He stared at me for a long moment, his face unreadable in the harsh gym lighting. Then he looked down and dragged a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Me too.” It wasn’t an answer or explanation, but it held weight.
For a while, neither of us spoke. I slowed my treadmill completely, then stepped off and reached for my water bottle. My hands felt unsteady, which annoyed me, but I decided to blame the run.
Hunter cleared his throat. “You want to lift?”
The subject change was abrupt, but I understood it for what it was. A door opening away from something too exposed.
“Sure.”
He moved toward the free weights, and I followed. The room suddenly felt smaller now that the treadmills were off. Hunterchose a heavy set of dumbbells and sat on the bench. I picked up lighter weights and positioned myself near the mirror, telling myself I was choosing that spot for form. That was a lie. The mirror gave me Hunter without requiring me to turn around.
He started shoulder presses, his movements controlled and powerful, and I focused on my curls like they were the most interesting thing in the world when really, I couldn’t rip my gaze from his arms and shoulders. The way his shirt pulled across his chest was downright sinful. The way his face tightened with effort made me wonder what he looked like when he was coming. I was pathetic. No, I was a grown woman with a functioning body and inconvenient taste. There was a difference.
“So,” he said after a few reps, his voice more even now. “Are you happy about the elective?”
That, at least, was safe ground.
“Yes,” I said immediately.
His mouth tipped at the corner. “Fast answer.”
“Because it’s true.” I lowered the weights, then lifted them again. “I’m happy. Nervous, but happy.”
“Nervous why?”
I watched my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed from the run, and my ponytail brushed the back of my neck as I moved. “Because I don’t want anyone thinking I’m there because of my dad.”
Hunter’s reps slowed.
“I know some people will,” I continued. “It’s unavoidable. He’s the coach, and I’m his daughter. I can earn every grade, show up early, stay late, know the anatomy, ask the right questions, work twice as hard as anyone expects, and there will still be someone who assumes the door opened because of my last name.”
“Did it?” he asked.
I looked at him. Hunter had never been the kind of man to decorate a question just to make it easier to swallow.
“The connection helped,” I said. “I’m not naïve enough to pretend it didn’t. But it didn’t do the work for me.”
“I believe that,” he said sincerely.
I paused. “You do?”
“Yes.”
That simple answer struck deeper than I expected. He set his dumbbells down on his thighs and leaned forward, forearms braced against them. “Cole wouldn’t let you near the team if he didn’t think you could handle it. He loves you, but he’s not careless with his players.”
My chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with exertion. Dad had always been proud of me. Loudly, embarrassingly proud. He had never missed a chance to tell someone what I was studying or where I was placed or how hard I worked. But Hunter understood the other side of it. The part that mattered here. My father could be proud of me as his daughter and still respect the work enough not to turn the team into a family favor.
“I needed to hear that,” I said.
Hunter’s gaze softened with a smile that touched his hazel eyes, making it look like he had gold swirling inside them. “I figured.”
I set the weights down and flexed my fingers. “My parents set a high bar. Daddy with hockey, Mom with medicine. They both built careers that took everything from them and somehow still made our family feel like the center of their world. I don’t know if I always understood that when I was younger, but I understand it now.”
Hunter listened without interrupting.
“I think that’s why sports medicine makes sense to me,” I continued. “It’s the place where both parts of my life collide. Myfather’s world and my mother’s. I grew up around athletes, but I also grew up watching my mom study until she could barely keep her eyes open because medicine mattered to her that much.”
“You sound like her,” he said thoughtfully.