“Hydrated, fed, and healing,” he said. “You’re welcome.”
I sipped.
It was actually good.
Drew’s gaze dropped to my leg while Tiffany guided me through another movement. His face changed subtly when I winced. Not panic. Not pity. Something tighter. Controlled.
“You hurting?” he asked.
“I’m fine.”
“No athlete says that and means anything but catastrophic denial.”
I froze.
Because Tristan had said almost the same thing once.
Same training room. Same injury. Same kind of concern.
But it felt different from Drew.
With Tristan, I had collected the attention like proof. See? He noticed. He cares. This means something.
With Drew, I did not have to make it mean something.
He was just there. Handing me terrible protein shakes and carrying my bag and watching my face like he cared whether I lied.
“Isa,” he said, voice lower.
Not Texas.
Not baby.
My throat tightened.
“I’m okay,” I said, softer this time.
He nodded once.
Not fully believing me.
Staying anyway.
Across the room, one of the cheer girls whispered something to the other and looked over. Drew followed my gaze, then leaned forward in his chair.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
I hated that he read me so fast.
Before I could stop him, he stood and moved close to the table. “Tiffany, she good for a break?”
Tiffany glanced at me, then at him, then back at my leg. “Two minutes.”
Drew held out a hand.
