Page 250 of Wild Card 13

I had promised myself no ambushes. No cornering. No using emotional urgency to push past the space she had asked for. But this was not that. This was an explanation.

Still, something in me hesitated.

I opened Naomi’s text instead.

Alive. Grandma fell. Hospital. Hairline ankle fracture. I missed coffee.

Naomi: I know.

How do you know?

Naomi: Because the woman who owns the dog noticed the missing pup cup

Before I could type out a response, a voice carried across the waiting room and went straight through me.

“Ty.”

Lucy stood near the entrance to the seating area in her emerald blazer and cream turtleneck, curls pinned back like she had done it quickly, glasses slipping a fraction down her nose. Her cheeks were flushed from cold or from moving fast. No coffee in her hands. No bag. No paperwork held like a shield.

For a second, I could not process her in hospital lighting. She belonged in so many rooms in my memory. Arenas. Classrooms. Betsy. Matt’s. My kitchen with firelight catching in her glasses and her hand buried in Dottie’s fur.

Not here, under fluorescent lights, between a vending machine and a woman coughing into her sleeve.

She came toward us anyway.

“Well,” Grandma said, brightening in a way that should have required medical clearance. “Apparently, the coffee’s working.”

Lucy’s mouth softened. “Hi, Grandma Ruth.”

“Do not look so worried. I am being held hostage by footwear.”

Lucy glanced at the boot, then back at my grandmother. “I heard you had a fall.”

“I had a disagreement with a rug.”

“The rug won,” Grandpa chuckled.

Grandma Ruth pointed at him. “Temporary victory.”

Lucy looked at my grandfather. “Hi, Mr. Burns.”

“Lucy.” He stood automatically, steady and quiet. “Good to see you.”

“You too,” she said.

I got to my feet because sitting while she stood felt impossible. Also because my body had apparently decided all major emotional processing required height. “What are you doing here?”

Lucy looked at me then. Her shoulders were straight. Her mouth composed. Her badge clipped neatly at her waist. Director of Player Operations, present because a player had missed practice and the schedule needed handling.

Except her eyes moved over my face first. Then she looked away like she had not meant to do it. “I heard you were at the hospital,” she breathed.

“I’m sorry about the coffee,” I said, because apparently that was what my heart chose to lead with when handed evidence that LucyThomas had left the arena and come here with no practical cover at all.

Her eyes came back to mine. “Ty.”

“I know. Grandma fell. It was the right call. I know that.” I dragged a hand through my hair, then dropped it because I was too close to spiraling in public. “I just said I’d see you tomorrow, and then I didn’t.”

“You were where you were supposed to be,” she said.