Page 85 of Uncoachable

Scottie and Dean arrive ten minutes later like a whirlwind. They are fussing, assessing, and moving at a speed that makes my head spin. Scottie presses the back of her hand to Iveline’s forehead and swears under her breath.

“She’s a furnace, Dean. A literal furnace.”

Dean exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw as he looks at Ivy. “She didn’t look this bad on the phone earlier.”

“She didn’t sound this bad either,” Scottie snaps, already heading for the kitchenette. “Because she lies. Constantly. About everything involving her own well being.”

Scottie’s voice fills the small room with purpose rather than panic.

It is the sound of someone who knows exactly what to do when things go wrong.

“I’m right here,” Iveline mumbles from the bed.

“Barely,” Scottie fires back without looking up.

Scottie straightens, already in motion again, rifling through drawers like she’s preparing for battlefield triage. Dean hovers behind her, hands on his hips, scanning the room like he’s trying to identify every possible threat to Iveline.

“Alright,” Scottie declares, grabbing her coat. “We need supplies. Real supplies. Not whatever expired ibuprofen she probably has shoved in a drawer somewhere.”

Dean nods once, decisive. “Pharmacy run. Hydration, electrolytes, fever reducers, soup, the works.”

Ivy groans weakly. “I don’t need—”

“You need all of it,” Scottie cuts in, already marching toward the door. “And maybe a priest.”

Dean squeezes Ivy’s ankle gently as he passes. “We’ll be back in twenty. Don’t move. Don’t argue. Don’t try to run practice from the bed.”

They’re gone a moment later. The room feels strangely quiet without their whirlwind energy, leaving Ivy blinking at the ceiling like she’s not entirely sure what just happened.

I sit down on the edge of the bed, feeling the weight of the room. She shifts slightly, her eyes half-open, studying me like she is trying to remember exactly why I am sitting in her apartment.

“You didn’t have to stay,” she murmurs.

“I know.”

“So why did you?”

Because you scared the hell out of me. Because you never let anyone take care of you. Because I didn’t want you waking up alone.

“You looked like you’d fall over if someone breathed too hard in your direction,” I say instead, trying to keep my tone light.

She huffs a weak laugh. “I’m very sturdy, Callahan.”

“You’re very stubborn. There is a difference.”

That earns me another soft laugh. She closes her eyes again, letting her voice drift, becoming quieter and more melodic. “You’re different when you’re not being… you.”

I blink, confused. “What does that even mean?”

She shifts under the covers, pulling the wool blanket closer to her chin. “Loud. Cocky. Annoying. The guy who thinks he owns the ice.”

“Wow. Thanks for the glowing review, Coach.”

“But…” Her voice trails off, then returns, even softer than before. “You’re gentle. When it matters. You have a way of making people feel… safe.”

My chest tightens so much it actually hurts. “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my reputation.”

She smiles—a small, sleepy, genuine smile. “Your secret is safe with me.”