The second I stepped into the therapy room, I knew she’d feel it too.
That shift. That stupid magnetic pull that never seemed to fade, no matter how many days we pretended to be just doctor and patient. Riley glanced up from the table like she hadn’t been waiting, like her clipboard was more interesting than me.
It wasn’t.
“You’re late again,” she said flatly, setting down a resistance band like she wanted to whip it at me.
I grinned, all charm. “I’m fashionably late. Something you wouldn’t understand.”
She arched a perfect eyebrow. “You know what I do understand? That you’re still recovering, and I’m the one keeping your career from collapsing.”
I stepped closer. Close enough to see the pulse jump in her neck. “Good thing you’re here, then. I’m terrible at taking care of myself.”
She backed up a fraction—not much, but enough. Enough to make me smirk.
“You make it sound like I’m your personal savior.”
“Oh, you’re more than that, Riley. You’re the drill sergeant of my dreams.”
She snorted. “Flattery doesn’t count as progress.”
“Damn. Then I’m in trouble.”
She shook her head, pulling out her phone. “I brought music today. Thought it might help.”
I squinted. “Music? What kind?”
“Coldplay,” she said, like it was some kind of offering.
I grimaced. “Riley. I expected more from you.”
She rolled her eyes. “And you still think EDM is a personality.”
“Hey, EDM is an experience. You feel it in your bones.”
“Yeah, right next to the migraine.”
I took the band from her, laughing. “You’re mean when you’re in charge.”
“And you’re worse when you’re not.”
The workout started, but neither of us was focused—not really. We bickered over the playlist more than we trained. I kept pretending to reach for her phone, mouthing terrible lyrics just to make her break. And she did. Every time. That laugh—the soft one she tried to hide—kept slipping out between sets. I lived for it.
But under the jokes, I was working. Harder than I should’ve. Every movement sharper. More control. More precision. More pressure. I wasn’t just trying to heal—I was trying to prove something.
To her. To myself. To the Premier League execs who hadn’t looked me in the eye since the injury.
When the session ended, I was wrecked. Not just sore—drained. My chest heaved, sweat slicked down my spine, but I couldn’t stop smiling. I’d nailed it. Felt it. For the first time in months, I felt like me again.
I stayed on the mat, half-laughing at something on my phone. Probably a meme from Matteo. I tugged the brace off my knee slowly, my muscles still trembling. And even through the ache, I felt high on it. Hope.
What I didn’t know was that behind the glass wall of her office, Riley was staring at an email that could tear it all apart.
***
I didn’t find out about the message from the board until days later. But that moment—when she came back out of the office that day—something about her had shifted.
She looked at me like she was bracing for a fight.
And I didn’t understand why.
Not until later that night, when Matteo called during cooldown.
“Word is, the board’s watching you,” he said. “Scouts too. They’re pushing to accelerate your clearance.”
“Already?” I asked, heart starting to race.
“Yeah. Rumor is, they want a redemption story. Media’s ready to spin the ‘comeback kid’ angle. You’re gold if you can walk without limping in front of a camera.”
I hung up without answering.
And suddenly, the way Riley had looked at me today made sense. The way her hands were gentler, her eyes sharper, the way she cut the session short even though I could’ve pushed harder.
She knew.
She knew they were trying to rush me. And she didn’t tell me.
I should’ve been angry. But I wasn’t. Because I knew what she was doing.
She was protecting me.
Not my image. Not my contract. Me.
The guy who got high off her laugh. The idiot who still reached for her phone just to hear her groan.
That night, I lay on my back in bed, knee elevated, music low, mind racing. She wasn’t just my PT anymore.
She was my line in the sand.
And I knew—without asking—that if the League wanted to break me again, they’d have to go through her.
And God help them if they tried.