Reid doesn’t answer. He just lifts the box out of my arms like it weighs nothing, then slides his other hand around my back.
“You’re carrying our daughter. I can carry a fucking box.”
I suck in a breath, and my eyes burn again, but I don’t cry. He clocks it immediately, of course, and the hand on my back flexes instinctively as he leans in and murmurs quietly, just for me.
“I got you, Havoc.”
Then he turns slightly, just enough to catch both Moreno and Jenny in his periphery.
“And I hope the inquiry moves fast,” he says flatly. “Because if this clinic’s stupid enough to push her out from gossip at the front desk, the rest of the league’s gonna hear about it.”
Jenny’s smile tightens, but instead of backing down, she leans into it.
“This isn’t gossip,” she says, her voice cool and carrying just enough to make it clear she doesn’t intend to be intimidated.“It’s optics. When a resident becomes personally involved with a high-profile professional athlete, people are going to question motivations. That’s not malicious, it’s just reality.”
My stomach drops, and Moreno shifts beside her. “Jenny—”
She ignores him.
“We have donors who expect discretion. Sponsors who expect professionalism. And when boundaries blur with elite players, it can look…” She tilts her head slightly, faux-thoughtful. “Opportunistic.”
The word lands between us, and I feel it everywhere. In my spine. In my throat. In the way my hands tighten around the strap of my bag.
Opportunistic. Like I calculated this and I targeted him. As if this baby is leverage instead of love.
Reid goes very still beside me. The kind of stillness that pulls oxygen from a room.
He turns fully now, and for the first time since he walked in, he isn’t looking at me. He’s looking directly at Jenny.
“You wanna talk about optics?” he says quietly. “Let’s talk about how it looks when a brilliant surgeon is being questioned by someone who answers phones and speculates for sport.”
Jenny’s chin lifts. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Moreno steps forward. “Mr Hutchison, that’s unnecessary—”
“No,” Reid cuts in, not raising his voice. “What’s unnecessary is you letting her stand there and imply that Carina built her career on proximity to men with contracts.”
Jenny flushes faintly.
“I’m implying nothing,” she says sharply. “But high-profile athletes do attract attention, and sometimes people align themselves accordingly.”
There it is again, the insinuation.
Reid steps closer, not invading her space, but close enough that she has to tilt her head up to meet his eyes.
“Let’s be very clear,” he says quietly, eyes holding hers. “You can question the timeline. You can review the charts and protect your precious optics.”
Jenny opens her mouth. “I—”
“But no one—no one—gets to speak about the mother of my child like she built her career on anything less than integrity.”
Reid holds her gaze for another beat, before his eyes dart to Moreno’s.
“And I’d think very carefully about how your staff phrase things going forward,” he adds. “Because if this turns into anything beyond a procedural review, I won’t be the only one asking questions.”
Silence swallows the reception area, and Jenny doesn’t try to fill it. Moreno inhales carefully, and even he looks unsettled now.
