She was pacing again. Five steps left, five steps right. Fixing her collar. Wiping her palms on her thighs like it made a difference. I could feel the panic rolling off her, thick enough to drown in.
“You’re pacing,” I said, trying to break the spiral.
“Thanks for the update, Captain Obvious,” she muttered without looking at me.
I reached out, caught her hand, and gently tugged her to a stop. “Hey. Look at me.”
She did, finally, eyes wide and frantic. She was trying to hold it together, but I could see it in every twitch of her fingers. Riley Morgan, the strongest person I knew, was rattled.
“You’ve got this,” I said, squeezing her hand. “You’ve done the work. You lived it. And I’m here. I’ve got your back, Riles.”
Her breath hitched, like I’d cracked open her chest just by saying her name. “What if they ask about the ethics policy? Or say I overstepped?”
“Then you tell them the truth.” My voice was steady, even if my ribs ached and my wrist was wrapped like a damn mummy. “You saved my career. Maybe even my life. Let them argue with facts.”
Zara showed up then, sharp and composed as always. She looped her arm through Riley’s like a lifeline and whispered, “You’re not doing this alone. And if any of them try you? I’ve already drafted three press angles and a soft threat.”
Riley cracked a smile. “God, I love you.”
“I know.” Zara winked.
And then the door opened.
The room we walked into was glass and frost. A dozen suits and zero warmth. Executives with poker faces. PR reps like vultures. A league physician who looked bored already. One guy from the international sports board—his pin said Zurich, his face said judgment.
I walked beside her and could feel the way the room shifted. They saw me, injuries and all, and I could practically hear the gears turning in their heads.
She took her place at the front. I stood behind her to the right, close but not hovering. Her fingers shook slightly as she adjusted the laptop. Zara took her seat like she owned the room.
Then Riley spoke—and just like that, the room belonged to her.
“My name is Riley Morgan. I’m a licensed physical therapist and researcher affiliated with the NeuroSport Institute…”
Slide click. My image on the screen.
“This is Lucas Rivera. My subject. My patient. My proof.”
The words shouldn’t have hit me the way they did, but I swear I almost forgot the pain in my leg. I was her proof. Damn right I was.
A woman on the board, all silver and sharp, leaned forward. “Weren’t you doing your research program in London, Dr. Morgan?”
“I was,” Riley answered, clear as crystal. “But I chose to come back. There is no research without Mr. Rivera.”
That silence after she said it? It was the kind you feel in your spine. Like the whole room held its breath.
And then some smug prick leaned in and decided to open his mouth. “Is that so? Or is it because he’s your high school sweetheart?”
I wanted to punch him. Or at least dislocate a finger.
“I like to keep my personal life separate from my work, please,” Riley said, voice tight.
Before the board could say anything else, the door slammed open and hell walked in wearing a tailored suit.
Javier.
I tensed immediately, every muscle in my body going stiff.
“What are you doing here, Santos?” I asked, my jaw locked.
He smirked like this was all some inside joke. “Heard the news. Thought I’d see what all the fuss was about. And honestly, you’re making a huge mistake, Dr. Morgan.”
Riley’s voice cut like a blade. “Maybe you should mind your own business, Javier.”
He ignored her and zeroed in on me. “Or is Lucas forcing you to stay here? Because it sure looks like you’re trapped.”
I saw red. But Riley didn’t flinch.
“I’m here because I chose to be,” she said, eyes blazing. “No one’s forcing me.”
That shut him up—momentarily.
The board murmured again. The woman in glasses raised her hand, and the room quieted.
“Dr. Morgan,” she said carefully, “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.”
The wave of relief that hit me? I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like it. I watched Riley squeeze Zara’s hand, eyes shining with disbelief.
Javier, on the other hand, looked like a storm cloud ready to explode.
“This is ridiculous,” he snapped.
“Enough, Javier,” I said, stepping forward, pain be damned.
He didn’t say another word. Just turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the glass.
I looked at Riley then—really looked at her.
She’d fought for me. Again. Not just in a clinic. But here. In front of everyone.
And I couldn’t help but think, this woman… she doesn’t just save bodies. She saves futures.
Mine, most of all.