Chapter 7: Shifting Ground

The team victory party at Diego's apartment wasn't Harper's idea of a perfect Friday night, but Korra had insisted. "You can't keep hiding in the training room," she'd said. "Besides, someone needs to make sure these idiots don't undo all your hard work."

Now, watching Hayes attempt to demonstrate what he claimed was a "perfectly safe" workout move on Paige's coffee table, Harper was beginning to think her friend had a point.

"Down," she called from her spot by the kitchen counter. "Unless you want to explain to Coach why our leading scorer has a concussion."

"You're no fun, Doc," Hayes complained, but he climbed down anyway.

"That's what they pay me for." She took a sip of her sparkling water, trying not to notice how Wes was watching her from across the room. He'd been doing that all night—these long, thoughtful looks that made her skin tingle.

"So," Korra said, materializing at her elbow. "Want to tell me what's going on with you and Carter?"

"Nothing's going on."

"Right. That's why you've both been orbiting each other all night without actually talking. Very convincing."

"We're maintaining professional boundaries."

"Is that what we're calling it now?" Korra's dark eyes were knowing. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks a lot like two people trying very hard not to notice each other and failing spectacularly."

Before Harper could respond, a cheer went up from the living room. Liu had finally arrived—with Tiffany Chance on his arm.

"You owe me twenty bucks," Rodriguez called to Baker. "I told you he wouldn't chicken out!"

"Actually," Wes said, speaking for the first time since Harper had arrived, "you bet he wouldn't show up at all. Baker bet he'd come alone. Nobody predicted he'd actually bring a date."

"So technically, everyone loses," Paige concluded.

"I'd call it a win," Tiffany said, squeezing Liu's hand. The freshman defenseman looked like he might pass out from happiness.

Harper found herself smiling despite her best efforts. This was what she loved about this team—their ability to turn anything into a celebration, their genuine joy in each other's successes.

"Earth to Harper," Korra nudged her. "Your patient is heading this way."

Sure enough, Wes was making his way toward them, his gait smooth enough that only Harper's trained eye caught the slight compensation in his stride.

"Ladies," he said, leaning against the counter next to them. "Enjoying the show?"

"Just making sure no one does anything stupid," Harper replied.

"Like unauthorized skating sessions?" His eyes danced with amusement.

"Exactly like that."

Korra looked between them, eyebrows raised. "Okay, I'm going to go... anywhere else. Try not to get into trouble."

As she walked away, Wes shifted closer, filling the space she'd vacated. "How's my knee looking?"

"You know perfectly well how it's looking. We did a full assessment this morning."

"Maybe I just like hearing your professional opinion."

The warmth in his voice made her pulse skip. "Wes..."

"I know, I know. Professional boundaries." He gestured to her drink. "Need a refill?"

She glanced down at her nearly empty glass. "I shouldn't stay much longer."

"One drink. Then you can go back to pretending you don't want to be here."

"I never said I didn't want to be here."

"No?" His smile was soft. "Could have fooled me, the way you're hugging that counter."

Before she could respond, Diego appeared with a fresh round of drinks. "Carter! Tell Hayes he's full of shit about that new stick handling drill."

"He is full of shit," Wes said easily. "But so are you about that backhand shot you claim you've perfected."

"Prove it!" someone called from the crowd.

"No proving anything," Harper said firmly. "Not until you're cleared."

"Yes, Doc." But there was something in the way he said it—something warm and private that made her cheeks heat.

The party flowed around them, but Harper was acutely aware of Wes's presence at her side. They weren't touching, weren't even standing particularly close, but she could feel the heat of him, the magnetic pull that seemed to grow stronger every day.

"Liu's happy," he observed, watching the freshman attempt to teach Tiffany some hockey terminology while the team offered increasingly unhelpful suggestions.

"He deserves it. They both do."

"Everyone deserves someone who looks at them like that."

The words hung between them, heavy with meaning. Harper forced herself to look away from his profile, from the way the dim lighting softened his features.

"Some things aren't meant to be simple," she said quietly.

"No," he agreed. "But maybe they're worth the complications."

Before she could respond, Paige started up some music, and the party shifted into a new phase. Harper watched as Mary pulled Liu onto the makeshift dance floor, their awkward swaying somehow perfect in its sincerity.

"Dance with me."

She turned to find Wes watching her, his expression open and vulnerable in a way she rarely saw.

"That's not a good idea."

"Probably not," he agreed. "But I'm cleared for light activity. Doctor's orders."

"This isn't what I meant by light activity."

"One dance, Harper. Then you can go back to being professional."

She should say no. She knew she should say no. But something about the way he was looking at her, about the warmth in his voice when he said her name...

"One dance," she conceded. "And if that knee swells up—"

"You'll torture me with ice therapy tomorrow. I know."

He led her to the edge of the dance floor, far enough from the others to maintain some illusion of space. His hand was warm on her waist, his touch light but sure. They swayed together, not quite touching but close enough that she could feel the heat of him, could catch the faint scent of his soap.

"Your form is good," she said, because silence felt dangerous.

"High praise from my physical therapist."

"Athletic trainer."

"Same difference." His thumb brushed against her side, so light she might have imagined it. "You're good at both."

She looked up at him then, a mistake she realized too late. His eyes were dark in the dim light, fixed on her face with an intensity that made her breath catch.

"Wes..."

"I know." But he didn't move away. If anything, he drew her closer, until she could feel his breath on her cheek. "Tell me to stop."

She should. God, she should. But the words wouldn't come.

"Harper?" Korra's voice cut through the moment like a blade. "Can I borrow you for a second?"

Harper stepped back, reality crashing in. What was she doing? What was she thinking?

"I should go," she said, not meeting Wes's eyes. "Early morning tomorrow."

"Harper—"

But she was already moving away, letting Korra pull her toward the door. Her friend waited until they were in the hallway before speaking.

"That was getting intense."

"Nothing happened."

"Something was about to happen." Korra's voice was gentle but firm. "Look, I get it. He's charming, he's attractive, and you spend hours together every day. But this isn't just about you two. It's about your career, your dad's team, his future in the NHL..."

"I know." Harper leaned against the wall, suddenly exhausted. "I know all of that."

"Do you? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're both playing with fire."

"We're not playing at anything."

"No," Korra agreed quietly. "That's what worries me. This isn't a game for either of you, is it?"

Harper closed her eyes, remembering the way Wes had looked at her, the warmth of his hand on her waist, the thousand unspoken things in the space between them.

"I need to go," she said finally.

"Want company?"

"No. I need... I need to think."

Korra squeezed her arm. "Just be careful, okay? Hearts aren't like knees. They don't heal on a predictable timeline."

Harper nodded, not trusting herself to speak. As she walked to her car, she could feel eyes on her—knew without looking that Wes was watching from the window.

Some feelings, once acknowledged, couldn't be unfelt.

The question was: what was she going to do about it?

Because Korra was right about one thing—this wasn't a game. And the stakes were getting higher every day.

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