Riley
I adjusted the collar of my blouse for the fifth time in two minutes. My palms were slick, my knees locked. I could feel every breath like it was scraping its way up my throat.
“You’re pacing,” Lucas said from the bench behind me.
“Thanks for the update, Captain Obvious,” I muttered.
He reached out and caught my hand, tugging me to a stop. “Hey. Look at me.”
I did, reluctantly. His face was calm—too calm for someone about to stand in front of a dozen intimidating executives and a PR team with sharp teeth. His knee was still bandaged, his hoodie slouchy over his casted wrist, but somehow he looked more stable than I felt.
“You’ve got this,” he said, squeezing my fingers. “You’ve done the work. You lived it. And I’m here. I’ve got your back, Riles.”
My chest cracked a little. I inhaled shakily. “What if they ask about the ethics policy? Or say I overstepped?”
“Then you tell them the truth,” he said simply. “You saved my career. Maybe even my life. Let them argue with facts.”
Zara appeared beside us, stylish and composed, and looped her arm through mine. “You’re not doing this alone,” she whispered. “And if any of them try you? I’ve already drafted three press angles and a soft threat.”
I cracked a nervous smile. “God, I love you.”
She winked. “I know.”
We were called in then—into a room that felt like ice.
The board sat in their glassy kingdom, staring down from their leather chairs like they’d never been questioned in their lives. A few marketing heads. A physician from the league’s ethics panel. One rep from the international sports committee.
Lucas walked beside me, calm as ever, and I swore I could hear the hush fall over the room when he entered. Still injured. Still walking tall. The silent proof of everything I was about to say.
I took my place at the head of the conference table. Lucas stood just behind me to the right, his manager leaning against the wall. Zara took her seat with poise, phone in hand like a weapon.
My heart pounded in my ears, but I began.
“My name is Riley Morgan. I’m a licensed physical therapist and researcher affiliated with the NeuroSport Institute. Over the last year, I’ve been conducting a case study focused on post-injury neurological response and adaptive training among elite athletes.”
I clicked to the first slide. Lucas’s silhouette lit up the screen behind me.
“This is Lucas Rivera. My subject. My patient. My proof.”
A few heads tilted. A few pens started scribbling. One of the execs leaned forward, narrowing his eyes.
One of the board members, a woman with silver hair and sharp glasses, cleared her throat and looked at me. “Weren’t you doing your research program in London, Dr. Morgan?”
I nodded, steadying my voice. “I was. But I chose to come back. There is no research without Mr. Rivera.”
A murmur ran through the room.
Another board member, a tall man with a skeptical look, leaned forward. “Is that so? Or is it because he’s your high school sweetheart?”
My throat tightened. I swallowed hard. “I like to keep my personal life separate from my work, please.”
Before anyone could respond, a new voice cut through the tension. “But it does interfere.”
Javier Santos had entered the room with a crash, slamming the door behind him. All eyes swung toward him. He stood tall, smug, hands in his pockets.
“What are you doing here, Santos?” Lucas growled, jaw clenched.
Javier smirked. “I heard the news. Thought I’d see what all the fuss was about. And honestly, you’re making a huge mistake, Dr. Morgan.”
I felt my blood boil. “Maybe you should mind your own business, Javier.”
Javier raised an eyebrow, voice low and pointed. “Or is Lucas forcing you to stay here? Because it sure looks like you’re trapped.”
I stared him down. “I’m here because I chose to be. No one’s forcing me.”
The board exchanged looks, whispering quietly.
Finally, the woman with the glasses spoke. “Dr. Morgan, given Mr. Rivera’s current condition and the unique understanding you have of his recovery, we have decided to reinstate you as his physical therapist.”
A wave of relief washed over me. I squeezed Zara’s hand.
Javier’s face darkened. He took a step forward, eyes blazing.
“This is ridiculous,” he snapped. “You’re making a mistake.”
Lucas’s eyes narrowed. “Enough, Javier.”
Without another word, Javier spun on his heel and stormed out, the door slamming behind him.