"Your knee's swollen."

"It's fine."

"It's not fine." Harper pressed her fingers to the joint, feeling the heat radiating through his skin. "You've been doing extra workouts again."

Wes didn't deny it. They were alone in the training room—he'd started coming in early, before the rest of the team, a habit that was both professional and dangerous.

"The championship's in three weeks," he said quietly. "You know I need to be ready."

"You need to be healthy."

"I am healthy. The protocols—"

"The protocols exist for a reason." She pulled back, needing distance from the warmth of his skin, the familiar scent of him. "You can't rush this, Wes. Not even for the championship."

His jaw tightened. "Anderson called again yesterday."

The words hung in the air between them. Harper busied herself with the ice machine, not wanting him to see her expression.

"What did he say?"

"That the Bruins are concerned about my commitment to returning. That other prospects are moving up the draft rankings. That maybe I should consider..." He trailed off.

"Consider what?"

"Getting a second opinion."

The ice bag crinkled in her suddenly tight grip. "And what did you say?"

"What do you think I said?" His voice softened. "I told him I trust my medical team."

She turned to face him then, finding his eyes already on her. The intensity of his gaze made her breath catch.

"Wes..."

A noise in the hallway made them both freeze. Moments later, Hayes burst through the door, Paige close behind.

"Morning, Doc!" Hayes called cheerfully. "Ready to torture us?"

"Always." Harper stepped back, professional mask sliding into place. "Paige, how's that shoulder?"

The rest of the team trickled in as she worked, the training room filling with their usual pre-practice energy. But she could feel Wes watching her, could sense the unspoken tension between them.

"Big news!" Rodriguez announced, bouncing into the room. "Scout from the Maple Leafs is coming to the championship game. Liu's cousin works in their front office."

"No pressure or anything," Baker added, elbowing Wes. "Just your entire future riding on one game."

"If he's cleared to play," Harper said sharply.

The room went quiet. Everyone looked between her and Wes, sensing the underlying tension.

"He'll be cleared," Hayes said finally. "Right, Doc? I mean, he's looking good in practice..."

"Looking good isn't the same as being ready." She turned to her supply cabinet, needing to escape the weight of their stares. "No one plays until they're medically cleared. No exceptions."

"But the championship—" Rodriguez started.

"Isn't worth risking someone's career over." She slammed the cabinet shut harder than necessary. "Now, unless you're here for treatment, out. Some of us have work to do."

The team filed out slowly, muttering among themselves. Only Wes remained, still sitting on the treatment table.

"That wasn't just about my knee, was it?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Harper." He said her name softly, intimately. "Look at me."

She did, which was a mistake. Because looking at Wes Carter had always been dangerous, but now—after kisses stolen in empty rooms, after touches that lingered too long, after weeks of pretending they weren't what they were—it was almost impossible.

"We can't keep doing this," she whispered.

"Doing what?"

"Pretending. Hiding. Acting like we can separate the personal from the professional when we both know we can't."

He glanced at the door before standing, moving closer. "We're managing."

"Are we? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like we're both compromised. You're pushing too hard because you don't want to disappoint me, and I'm—"

"Being exactly the trainer I need," he cut her off. "The one who puts my health first, even when I'm being stubborn."

"Am I? Because sometimes I wonder if I'm being too cautious, too protective, because I can't bear the thought of you getting hurt again."

His hand twitched like he wanted to reach for her. But they were in the training room, in daylight, with the team just outside.

"You're doing your job," he said firmly. "The fact that we're... that things are complicated... it doesn't change that."

Before she could respond, the door opened again. They sprang apart as Diego entered, looking apologetic.

"Sorry, Doc, but Coach wants to see Carter. Something about game strategy for the championship."

"We're done here anyway," Harper said, proud of how steady her voice sounded. "Ice that knee before practice."

Wes nodded, professional mask back in place. But his eyes lingered on her face for a moment too long before he left.

Diego watched him go, then turned to Harper with a knowing look. "So..."

"Don't."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it."

He held up his hands in surrender. "Hey, I'm just here for my rib check. But if you want to talk about the extremely obvious tension between you and—"

"How are the ribs feeling?"

He sighed, but allowed the deflection. "Better. Though not as good as Carter's knee, apparently. He was doing sprints this morning before anyone got here."

Harper's hands stilled. "He what?"

"Yeah, I came in early to study and saw him on the practice field. Full speed, cutting drills, the works." Diego studied her face. "You didn't know?"

"No." She swallowed hard. "I didn't know."

After Diego left, Harper sat heavily in her office chair, staring at her treatment notes without really seeing them. Wes had lied to her. Not directly, but by omission. Had been pushing himself harder than she'd realized, risking everything they'd worked for.

Her phone buzzed with a text from him: Can we talk?

She stared at the message, thinking about trust and lies and all the ways this could end badly.

Training room. 5 minutes.

When he arrived, she was ready.

"Diego saw you this morning."

He stopped just inside the door. "Harper—"

"Full speed cutting drills? Are you trying to destroy your knee?"

"I was careful."

"Careful?" She laughed harshly. "There is nothing careful about pushing yourself weeks ahead of protocol. About lying to me—"

"I didn't lie."

"No? Then why didn't you tell me about the extra workouts? Why hide it?"

"Because I knew you'd stop me!"

"Of course I'd stop you! It's my job to stop you from doing exactly this kind of reckless—"

"Your job," he cut in. "Is that all this is? All we are?"

The question hung between them, sharp and dangerous.

"That's not fair."

"Isn't it? Because sometimes I can't tell where the trainer ends and... whatever we are begins."

She flinched. "We agreed to keep things separate."

"And how's that working out for us?" He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Because from where I'm standing, it's tearing us both apart."

"So what do you want to do? Tell everyone? Risk both our careers?"

"No. I want you to trust me. To believe that I know my body, know my limits."

"I do trust you. But I also know what pressure does to athletes. The scouts, the team, the championship... it makes people push too hard, take risks they shouldn't."

"This isn't about the scouts or the team." He moved closer, into her space. "This is about me wanting to be the player I was before. The one who deserved you."

The words hit her like a physical blow. "Wes..."

"I see how you look at me sometimes, when you think I'm not watching. Like you're worried I'll break. And I can't... I can't be that for you. I need to be strong again, whole again."

"You are whole." She reached for him then, professional boundaries forgotten. "God, Wes, do you think I care about how fast you can skate or how many scouts are watching? I care about you. All of you. Even the parts that are still healing."

He caught her hand, pressing it to his chest. She could feel his heart racing under her palm.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "About the workouts, about not telling you. I just... I needed to prove something."

"To who? The scouts? The team?"

"To myself." His thumb traced circles on her wrist. "And maybe to you."

"You don't have to prove anything to me."

He smiled sadly. "Don't I? Because every time you look at my knee, every time you check my progress, I see the worry in your eyes. And I hate it. Hate that I put it there."

"That's not—"

A knock on the door made them spring apart. Coach Reid's voice carried through the wood.

"Harper? Team meeting in five. Bring Carter's latest progress report."

They stared at each other for a long moment, the reality of their situation crashing back in.

"We need to figure this out," Harper said quietly.

"I know."

"No more secrets. No more extra workouts."

He nodded. "I promise."

But as she watched him leave, Harper couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between them. That the careful balance they'd been maintaining was starting to crack under the weight of secrets and expectations and all the things they couldn't say in daylight.

The championship loomed, the scouts circled, and the pressure kept rising. Something would have to give.

She just prayed it wouldn't be them.