptance.
"Full season access with weekly testing for everyone. And one player to follow closely. Someone with a history of concussions who I can track long-term."
Coach consults his tablet. "Hawthorne's got the worst history. Four confirmed concussions, three more we suspect. He's yours."
My heart spikes. Of course, it has to be Declan.
"That's acceptable," I manage, keeping my voice neutral even as my pulse races.
Murmurs ripple through the room. Tyler smirks from his seat near the back. Connor looks confused, like he's trying to figure out if this is good or bad news. Jake's expression is carefully blank, but he glances at Marcus.
My brother sits across the room, arms crossed, mouth turned down at the corners. He hasn't said a word or looked at me directly during the entire presentation. Disapproval radiates off him in waves. After seeing the museum gala photo and finding out about the relationship between Declan and I, he scowls whenever we’re in the same room.
But Declan's lips are curved in that devastating smile of his that makes my stomach flip. His green eyes hold mine across the room, pride and support in them.
"Good work, Dr. Chandler." Coach stands, effectively dismissing everyone. "Keep me updated on your findings."
The room empties quickly. Players file out, most of them nodding respectfully as they pass.
Tyler walks to me and says, "Nice presentation, even if it means more tests."
Marcus leaves without a word. Declan hangs back, waiting until we're alone before approaching.
"Eighty-seven percent," he says, smiling. "You're brilliant."
"It's preliminary data."
"It's groundbreaking, and you did it despite Gregory trying to sabotage you. Despite..."
