"You're not ready."

"I am."

"You're not."

"The protocol says—"

"I know what the protocol says," Harper cut him off, hands on her hips as she stared down at Wes Carter, who was attempting—for the third time that week—to convince her he was ready to progress to more advanced exercises. "The protocol also says you need full range of motion before we start impact training. Can you fully extend your knee?"

The training room door burst open before he could respond, admitting a stream of players fresh from morning practice. Diego West led the pack, his usual easy smile replaced by a grimace as he favored his right side. Behind him, Ryan Hayes was arguing with Paige about something involving power play formations, while the freshmen trio—Baker, Liu, and Rodriguez—hovered uncertainly near the door.

"Don't all rush in at once," Harper said dryly. "It's not like I need space to work or anything."

"Sorry, Doc," Diego said, claiming his usual spot on the far treatment table. "But we're falling apart out there. Coach is on the warpath, Hayes keeps trying to be Carter 2.0 and failing spectacularly—"

"Hey!" Hayes protested.

"—and Paige's shoulder is definitely worse than he's admitting."

Paige, who had been trying to sneak out unnoticed, froze. "I'm fine."

"Sure you are," Harper said. "That's why you're holding your stick like it might bite you. Table. Now."

While Paige grudgingly complied, Wes watched the team with barely concealed frustration. His hands clenched on the edge of his treatment table, knuckles white with tension.

"How bad was practice?" he asked Diego quietly.

Diego glanced at Harper before answering, which told her everything she needed to know about how the team was really doing. "We're... adjusting."

"That bad, huh?"

"Coach tried running those new plays you suggested," Hayes offered, perching on the edge of an empty table. "But without you to quarterback them—"

"Maybe we should focus on what we can do," Harper interrupted, seeing the storm gathering in Wes's eyes. "Paige, that shoulder needs ultrasound. Diego, ice and stim for those ribs. Hayes, if you're not injured, you can make yourself useful and refill the ice bags."

"Yes, ma'am." Hayes hopped up, then paused. "Oh, hey, did you hear about Liu?"

Everyone turned to look at the freshman defenseman, who had been trying to blend into the wall. He flushed under the attention.

"It's not a big deal," he mumbled.

"Not a big deal?" Rodriguez grinned. "Dude got asked out by Tiffany Chance. You know, the one who—"

"The one who turned down three seniors last semester," Baker finished. "Our boy's moving up in the world."

"Can we not?" Liu pleaded.

"What? It's good news. We need some good news around here." Rodriguez looked around the training room significantly. "No offense, Carter."

"Full offense taken," Wes said, but there was a hint of his old smirk playing around his mouth. "So, Liu. Tiffany Chance, huh? Isn't she in your Organic Chemistry class?"

"Yeah, and he's been staring at her all semester instead of taking notes," Baker said. "Which explains the C- on his last exam."

"Better than your D in Calculus," Liu shot back.

Harper watched the easy banter flow around the room, noting how Wes's shoulders gradually relaxed as he fell into the familiar rhythm of team dynamics. This was what he needed—not just physical therapy, but connection to the team he'd been forced to step away from.

"Alright, children," she said finally. "Some of us have actual work to do. If you're not actively being treated, out."

The freshmen scattered, but not before Liu called over his shoulder, "Carter, you're coming to team dinner tonight, right? Coach said it was okay."

Wes hesitated, looking at Harper. "Am I cleared for that?"

She pretended to consider it. "I suppose. As long as you promise not to try any one-legged hockey demonstrations this time."

"That was one time!"

"One time too many." She turned to Thompson, who was trying to escape again. "Not you. Ultrasound first, then you can go."

As she worked on Paige's shoulder, she kept one eye on Wes, who had fallen into conversation with Diego about the team's struggling power play. There was something both heartening and painful about watching him coach from the sidelines—his hands moving as he described plays, his focus intense as Diego outlined their problems.

"They really miss him out there," Paige said quietly, following her gaze. "It's not just the scoring. He... he holds us together, you know?"

Harper did know. She saw it in the way the freshmen still looked to him for approval, the way Hayes and Diego automatically included him in tactical discussions, the way the whole team oriented around him even when he wasn't on the ice.

"He'll be back," she said firmly. "When he's ready."

"Yeah, but will it be in time?" Paige winced as she found a particularly tender spot. "Sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"It's okay." She adjusted the ultrasound wand. "You're allowed to worry about the team."

"I'm more worried about him, honestly." Paige lowered his voice further. "He's not sleeping. Diego says he hears him up at night, doing exercises when he thinks no one's watching."

Harper's hands stilled. "How often?"

"Every night this week. He thinks if he works harder, pushes more—" Paige broke off as Hayes returned with fresh ice bags.

"Gossiping about me?" Wes called from his table.

"You wish," Paige shot back. "We were actually discussing Liu's love life."

"Speaking of which," Hayes said, dropping the ice bags with a flourish, "we're taking bets on whether he actually shows up for the date. Rodriguez has twenty bucks on him chickening out."

The conversation devolved into good-natured debate about Liu's chances, but Harper was only half listening. She was too busy thinking about what Paige had said—about Wes pushing himself at night, about the toll this separation from the team was really taking.

When the room finally cleared, leaving just the two of them, she turned back to Wes with renewed determination.

"You're not ready," she repeated, but gentler this time.

"I know." He met her eyes, and the raw honesty there caught her off guard. "But I need to be. They need me to be."

"They need you healthy." She stepped closer, into his space. "The team isn't falling apart, Wes. They're struggling, yes, but they're also adapting. Growing. Finding new ways to work together."

"Without me."

"For now. Not forever." She pressed her fingers to his knee, feeling the heat radiating through the skin. "But you have to meet me halfway here. No more midnight workouts. No more pushing past the protocols."

He was quiet for a long moment, studying her face. "How did you know about the workouts?"

"I have my sources." She smiled slightly. "Also, you're terrible at hiding inflammation."

"Snitch," he muttered, but there was no heat in it. "Fine. No more extra workouts. But I need something, Harper. I need to feel like I'm still part of this team."

The use of her first name, rare and deliberate, made something warm unfurl in her chest. "You are part of the team. Did you not see how they were with you just now? How they still look to you for guidance?"

"It's not the same."

"No, it's not. But it's something." She started setting up the ice therapy unit. "And tonight, you'll go to team dinner, and you'll be their captain off the ice since you can't be on it. Deal?"

His smile, when it came, was small but real. "Deal. But only if you promise to ice my knee after. All that sitting around listening to Liu panic about his date is bound to cause inflammation."

"Cute. But you're not getting out of your exercises that easily."

"Can't blame a guy for trying." He caught her hand as she reached for the ice pack, his fingers warm against hers. "Hey. Thank you."

"For what?"

"For not giving up on me. Even when I'm being..." He gestured vaguely.

"A stubborn, frustrating, overly ambitious pain in my ass?"

"I was going to say 'dedicated,' but sure."

She tried to ignore the way his thumb was absently stroking her wrist. "Wes..."

"I know." He let go, but his eyes held hers. "Professional boundaries. Team dynamics. All the reasons this is complicated."

"Right." She busied herself with the ice pack, needing distance from the intensity of his gaze. "Twenty minutes. Then we'll work on range of motion. If you can behave yourself."

"And if I can't?"

She glanced back at him, caught the familiar spark of challenge in his eyes. "Then I'll have to get creative with my disciplinary measures."

His eyebrows shot up. "That sounds promising."

"Down, boy. I meant more ice therapy."

"Sure you did."

She threw a resistance band at his head, which he caught easily. The laughter in his eyes made that dangerous warmth spread further, threatening to melt all her carefully constructed professional boundaries.

"Twenty minutes," she repeated firmly. "I'll be back to check on you."

"You always are," he said softly.

She escaped to her office, closing the door before leaning against it. This was getting complicated. The way he looked at her sometimes, the way she caught herself looking back... it wasn't professional. It wasn't safe.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Korra: Lunch? I need details about why Paige's been avoiding the training room.

Harper smiled, grateful for the distraction. Can't. Dealing with a difficult patient.

Korra: Carter being stubborn again?

When isn't he?

Korra: You love it.

I do not. He's infuriating.

Korra: Uh huh. Keep telling yourself that. But seriously, we need to talk. Your dad's starting to notice.

Harper's stomach clenched. Notice what?

Korra: The way you look at Carter. The way he looks at you. The way everyone can see what's happening except maybe you two.

Before Harper could respond, another text came through: Team dinner tonight at Malone's. Come with? Moral support for Liu, plus we can strategize about your... situation.

Harper put her phone away, not wanting to examine why that particular suggestion made her uncomfortable. She had more important things to worry about—like how to keep Wes Carter from destroying his knee, his career, and possibly her sanity in the process.

The problem was, she was starting to suspect that her sanity wasn't the only thing at risk. Her heart was getting dangerously involved, and there was no protocol for treating that particular condition.

A knock on her door made her jump. "Doc?" Wes called through the wood. "It's been twenty minutes."

She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. She could do this. She could maintain professional boundaries, keep him on track with his recovery, and ignore the way her pulse quickened every time he smiled at her.

She had to. Because the alternative—letting herself feel something for a patient, for her father's star player, for someone whose entire future hung on her ability to stay professional—wasn't an option.

No matter how tempting it might be.

"Coming," she called back, and opened the door to find him leaning against the wall, looking unfairly attractive for someone who was supposed to be focusing on healing.

"Ready to torture me some more?" he asked, but his smile took the sting out of the words.

"Always," she replied, and if her voice was a little too soft, a little too warm, well... she'd deal with that later.

Right now, she had a knee to fix and a career to save.

Everything else would have to wait.

Even if waiting was starting to feel impossible.