The investigation committee's conference room felt smaller than Harper remembered. Two weeks had passed since the championship, since Wes's game-winning goal, since everything changed and nothing changed all at once.

"Dr. Reid." Dr. Moore, head of sports medicine, smiled warmly. "Please, sit."

She did, hands steady despite her racing heart. The folder in front of her contained everything—treatment logs, clearance documentation, verification from the team doctor. Her entire career, distilled to paper and protocol.

"We've reviewed your case extensively," Dr. Moore began. "Spoken to Coach Reid, the team doctor, and several players." She paused. "Including Mr. Carter."

Harper's breath caught. She hadn't known Wes had testified.

"What we found," Dr. Moore continued, "was a pattern of exceptional care and professional judgment. Your documentation is meticulous, your protocols sound, and your results..." She smiled slightly. "Well, I think the championship speaks for itself."

"Thank you, but—"

"However." Dr. Moore's expression turned serious. "The relationship between medical staff and patients is sacred. The boundaries exist for good reasons."

"I know." Harper sat straighter. "I never meant to—"

"Fall in love?" Dr. Moore's voice softened. "Sometimes these things happen despite our best intentions. The question isn't whether you broke the rules—you did—but whether that breach compromised patient care." She tapped the folder. "In this case, all evidence suggests it did not. If anything, you were more cautious, more thorough in your treatment of Mr. Carter than with other patients."

Hope flickered in Harper's chest. "So what happens now?"

"Now," Dr. Moore sat back, "we discuss your future."

---

The Bruins' development camp hummed with energy—prospects and rookies hoping to prove themselves worthy of NHL dreams. Harper moved through the training room with practiced efficiency, checking in with players, updating files.

"How's the knee?" she asked, not looking up from her tablet as familiar footsteps entered.

"Better now." Wes's voice carried its usual warmth. "Though my trainer's kind of a hardass about protocols."

"Sounds smart." She finally looked at him, professional mask cracking slightly. "She must really care about your recovery."

"Among other things." His eyes softened. "Have you told your dad about the job offer?"

The position with the Bruins' AHL affiliate had come as a surprise—associate head athletic trainer, with a focus on rehabilitation protocols. The same work she loved, just at a higher level.

"Not yet. I wanted to be sure..."

"Sure of what?"

She gestured between them. "That we can make this work. The professional boundaries, the public scrutiny, all of it."

"Harper." He stepped closer, but not too close. They'd learned their lessons about training room conduct. "We've been making it work for months. Through the investigation, the draft, everything."

"This is different. The AHL, the pressure, your career taking off..."

"Hey." His voice gentled. "Remember what Hayes said? About some things being worth fighting for?"

She nodded, thinking of that day in the locker room when the team rallied around them.

"This is worth fighting for," he said simply. "You, me, our careers, all of it. We'll figure out the boundaries, navigate the complications. Together."

Before she could respond, Diego appeared in the doorway, practice gear in hand.

"If you two are done making eyes at each other," he grinned, "some of us actually need medical attention."

The ease of his teasing still surprised her sometimes—how far they'd come from those tense days after the exposure. The whole team had evolved, growing stronger through the adversity.

"Sorry to interrupt the moment," Diego continued, settling onto a treatment table. "But Coach wants to go over plays before afternoon skate, and Carter here promised to help me work on my defensive positioning."

"No problem." Harper slipped fully into professional mode. "I need to check that shoulder anyway."

She worked in comfortable silence, aware of Wes's presence but focused on her task. They'd found this balance somehow—maintaining professional distance when needed, letting themselves be close when they could.

Later, after the players had gone and the training room was quiet, she called her father.

"I got the job," she said without preamble. "Associate head trainer for Providence."

The silence stretched for a moment. Then, "They're lucky to have you."

"Dad..."

"I mean it." His voice carried pride she hadn't heard in months. "You've earned this, Harper. Not just the position, but the respect that comes with it. The board's decision, the Bruins' offer... it's all because of your work, your dedication."

"And Wes?"

He chuckled. "Well, I suppose he played a part too. Though I still say you could have picked someone less stubborn."

"Pretty sure that's genetic," she smiled. "The stubbornness, I mean."

"Your mother would say so." The mention of her came easier now, warm with memory instead of loss. "She'd be proud of you, you know. For fighting for what you wanted, even when it wasn't easy."

"Even when it meant breaking the rules?"

"Especially then." She could hear his smile. "Some rules are meant to be challenged. Tested against reality instead of theory. It's how we grow, how we learn, how we become better."

Harper thought about those early days—the stolen glances, the careful distance, the fear of crossing lines. How far they'd come since then, finding ways to be together without compromising who they were professionally.

"The team won't be the same without you," her father said softly.

"I'm not going far. Providence is just a few hours away."

"Far enough." He paused. "But close enough to visit. Maybe catch some games."

"I'd like that."

After they hung up, Harper stood in the quiet training room, thinking about choices and consequences and new beginnings. Her phone buzzed with a text from Wes:

Dinner tonight? Have something to ask you.

She smiled, already knowing what the question would be. They'd talked around it for weeks—moving in together, building a life in Providence, taking the next step.

Yes, she typed back. To dinner and everything else.

His response came quickly: Pretty sure you're supposed to wait for the actual question.

Pretty sure we've never done anything the traditional way.

She could picture his laugh, that warm sound that still made her heart skip. They'd broken all sorts of rules getting here—professional, personal, practical. But they'd also built something stronger because of it. Something real.

The training room slowly filled with afternoon players, and Harper slipped back into professional mode. She had protocols to follow, athletes to treat, a reputation to maintain.

But later, after the work was done and the boundaries could soften, she had something else waiting. Someone else.

A future they'd fought for, earned, and built together.

Because some rules were meant to be broken.

Some lines were meant to be crossed.

And some loves were worth risking everything for.

Even if they started in all the wrong places.

Especially then.