I can’t help it.
Pops is seated now—walker folded beside his chair. His shoulders sag slightly, exhaustion heavier on him when he’s not standing tall.
Logan is sitting next to him, leaning in to say something that makes Pops chuckle, small and quiet.
The sight hits me like a punch to the sternum.
Because that’s my life now—moments I want to freeze and moments I’m terrified to lose.
Jade appears at my side, breathing hard. “Okay,” she says, voice softer. “If you want to go up there, go.”
I blink at her. “What?”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s halftime. Coach is doing adjustments with the assistants. You have like three minutes. Go hug your dad.”
My throat tightens.
Blakely nods. “We’ll cover for you.”
I swallow hard and nod once.
I jog up the steps toward the stands, heart pounding harder than it did on the court.
Pops looks up when I approach. His face brightens like the lights don’t matter because I’m here.
“There she is,” he says.
“Hi,” I manage, voice thick.
I lean down carefully and hug him, because I’m afraid of how fragile he feels and furious that I have to be afraid.
He hugs me back—still strong, still Pops—but there’s less of him now. Less weight. Less resistance. Like he’s slowly becoming air.
“You’re killing it,” he says into my hair.
I pull back just enough to look at him. “You’re wearing my number.”
Pops grins faintly. “Damn right.”
Emotion surges so fast my eyes burn.
I blink hard.
Then I notice the walker folded beside him, and my chest tightens all over again.
Pops follows my gaze and shrugs like it’s nothing. “Just extra equipment.”
I snort through the ache. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Had to keep up with you and your fancy shoes,” Pops teases.
I laugh, but it cracks at the end.
Then my gaze slides to Logan.
He stands slowly, careful with his knee, and for a second, I don’t know what to do with him in this moment.
Because he’s not my teammate.
