“You handled it clean,” I said, and when he didn’t look away, I added, “You shift your stance when Quinn’s panicked, you know that?”
That caught him. His brows lifted. “What?”
“You widen your base. Drop your shoulder earlier. It’s not random. It’s deliberate. You adjust to protect him before he ever says a word. That’s not reaction. That’s anticipation. You’ve been doing it since preseason.”
His grin faltered into something closer to awe. “You… noticed that?”
“I make it my job to notice what makes the people around here valuable,” I said simply. “You anchor more than the line. I’m sure you do that for everyone in your life, move in anticipation of what they need.”
For a second, he didn’t speak. He stared at me with wide eyes. Then he chuckled, slow and warm. “Damn, Doc. You’re kinda scary.”
I snorted, shrugging at the compliment. “That’s not the first time I’ve heard that, but it might be the first time it’s been said as a compliment. At least, I think it was,” I added, my face flushing with embarrassment.
“It definitely was a compliment. And hey,” he said, frowning and glancing around us, “if you ever need a bodyguard, you let me know. I’m around.”
With another smile and nod, he jogged off with the rest of the team. For a second, a breath of time, the weight in my chest eased. Abbott was a kind man, and his reputation was that—a large, gentle giant who kicked major ass on the field and protected those around him. He was always chatting with Oliver, which made the knot in my gut ease a bit. If Abbott was looking out for him, that meant he had someone on his team.
Even thinking of him brought back the nerves. He hadn’t checked in, and he should’ve. I moved toward the hallway near the lower-level medical suite, hoping to get a glance of him somewhere. But nothing. He was nowhere in sight.
Ivy waited there, arms crossed, mouth pressed tight. William stood beside her, coffee in hand like he hadn’t missed two visible signs of a player struggling. Mac leaned against the wall, phone in hand, reading something I couldn’t see.
“We’ll do full reports in the morning,” Mac said without glancing up. “But I want early indicators flagged tonight. We meet at seven sharp.”
I clicked my tablet on and stepped closer. “Jordan’s holding better than projected. I’d still recommend a grief check midweek. Quinn’s verbal output was high, almost too scripted—might be masking pre-snap tension. And Oliver?—”
“I had him flagged for vitals,” Ivy said before I finished. “But he refused to check in.”
“I know,” I replied. “But there’s more. His response post-screen was too slow. His gait altered on the sideline—minor left lateral drift. His expression after the touchdown? Flat. That wasn’t adrenaline. That was system strain.”
Ivy turned to me, brow lifted, not defensive, just processing. “I didn’t catch the lateral drift.”
“I logged timestamps,” I said, tapping my screen. “I’ll get you the playback clips.”
Mac pushed off the wall and gave me his full attention. “Was there a moment you thought he should’ve been pulled?”
“No,” I said, steady. “But he’s masking. That, I’m sure of.”
William made a sound like a chuckle behind his coffee lid. “We’re really pulling players over facial expressions now?”
Mac didn’t even blink. “We’re not pulling him yet, but we are going to rewatch the tapes and make sure he’s fine. Numbers were good today but not worth the risk.”
Ivy nodded, serious now. “I’ll back her statement. He moved like something was off.”
William looked between us, smirking like he had more to say, but Mac turned to him before he could speak.
“Get me the vitals tonight,” Mac said. “And Sloane, send your mental performance flags by 10 p.m. No guessing. I want clear notes. If he’s on a watchlist, I need to know why.”
“I’ll send it before I leave,” I said.
“That’s it for now,” Mac said, turning. “See you in the morning.”
We all started to peel off. William walked toward the west corridor. Ivy lingered, her gaze shifting back toward the hallway Oliver had disappeared into.
“You were right about the affect,” she said. “The tremor too. I missed both.”
“You were managing a dozen other things,” I said.
She squeezed my arm gently. “Still. You’ve got sharp eyes. That matters. Glad you’re here, Doc.” She winked before parting. Her words landed heavier than they should have. It made me sound so pathetic, but all I wanted was to belong somewhere. To be a part of something. My family had pushed me out and blamed me for their own choices, and yeah, I had friends, but they were casual.Glad you’re here.
