AGAINST the ODDS

Chapter 6: The Fear Beneath

(Lillian's POV – She sees through his bravado and realizes fear is driving his resistance.)

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I've worked with athletes long enough to know that denial is a part of the process.

Some of them break down when they hear the news. Some lash out, angry at the world for betraying them. And some—like Jaxon Reid—dig their heels in so deep, they refuse to accept reality.

But beneath the bravado, the stubbornness, the sharp retorts—there's always something else.

Fear.

Most players won't admit it.

Jaxon?

He'd rather collapse trying to walk than acknowledge that he's scared.

And that's exactly what makes this so dangerous.

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A Familiar Pattern

I push open the door to his hospital room and immediately spot him doing the one thing he shouldn't be doing.

He's gripping the edge of the bedside table, bracing himself as he struggles to stand. His injured leg wobbles beneath him, his jaw clenched so tight it looks like he might c***k a tooth.

My patience snaps.

"Jaxon," I say sharply, stepping inside. "Sit. Down."

His head jerks up, and for a split second, I see the flash of guilt in his eyes. But it's gone as quickly as it came, replaced with irritation.

"I need to move," he mutters, lowering himself back onto the bed with a frustrated exhale.

"No," I correct, folding my arms. "You want to move. There's a difference."

He scowls, looking away.

I set my tablet on the counter and take a slow, measured breath. "We talked about this. You just had surgery yesterday. You cannot rush this process."

"I'm not rushing anything," he says, but his defensive tone gives him away.

I arch a brow. "You tried to walk thirty-six hours post-op."

His jaw tightens. "I've played through injuries before."

"This isn't just an injury. It's a reconstruction," I remind him. "And if you don't follow protocol, you could re-tear the ligament before it even has a chance to heal."

Silence.

His hands clench into fists on his lap.

I watch him carefully. "Jaxon, what are you afraid of?"

His head snaps up, eyes flashing. "I'm not afraid."

I keep my expression calm. "Then why are you fighting me every step of the way?"

He doesn't answer.

Because he knows I'm right.

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The Unspoken Truth

I grab a chair and pull it up beside his bed, sitting down so we're eye level.

He watches me warily, like he's expecting another lecture.

Instead, I soften my tone. "I get it."

He scoffs, but there's no real heat behind it. "You get it?"

"Yes," I say simply. "You don't want to admit that this injury changes things. You want to believe you can power through it, the way you always have. But deep down, you know this is different. And that terrifies you."

His fingers tighten against the sheets.

I hit a nerve.

Good.

I press on. "I've worked with dozens of players in your position. You all act tough, like none of this affects you. But the truth is, you're scared. Not of the pain. Not of the rehab. But of what happens if you don't come back the same."

He lets out a slow breath through his nose, staring past me at the ceiling.

Then, so quietly I almost don't hear it, he mutters, "What if I don't?"

There it is.

The fear he's been shoving down, the doubt creeping in no matter how hard he fights it.

I don't let my gaze waver. "Then you'll figure it out."

His head turns toward me, brow furrowed.

I hold his stare. "Because that's what you do, right? You adapt. You fight. And you keep going."

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face. "I just—I can't be done."

The raw vulnerability in his voice catches me off guard.

Jaxon Reid, the larger-than-life quarterback, the guy who never backs down, is sitting in front of me, admitting what he's been too proud to say.

He's not fighting me because he's reckless.

He's fighting because he's desperate.

And suddenly, I don't just see another stubborn athlete.

I see a man who's terrified of losing the thing that defines him.

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A Different Approach

I lean forward slightly, resting my elbows on my knees. "Listen, I'm not here to tell you that everything is going to be easy. It won't be. You're going to have moments where you want to quit. Days where your body refuses to cooperate. Times when it feels impossible. But if you do this the right way—if you trust me—then you will come back."

His eyes search mine, as if trying to gauge whether I actually believe that.

I do.

But only if he meets me halfway.

"Fine," he mutters after a long pause. "I'll follow the plan."

I narrow my eyes. "You say that, but forgive me if I don't trust you just yet."

He almost—almost—smirks. "Guess you'll just have to keep an eye on me."

I shake my head, exhaling. "You're going to be a pain in my a*s, aren't you?"

His lips twitch. "Probably."

I roll my eyes, but something about the shift in his expression—the smallest hint of ease replacing the tension—makes me think that maybe, just maybe, I'm getting through to him.

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An Unspoken Understanding

After a few more minutes of going over his next steps, I stand, grabbing my tablet.

Before I leave, I glance back at him. "Jaxon?"

He looks up.

I hesitate for only a second. "You don't have to prove anything to me."

He blinks, surprised.

I nod toward the TV mounted on the wall, where a sports talk show is playing, discussing the latest NFL headlines.

"To them, either," I add.

His gaze flickers to the screen. He doesn't say anything, but I know he's thinking about the rumors, the analysts questioning whether he'll ever be the same.

I open the door, pausing before stepping out. "Prove it to yourself first."

Then I walk out, leaving him with that thought.

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Lingering Thoughts

As I make my way down the hallway, I let out a slow breath.

I've had plenty of difficult patients before, but Jaxon is... different.

Not just because of his talent. Not just because of his status in the league.

But because I can see what this means to him.

I can see how much he's struggling, even if he won't say it outright.

And maybe that's why, despite every instinct telling me to keep this professional, I find myself caring just a little too much.

Not just about his recovery.

But about him.

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Meanwhile, in Jaxon's Room...

Jaxon stares at the closed door long after Dr. Carter leaves.

He hates that she sees through him. Hates that she's right.

But for the first time since this nightmare began, the fear that's been clawing at him feels just a little less suffocating.

Because maybe—just maybe—he's not facing this alone.