His Best Friend Was My First Love

"Your access logs are clean," Dr. Shah said, sliding a printed report across the conference table. "Compliance froze the relevant audit trail at 6:12 last night. No protected data left your account."

The room had no windows, only a wall-mounted monitor and a red light showing that the security camera was recording. A compliance attorney sat beside Priya with my signed statement open on his laptop.

"I should step away from Jace's case," I said. "At least until the review closes."

Priya set down her pen. "You reported an attempted breach before one occurred. That is what we train staff to do. We do not punish the person who followed protocol."

The attorney nodded. "For now, you remain assigned. Every Jace-related communication goes through the encrypted team system. No personal texting, no off-platform scheduling, and no undocumented treatment changes. Any external contact from Apex Agency gets forwarded to us."

"Understood."

My phone vibrated in the evidence bag beside me. Ethan had called twelve times since midnight.

After the meeting, compliance returned my personal phone. The newest message read, "You turned a relationship argument into a corporate investigation. Are you out of your mind?"

A year earlier, Ethan had asked me whether a rookie on another team really had a torn ACL. I had told him never to ask me for private medical information again. He apologized then, convincingly enough that I had treated it as one ugly mistake.

Now the pattern was obvious. He had not respected the boundary. He had simply waited for more valuable information.

I typed one reply: "Leave my remaining boxes with the building manager. Do not contact me again."

Then I blocked him.

Before I left the administrative wing, team IT rotated my portal credentials and checked every device attached to my account. Ethan had known the password to our home Wi-Fi and had used my personal laptop to print travel documents before, so I disclosed that too. The technician verified that the Sentinels' clinical system had never been installed on that laptop and required a hardware security key Ethan had never touched.

"Change your personal passwords anyway," the compliance attorney said. "And if he has keys to the apartment, do not go back alone."

The team arranged three nights in a partner hotel while I dealt with the lease. Accepting the room bothered me until the attorney made me sign the same emergency-housing form used for any staff member facing a security issue. It was not a favor. It was procedure, documented and temporary. That distinction mattered more than it should have.

On the rehab floor, Jace was already balancing on a wobble board when I arrived. He kept both hands away from the support rail, jaw set as he held the position.

"Team legal called me before breakfast," he said. "Someone tried to get my return timeline. They said my medical file wasn't compromised."

He didn't ask who. That mattered more than I wanted it to.

"Your plan stays the same," I said. "But my notes will be dual-reviewed until compliance closes the issue."

"Do I need another therapist?"

"Not unless Dr. Shah says so."

He stepped off the board and rolled his shoulders. "Then if I hit every metric by Friday, do I earn coffee with you?"

I looked up from the tablet. "No."

"That fast?"

"You're my patient."

For once, he didn't try to charm around the answer. He nodded, reached for the resistance band, and said, "Then I'll focus on becoming your former patient."

"Focus on becoming healthy."

"See? This is why I like you."

"Three sets of twelve."

At noon, an old roll of rigid white athletic tape landed beside my keyboard.

Callum stood on the other side of the workstation in practice gear. The brand had been discontinued years ago. It was the same kind the university clinic used when I first met him.

"Found it in a storage bin," he said.

I pushed it back. "You can keep the museum piece."

His mouth twitched, but the almost-smile disappeared quickly. "I saw you come through the employee entrance before five with an overnight bag. Did something happen with Ethan?"

"Why do you assume you get to ask?"

"I don't." He lowered his voice. "I asked anyway."

I stood. "You were always observant, Callum. You could notice everything except the part where disappearing without a word hurts people."

He didn't defend himself.

"I ran," he said.

The admission was so plain that it took the anger out of the reply I had prepared.

"That doesn't fix it."

"I know."

Honesty now didn't erase six years of silence. It did, however, make it harder to turn him into the careless villain I had built in my head.

"Keep the tape," I said, and walked toward hydrotherapy.

By seven that evening, the facility had emptied except for security, medical staff, and a few players finishing film review. I packed my bag and headed for the employee exit.

Jace came out of the locker room with a black duffel. "Team car can take you to your hotel. Security said media people are hanging around the front entrance."

Before I could answer, Callum rounded the corner with his keys in one hand.

"I'm going downtown," he said. "I can drop you."

Jace gave him a look. "Pretty sure she can accept a franchise car without a personal chauffeur, Reed."

"Pretty sure she can answer for herself."

They both turned to me.

I opened my rideshare app.

"This is exactly the problem," I said. "I appreciate the concern. I do not appreciate being treated like a decision the two of you can make."

Jace raised both hands. "Message received."

Callum pocketed his keys. "Understood."

My car arrived three minutes later. Neither man followed me outside.

Halfway to the hotel, an unknown number sent me an image.

It was a screenshot of a scheduled story from Brooke's sports site. The headline read, "Sentinels' New PT and Star Guard: Blurred Lines."

Below it was a photograph of Jace and me in Treatment Room Three, cropped so tightly that Dr. Shah and two assistant trainers outside the glass wall were invisible.

Publication time: 8:00 a.m.

I forwarded the screenshot to compliance before I even reached the next traffic light.