“I'm fine here.”
“You're not fine. You're isolated and —”
“You don't get to tell me what I am. You lost that right when you benched me.”
Grant flinched. Barely, but I saw it. “I know you're angry?—”
“Angry? You think I'm just angry? You destroyed everything, Coach. You told the world I'm broken. You made me feel like—” I stopped, jaw clenching, because finishing that sentence would give him too much power.
“Like what?”
“Like I matter less than your fucking principles.”
I watched something shift in Grant's expression. “That's not true.”
“Isn't it? You made your call. You chose my health over my career without even asking me what I wanted.”
“Because if I'd asked, you would've chosen wrong.” His voice was steady, infuriatingly calm. “You would've kept playing. Kept hiding the injuries. Kept destroying yourself until there was nothing left to save.”
“That's not your decision to make!”
“It was when you have gotten yourself hurt during that game.” Grant's control cracked slightly, voice roughening. “I'm not watching you ruin your career for short-term wins. I'm not watching you become another cautionary tale.”
“So instead you made me one anyway. Benched star. Damaged goods. The guy who couldn't handle the pressure.”
“That's not what happened.”
“That's exactly what happened.” I felt my throat tighten, frustration and hurt bleeding together. “And now you're here, what, to check on me? To make sure I'm not doing anything stupid? To remind me that you're still in control?”
“I'm here because I care about you. And I needed to know you were okay.”
I wanted to throw it back in his face. I wanted to tell him to leave, to go back to Toronto without me, to stop pretendingthis was about anything other than managing his asset. But I couldn't. Because the way he was looking at me—exhausted and raw and too fucking honest—made it impossible to lie.
“I'm not okay,” I said finally. Quiet. Defeated. “But I don't know how to fix it.”
Grant's expression softened. “Let me help.”
“You already helped. Look where that got us.”
“Jace—”
“I hate you for benching me. I hate you for being right. I hate you for making me feel safe enough to fall apart and then pulling the ground out from under me.” I paused, swallowed hard. “And I hate that I still want you anyway.”
“I know,” he said quietly.
I stepped back, letting him inside, because avoiding the truth had stopped working. He walked past me into the cabin, and I closed the door behind him, shutting out the cold and the dark and the option to run. We stood there in the warm firelight, facing each other, both knowing this conversation would change everything.
“The team's really on break?” I asked.
“Yeah. One week. Then we're back.”
“And you drove two hours to drag me home.”
“I drove two hours because you disappeared and I needed to see you.” Grant's eyes didn't leave mine. “The rest is just logistics.”
I wanted to stay angry. Wanted to hold onto the hurt and use it as armor. But standing here with him, seeing the exhaustion in his face and the worry he couldn't quite hide, I felt the anger start to crack.
“I'm still mad at you,” I said.
