The whistle snapped through the court, cutting practice in half.
The squeak of sneakers faded, and every player’s face carried the same truth– fear for Cade, for the team, for a season that had barely started.
The trainers had Cade off the court in under two minutes, straight down the tunnel to the medical wing of the facility. The head athletic trainer walked with him, a hand hovering near his arm in case he stumbled, while another carried the portable ice unit.
I shut my laptop without thinking and caught up, grabbing his duffel, water, and phone from the bench.
He didn’t look back or call for me, but I followed anyway.
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Ten minutes later, we were pulling into the small brick building the team used when they didn’t want cameras sniffing around. No logos on the sign. Just privacy
