Page 122 of Caden & Theo
“You should be,” she fires back before turning on her heel and sauntering toward the treatment rooms. “Welcome to the madhouse.”
Theo bursts out laughing, and even I can’t help shaking my head, a smile tugging at my lips despite myself. “She’s harmless,” I assure him.
“She’s fantastic,” Theo counters.
“Trust me,” I mutter, grabbing my water bottle, “Peppa takes no one seriously. Except maybe her dog.”
“Perfect priorities,” Theo says, still grinning.
We settle into the flow of the morning. Lacey comes by with my schedule and runs through the day’s appointments. My first client, a former basketball player rehabbing his shoulder, will arrive at nine sharp. Peppa’s already prepping a treatment table, and Theo follows me around like he’s cataloging every detail—the equipment, the staff, the way my name’s on the door.
And beneath all of it, I can feel the buzz under my skin. Nervousness. Pride. I want him to see this life, this work, this version of me that isn’t defined by what I lost, but by what I built after.
By the time nine o’clock hits, I’m showered, dressed in the studio polo with my name stitched on the chest, and setting up in the treatment space. Theo hovers nearby, running hisfingers along the edge of a rack of bands, watching me like he’s memorizing every detail. My chest tightens at the thought that this is the part of me he’s never seen before.
The door opens, and in walks Ollie Marshall. Even retired, the man carries himself with the same presence he had on the court. Broad shoulders, clean stride, voice warm as he calls out, “Morning, Caden.”
He was captain of the Minnesota Eagles for six, maybe seven years and played until last season before retiring. He’s not that much younger than me, which makes it sting a little that he managed to go the distance when I burned out before I really began. I shove the envy down where it belongs and hide it behind the steadiness of my voice.
“Ollie,” I greet him, clasping his hand. “Ready to get to it?”
“Always,” he says, grin sharp. Then his eyes land on Theo, curiosity sparking. “And who’s this?”
I shift slightly toward Theo, pride sneaking into my voice before I can tamp it down. “Theo Brooks. Old friend.”
Theo blinks, then lets out a shaky laugh. “Uh, hi. Wow. I—I watched you play at The Garden.”
Ollie’s chuckle is easy and unassuming. “That so? Guess I’ve been around long enough to rack up a few fans.”
Theo shakes his head like he still can’t quite believe who’s in front of him. “Captain of the Eagles. Jesus, Caden, you didn’t mention?—”
“Not my style,” I cut in, though the corner of my mouth twitches.
Theo lets out another breathless laugh, still in awe. “I had your jersey when you used to play for the Panthers. Number 12.”
Ollie chuckles, settling onto the bench. “Good number, that one.”
We move into the warm-ups once I’ve asked Ollie if he minds if Theo sticks around. I guide Ollie’s shoulder throughslow rotations, steadying with a hand on his scapula, cueing him through mobility work. Theo hovers close, eager, almost reverent.
“You’re working with retired players too?” Theo asks after a set.
I shrug. “We don’t usually. But it’s Ollie Marshall.”
“Yeah, fair,” Theo mutters, still grinning like a kid.
Ollie gives him a look, amused. “You play?”
“Used to way back when in high school. Now I coach varsity back home,” Theo replies.
My chest swells, hearing him say it like that. No hesitation. No downplaying. Just truth.
“Assistant coach,” I clarify, tossing Theo a look.
Theo rolls his eyes. “Details.”
Ollie laughs. “Sounds like you two go way back.”
“Court was our second home,” I say.
