I shouldn’t have been there.
But I was.
The second Matteo told me Riley had been called into an ethics review, I threw on a hoodie and left. Didn’t ask permission. Didn’t check with PR. I just went.
I couldn’t sit still—not while she was in that room, getting picked apart by a panel of suits who didn’t know the first damn thing about her or the work she’d done for me. They didn’t know how many nights she stayed late recalibrating my therapy routine. How many times she caught my missteps before they became reinjuries. Or how she held her own career together while mine threatened to fall apart.
She didn’t just fix my knee.
She held me together in silence.
And now she was the one being questioned.
I paced the hallway outside the review room, heart hammering, hands shaking, counting the steps I’d take if they walked her out in tears. What would I say? What could I possibly offer that would make any of this right?
The double doors loomed in front of me like a sentence waiting to be read.
Then they opened.
She stepped out—slow, controlled—but I saw it. The way her shoulders sagged for a split second. The way her lips trembled before setting back into that straight line.
“You didn’t have to come,” she said, surprised.
“Yes, I did,” I said, not even blinking. “My manager told me what was happening. I wasn’t about to sit at home while you fought for my name.”
Her eyes softened just slightly—just enough for me to see what it cost her to hold herself together in there.
Before I could say anything else, a voice I knew too well slithered into the hall.
“Well, well, well,” Javier Santos drawled. “So your job’s at stake now, Riley?”
She turned toward him, jaw locked. “Not anymore.”
He smirked, head tilting like he was assessing a new play. “Come on, let’s talk career options. You’ll need backup when this whole league turns on you.”
Her voice was cold. Controlled. “No, thank you.”
His smirk faltered. “What do you mean no? Didn’t they call you in to fire you?”
Before she could answer, I stepped in front of her. The urge was instinctive—fast, unthinking.
“She said no,” I said. “Try listening for once.”
Javier stepped closer. Too close.
“What are you now—her bodyguard? Or is this just your latest rehab fantasy?”
My fists clenched. My blood boiled. He didn’t know when to shut up.
“You want to run your mouth?” I said, stepping closer until we were eye to eye. “Do it somewhere else.”
We were a breath apart, heat building, tension about to snap. I didn’t care who saw. I didn’t care about headlines. The only thing I cared about was the way Riley was standing behind me, after everything she had just been through.
And then—
She shoved between us, hard.
“Enough!”
We both froze.
“You’re both acting like this is high school,” she snapped. Her voice was fire. Sharp. Tired. Real. “I’m not a prize. I’m a professional. So either grow up or get out of my way.”
And then she turned.
She walked down that hallway with her chin up, her spine straight, and her silence louder than either of us could ever be.
I stood there, fists still clenched, breath still uneven, as the weight of it all pressed in.
Not because she left the conversation.
But because I knew—I knew—if I didn’t stop being part of the problem, I was going to lose her all over again.