Then he spoke. It was barely above a whisper and meant only for me.
"Good goal."
"Thanks."
I heard an edge in his voice. "Commentators are idiots. They called it chaos. You were holding position while absorbing contact. That's not chaos. That's discipline under pressure."
"Felt chaotic."
"You were where you were supposed to be. Puck found you because you didn't leave."
The bus turned a corner, and our knees brushed.
I cleared my throat, ready to change the subject. "Can I ask you something?"
"Yeah."
"The aquarium work. At Shedd. You mentioned rehab."
Kieran turned slightly toward me.
"Sometimes. When they need hands. Mostly water testing. Feeding protocols. But yeah, I've worked with the rehab team."
"What kind of animals?"
"Sea turtles, mostly. Sometimes seals. Occasionally fish that come in compromised from other facilities." He pulled his phone out. Unlocked it. Scrolled, then turned the screen toward me.
It was a sea turtle. Broken shell on one side. Eyes clear. Swimming in a shallow tank.
"This one came in six months ago. Boat strike. Fractured carapace. Pneumonia."
I studied the image. "Did it—did she make it?"
A faint smile. "She. Yeah. Released two weeks ago." He swiped to another photo. His thumb brushed my wrist as he angled the phone. Same turtle, different angle. The shell damage still visible but calcified over. "It's a slow process. Antibiotics. Physical therapy to rebuild diving strength."
The brief contact sent a small wave of electricity up my arm.
"Physical therapy for a turtle?"
"Sounds ridiculous. But yeah. You have to confirm they can dive properly. Surface independently. Hunt."
I looked at the photo again. "How do you know when they're ready?"
"Behavior. Weight. Blood work." He locked his phone. Set it on his thigh. "You can see when something's healing. It's measurable."
A memory from home flashed. I thought about my dad's back. The injury that ended his career. Surgeries that helped but didn't fix. Pain that became chronic instead of acute.
It never fully healed but stabilized enough for basic function.
"Does everything heal?" I asked.
Kieran turned his head and looked at me directly.
"No."
It was honest, direct.
"Sometimes it's more about stabilizing than healing," he continued. "That might be sufficient."
