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My throat closed.

Oh fuck.

“At the picnic,” I said, the memory slamming into me. “When I shut her down. She thought…”

“That you looked at her and found her wanting. That she wasn’t enough.” Crim’s voice went hard. “And last night, you confirmed it. You told her the only thing she was good for was fixing you.”

The weight room tilted. I grabbed the squat rack to keep from falling.

I’d done to her exactly what terrified me most. I’d made her feel disposable. Valuable only for what she could do, not for who she was.

She’d shown up to the game wearing my name and believed I was worth the risk.

Right up until I proved I wasn’t.

“You think you’re only valuable for what you do,” he said. “Maybe you should both figure out if that’s the problem.”

He left, and I stood in the empty weight room, his words echoing.

I’d made her feel exactly as worthless as I’d felt sitting on the bench.

Mid-afternoon, I stood outside her office, my hand raised to knock, my heart trying to force its way through my ribcage.

The door was cracked open. I could see her at her desk, bent over her tablet. She’d pulled her hair up in a messy bun, and she was chewing on her stylus cap the way she did when she was concentrating.

I knocked.

She looked up, and her expression went carefully neutral. Nothing like the softness I’d seen in the treatment room yesterday.

“Do you need something?” she asked.

“Can we talk?”

“If it’s about your hip, yes. Anything else, no.”

“Ellie—”

“Dr. Lundrig when we’re working.”

The formality cut deeper than any insult could have. I stepped inside anyway, closing the door behind me.

She stood, crossing her arms on her chest.

“I’m sorry about last night.”

“I see.” Her voice stayed flat.

“I didn’t mean what I said.”

“Of course you did. I’m your physical therapist. I fixed you. That’s my job.” She tilted her head. “Was there anything else?”

“I was scared,” I said. “I played like shit, and you were there watching, and I couldn’t handle knowing you saw me fail again.”

“So you made me feel like I was nothing.” Her voice stayed level, but her hands were shaking. She unlinked them and shoved them into her pockets. “Do you know what it’s like to care about someone and have them treat you like you’re furniture? Like the only thing that matters about you is what you can do?”

“I do know.” The confession ripped out of me. “That’s all I’ve ever been. The weapon in the net. The save percentage. The highlight reel. If I can’t do that, I don’t matter.”

“And you decided I was the same?” She laughed, but it sounded broken. “You decided we were both only worth what we could do for other people, so you pushed me away before I could figure it out and leave first? If our relationship only works when you’re winning, we were doomed to fail from the start.”