Page 102 of Only Ever You

It was the same for me.

The crack in my heart, the one I’ve suffered through for three long years, stitches itself together just a little.

Silence stretches between us, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s heavy and loaded with emotions and unspoken words, but it’s nothing bad.

“I should go,” she finally says, taking a step back. “You need rest.”

“Will you…” I stop myself before I can finish the sentence and swallow back the words. I don’t want her to think I’m pushy.

She hesitates at the door, eyes searching mine. “We’ll talk. Just…not tonight.”

“Okay.”

“Get better.” She gives me a small smile, and then she’s gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

we can’t get out

MICHAEL

Nineteen years old

Dad stands near the window, arms crossed over his chest. His expression is unreadable as Pablo goes on.

“Let’s be clear,” my agent says through the speaker, “the Phantoms are not happy.”

Dad exhales slowly. The sound is loaded with tension, making my body go rigid.

“It’s not about the injury alone. I need you to understand that,” Pablo continues. “It’s about judgment. Risk. You’re an investment, not just a kid with potential.”

I clench my jaw, my neck and face heating. “I wasn’t racing. I wasn’t drunk. It was an accident.”

“Accidents don’t look good on reports either,” he cuts in. “Especially this early.”

Silence stretches. I look at Dad, at a loss.

“Also, after an accident like this, teams usually add a clause to the contract. No activities that pose an undue risk—motorcycles included,” Pablo says.

Dad nods. “Yeah, I’ve seen it happen before.”

“Michael cannot continue riding a bike,” Pablo continues. “Absolutely not. I’ve been told they’re going to add this clause into your ELC.”

My gut sinks. Riding a bike has been the only stress relief I’ve found in years. It’s helped me clear my head like nothing else ever has, and it’s the most effective way to get rid of my anxiety. No way can I give it up.

“That’s extreme,” I tell them.

“No,” Pablo drawls, “that’s professional sports.”

My dad doesn’t join in, but the serious look he gives me tells me he agrees.

“They’re watching you. Everything you do. Everything you don’t do. If you want to move forward, you need to prove you’re worth the risk.”

My chest tightens, and it has nothing to do with my cracked rib.

“Focus on recovery,” he finishes. “Stay safe. Stay smart. Don’t give them any reason to doubt you. And when you’re back on the ice, prove to them they didn’t make a mistake by signing you. There’s more attention on you than you realize.”

Without a goodbye, he disconnects the call.