1
SLOANE
Run with Rampage.
The Chicago Rampage’s team slogan covered the brick wall in black-and-white paint, and my pulse quickened with excitement. The silhouette of a wild beast hung beneath it, the same image on my new polo, backpack, and cute custom Vans I had made for my new role. Custom shoes were a key part of my personality, and knowing I could wear them here every day was a huge win.
I swiped my employee badge against the sensor, the now familiar chirp allowing me access to the Rampage stadium. It was only my second week with the team, but every time I walked into my job, my heart raced in the best kind of way. I was the Director of Mental Performance and Clinical Sports Psychology for the Rampage NFL team, at thirty-two, in my favorite city in the world. Sixteen-year-old me would break down and sob with joy knowing we did it. We made our goal despite every obstacle thrown our way. And there were plenty…
My brother used to tell me I’d end up here. Back when we’d run wind sprints on cracked concrete outside our house, he’d yell, “Keep your head up, Mercer. Stadium lights lookbetter when you’re chasing them,” and my heart cracked at the memory. He wasn’t supportive of me now. I shoved the thought away. I couldn’t be distracted.
“Morning, Mercer.”
“Hello,” I replied, not quite smiling at Dr. William Benson, the team’s head physician. It was alwaysMercer,not Dr. Mercer, which was my official title. His use of my last name blurred the line of being annoying and undermining or a nickname to fit in, and my brain hadn’t categorized which one it was yet. I noted it though, because despite earning my dream job at a young age, I refused to let people downplay my credentials.
Dr. Benson also wore a team polo, and his shoes were simple black Nikes that blended into his slacks. It was always the first thing I noticed about people. Shoes told a lot about the person, and while I tried not to bring my profession to everyday life, I always found myself noting the footwear over their eye color. Dr.William Benson—simple, black shoes that show no personality. That means he’s probably on his feet a lot and walks often. Never a scuff on them, probably has a few in rotation.I blinked away my useless anecdote and caught up to him. Small talk would be the death of me, but it mattered.
Dr. Benson carried a clipboard and a large coffee, his black-rimmed glasses sitting on his stern nose as he eyed his watch and spoke before I could fill the silence. “This damn meeting Mac called is setting me back an hour. I love the guy, but all these last-minute team meetings need to stop.”
David Macintosh, or “Mac,” was my boss—the VP of Player Health and Performance—and my skin flushed at Dr. Benson’s comment. I didn’t recall a meeting when I checked my email on the way in. “What—where is it at?”
I yanked my phone from my pocket and updated my email, hating how nervous I was when no email came through. Did I miss an invite or did he text? I couldn’t skip a team meeting mysecond week there. Sweat pooled down the center of my back, yet I kept my expression polished. “I’ll follow you there. Glad I brought my own tea.”
Dr. Benson marched down the long hallway that led to the elevator. His annoyed sigh carried as he jammed his finger on the up button. “One of my interns quit yesterday, and I need that spot filled immediately. Any chance you want to intern and fill in for me, Mercer? I could use an extra set of hands right now.”
My left eye twitched as he stared at me, an expectant look on his face, like he wanted me to flinch or laugh.Sure, Doc, I’ll forego my fucking dream job to intern for you.I knew better than to ever unleash my real thoughts. Instead, I forced a smile and tilted my head to the side as we walked in the elevator. “If you’re trying to assert dominance, I should let you know—therapy works better without the posturing.”
“Whoa, there, Mercer. None of that going on.” He laughed, awkward and not natural, as he pressed his lips together and shrugged. “Don’t get all up in your feelings about it, alright?”
The elevator stopped on the third floor, saving me from acknowledging his comment at all. He was well respected in the field and had a great reputation, but I hated that respect wasn’t mutual or guaranteed. I knew I’d have to earn my place here, but how people felt about a therapist told me a lot about them.
Dr. Benson quickened his pace, which was fine by me. I could follow him to the team meeting I was somehow left out of and give myself a moment to mask my face to indifference. I couldn’t be overly animated. I couldn’t be too loud or too quiet, too happy or too upset. I lived in the middle, the medium, the narrow place where I couldn’t let anything faze me. That was Dr. Sloane Mercer, the professional. The problem was those things trickled over to my personal life too.
The third floor was colder than I remembered. Or maybe it was the weight of the silence when Dr. Benson opened the door and stepped into the conference room.
Heads turned, and all the attention pressed against my chest. Ivy Emerson—head athletic trainer—caught my eye first. She nodded, a slight annoyed expression on her face telling me she knew I wasn’t included. She knew everything.
Of course she did.
The rest of the table was all team leads—unit coaches, medical directors, training staff, and Mac himself at the head of the table, standing with his hands gripping the back of the chair. He glanced at his watch and then at me, his expression unreadable.
“Glad you both could join us,” he said, his voice not warm or cold. I’d been hazed before. I’d gone through hoops and proved myself time and time again, and while the familiar buzz ofyou’re new herehung in the air, an underlying threat existed since he didn’t include me.
I filed it, noted it, yet kept my head high. I’d overanalyze later. Right now, I was under a microscope.
I took the open seat next to Ivy without responding. My tea was still warm in my hand, but the urge to grip it tighter crawled into my fingers.
Mac remained standing, studying everyone’s faces with dark, narrowed eyes. An aura of intensity moved around him, clung to him. He commanded the room, and everyone listened.
“This’ll be quick,” he said. “We’ve got three major points to address before practice. First one is Oliver James. You’ve heard by now he had a medical episode on the field yesterday. His vitals were stable, but the medical team has him on a revamped monitoring protocol. William and his team will keep everyone looped in.”
William nodded, sitting up a little taller at being called out.
Mac continued, his eyes tracking the room. “Oliver’s cleared for modified activity—but that doesn’t mean we’re ignoring what happened. He’s a key player. We’re not gambling on his heart. Mercer,” he said, now looking directly at me, “you’re taking point on his mental conditioning. Effective immediately.”
My heart rate spiked. This seemed big. This was my first assignment instead of justsettling in.I nodded, keeping my face neutral.
“He’s high-pressure, high expectation, and right now, we’re not convinced he’s honest about his limits. If there’s something psychological at play— triggers, performance anxiety, I don’t care what, we need it handled.Quietly.”
