Page 110 of The Backup Plan

“Grant is aware. He said it’ll be quick and wants me to let Buckman know you’ll be back in ten.” He smiles apologetically. “He’s waiting in his office.”

Great. Why does this unexpected summons have me so nervous?

The walk to Grant Walker’s office feels longer than usual. Probably because I have a guilty conscience. He stands when I enter and motions to the chair across from his desk.

“Have a seat,” he says, following suit, as I fold my hands carefully in my lap, a million thoughts racing through my head.

“So,” he says, leaning back. “I thought it would be a good time to check in with you and see how you’re liking it here so far with the Rebels.”

Relief flickers—brief but cautious. “I’m enjoying it. I feel like I’m still getting my feet beneath me if I’m honest. Not with treating the athletes per se but more getting a feel for the whole system, the dynamics and personality of each moving piece. But the more I do, the better I can assess the best possible ways on how to improve the program.”

“Which was one of the reasons you were brought on board.”

“Yes.”

He nods. “I’ve noticed you’ve been spending a lot of time with Lucas.”

My heart stutters.

“Yes.” I nod. “Just as with all the athletes under my care, I believe trust needs to be built between the doctor and the patient. As you know, Coach and Owen gave me direct instruction to prioritize Hale and his rehabilitation so they can make decisions before the final roster is needed, and so I’m doing just that.”

Grant studies me for a beat longer than necessary before giving a very even, “Very well.” He glances at the folder on his desk. “What is the time frame for updated scans on his shoulder?”

“Protocol has us spacing the imaging out every two weeks at a minimum unless there’s an expected reinjury. Theory is we need time to see how the soft tissue responds under load before imaging again. Otherwise, we’re just chasing noise and not data.”

A corner of his mouth lifts. “Noted. I look forward to hearing what his next scans show.” He flips open the folder, looks at what’s inside of it before saying, “Security flagged footage from the facility after the last game.”

The room tilts. Game night. Our first kiss outside in the parking lot. Lucas told me there were no cameras, and I took him at his word.

Did I just doom myself by doing that?

My pulse spikes hard enough to make my ears ring. “Yes. The flat tire prolonged the evening, but I stayed late that night to finish both progression paperwork and my contemporaneous memos regarding each player. It was the first time I was able to observe the organization work together as a whole, and so I wanted to write it all down while it was still fresh in my mind.”

My palms are sweating and I casually try to run them on the thighs of my pants to dry them. It doesn’t work.

Grant glances down at them and then meets my eyes. “Relax. What they flagged wasn’t a concern,” he says as I exhale—barely. “In fact, I said it more because I wanted you to know that your dedication hasn’t gone unnoticed. Late hours. Extra care. Consistency. Opinions offered when you feel they’re needed. That kind of commitment matters—especially during a probationary period.”

My chest tightens but this time it’s with something dangerously close to pride.

“Thank you,” I say.

“It’s been noted by everyone who has a say.”

“The late hours aren’t being done because of the probationary period. That’s just how I work.”

“Good to know.” He steeples his fingers. “If you don’t mind, are you willing to give any preliminary observations of the medical end of the program so far?”

The question grounds me. Anchors me. And as I start talking about protocols, prevention, and the long game, the tension slowly leaves my shoulders.

I don’t notice how close I came to thinking I’d ruined everything.

All I know is that something is shifting.

I feel like I’m finally stepping up to the plate.

Or maybe I should say to the line of scrimmage.

Lucas