“No,” she admitted. “But I will be.”
Closing the distance, I pressed my forehead to hers. “We’re right behind you.”
Her hands curled in my shirt, just for a second. Just long enough.
“I know,” she whispered. Then, just like always, she pulled herself together. Straightened her spine. Smoothed her expression. Composed, she headed out of the medwing on a direct course for the press room like she was going to war.
Because she was.
And damn if I didn’t love her for it.
The thought hit with the weight of a freight train and the gentleness of a whisper. No fanfare. No dramatic revelation. Just truth—solid and steady in my chest like it had always been there, just waiting for me to stop trying to explain it away.
Ilovedher.
Not the idea of her. Not just the fierce firebrand who could command a room, or the woman who’d tangled herself in my sheets and scent.
I loved the way she carried the weight of the team without complaint. The way she reached for Jay’s hand when she thought no one was looking. The way she spoke Rhett’s language in jokes and sideways glances and never tried to rein him in, only anchored him.
The way she looked at me like I was both her shield and her soft place to fall.
And yeah, I realized I’d been in love with her for a long damn time. Maybe since before she even knew what she meant to us.
Maybe since beforeIdid.
So I stood there in the quiet left behind, watching her disappear down the corridor, heels sharp on concrete, hair catching in the harsh light, already halfway into her next battle—and I knew with unshakable certainty, whatever came next, however far this went...
She wasitfor me. Always had been. Absorbing that knowledge, I blew out a breath then stopped wasting time.
Threw on a clean team polo, tugged off the pads and gear with the kind of speed I usually saved for third period tie-breakers. Barely took a second to wipe the sweat off my face, and splash water on the back of my neck.
There wasn’t a bruise on my body that mattered more than being close enough to see her hold that line.
Because Wren was out there, already fielding questions, already shielding Jay from rumors and controlling the narrative with that deceptively calm voice and those razor-sharp eyes. Even if she didn’t need backup, and she never looked toward the wings once—Ineeded to be there.
Not as a captain. Not for the team. For her.
So I slipped into the media gallery, off to the side where the spotlight didn’t quite hit. Arms crossed. Jaw tight. Watching.
God, she was already in motion and absolutely stunning. Standing at the podium, headset on, crisp blouse under her jacket, a Howlers pin gleaming silver at her collarbone. That cool, clear voice projected across the room like she was commanding an entire battalion.
“Jay Kim’s condition is stable,” she said evenly, eyes scanning the sea of reporters. “He was evaluated on-site, and our medical staff, under Doctor Halvorsen’s direction, made the call to transfer him for further observation. No official statement on his return will be made until that evaluation is complete.”
A hand went up from someone in local press—Salazar. Always fishing. “Is it true he was unconscious for over a minute? Is this a potential season-ending injury?”
Her eyes narrowed by a degree. “I won’t speculate on a player’s health when the final call belongs to a physician. But I will say this: Jay Kim is one of the strongest athletes I’ve everhad the privilege of working with. If there’s a way for him to come back this season, he’ll find it.”
Clean. Calm. But there was steel under every word. The room knew it too, because the usual murmurs were replaced by scribbling pens and the sharp click of keyboards.
Another voice cut in, this one was national press, maybe even league-affiliated. “There’s speculation the injury was avoidable. That it stemmed from the Howlers’ aggressive formations this series. Is the team playing too recklessly?”
My jaw ticked, and my arms tensed, but Wren didn’t so much as blink.
“Physical play is a part of the sport,” she said, “and if anyone is suggesting that players should hold back in the playoffs, then I’d question whether they’ve ever actuallywatcheda game. The Howlers are aggressive. But we are not reckless. We are trained. Tactical. Committed.”
She paused, then added, “If there’s concern about recklessness, I’d suggest reviewing the tape of the hit that took Jay down. Because my concern isn’t our style, it’s that a deliberate charge like that wasn’t flagged.”
A ripple moved through the room. She’d done it. Turned the question inside out without even breaking stride.
