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"I'm serious, Nate." She straightens papers on her desk that don't need straightening. "It's the only way forward. I'm requesting reassignment from your case. You'll work with Dr. Mendez from now on."

"So that's it? We just pretend none of this ever happened?" I stand, frustration rising in me.

"Yes." She won't look at me now. "That's exactly what we do."

I move closer to her desk, willing her to meet my eyes. "I don't believe you want to do that."

"It doesn't matter what I want!" The words burst from her, the first crack in her careful composure. "This isn't about what either of us wants. It's about what has to happen."

She stands too, arms wrapped around herself like she's holding something in—or keeping something out. For a moment, we just stare at each other, the air between us charged with everything we can't say, can't do.

The alarm on her phone chimes, startling us both.

"I have a session in five minutes," she says, her professional mask sliding back into place. "You need to go."

"Elena, please?—"

"Now, Nate." Her voice is firm but there's a slight tremor in it. "Please go. I can't do this right now."

I want to argue, to make her see that what we have is worth fighting for. That we can make it work somehow. But the set of her body, the tension in her jaw—tells me now is not the time.

"Fine." I step back, hands raised in surrender.

She turns away to gather her notes. I walk to the door, pausing with my hand on the knob.

"For what it's worth," I say quietly, "I would never deliberately do anything to hurt you or your career."

She doesn't turn around, but she stiffens slightly. "I know," she whispers, so softly I almost miss it.

I slip out of her office, and close the door behind me. In the empty hallway, I lean against the wall, eyes closed, heart racing. I meant what I said—I'd gladly take the fall for her. I'd do anything to protect her.

The text from Coach comes during my afternoon workout a few hours later: "My office. Now."

I set down the weights I've been curling, a cold sweat breaking out across my back that has nothing to do with physical exertion. He knows. And now I have to face him not just as my coach, but as Elena's father.

I head down the hall and knock once on his door, the sound pathetically timid even to my own ears.

"Enter." His voice is sharp enough to cut glass.

I push the door open and step inside. He stands behind his desk, hands braced on the surface, leaning forward like he's barely restraining himself from vaulting over it.

His face is set in hard lines, eyes boring into me with an intensity that makes me want to turn around and walk back out.

I don't. Instead, I close the door behind me and meet his gaze.

"You wanted to see me, Coach?"

"Sit down, Barnes."

I lower myself into the chair across from his desk, hands resting on my knees. The silence stretches between us, taut as a wire. I wait for him to speak first.

He finally straightens up, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm going to ask you one question, and I want the truth. Are you involved with my daughter?"

There it is. The direct hit I've been expecting. He already knows so there’s no point in lying about it.

"Yes." The word hangs in the air between us.

His jaw tightens. "You son of a bitch."

"Coach—"

"No." He cuts me off with a slashing motion of his hand. "You don't get to speak yet. You don't get to explain or try to spin this. You sit there and you listen."

I close my mouth, waiting.

"I brought you back to this team against my better judgment.

Against the advice of most of my staff. You know why?

" He doesn't wait for an answer. "Because you have talent.

Because I thought maybe, just maybe, you'd finally grown up enough to put that talent to good use and stop causing so many problems."

He starts pacing behind his desk, energy radiating off him in waves.

"Instead, I find out you've been sleeping with my daughter." He spits the words like they taste foul. "Do you have any idea what kind of position you've put her in? What this could do to her career?"

"I never meant for this to happen," I say quietly.

"Bullshit." Coach stops pacing to glare at me. "You're Nate Barnes. This is what you do. You take what you want without thinking about the consequences."

The accusation stings, mostly because there's truth in it. That was me—before Elena.

"It's not like that," I say, fighting to keep my voice level. "Not with Elena."

"Oh? Then what is it like?" His tone is mocking. "You're in love with her? You want to settle down and be a one-woman man? Please…"

"Maybe I do." The words come out stronger than I intended, surprising us both.

Coach laughs. "You expect me to believe that? Your reputation precedes you, Barnes. You don't commit to anything—not teams, not relationships, not even your own potential."

"People can change," I say.

"Sure they can. But not overnight. And not you.

" He leans forward again, eyes narrowed.

"I know men like you, Barnes. I've coached dozens of them.

You're charming, you're talented, and you only think about yourself.

Whatever you think you feel for my daughter?

It won't last. But the damage to her career? That could be permanent."

His words echo what Elena said in her office—what she told me her father had said to her.

"You're wrong about me," I say, standing now, unable to sit still any longer. "And you're wrong about what I feel for Elena."

"Am I?" He rounds the desk, stepping closer, invading my space. "Then tell me this—did you think about her career before you started sleeping with her? Did you consider what it would do to her professional reputation?"

The guilt rises in my throat. Because no, I didn't think of those things—not at first. Not until it was too late.

"That's what I thought." Coach reads my silence accurately. "You didn't think about her at all. Just about what you wanted."

"That's not fair," I say, anger starting to simmer beneath my guilt. "You don't know everything about us."

"I know enough." His voice rises slightly. "I know my daughter is devastated. I know she's risking everything because of you. And I know all about your past, Barnes. How many women have you gone through? How many hearts have you broken without a second thought?"

"Elena's different," I insist, hands clenching into fists at my sides. "What we have is different."

"Let me make something perfectly clear." He steps even closer, close enough that I can see the flecks of amber in his dark eyes, so similar to Elena's.

"My daughter is not going to be another notch on your bedpost. She is not going to throw away everything she's worked for because you decided to add 'team psychologist' to your conquest list."

He continues. "What's between you is a professional relationship that you've corrupted." His voice is steel. "Nothing more. And it ends now."

"With all due respect, Coach, that's not your decision to make." I stand my ground, meeting his glare. "It's Elena's. And mine."

Something changes in his expression—the anger hardens into something colder, more dangerous. "You think because you're a star player, you can do whatever you want? Not this time."

He moves so suddenly I don't have time to react. He grabs my arms, pulling me up and shoving me backward until my spine hits the wall. There’s raw fury in his eyes.

"Stay the hell away from my daughter." Each word is deliberate. "If I find out you've gone near her again—if I even catch you looking at her—I will make sure you never play another game in this league. Are we clear?"

I could push back. Could break his grip easily—he's strong for his age, but I've got youth and size on my side. But the devastation in his eyes stops me. This isn't just my coach threatening me. This is a father trying to protect his daughter.

From me.

"We're clear," I say, my voice rougher than I intended.

He steps back, releasing me, his breathing slightly ragged. "Get out of my office."

I straighten my shirt, moving toward the door on unsteady legs.

"I know you won't believe me," I say without turning around, "but I care about Elena. More than I've ever cared about anyone. I would never deliberately hurt her."

"Intentions don't matter," Coach says, his voice flat. "Results do. And the result of your involvement with my daughter could destroy her. So I'll say it one more time: stay away from her."

I don't respond, just slip out the door, closing it behind me. The hallway is mercifully empty as I lean against the wall, eyes closed, trying to process what just happened.

Coach is right about one thing—I didn't think about the consequences when this started. Didn't consider what it might cost Elena. I was selfish, impulsive, thinking only of what I wanted.

But he's wrong about the rest. Wrong about what I feel for her. Wrong that she’s just another conquest, another fleeting desire.

The question now is whether I can prove it to him. To Elena. To myself.

And whether I should even try, knowing what it could cost her.