“You’re harder on yourself than any coach would ever be. Trust your instincts,” he says. “Trust me.” “I do trust you,” I say. “Then trust me when I tell you this: you belong here. On this team. On my line.” I turn my head, and suddenly we’re too close, close enough that I could count his eyelashes if the light were better, close enough to see the exact shade where sea meets the sky in his eyes. “You could have anyone centering you.” In the half-dark, Blair’s face is all shadows and certainty. “I don’t want anyone. I want you.”
