The training room was quiet, most of the team long gone after evening practice. Harper moved through her closing routine on autopilot—wiping down tables, organizing supplies, updating treatment logs. Normal tasks that felt anything but normal after the day she'd had.

Anderson's words still echoed in her head, along with her father's worried looks and the way Wes had defended her protocol. Defended her.

The door clicked open behind her.

"We're closed," she said without turning. "Treatment hours are—"

"I'm not here for treatment."

She knew that voice. Knew she should tell him to leave, that being alone together after hours was a bad idea. Instead, she found herself turning to face him.

Wes stood just inside the door, still in his practice clothes, hair damp from the shower. His expression was uncertain in a way she rarely saw.

"You should go," she said softly. "It's late."

"I know." But he didn't move. "I just... I needed to make sure you were okay. After everything with Anderson..."

"I'm fine."

"Are you? Because you've been avoiding me since he left."

"I haven't been—" She stopped, because they both knew it was a lie. She had been avoiding him, throwing herself into work, keeping careful distance whenever he was nearby. "We shouldn't do this."

"Do what? Talk?"

"You know what."

He took a step closer, and she forced herself not to step back. "Maybe I don't. Maybe I need you to explain why we're pretending nothing's changed when everything has."

"Nothing has changed. I'm still your athletic trainer, you're still my patient, and there are still a dozen reasons why this is a terrible idea."

"Only a dozen?" His attempt at humor fell flat. "Harper, look at me."

She did, which was her first mistake. Because looking at Wes Carter had always been dangerous, but now—with his guard down and his eyes soft—it was impossible.

"We can't," she whispered.

"Can't what?"

"You know what."

He moved closer, slow enough that she could have stopped him. She didn't.

"Tell me," he said quietly. "Tell me this is just professional concern. Tell me you don't feel it too."

"Of course I feel it." The admission fell from her lips before she could stop it. "But feeling something doesn't make it right."

"Does it make it wrong?"

He was close enough now that she could feel the heat radiating from him, could catch the faint scent of his soap. Her hands itched to reach for him.

"Wes..."

"I know all the reasons we shouldn't," he said softly. "I've listed them in my head a thousand times. The team, your job, my career, your dad... I know them all. But they don't change how I feel when I'm with you."

"How do you feel?"

His smile was painful in its honesty. "Like maybe some rules are worth breaking."

She should step back. Should maintain those professional boundaries they'd been clinging to. Should remember all the reasons this was a terrible idea.

Instead, she found herself reaching up, fingers brushing his jaw. His breath caught.

"Harper..."

And then she was kissing him, or he was kissing her—she wasn't sure who moved first, only that suddenly his lips were on hers and nothing else mattered. His hands came up to frame her face, gentle despite the urgency of his kiss. She curled her fingers in his shirt, pulling him closer, feeling the solid warmth of him against her.

It was everything she'd tried not to imagine and nothing like she'd expected. Wes kissed like he played hockey—with total focus and barely contained intensity, but also with surprising tenderness. His thumb traced her cheekbone as he deepened the kiss, and she made a soft sound that seemed to undo him completely.

"God," he breathed against her mouth. "Do you know how long I've wanted to do that?"

She pulled back slightly, just enough to see his face. His eyes were dark, his expression raw with wanting.

"We shouldn't have done that."

"No," he agreed, but he didn't let go of her. "Do you regret it?"

"I should."

"That's not what I asked."

She closed her eyes, feeling the steady beat of his heart under her palm. "No. I don't regret it."

His forehead came to rest against hers. "So what do we do now?"

It was the question she'd been avoiding, the one that had no good answer. Because this—whatever this was between them—couldn't exist in the light of day. Couldn't survive scrutiny from the team, from her father, from the scouts watching Wes's every move.

"We can't tell anyone," she said finally.

"I know."

"And we have to be careful. Professional. No one can suspect—"

He cut her off with another kiss, softer this time. "I know. I'm not going to do anything to jeopardize your career."

"Or yours." She pulled back to look at him seriously. "The draft—"

"Will happen regardless. And I meant what I said about trusting you. That doesn't change just because..." He gestured between them.

"Because we broke every professional boundary in existence?"

His laugh was warm against her skin. "Worth it."

And it was, she realized. Despite the complications, despite the risk, despite everything... this felt right in a way she couldn't ignore.

A noise in the hallway made them spring apart. Harper's heart raced as footsteps passed by the training room door without stopping.

"We should go," she said quietly. "Before someone..."

"Yeah." But he didn't move immediately. "Harper?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

She blinked. "For what?"

"For being worth the risk."

The words hit her square in the chest, warm and dangerous and perfect. She wanted to kiss him again, wanted to forget about consequences and complications and just...

Another sound from the hallway broke the moment.

"Go," she said firmly. "Before someone comes looking for you."

He backed toward the door, eyes still on her face. "See you tomorrow, Doc?"

"Bright and early. Don't be late."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

After he was gone, Harper sat heavily in her office chair, touching her fingers to her lips. What had they done? What were they going to do?

Her phone buzzed with a text from Korra: Drinks tomorrow? Need to hear about the Anderson drama.

Harper stared at the message, thinking about secrets and lies and all the things she couldn't tell her best friend.

Can't, she typed back. Early treatment session.

It wasn't exactly a lie. She did have an early session—with Wes. But now that session would be colored by memory of his lips on hers, of his hands in her hair, of all the things they couldn't say in daylight.

Some rules, once broken, couldn't be unbroken. Some lines, once crossed, changed everything that came after.

The trick would be figuring out how to navigate this new territory without losing themselves—or each other—in the process.

Because one thing was certain: there was no going back now. Not after that kiss, not after those admissions, not after finally acknowledging what had been building between them for weeks.

The only way out was through. Together.

Even if they had to keep that togetherness hidden from everyone else.