My heart pounds against my ribs like it's trying to break free. "And if I wasn't your client?"
"But you are." There's a note of frustration in her voice now. "And even if you weren't, you're still a player on this team. There's no scenario where this doesn't put my career at risk."
"We could be careful," I suggest, though even as I say it, I know how foolish it sounds. "No one would have to know."
She gives me a look that's both tender and exasperated. "You know that's not realistic. People already suspect something. I overheard two women talking in the bathroom."
I look at her, confused. "What did they say?"
"Enough." She shakes her head. "The point is, it's not just about rules on paper. It's about my credibility. Everything I've built."
I nod slowly, understanding washing over me like cold water. "I get it. I do. And I would never ask you to throw all that away for me."
The timer on her phone chimes softly, signaling the end of our session. Neither of us moves.
"I should go," I say finally, but I don't stand.
"Yeah, you should." Her voice lacks conviction.
We stare at each other. Then we both lean forward at the same time. Our faces drift closer, drawn by some magnetic pull neither of us can resist. My eyes drop to her lips, slightly parted, and I can feel her breath on my face.
At the last possible moment, she pulls back, hand rising to her mouth like she can't believe what almost happened.
"I can't." Her voice breaks on the words. "I can't lose everything because of my feelings for you."
The phrase hits me like a physical blow, not because it's cruel but because it's true. That's what I am—a risk, a liability.
She stands abruptly, moving toward the door, opening it in a clear signal that our time is up. That this—whatever this is between us—is up.
I rise slowly, legs feeling unsteady. As I pass her in the doorway, our shoulders brush briefly, and even that small contact sends electricity coursing through me.
"Elena," I say softly, so only she can hear.
"Please go." Her eyes plead with me. "Just go."
I step into the hallway, turning to watch as she closes the door. Just before it shuts completely, I glimpse her face—the conflict, the desire, the regret all mingled together.
And as I walk away, a thought forms in my mind with such clarity and force that it stops me in my tracks: I'd give it all up for you, Elena.
The realization stuns me. I've never put anyone else first—not a teammate, not a coach, not a woman. My career has always been the priority, the only thing I truly valued. Yet here I am, ready to risk it all for Elena Martinez.
No woman has ever gotten under my skin this way. The fact that she has scares the hell out of me, but it also feels like waking up after a long, dreamless sleep. Like finally feeling something real after years of going through the motions.
Chapter 14
Elena
My phone's insistent buzzing drags me from sleep. I blink at the ceiling, my mind still foggy with a weird dream about running at the beach with no clothes on. The clock reads 6:47 a.m.
I reach for my phone, squinting against its harsh light. What I see makes my stomach clench. Five missed calls from Dad. Three texts.
The most recent text glows on my screen: "Call me as soon as you wake up."
Below it, a link to a sports site I vaguely recognize—one of those sites that is flooded with rumors and gossip about players' personal lives. My thumb hovers over it, afraid to press it. Whatever waits on the other side of that link has my father calling me repeatedly at the butt crack of dawn.
I tap it. The page loads slowly, taunting me with each incremental reveal.
The headline hits me first: "CHICAGO BLADES BAD BOY'S LATEST CONQUEST."
