I nod once, throat tight.
Jade grabs my shoulders. “Okay. No spiral face. We’re going to warm up, you’re going to ball out, and then you’re going to go hug your dad and not pretend you’re made of steel.”
I swallow hard. “Okay.”
We file out of the locker room, the gym noise swelling—music, announcer, shoes squeaking, the echo of a basketball bouncing in a big space.
I jog onto the court, bounce on the balls of my feet, and start my warm-up routine like my body knows exactly what to do even when my brain is trying to betray me.
Layups. Dribble lines. Shots from the elbow. Corner threes.
Everything is normal.
Until I glance up into the stands and see him.
Pops.
He’s at the front, not in his normal spot, because stairs are just about impossible at this point.
He’s standing with a walker in front of him, both hands wrapped around the handles like he’s anchoring himself. His posture is still proud, but the weight loss is undeniable. His cheeks are a little more hollow, the strong line of his jaw softened by fatigue. There’s a slight slackness to his features that wasn’t there before, like his face is tired of holding itself up.
And he’s wearing my number. Beside him is Logan.
Not on crutches anymore, but still careful, steps and movements measured, brace over his jeans, one hand hovering near Pops like he’s ready to catch him if the world tilts.
Logan is wearing one of Cameron’s CSU shirts.
The gray one with the big block letters across the front.
My chest cracks open, and I almost stop moving.
My next shot clanks off the rim because my hands go stupid.
Jade whistles from the baseline. “Eyes on the ball, Birthday Girl!”
I blink hard, force myself to breathe, and then keep moving.
But my gaze keeps drifting back up.
Pops sees me looking and lifts one hand off the walker handle, giving me a small wave.
His smile is still Pops—warm, proud, stubborn as hell.
It’s his body that’s betraying him, not his spirit.
Logan’s eyes flick to mine. Just for a second.
Something quiet taking over his expression, the ghost of a soft smile hiding on his face.
Something like:He’s here. I got him here.
My throat tightens.
I look away before my face can shatter in front of everyone.
Because I’m the captain tonight.
I’m supposed to be sharp. Focused. Controlled.
