The words hang between us, heavier than I intended. Olivia shifts, and for a moment, I think she’s going to say something profound, something that’ll either break this tension or make it worse.
Instead, she clears her throat. “I need you to review the talking points for tomorrow’s radio interview.”
Back to business. Always back to business with her.
“Now?”
“It’ll take five minutes.”
I gesture toward the stadium. “My office?”
She hesitates, just for a beat, then nods. “Lead the way.”
The stadium’s nearly empty as we walk through the corridors. Our footsteps echo against concrete walls covered in team photos and championship banners. Olivia’s heels click a steady rhythm beside my cleats.
“You ever think about what comes next?” she asks suddenly.
“After football?”
“Yeah.”
I push open the door to my office, really more of a glorified closet with a desk and a couch. “Every single day.”
Olivia steps inside, and I follow, leaving the door open. Professional. Safe. But as she sets her tablet on the desk and turns to face me, the space feels impossibly small.
“And?” she prompts.
“And I have no idea.” I drop my helmet on the couch and lean against the desk. “Football’s all I’ve ever known. My dad played. His dad played. I was throwing a ball before I could walk. Everything I am, everything I’ve built… it’s all tied to this.”
“That’s not true.”
I look at her, surprised. “What?”
“Everything you are isn’t just football, Carter.” Her voice is softer now, the professional edge gone. “I’ve watched you with those kids at the hospital. I’ve seen you mentor the youngerplayers. The way you lead, the way you care that’s not about the game. That’s just you.”
Something in my chest tightens. “Olivia—”
“I know.” She holds up a hand, stopping me. “Professional boundaries. I’m just saying… you’ll be fine. Whatever comes next.”
“Will I?”
“Yes.”
The certainty in her voice does something to me. Makes me want to believe her. Makes me want to close the distance between us and—
Thunder rumbles outside, low and threatening. Olivia glances toward the window.
“Storm’s coming,” I say.
“Fitting.”
I laugh, and she does too, and just like that, some of the tension breaks. She picks up her tablet. “Okay, talking points. The interview’s at nine tomorrow, so—”
The lights flicker once. Twice.
Then go out completely.
Darkness swallows the room, broken only by the faint glow of emergency exit signs in the hallway and her tablet.
