Chapter 5 Chapter 5
Emily's POV
Westview University looked exactly like the brochures. Impossibly green lawns. Towering brick buildings with white trim. Athletes jogging past with protein shakes and headphones. It should be exciting. It should feel like the beginning of the future I’ve worked my entire academic life for. But instead, as I dragged my suitcase across the pristine courtyard towards the Athletic Performance Complex, it felt like stepping into the lion’s den dressed in bubblegum pink.
My heart was beating extremely fast. My palms were sweaty inside my cute-but-professional cream blazer. The folder containing my twenty-seven-page rehabilitation plan was pressed protectively against my chest like a shield.
Okay, Emily. Deep breath.
I inhaled, trying to calm my nerves, and exhaled through my mouth.
You can do this.
I pushed the glass doors open. As I stepped inside, flat screens were displaying athletes lifting weights with perfect form. There was even a smoothie bar. I’m debating whether to admire it or judge it when a voice called out.
“Emily Taylor?” I turned around. A tall woman with sleek hair and a clipboard stride towards me, wearing a Westview Athletic Department polo. Her expression was the perfect blend of polite and stressed, it was giving typical classic administrator energy.
“Yes, that's me,” I said, gripping my folder tighter against me chest.
She extended her hand out towards me. “I’m Dr. Avery Ross. I will be your internship supervisor.”
I shook her hand. Her grip was firm. “Welcome to Westview,” she said, gesturing for me to walk with her. “We are so thrilled to have you. Your academic record is excellent.”
“Thank you,” I said, my pulse was steadying slightly.
"This way," She gestured with her hand down the hallway, and we started to walk in step.
The hallway was lined with jerseys framed behind glass. Championship photos. A shrine to athletes who looked larger than life. Including Noah Harris. His portrait was enormous. He was holding his lacrosse stick, his jaw was set, eyes cold, sweat running down his neck. He was a leader and a walking complication. I looked away before Dr. Ross noticed.
She cleared her throat. “Before we go over your clinical schedule, I would like to brief you on something important.”
My stomach tightened. I swallowed before saying, “Okay?”
“There is… a special component to your internship.” I knew something was off the moment she said excellent record.
“What kind of component?” I asked cautiously.
She hesitated. “It’s related to public relations.”
I blinked. “Public relations? I’m here for rehabilitation science.”
“You still are,” she assured me quickly. “Your primary responsibility is injury recovery and performance monitoring. But there are… additional expectations specific to the athlete you have been assigned.”
I exhaled. “Noah Harris.”
“Correct.” We stopped walking and then she turned to face me completely. “Noah is a remarkable player,” she began carefully, “But he has had… challenges. Off-field issues... Behavioral concerns.”
I crossed my arms over my folder. “I’m aware.”
She studied me. “How aware are you?”
I hesitated, but then I decided that honesty was safer. “I’ve seen the headlines, and the pictures.”
Her expression tightened. “Then you know why we are taking a proactive approach.”
“I want to help, but I wasn’t aware public relations was part of the job.” I said.
“It won’t be overwhelming, just… supplementary.” Her tone said otherwise, but then she continued, “Noah will explain the details. He requested to speak with you personally.”
Requested to speak to me personally?
My eyebrows shot up. “He… what?”
“We will get to that. For now, you need to know this internship requires high proximity, close observation and integrated daily routine.”
“I’m prepared for intense clinical work. Not whatever this sounds like.”
She gave me an apologetic smile. “You will adjust.”
“Dr. Ross... what exactly does ‘high proximity’ mean?” I asked.
We stopped in front of a glossy wooden door. She pushed it open. I stepped inside, it was an office with two chairs, a desk, and a stack of keys sitting neatly on top. Dr. Ross picked up the keys and handed them to me.
“These are for your housing,” she said.
I frowned. “Housing? My dorm is...”
“You won’t be staying on the main campus.”
“I… won’t?” I was now confused.
“No.” She folded her hands. “The internship requires 24-hour access to your athlete. Monitoring his shoulder, charting progress, handling schedule-related needs, being available for therapy emergencies or flare-ups.”
“So I’m… on call?” I asked, my voice was thin.
“Yes.”
“Twenty-four hours?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds extreme.” I said.
“It’s standard for high-intensity athletic placements.”
Maybe. But somehow, I don’t believe that. I try again. “Okay… so where am I staying?” I asked.
She smiled tightly. “The athlete apartments.”
My heart plummeted. “The athlete apartments?” I repeated.
“Yes.”
“With the athletes?” I asked.
“With one athlete.”
My chest constricted, as if I was close to having a heart attack. “Please don’t say...”
“With Noah Harris,” she finished.
Everything inside me went silent, my heartbeat was the only sound I could hear. “What?!” I said a bit too loudly. Dr. Ross flinched. “You want me to live with him?” I said, my voice was rising. “Him? Noah Harris? The man who has his own tabloid column?”
“He’s not dangerous,” she assured me quickly.
“That’s debatable!”
She sighed. “Emily, listen. This placement became… more complicated after Noah’s recent behavioral concerns. The administration believes structured, supervised stability will benefit both him and the program.”
My jaw hung open. “So I’m his babysitter?” I demanded.
“You are his rehabilitation specialist,” she corrected. “Housing proximity is purely for monitoring purposes.”
“That is the worst explanation I’ve ever heard.” I couldn't believe this.
She gave me a sympathetic look. “I understand this is a lot to process. But Noah excels with consistent, grounded environments. You are consistent, grounded and reliable.”
“You mean boring,” I muttered.
She smiled. “I mean trustworthy.”
I pressed a hand to my forehead. “I can’t just… live with him.”
“You can,” she said gently, “And you will. It’s part of the terms.”
“Terms?”
“For the scholarship and the recommendation track.” The knife against my ambition. She softened her voice. “Emily… I know this isn’t what you expected. But this opportunity, this recommendation could shape your entire career. And Noah needs someone who isn’t charmed by him. Someone who won’t let him slide.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better,” I said weakly.
“Good,” she replied. “It means you will do the job well.” I stared at the keys in my hand. They felt heavier than metal, like they were weighted with obligation. Dr. Ross placed a hand on my shoulder. “Go settle in. Noah is expecting you at seven for an introductory meeting. He will brief you on the PR component.”
“What PR component?” I whispered.
“You will hear it from him,” she said.
“Why?” I demanded.
She let out a long exhale. “Because the idea… technically came from him.”
I nearly choked on the air that I was breathing . “He suggested something for me?”
“No,” she corrected. “He agreed to conditions. Yours and his roles were outlined together.”
My mouth went dry. “That sounds ominous.”
“It’s manageable,” she promised.
“How manageable?” I asked. She must think I'm being crazy with all these questions too.
Her eyes flicked away. That was not a good sign. “You will adjust,” she repeated.
I nodded stiffly, because what else could I do? Turn around? Throw the keys back? Walk away from the dream I’ve bled for?
No. Of course I can’t do any of those things. I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin, and forced my voice to be steady. “I will do my job, professionally abd efficiently.”
“And fairly,” Dr. Ross added. “He’s difficult, but he’s trying.”
Trying at what?
To stay out of jail? To not punch reporters? To not self-destruct? I don’t say any of that though. Instead, I said, “Thank you for the opportunity. I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t.”
I took the keys from her and walked out of the office and silently prayed that the ground would swallow me whole before I reached Noah Harris’ doorstep.