“Are you sleeping? Eating?” she asked, her tone twinged with worry.
“Yeah, I’ve been sleeping great.” It was the truth too. I’d spent every night with Sloane this week, wrapped around her and waking up more rested than I’d been in years. So I had no idea why I felt off.
Ivy marked the readings—BP elevated, resting heart rate up eight beats per minute from my baseline—and hadn’t said anything else. But I felt her attention on me more than normal.
Wednesday’s walk-through dragged. I felt every yard in my legs. My body didn’t want to fire. Routes I normally cut with precision were a step off. My breath ran shallow halfway through my reps. Quinn caught up with me near the sideline.
“You good, man?” he asked, passing me a towel. “You’ve been lagging all week.”
“Just focused,” I said. My voice came out rougher than I intended. I was fucking annoyed at myself. I was happy outside of the field, and yet my body’s reaction on the field was the opposite. I hadn’t felt this tired and off in years. “I refuse to lose to Denver.”
He narrowed his eyes but didn’t push. Jordan wasn’t subtle. “You either need more sleep or more sex,” he said under his breath as we ran warm-ups. “Get it figured out before we hit altitude. I’m not dragging your ass around Denver, and you are right, my man. If we lose to Fisher ‘Hook ‘em’ Jameson, my uncle will haunt my ass.”
Jordan had a feud with the starting QB at Denver for years, something about their family rivals, and usually I found it amusing, but I didn’t have the energy for it today. I forced a laugh and hit his shoulder pad, then shuffled off the field to sit down for a second. Just to catch my breath, slow my pulse. Ididn’t know what the hell was going on. I was the best I’d been in a while, happy even, so there was no fucking reason for my body to betray me like this. I rubbed my temples, willing my pulse to settle when the thought of a cold shower had me standing.
I didn’t make it two steps before Mac found me.
"Upstairs. Now."
He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t need to. Just gave me that look—the one that said this wasn’t optional. My stomach sank at the implications. My first thought was Sloane. Did they see us tease each other in the parking lot?
I knew better than to flirt with her, but I couldn’t stop myself. She’d never forgive me—fuck. My pulse raced again as I followed him to the admin suite, my cleats still on, turf sticking to my socks. The adrenaline from walk--through had drained out, replaced by a creeping weight in my chest.
Booth was already there, arms crossed, standing by the windows. Ivy sat in the corner, flipping through a report. And behind the desk—Sloane. Clipboard on her lap, tablet lit, mouth in a hard, flat line.
"Close the door," Mac said.
I did.
"Sit down," Booth ordered.
I dropped into the chair across from the desk, jaw tight. My shirt stuck to my back. I hadn’t had water since warm-ups, and with all their eyes on me, I felt under the microscope.
This was my worst fear. God. Would Sloane be in here if it was about her? Or was this something else?
"We’ve been monitoring your vitals all week," Ivy started. "Your BP’s high. HR taking longer to come down post-activity. You’ve been sluggish on drills."
"I’m fine," I said.
"No, you’re not," Sloane said, and it was the first time she looked directly at me. Her voice wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle.It was clinical. "You're red-zoning every session. That’s not something we can overlook."
"You all think I can’t handle Denver?" There was an edge to my voice, anger, betrayal. Rationally, I knew I was off, I’d felt it. I also knew they all were doing their damn jobs.
"Not without a workup," William said, appearing in the doorway. "No one’s saying you're benched. However, unless Sloane clears you by Saturday, you don't get on the field."
"This is ridiculous. I’ve been worse and played through it,” I said through clenched teeth.
"That’s exactly the problem," Mac snapped. "This isn't college. This isn't spring ball. We’re four weeks in, and if your heart rate spikes in the altitude, we’re not looking at cramps. We’re looking at risk. Real fucking risk, James.”
I clenched my fists on my thighs. My pulse roared in my ears. They were talking around me, like I was a problem to be solved.
Sloane stood, walked around the desk, and crouched beside me. "This isn’t a punishment. This is about protecting you and your future career, Oliver.”
I stared at the floor. My throat burned.
"I need a full cardiac workup," William said. "We'll run it today. Sloane will oversee your mental test. If anything flags, you sit. Nonnegotiable."
I nodded once. I didn’t trust myself to speak. I hated this. Hated being treated this way.
