Page 60 of Offside

The medical file would go from Reyes and Zoe to the specialist. The report would return to me and, with my authorization, to Marchetti and the club medical office. I read the scope twice before I signed it.

Declan sat three rows ahead beside Vicki. He'd put his headphones on but nothing was playing. I could see the empty progress bar when he turned toward the window.

I sent the signed form to Marchetti, copied Reyes and Zoe, and put the phone away.

At the airport, staff unloaded first. Declan lifted his bag from beneath the bus and stood while everybody formed the usual line around him. I waited until the equipment cases were moving toward the terminal before I came over.

"I signed the specialist release through Zoe and Reyes," I said. "The appointment's the first week of January, and I'll get the report after."

"Good."

He wouldn't ask to see the report. He'd removed himself from my care, even when the care became part of a decision that could keep me in Chicago.

I shifted my bag higher with my left hand. "Do you want company while you decide about Denver?"

He looked past me toward the terminal doors before answering.

"Not yet. I need to decide alone," he said.

"Okay," I said. The words hurt.

"That doesn't mean—"

"I heard you, Declan." I sighed. "You don't owe me more."

He watched me for another second. "Then we're clear. Thank you."

We walked into the terminal separately because our tickets put us in different security lines. Garrett fell into step beside me.

He had his coat unzipped and his passport between his teeth while he tried to close an outside pocket on his bag. I took the passport before he dropped it.

"Thanks for catching that before I lost it," he said.

"You know pockets work better when you don't stuff everything into them."

"I have a system that works—most of the time," he said.

"Your system's on the floor, which is a poor success rate," I pointed out.

He picked up a charging cable and shoved it into another pocket. We moved forward with the line.

"You fixed whatever happened with the agent?" he asked. "You look less likely to punch something."

"Why do you think the fight was with Marchetti?" I asked.

"You looked like you wanted to hit a wall last night."

"I didn't, though. That's what matters," I said.

"I noticed. So did Pryce," he said.

We reached the bins. Garrett put his bag down and looked at me.

"Stopping a force after it starts is harder than never having it," he said.

I thought about that. His wisdom could have been about the Detroit fight. It could have been about the letter I'd authorized, the call I'd made in the empty meal room, or the way I'd accepted Declan's words.

"Yeah." I sighed. "It is."