"Yeah." He meets my eyes steadily. "I started seeing someone. Dr. Ballard. He's not connected to the team at all. This is just for me."
"That's... wow, Nate. That's really great." And it is. A curl of something warm unfurls inside me—pride, maybe, or hope.
"I just started but the first session was helpful," he continues. "We're working through some family stuff. About why I push people away." He gives a small, self-deprecating laugh. "About why I pick fights."
The openness in his expression stuns me. This isn't the Nate Barnes who swaggered into my office that first day. This is someone new—or perhaps someone who was always there, beneath the carefully constructed armor.
"That's really brave," I say softly. "Therapy isn't easy."
"No shit." He rubs his hands together. "It's like skating uphill. But I needed to do something. I was tired of being the problem."
His eyes find mine on those last words, and the intensity in them steals my breath.
"I've been journaling," he continues, tapping the notebook. "And meditating. Badly, but I'm trying. And I'm working with Tucker on his shooting technique. Trying to be more of a team leader, you know? Never thought I’d enjoy it, but I do."
I listen, amazed at the changes he's describing. "That all sounds really positive, Nate."
"It's a start." He shrugs, but I can tell he's proud of the steps he's taking. "So what about you? How's everything going?"
I hesitate, unsure how much to share. But his honesty deserves reciprocation.
"Actually, I'm considering a job offer," I say. "With the Chicago Steel."
His eyebrows lift, but his expression remains open. "Yeah? Tell me about it."
So I do. I tell him about Dr. Shanta's call, about the position, about how it would solve some issues for me but also create new questions. I tell him more than I meant to, the words spilling out in a rush of uncertainty and conflicted feelings.
"It sounds like a great opportunity," he says when I finish. "The Steel's got a solid organization. Progressive management. They'd be lucky to have you."
"You think I should take it?" I ask, studying his face.
"I think you should do what's best for you, Elena." His voice is gentle but firm. "If that's the Steel, then yes. If that’s what's best for you, you should go after it."
"Thank you," I whisper, unexpected tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. "That means a lot."
He nods. "For what it's worth, I think you'd kill it there."
The sincerity in his voice reaches something deep inside me, a place that's been aching for weeks. Without thinking, I lean forward and press my lips to his.
The kiss is brief—a whisper of contact. His lips are warm and familiar against mine, and for one breathless moment, everything else falls away.
I pull back, my face reddening. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have?—"
"Don't apologize." His voice is rough. "Not for that. Never for that."
We stare at each other, the air between us charged with everything we've been to each other, everything we could be.
"I should finish my run," I say finally, standing on unsteady legs.
He nods, making no move to stop me. "It was good to see you, Elena."
"You too, Nate." I take a step back, already missing him. "Take care of yourself."
"You too," he echoes, his eyes following me as I turn and begin jogging back to the path.
I don't look back, though every cell in my body wants to. Instead, I focus on finding my rhythm again, on the steady in-out of my breath.
But my mind is nowhere near as disciplined. It races with thoughts of Nate—the changes in him, the vulnerability in his eyes, the feel of his lips against mine.
