I wakeup before my alarm.
The sky outside my window is still pale, the city quiet in that fragile space between night and morning. For a moment, I lie there staring at the ceiling, Susan’s words replaying in my head.
Be prepared for a fight.
I roll out of bed and move through my routine on autopilot. Shower, coffee, hair pulled back into a low bun. I choose my clothes carefully. Professional. Neutral. Nothing that invites distraction. I’m not here to be soft. I’m here to do my job.
Still, my hands shake slightly as I button my blouse.
At the stadium, Susan is already in her office when I arrive, glasses perched on her nose, a mug steaming beside her laptop.
“Morning,” she says, looking up. “You okay?”
“I will be,” I answer honestly.
She studies me for a beat, then nods. “Good. He hasn’t slept. Kamden texted me around three a.m. They closed down a bar.”
Damn.
“He won’t want to talk,” Susan continues. “He’ll deflect. Joke. Get angry. He may even walk out.”
“I know,” I say quietly.
“And Amelia,” she adds, her voice gentler now, “this isn’t about fixing him. It’s about letting him be heard, even if he refuses at first.”
I take a breath. “Understood.”
A knock sounds at the door.
Susan straightens. “That’ll be him.”
The door opens before either of us can speak.
Wilder Calloway fills the doorway.
He looks different.
No smirk. No swagger. Dark circles under his eyes. His shoulders are tense, jaw clenched like he’s holding himself together by sheer force of will. He hasn’t shaved. His Rebels hoodie hangs loose on his frame, like he didn’t bother thinking about what he threw on.
His eyes flick to Susan, then land on me.
Something shifts.
“Doc,” he mutters.
Susan stands. “Wilder. Thank you for coming in.”
“Didn’t really have a choice,” he says flatly.
She doesn’t react to it. “I’m going to step out. Amelia will sit with you.”
He frowns. “What?”
“I trust her,” Susan says simply. “And I’ll be right outside.”
She gives me a steady, encouraging look before slipping out and closing the door behind her.
The room goes quiet.
