Not today, pal.
“In,” I said, jerking my head toward the physio room.
He sighed, caught out like a teenager sneaking in after curfew.
“Don’t pretend you’re not hurt.”
“It’s fine,” he said, shaking his head.
“It’s bloody not,” I snapped. “I saw it from the second set. You’re compensating, and if you don’t deal with it, you’ll tear something.”
He leant back against the wall, running a frustrated hand through his damp hair. The golden, sun lightened strands catching in the light. “It was the biggest match of my life, Orla. I wasn’t about to pull out because my leg twinged.”
“No one’s saying you should’ve pulled out. But stop treating pain like it’s weakness. It’s not. It’s your body asking for help.”
His jaw flexed with defiance. “I didn’t want to lose.”
“You didn’t,” I said softly, placing a hand on his broad shoulder. “Not really. You competed. Against one of the best in the world. And you nearly had him.”
His shoulders dropped just slightly, and he looked at me with a face that was suddenly, devastatingly lost.
“You’re not finished, Tyler. If you let me do my job, we can get you back to full strength. But you’ve got to stop trying to be the hero.”
His eyes found mine, staring deeper than necessary. Something raw flickered there, almost pleading. And for a heartbeat, I saw everything he hid under the swagger: the loneliness, the fear of not being enough. I felt the lump firm up in my throat at his glimmer of vulnerability. Deep down I had the aching feeling that this was the real Tyler.
His big, warm, calloused hand came down over mine on the treatment bed. His thumb brushed the sensitive skin on my inner wrist tenderly sending a pulse of heat straight through me. I didn’t pull back.
“You always talk like that,” he murmured. His voice was rougher now, the vibration of which felt in my whole body. “Like you believe in me more than I believe in myself.”
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.
Because I did believe in him. God help me, I did.
The physio room felt smaller suddenly, the air notching up a few degrees. His body crowded mine, close enough that I caught the remnants of sweat and salt on his skin. His gaze dropped, lingering on my mouth as though he was trying to memorise the shape of it and I swear I felt the oxygen leave the room.
My pulse thundered. My head screamed to stop but my heart didn’t listen.
I should’ve stepped back. I should’ve said something professional. But my weight tipped forward, just an inch, my body making a decision my brain hadn't authorised. His fingers tightened around my wrist. His chest brushed mine. My lips parted.
Time blurred, stretched thin between us. I could feel the heat of him, the throb of my own pulse, the dizzy ache of wanting something I knew I couldn’t have.
His thumb brushed the inside of my wrist again with a deliberate stroke. My body swayed instinctively toward him before my brain could scream stop. One more inch and I’d know how Tyler Reed kissed.
Suddenly, a sharp knock came at the door. Loud enough to snap us both out of it, to shatter whatever spell had pulled us under.
We both jumped apart like we’d been caught stealing, still breathless, hearts hammering. ??
“Tyler,” came his coach’s voice. “You decent? Press is waiting.”
He pulled back fast, dragging a palm down his face. “Yeah. Just finishing up.”
The heat vanished, leaving me cold and reeling. I straightened my shirt, my pulse still battering my veins.
“You’ll be okay,” I managed, forcing my tone back into something professional. “But only if you let me do my job.”
He nodded slowly, eyes still locked on me. “I will. Promise.”
When he was gone, I just stood there, staring at the door, my hands still trembling.
