“Hey,” I said quietly. “Look at me.”
Her gaze flickered, unfocused, then found mine again.
“This isn’t that,” I told her. “Not right now.”
She shook her head, small and exhausted. “It’s all the same.”
“No,” I said, steady enough that it cut through her spiral. “This moment isn’t about what might happen months from now. It’s about you falling apart because your dad is missing, and me being right here while it hurts.”
Her breath hitched on a cry.
“You don’t have to be brave right now. I’ve got you.”
She stared at me like she wanted to believe me and didn’t quite know how.
“I’m not going anywhere.” I brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, lingering on her skin, threading my fingers behind her ear and into her braid. “I’m here.”
Something in her gave way again. She leaned back into me, her grip tightening, her face pressing into my neck like she needed the proof of it.
I wrapped myself around her, holding her close, letting her cling as much as she needed to.
We could talk about Ireland another day.
We could talk about everything another day.
Right now, all that mattered was keeping her upright while the ground under her shifted.
***
It took a minute to convince her to lift her head, to let me peel the soaked jersey over her arms and her shorts away, leaving her in just her underwear and sports bra. She watched my hands like she needed to know exactly what they were doing, where they were going, as if control mattered again, now that everything else had slipped. I understood it, and I made slower moves.
I turned the water warmer and guided her back under the stream, one hand steady at her waist before I worked shampoo into her hair. She sagged into the touch, eyes shut, head tipping back while I rinsed it out, careful not to rush, careful not to crowd her. Her breathing stalled a few times, but she didn’t pull away.
When I shut the water off, she reached for a towel and wrapped it around herself with shaking hands. I found another one and pressed it into her hair, rubbing gently.
“Stay here,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “I’m going to grab you something dry.”
She nodded, but it was weak.
“I’ll be right back,” I added, because it felt important to say.
She didn’t move when I stepped out of the stall. Just stayed where I’d left her, wrapped in the towel, head bowed like the effort of standing was already enough.
The sight stirred a memory. When my grandad died, the world had tilted overnight. Familiar things were suddenly unreliable, routines stripped of their meaning. It had been devastating, but it had also been final. There were answers, however brutal they were.
This was different.
Teddy wasn’t grieving something that had ended. She was suspended inside not knowing, and that was somehow worse, more prolonged pain. And where I’d been carried through the worst of it by my family who refused to let me disappear into myself, Teddy was standing here alone.
I wasn’t leaving her like this.
The locker room was still empty, but still, I moved fast, grabbing a clean Valkyries training top from the locker with her name on it, a pair of sweats, and socks. Then I looked in the storage closet I knew was in here, housing some of our extra training kit too, and quickly changed my wet clothes into dry.
When I came back, she was still there.
I helped her remove the wet underwear and dress without comment, without making it into anything more than it was. She leaned into me while I tugged the shirt over her head, steadied herself on my shoulder while she stepped into the sweats. When it was done, she rested her forehead against my chest and stayed there.
“You good to walk?” I asked.
