His brow lifted, like he was searching for a crack in the answer. “Did you say I was cleared?”
“No,” I said. “I said we need to continue watching, but that doesn’t mean you’re pulled.”
He huffed once through his nose and finally dropped into the chair across from mine. He didn’t lounge like usual. He sat rigid, both feet planted, elbows on thighs, fingers tapped once against his knee.
“And that was enough for Booth to keep me in?”
“I can’t and would never try to control Booth,” I replied, ensuring my voice was calm. “I gave Mac the report he asked for, which is facts.”
He didn’t speak right away. He stared at the corner of my desk. His knee bounced as his gaze cut through me. “You seemed pretty comfortable with Jordan earlier.”
That caught me off guard. “He had an appointment. Like you.”
“You laughed with him.”
I frowned, unsure how to handle this shift of conversation. “I laugh with a lot of people.”
“Not with me.”
I blinked. “Is this part of the check-in, or are we going off script?”
He didn’t smile. “I’m trying to figure out what game we’re playing here.”
“There’s no game,” I said. My pulse quickened. “But this? Right now? It’s not the same as last night. We’re not in your kitchen.”
“No shit.” He sat back, the chair creaking slightly. “You barely looked at me when I walked in.”
“Because I’m attempting to remain professional,” I said, sharper than I meant to. “I already crossed that line by going into your apartment last night.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. “Do you regret it?”
That hit low, right in the center of my chest. Personally? No. That was the most fun I had in a while, talking about shoes and eating breakfast at 9 p.m. Yet, my stomach had been in knots all morning because of it.
I folded my hands on the desk to keep them from shaking. “I regret the lack of boundaries. Yes.”
“But not the company?” he asked, voice quieter now. The heat was still in his eyes, but it was edged with something else—fear, maybe. Doubt. I wasn’t sure.
I stared at him. At the tension lining his shoulders, the way his hoodie clung to his forearms, how his fingers twitched.
“No,” I said finally. “Not the company, Oliver.”
His expression softened, his lips curving up into an almost smile. He was way too charming for his own good, and it was clear he was avoiding talking about the game and chose our recent…hangout instead. This wasn’t the time for that, so I shifted to the facts.
“Booth and Mac both agreed you’ve shown enough consistency to move forward. Ivy will monitor your vitals from the sideline. I’ll be in communication the entire time. You have coverage.”
“Doesn’t feel like coverage,” he muttered, his jaw flexing as he stared at the wall behind me instead of my face. “This shit feels like surveillance.”
“That’s what it’s supposed to feel like,” I said. “Until we know your baseline is stable again. You know this. We do this for every player who has inconsistencies or if they pass out during practice.”
“That doesn’t make it suck any less, okay?” His tone had a bite to it, one I wasn’t used to hearing. He stood, like he couldn’t stay seated another second, and paced once to the far side of the room.
“It’s clear you’re using your deflection tactics today.”
“Nice observation, Doc.” He kept his back to me as he admired a few of my degrees hanging on the wall. “Sure as shit am avoiding what I’m feeling.”
“What are you afraid of most?”
He turned slowly, his shoulders slumping as he shrugged. “That something goes wrong and no one lets me explain before they bench me and I lose my starting spot, something I’ve worked half my life for.”
