Page 17 of Anatomy of Us

The three dots show up right away.

Jordan: don't thank me yet. I'm going to ask you uncomfortable questions.

A smile slips out.

**

The café at the training center is small, and on a Sunday at this hour it's almost empty. Through the window I can see part of the main field: dark green, white lines shining under the rain.

Jordan already sits at the corner table with a coffee and a croissant she hasn't touched.

“On time,” she says as a greeting when I sit across from her.

“Habits you pick up in Germany, I guess,” I say, hanging my coat on the chair.

“Munich, right? Klaus Hermann.” She watches me close. “I read your résumé when Diana hired you. Impressive.”

“Thanks.”

“That wasn't a compliment.” Her mouth pulls into a strange smile. “Or not completely. It was a warning. You built the perfect career to make sure you neverstay anywhere longer than two years. Munich, Manchester, Barcelona… always moving.”

Thank God the server brings my coffee and gives me a second to breathe. I take a long sip that burns my tongue, like I'm punishing myself before I let Jordan keep going.

“Do you know we went to the same university?” she asks, out of nowhere.

“No… I didn't.”

“Normal. I'm a couple years younger, and I always kept my head down. Attention scared me.” She tilts her head. “But everyone knew Zoe Méndez, the women's soccer star… and her girlfriend Tessa.”

“Fuck,” I breathe.

“Look. I'm not trying to stick my nose where it doesn't belong, but—”

“I swear I didn't know Zoe wanted to keep playing after pregnancy. I didn't take the job because of her, and we didn't speak for seven years,” I cut in. The words pour out too fast, almost tripping over each other.

“But now you know she's here,” Jordan says, calm as a judge.

“Now I know.”

“And…?”

“And it's a damn disaster,” I admit, and my lungs finally dump a long breath.

Jordan breaks the croissant with her fingers instead of eating it. Crumbs fall onto the plate. I focus on them because it's easier than focusing on anything else.

“Does Hades know?”

“Why do you call her Hades?”

“Long story. Answer me. Does she know?”

I lift one shoulder. For some reason the coffee machine sounds too loud.

“I'm going to be very clear,” Jordan says. She leans in, elbows on the table, chin on her hands. “You decide if Zoe trains, if she plays, if she competes. That's power over her.”

“I'm the director of the club's medical services. That's my job.”

She raises her brows and holds my gaze. She doesn't buy it.