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e l e v e n

Sloane

The low hum of the lights above me fills the treatment room, a familiar sound that has become almost comforting over the time I've spent here. The sterile, cool air smells faintly of disinfectant and the slight musk of liniment, both sharp reminders of where I am and the gravity of the role I've taken on. I pull the final massage roller into place and step back, surveying the room with a critical eye. Everything is as it should be, meticulously organised and ready for whatever the game throws at us tonight. It's game night, and there's no room for error.

Today, Ohio State faces off against Penn State in what everyone is calling the most important game of the season so far. The weight of that knowledge hangs heavy in the air, like a storm that's about to break. I can feel it in every interaction, in the way the players move with a more deliberate purpose, their usual pre-game chatter subdued to a tense murmur. Even the coaching staff, usually so confident and easygoing, seem wound tight, their eyes flicking anxiously between the clock and the door, waiting for time to tick down and the game to begin.

I've seen this kind of tension before, but never quite like this. There's something different about tonight. Something that sets my nerves on edge and makes me double-check the supplies, my hands trembling slightly as I arrange the resistance bands and ice packs in perfect rows; it almost feels like I'm subconsciously trying to get everything in order and control the outcome. I try to push the unease away, telling myself that it's just the pressure of the game, the importance of the win. But deep down, I know it's more than that. 

As if on cue, the door to the treatment room swings open with a creak, and Theo saunters in. He looks like his usual self, all easy smiles and cocky bravado, but I can see the strain in his eyes, the way his grin doesn't quite reach his face.

"Hey, Sloaney," he says, hopping up onto one of the treatment tables and letting his legs swing back and forth like a child on a swing. There's something almost endearing about the way he tries to lighten the mood, even if it's just for his own sake. "You ready for tonight?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," I reply, my voice steady, though my thoughts are anything but. I give him a quick smile, hoping it looks more convincing than it feels, and reach for my clipboard, pretending to double-check the list of pre-game treatments I've already memorized. "How about you? How's the leg holding up?"

Theo shrugs, but I notice the way his shoulders tense as he does, the slight grimace he tries to hide behind that easygoing facade. "It's fine. Just a little sore, but nothing I can't handle."

I raise an eyebrow, sensing the lie in his casual tone. Theo's always been one to play through pain, to push himself harder than he should, and it worries me more than I care to admit. "You've been stretching like I told you, right?"

"Of course," he says quickly, a little too quickly, and there's a flicker of guilt in his eyes that tells me everything I need to know. He hasn't been stretching. He's been pushing himself to the limit, just like the rest of them, all in the name of the game. And now, it's catching up to him.