“You say that every time,” she replied. “Doesn’t mean it’s not true, but it does mean I know when you’re lying.”
She stopped a few feet away, not bothering to keep her distance like most people did when I got like this—quiet, tense, slightly too still. She’d seen me like this before. Not only this year. Ivy had been there the first time I blacked out, junior year. Callum O’Toole, my best friend and her fiancé, had been the one to tell me to see a doctor and that I was a damn fool to play through this pain. We were close, the three of us.
She stood in front of me, arms crossed, green eyes worried. “Oli, please. The staff is freaking out about your episode, and it’s getting harder to convince myself you should even keep playing.”
“Ivy.” I snapped my gaze to hers, my heart surging. “Of course I can keep playing. Jesus. I need to find the balance. It’s what I do. Toe the line.”
“Sure, but almost passing out during a practice? Elevated heart rate without working out?” She pinched her nose. “I love you, Oli, but we need to talk reality. Soon.”
“I had a session with Mercer,” I blurted out, not even dignifying her statement with a response. I would never walk away from football. It was my dream, the financial stability our family needed. It was who I was. Without football… no. Just, no.
She nodded once. “I know. She doesn’t give me details, but she flagged your file. Said something wasn’t adding up.”
I looked away, eyes tracking the row of kettlebells across the room. All lined up. Uniform. Easy. “I don’t like talking about it. I don’t want to talk to her about it.”
“No shit,” she said, not unkindly.
A pause stretched between us. Not awkward. Just… old. Familiar. She let it breathe.
“I don’t want to lose this,” I said quietly. “I don’t want to fall apart right when my life seems to be coming together, Ivy.”
Ivy shifted slightly, enough for her knee to knock against mine. “You’re not falling apart, Oliver. You’re holding your breath. And if you don’t exhale soon, it’s going to break something that doesn’t heal. Since you won’t stop physically, you need to work on what’s in your head. Stop trying to do everything alone. You don’t have to shoulder this solo, you know?”
I didn’t look at her. Her words hit me hard. I wanted to be the one people depended on, not the pathetic guy who needed help. My jaw clenched hard enough I felt it in my molars. “I know what I’m doing, Ivy.”
“No,” she said. “You know how to hide things. There’s a huge difference.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to push back, joke, change the subject. But this was Ivy. She’d heard every version of my deflection before. She was the one who’d sat next to me in the hospital hallway, waiting for the first test results years ago.
She saw through me long before Mercer ever walked through the door.
“Callum’s worried,” she added, softer now. “He didn’t say anything, but I could hear it in his voice when I told him you were pushing again. He said you haven’t texted back all week.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“You’ve been avoiding the people who know you. Fuck off with the ‘I’ve been busy’ act.”
My throat tightened. My hands curled around the towel in my grip.
She didn’t reach for me. Didn’t try to soften the blow. That wasn’t Ivy. Instead, she said, “You don’t have to do this alone. You have us and Noah. You have people you can lean on. You never do though. You’re not some cautionary tale, Oliver. But if you keep pretending nothing’s wrong, that’s what this will become.”
I let the towel fall onto the bench. My heart rate was fine—steady, maybe a little high—but the ache wasn’t in my chest. It was in my gut. In the place where fear burrowed deep enough to feel like truth.
Before I could respond, the door creaked open again, and in walked Noah Abbot, our starting offensive linemen, dragging in the smell of eucalyptus soap. His hoodie was only half on, socks didn’t match, and his curls were damp enough that I knew he hadn’t bothered to towel off. He carried two protein shakes, one already half-empty, and his eyes were still puffy.
He tossed me the unopened bottle without a word and dropped onto the bench across from mine, long legs stretched out, his whole body loose with the quiet confidence he wore like armor. Noah never rushed. Never pushed. He moved like the world would wait until he was ready. The dude was also obsessed with soaps and natural ways to clear his skin. He smelled like a different candle every time I saw him.
It was a fascinating combination for a six-foot-four, three-hundred-and-twenty-pound dude.
“What up, my man?” he asked, his tone light, but his gaze was intense. “You good, Oli?”
“Always,” I said, hitting his knuckles as the lie came out hard and fast. Despite our team having good chemistry overall, I was only comfortable being myself with a few players, and Noah was one of them. The giant was kind and one of the nicest, most caring people I had ever met.Always down for a good time. Never caused issues.
“You look wired,” he said, cracking his own bottle. “Didn’t sleep?”
I shrugged, wiped my hands on my shorts. “Slept fine. Brain won’t shut up.”
“Cause of the doc?” Ivy asked, her tone light but direct. She leaned against the wall near the rack, arms crossed, watching me.
