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I had no idea how to do that anymore. Trusting myself had gotten me pulled from two playoff games in a row.

After he went over our power play, offense and defense, the meeting ended. The team left, heading to their various training routines. I went to the gym, needing to do something with my hands that wasn’t checking my phone for messages that weren’t coming.

The gym doors had been propped open, and I heard Fedor’s rumbling bass and her voice.

She was finishing up with Fedor’s knee. She didn’t look at me, just wrapped up the session, made notes on her tablet, and walked past me as if I didn’t exist.

Fedor watched her go before turning to me. “What did you do?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You fucked up bad, didn’t you?”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

He shook his head and strode past me, leaving me alone with the machines and my mistakes.

I only made it through a few sets before I gave up and headed to the weight room, hoping the empty space would give me room to breathe.

Crim stood by the squat rack, his arms crossed on his chest, tapping the toe of his shoe on the floor.

“I’m going to talk,” he said. “You’re going to listen.”

I stopped, my shoulders sagging. “Alright.”

He studied me for a long moment, chewing on words he couldn’t quite spit out.

“I spent most of the past year telling you to stay away from her,” he said. “I thought I was protecting her from getting hurt.” He shook his head. “But I was wrong. You want to know what would hurt her?”

I didn’t answer.

“Not you failing or you having a bad game.” He stepped closer. “You making her feel like she’s only worth what she can do for you.”

“I didn’t mean it.”

“I know what you meant. You’re scared. You think you’re not good enough.” His voice gentled slightly. “But my sister doesn’t give up on people.”

The words stuck, sharp-edged and choking.

“She spent the past two weeks fixing you and not because it was her job.” He held my gaze. “She saw something worth fixing. Worth keeping. And you threw it back in her face.”

“I’m going to lose everything,” I said, the words tumbling out. “The team. The playoffs. Her. I can’t do anything right.”

“You’re right. You can’t. Not alone.” Crim’s expression softened. “But you don’t have to do this by yourself. She was standing beside you while you did it, and you pushed her away.”

“She’s better off without⁠—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” His voice went hard. “You’re both fools. You’re perfect for each other, and you’re both too scared to see it.”

I stared at him.

“She thinks she’s only valuable for what she does.”

The words hung in the air between us, and I turned them over, trying to find the sense in them.

“What are you talking about?” I said. “She’s brilliant. She knows she’s brilliant.”

“Does she?” Crim’s expression went sad in a way that made a dull ache spread under my skin. “Or does she work herself into the ground trying to prove it? You’ve seen her. Coming in early. Staying late. Researching treatments at midnight as if she stops being useful for five seconds, she’ll stop mattering.”