Updated Mar 22, 2026 • ~16 min read
Chapter 3: The Team Knows
POV: Priya Kapoor
Priya’s reorganizing the PT supply closet on Thursday afternoon—a task that absolutely doesn’t need doing right now but gives her something to focus on besides the way Carter looked at her during his treatment session yesterday, the way his jaw tightened when she mentioned Tyler, the way she could feel the tension radiating off him like heat from ice that’s just been resurfaced—when Kevin Santos appears in the doorway wearing an expression that immediately puts her on alert, the kind of curious, knowing look that means he’s about to ask questions she doesn’t want to answer.
“Busy?” Kevin asks, though he’s already leaning against the doorframe in a way that suggests he’s planning to stay regardless of her answer, settling in for conversation with the determination of someone who’s caught the scent of gossip and isn’t letting go until he’s extracted every detail.
“Just inventory,” Priya says, keeping her attention on the athletic tape she’s counting even though she’s lost track of the number twice already. “What’s up?”
“Nothing much. Slow day.” Kevin crosses his arms, and Priya can feel him watching her with the assessment skills that make him excellent at diagnosing injuries and occasionally annoying as a colleague. “Although the captain seemed pretty tense during his session yesterday. More than usual.”
Priya’s hands still for just a second—barely noticeable, hopefully not enough for Kevin to catch—before she forces herself to keep moving, to act casual even though her pulse has kicked up in a way that has nothing to do with inventory management. “He tweaked his knee during practice. Tension’s normal when dealing with pain.”
“Mm. Except his knee looked fine to me. Great mobility, no inflammation, full range of motion when I saw him in the gym after.” Kevin pauses, deliberate. “Almost like the tension was about something else.”
This is dangerous territory—Kevin’s been with the Blades organization for eight years, has seen multiple staff relationships implode in messy ways that ended with someone leaving or getting transferred, and he’s got opinions about workplace romance that he shares frequently and emphatically, usually involving phrases like “career suicide” and “professional boundaries exist for a reason.”
“Everyone carries tension differently,” Priya says, going for professional and detached even though her stomach is twisting with anxiety. “Part of our job is treating the whole athlete, not just the specific injury.”
“True. Very true.” Kevin shifts his weight, still watching her too closely. “You and Vaughn seem… close.”
There it is—the question Priya’s been dreading since this arrangement with Carter started three months ago, the observation she’s been terrified someone would make because despite their discretion and careful boundaries, apparently they’re not as subtle as she hoped.
“Professional relationship only,” Priya says, the lie tasting bitter even though it’s technically not entirely untrue—they do have a professional relationship, it just happens to also include regular sex and feelings she’s catching despite their explicit agreement not to. “I treat him like any other player.”
“Mm-hmm. Professional.” Kevin’s tone makes it clear he doesn’t believe her for a second, but he’s smiling in a way that’s more amused than judgmental. “That why you go tense every time he walks past? Why he looks at you like you’re the only person in the room? Why you both disappear after games and show up the next morning looking like you didn’t get enough sleep?”
Priya’s heart hammers against her ribs—they’ve been so careful, so discrete, never touching in public, barely speaking beyond what’s professionally necessary, maintaining perfect boundaries at work even when Priya wants nothing more than to reach for Carter or smile at him or acknowledge that they’re more than just PT and player.
Apparently careful wasn’t careful enough.
“I don’t know what you’re implying—” Priya starts, but Kevin holds up a hand, cutting her off.
“Hey, I’m not judging. Not my business what you do off the clock.” He pauses, expression going more serious. “But Pri, be careful. Team PT dating the captain? That’s complicated in ways that go beyond just workplace romance.”
“We’re not dating—”
“Whatever you want to call it.” Kevin pushes off the doorframe, lowering his voice even though they’re alone in the supply closet. “Look, I like you. You’re good at your job, probably the best PT we’ve had in years, and the team respects you. But if this thing with Vaughn goes south—and most relationships do—you’re the one who’ll pay the price professionally, not him.”
The words hit like a physical blow because Priya knows he’s right—she’s thought the same thing herself a hundred times since starting this arrangement, has laid awake at night calculating the professional risk and reminding herself why she needs to be careful, why ending it might be smarter than continuing, why catching feelings for the team captain is possibly the worst decision she’s made in her entire career.
“There’s nothing to go south,” Priya insists, even though it’s becoming less true by the day, even though her feelings are already complicated enough to constitute significant risk. “We’re colleagues. That’s all.”
Kevin looks at her for a long moment, and Priya can see the debate happening behind his eyes—whether to push harder, whether to call her on the obvious lie, whether to give more warnings about the professional consequences of whatever she’s doing with Carter.
“Okay,” he finally says, though his tone suggests he doesn’t believe her at all. “But when you need someone to talk to—and you will—I’m here. Off the record.”
He leaves before Priya can respond, and she’s left standing in the supply closet surrounded by athletic tape and ice packs and the crushing weight of knowing that if Kevin’s noticed, others probably have too, that the secret she’s been trying desperately to keep isn’t as secret as she thought, that the professional risk she’s been taking is maybe even bigger than she’d calculated.
Team PT dating the captain is messy if it ends.
And their arrangement has a specific end date—season over, relationship over, both of them walking away like it never happened.
Except Priya’s increasingly certain she won’t be able to walk away cleanly, won’t be able to pretend those months didn’t matter, won’t be able to show up at work next season and treat Carter like just another player when she knows how he sounds when he comes, how he looks sleep-soft in the morning, how careful he is with her body even when they’re rough with each other.
The professional risk is already a disaster waiting to happen.
She should end it now, before it gets worse.
Before the team knows for sure instead of just suspecting.
Before her heart gets so involved that walking away becomes impossible.
Priya makes it through the rest of her shift on autopilot—treating a groin strain, taping an ankle, running through post-practice recovery routines with players who joke and laugh and have no idea their PT is internally spiraling about a relationship that isn’t supposed to exist—and by the time she’s packing up her office at six PM, she’s exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with physical labor and everything to do with emotional management.
Her phone buzzes as she’s heading for the parking lot: Carter.
My place?
Two words. That’s all it ever is—an invitation, an assumption that she’ll say yes, the routine they’ve fallen into where he asks and she agrees and they both pretend it’s casual even when it increasingly feels like anything but.
Priya stares at the message for thirty seconds that feel like an eternity, her thumb hovering over the keyboard while her mind races through all the reasons she should say no—Kevin’s warnings about professional risk, Iris’s concerns about catching feelings, her own growing awareness that this arrangement is becoming unsustainable in ways she can’t control.
We just hooked up Monday, she types. Twice a week, remember?
The rules. The boundaries. The structure that’s supposed to keep this simple.
Three dots appear immediately, disappear, appear again.
Rules are flexible, Carter sends back, and Priya’s heart does something complicated in her chest because that’s new, that’s different, that’s Carter suggesting maybe their careful boundaries aren’t working for him either.
She should say no. Should maintain the structure that’s supposed to protect them both. Should do the smart thing professionally and personally and end this before it gets messier.
Give me an hour, Priya types instead, because apparently she’s incapable of making smart decisions where Carter Vaughn is concerned, because staying away from him is proving impossible despite knowing better, because the risk to her career is already significant and one more night probably won’t make it worse.
The drive to Carter’s apartment in the North End happens in a blur of anxiety and anticipation—Priya knows this route by heart now, knows where to park to be discreet, knows which entrance has the least traffic, knows exactly how many steps from the street to his door because she’s counted them on multiple occasions when trying to calculate the risk of being seen.
They’ve been so careful. Meeting only at his place, never hers where Iris could witness the full extent of their involvement. Never arriving or leaving together. Never touching in public. Maintaining perfect professional distance at work even when Priya can feel Carter’s eyes on her and wants to look back, wants to smile, wants to acknowledge what they are in private even though she can’t.
But Kevin noticed anyway.
Which means others probably have too.
Which means the secret Priya’s been protecting is maybe not as protected as she needs it to be.
Carter opens the door before she can knock—he’s been waiting, clearly, probably watching for her arrival from his window—and the expression on his face when he sees her makes Priya’s breath catch, something intense and hungry and possessive that goes way beyond their supposed casual arrangement.
“Hey,” he says, and his voice is rough in a way that means he wants her, has been thinking about this since he sent the text, and Priya should be immune to that look by now after three months but instead it hits her like a physical touch, makes her want to forget about Kevin’s warnings and professional boundaries and the fact that this arrangement has an expiration date.
“Hey,” she manages back, stepping inside and letting Carter close the door behind her, trap them in his apartment where the rules are different, where they can be whatever they are without worrying about who might see or what it might mean for her career.
He kisses her before she’s fully inside—deep and demanding and thorough, hands on her face like she’s precious, like he’s been waiting for this all day, like twice a week isn’t enough anymore and he needs more, needs her—and Priya melts into it because apparently all her professional concerns and Kevin’s warnings and her own better judgment disappear the second Carter touches her.
“Missed you,” Carter murmurs against her mouth, and that’s new too, that’s different, that’s acknowledgment of wanting beyond the physical that definitely violates their arrangement’s parameters.
“You saw me yesterday,” Priya points out, even as her hands slide under his shirt, mapping familiar muscle. “My treatment session, remember?”
“Not the same.” His teeth graze her bottom lip. “Can’t touch you there. Can’t do this.”
His hands slide down to her hips, pulling her flush against him, and Priya can feel how much he wants her, can feel the evidence pressing against her stomach in a way that makes her core tighten with anticipation.
They don’t make it to the bedroom this time—too urgent, too desperate, ending up on Carter’s couch with her straddling his lap and their clothes barely removed, just pulled aside enough for him to push inside her while she gasps his name and grips his shoulders and tries not to think about how this feels different than before, more intense, more significant, like they’re crossing lines they can’t uncross.
After, when they’re both catching their breath and Priya’s still in his lap with her face buried in his neck, Carter’s hands gentle on her back in a way that feels too tender for their arrangement, he says quietly: “Kevin knows.”
Priya goes still. “What?”
“Kevin. He knows about us. Or suspects, at least.” Carter’s hand moves up to her hair, fingers combing through the strands that have come loose from her ponytail. “He cornered me this morning, gave me the talk about professional boundaries and being careful.”
“He did the same to me this afternoon.” Priya pulls back enough to look at Carter’s face, finding concern there that matches her own. “What did you tell him?”
“That it was casual. Temporary. Nothing that would affect team dynamics.” Carter’s jaw tightens. “He didn’t believe me.”
“He didn’t believe me either.” Priya climbs off his lap, suddenly needing distance, needing to think without the distraction of Carter’s body against hers. “This is bad. If Kevin knows, others might too. And if it gets back to management—”
“It won’t.” Carter reaches for her hand, pulling her back down beside him on the couch. “We’ve been discreet. Kevin only noticed because he’s observant and he’s looking. Most people don’t pay that much attention.”
“Most people don’t need to pay attention if we’re obvious enough for Kevin to notice.” Priya pulls her hand free, anxiety spiking sharp and cold in her chest. “Carter, I could lose my job over this. Team PT dating a player is already questionable, but the captain? That’s—”
“You won’t lose your job.”
“You don’t know that!” Priya stands, needing to move, needing space. “You’re protected. You’re the captain, you’re valuable, they’re not going to fire you over a relationship. But me? I’m replaceable. There are dozens of physical therapists who could do my job, and if management decides I’m a distraction or a liability—”
“You’re not replaceable,” Carter interrupts, standing too, catching her shoulders and making her look at him. “You’re the best PT we’ve had in years. The team knows that. Management knows that.”
“That won’t matter if they think I’m compromising my professional judgment by sleeping with you.” Priya’s voice cracks despite her best efforts. “Kevin’s right. If this goes south, I’m the one who pays the price.”
Carter’s quiet for a long moment, his hands still on her shoulders, his expression doing something complicated. “Then we’ll be careful. More careful. No one will know.”
“Kevin already knows.”
“Kevin’s one person, and he’s not going to say anything. He’s just looking out for you.” Carter’s thumb strokes along her collarbone, the touch automatic, intimate. “We can do this, Pri. We just have to be smart about it.”
Priya wants to believe him—wants to trust that they can maintain this arrangement for four more months without professional consequences, that the risk she’s taking with her career is manageable, that she’s not making a terrible mistake by staying in Carter’s apartment instead of ending this before it destroys everything she’s worked for.
But Kevin’s warnings echo in her head—be careful, this is complicated, you’re the one who’ll pay the price—and Priya knows with uncomfortable certainty that smart would be walking away now, protecting her career and her heart before both get damaged beyond repair.
Except she can’t seem to make herself leave.
Can’t seem to give up the stolen hours and the way Carter looks at her and the feeling of being wanted even if it’s temporary, even if it’s risky, even if it’s going to end badly.
“Four more months,” she says quietly, and it sounds like a reminder, a warning, a countdown to inevitable ending. “Then the season’s over and so is this.”
Something flashes across Carter’s face—disappointment maybe, or hurt, though that doesn’t make sense given he’s the one who insisted on their arrangement’s parameters—but it’s gone before Priya can analyze it.
“Four more months,” he agrees, and pulls her back into his arms.
Priya goes, because staying away is proving impossible, because the professional risk is already significant enough that one more night won’t change anything, because she’s apparently willing to gamble her career on a relationship that isn’t even a relationship, that has an expiration date and explicit rules about not catching feelings she’s already violating.
Later, in Carter’s bed after round two and the shower they took together that turned into round three, Priya lies awake while Carter sleeps beside her—she’s breaking her own rule about leaving early, has been staying later each time despite knowing it’s dangerous, despite knowing that sleeping in his arms feels too much like something real—and tries to calculate the damage.
Kevin knows. Suspects, at least, strongly enough to warn them both.
Which means others probably suspect too.
Which means the secret relationship Priya’s been maintaining is maybe not as secret as it needs to be.
Which means the professional risk is even higher than she thought.
She should end it. Should tell Carter this has to stop before her career implodes. Should choose the smart option, the safe option, the option that protects everything she’s worked for.
But Carter’s arm tightens around her waist in his sleep, unconscious and possessive, and Priya knows with sinking certainty that she’s already in too deep to walk away cleanly.
The arrangement isn’t working.
Not for her heart, not for her career, not for any version of her life that involves making smart decisions.
But apparently she’s staying anyway.
At least for four more months.
At least until she figures out how to protect her job while falling for a man who doesn’t want anything beyond the physical.
At least until this whole thing inevitably falls apart and Priya’s left picking up the pieces of her professional reputation and her broken heart.
Kevin was right.
This is messy.
And it’s only going to get messier.
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