Page 131 of The Backup Plan

Please, no.

He blinks, eyes narrowing. “They’re definitely his. He was the only patient on that machine today.”

Panic flutters in my chest. First, it’s a flicker and then it’s a full-blown crushing sensation. “Can you double-check the athlete ID? Make sure it matches the team charts?”

Clark moves toward my desk, and I angle the screen toward him so he can click through slides.

“Lucas D. Hale. Date of birth matches. Time stamp matches.” He navigates back to the scans. “That is most definitely him.”

I stare harder at them like that might change the reality staring back at me.

“You’re positive?” I reiterate.

“Yes.”

Shit.

I blink back tears and force a smile on my lips. “Thanks. Appreciate it. I’ve got it from here,” I say, each word feeling like lead.

I wait for him to leave, for the door to click behind him, and then I review the scans again.

My first impression stands. There’s structural degeneration, clear evidence of stress markers, and progressive damage that shouldn’t be accelerating like this.

Panic clouds my ability to think, so I click over to Albert’s notes in the portal to verify that I’m not reading these wrong. I will them to be wrong.

Nope.

Not wrong.

His notes say the same fucking thing.

I drop my head in my hands as the weight of what this means hits me squarely in the gut.

This isn’t irritation.

This isn’t stiffness.

This isn’t something that can be managed by getting hit less on the field or correcting mechanics on how he throws.

This is his shoulder breaking down under continued load.

Continuing to play risks permanent damage.

I press my lips together and draw a breath in carefully, because right now, it feels like I’m going to shatter.

“Football isn’t just what I do. It’s the place where I’m most myself. Where right and wrong comes with immediate—and sometimes bruising—feedback. It’s where everything has always made the most sense.”

And if that’s how I feel just seeing them, I can’t imagine how he’s going to feel hearing what they mean.

I know what I have to do, but I don’t pick up the phone. I don’t move my feet to leave. I just sit there as time clicks away and prepare myself for what I have to do next.

I’ve never wanted to be wrong more in my life.

Emery

My fist hovers inches from Lucas’s door, ready to knock, but I can’t do it.

I can’t knowingly make his world crash around him.