“Still not thirty-six.”
“I’ve got more scar tissue than cartilage,” I went on, ignoring him. “My shoulder wakes me up at night. My knees make popcorn noises when I sit. I’ve got rookies who call me sir, and not in the fun way.”
Cameron winced. “I hate everything about that sentence.”
I exhaled, jaw tight. “I used to walk on the pitch like I owned it. Now I run out of gas by minute seventy and feel like I need a nap and a new spine.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “You’re in better shape than half the league.”
“Doesn’t matter if my head’s already halfway out the door.”
“Then why the hell are you still here?” he snapped, and the edge in his voice startled even him. “Because I’ve got sponsors breathing down my neck and the league calling for mentorship programs, and I’ve been telling everyone that Kieren Walker is the heartbeat of this damn team.”
I looked at him.
“I’m not the heartbeat,” I said, low and steady. “I’m the expiration date.”
Cameron raked a hand through his hair, frustration radiating off him in waves.
“You don’t get to bail now,” he said. “Not like this. Not when we need you.”
“Who’s we?”
“The league. The team. The next generation of kids who grew up watching you keep us in matches we had no business surviving.”
That one landed, sharp and precise.
He kept going. “You think this crap with Daphne Sommers is the problem? It’s a gift, man. You’ve been on mute for years. Now people are listening again.”
I frowned. “Listening to what? A narrative?”
“To you, if you’d just say something worth hearing.”
The silence that followed wasn’t comfortable.
I glanced at the window. Outside, rookies were jogging drills, laughing like this wasn’t a job with an expiration date. Like it wasn’t one pulled hamstring away from vanishing.
“She gets under my skin,” I admitted quietly.
“Yeah,” Cameron said. “That’s what makes it interesting.”
I shook my head. “She doesn’t pull punches.”
“Neither do you. It’s almost romantic.”
I shot him a look.
He held up his hands. “Kidding. Mostly.”
I stood, rolling out my shoulder with a grimace. “I’ll do your little PR circus. Smile, sign some cleats, whatever.”
“You’ll talk to her?”
“No promises.”
“Walker—”
“I said I’ll try, Cam. That’s all I’ve got right now.”
