“Right.”
I leaned back, my eyes bouncing between hers, wondering if she was baiting me here and glad that Micah had stepped out so she didn’t witness my impending dressing down from Teddy. “We adjust based on recovery and what the squad needs. It works.”
“Of course.”
Irritation simmered under my skin at her placating responses. “Come on then, tell me your schedule.”
“We’re Monday to Friday. Gym from 0600 to 0800. Pitch sessions at 0900. Video blocks locked at 1300. Contact work Tuesday and Thursday. Recovery gym on Wednesdays, low impact or yoga only. And our pre-hab slots are set by the med team, non-negotiable.”
“You’re joking,” I gaped. “You guys train five days straight?”
“Welcome to professional sports, O’Riley.”
I let out a low laugh. “Right. Because the rest of us are just winging it.”
“Some of you are,” she said calmly, without looking up.
My jaw ticked at that. “Rest days exist for a reason.”
“They do,” she replied evenly. “We just build a smarter system around them. We rest within a gentle regime.”
Before I snapped back, the door creaked open, and Micah ducked in, her blonde and brown braid swinging over her shoulder as she brought in a tray of protein shakes and dropped it on the side table.
“Peace offering,” she said, glancing between us. “You both okay?”
“Fine,” Teddy muttered.
“I’ll keep the defibrillator on standby,” Micah grinned, then looked at me. “Play nice, golden boy.”
“I’m charming as hell,” I shot back.
“Sure. That’s what they all say.” With a wink, she slipped back out.
“Alright,” I huffed, glancing at my notes. The difference between us was stark, and it left a sour taste in my mouth. I hated feeling underprepared, and this whole day started on the back foot. I wasn’t used to that with Teddy; in college, we were often even keeled.
I could pretend it was the quake that made me look underprepared, but it was probably more than that. “So where does that leave us for gym use? Can I see your setup? Maybe there’s room for a crossover.”
She sighed, lips pressing into a thin line straight after. For a second, I thought she was going to say no just to make a point. Instead, she turned the screen of her tablet toward me. Blue blocks. Rows and rows of them. Timed down to the minute. Warm-ups, lifts, cooldowns, recovery access, rotation groups. It looked like a training matrix designed by NASA.
I let out a harsh breath. “Jaysus.”
She shrugged. “We have sixty minutes of active gym per session. That includes movement prep, post-lift recovery protocols, and rotation through equipment stations. If we don’t plan it down to the wire, someone’s standing around wasting time. Or worse—doing something wrong.”
I scanned the screen again. “I thought you said your gym time is two hours? Didn’t you say 0600 to 0800 like a drill sergeant?”
Her eyes fluttered with a little roll. Apparently, I was really good at asking stupid questions. “The second hour is PT for us too. We rotate out but keep loose with equipment while we’re assessed, it rarely runs over.”
“Our schedules aren’t that different. Maybe we should just align everything.”
She tapped the screen once, ready to add another event. “And have my team ogled by yours? No. We can alternate.”
A flicker of frustration burned, because she wasn’t wrong; some of the lads could be idiots. But I wouldn’t let that be the standard. “They’re professional athletes, Teddy. And if any of them forget that, I’ll remind them. Your team deserves the same respect as mine does.”
Her head lifted and those cool blue eyes assessed me, narrowing as she mulled over my words. “Forgive me if I don’t trust your team to be the exception here. But if you keep them in line, then we should be able to work this out.”
I deflated a little at that. Respect from Teddy felt like a huge step in the right direction, but I already knew that we’d have to earn that from her and her squad.
“So when you’re in gym, we’re on pitch?”
