Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Azzi was it for Paige. She had been for years—long before either of them had the words to name it. Before late-night study sessions turned into something more. Before layups and laughter became love.

Now, in the quiet hum of the hospital room, Paige listened to the steady rhythm of machines tracking every breath Azzi took. She sat motionless, watching the soft rise and fall of her wife's chest, afraid that if she blinked, something might change.

It had been a long few days. A long year.

Hell, a long many years.

But Paige would do it all again. Every injury, every heartbreak, every sleepless night. She’d walk through fire—crawl through hell—for Azzi.

And watching her like this? Pale. Drained. In pain she couldn’t take away?

This was hell.

She knew that feeling all too well. She remembered 2019—Azzi collapsing on the court, screaming in agony, the crowd going silent in a way that still haunted Paige’s dreams. ACL and MCL. Gone. Paige had felt the break in her own bones that day, just from watching.

But this? This felt worse.

That same powerless ache. That same hollow grip in her chest—only now, it was wrapped around something even more fragile. This time, it wasn’t just a game.

It was their future.

All she could do was be here. Wipe Azzi’s scared tears. Hold her hand. And pray—pray even when she didn’t know what to pray for.

A soft knock broke the stillness.

Katie Fudd peeked into the dim room, checking on them again. Her eyes met Paige’s—red, weary, but awake. Even at 2 in the morning, after rushing to New York from Virginia. Still holding on. 

She stepped inside slowly, her presence gentle. “How’s she doing?”

“She’s asleep,” Paige murmured. “About twenty minutes now.”

Her mother-in-law nodded, her voice catching. “And how are you doing?”

Paige inhaled, but the breath trembled in her lungs. “I’m scared. I’m… I’m not okay.”

Her eyes drifted back to Azzi. They always did.

Katie followed her gaze. She’d known them both since they were kids. Known it was love before they ever said it out loud.

“I don’t want to let her down,” Paige whispered.

Katie sat at the foot of the bed, quiet for a long moment. “You haven’t. Not once.”

“I just… I can’t fix this,” Paige said, her voice fraying. “I can’t take her pain. I can’t make this okay.”

“She’s not asking you to,” Katie said softly. “You’re here. That’s everything.”

Silence again. Heavy, but safe.

Then Azzi stirred.

Her hand reached out, blindly searching for the one thing that had always been there when everything else fell apart—Paige.

Paige caught her hand instantly, threading their fingers together. Azzi’s wedding ring caught the overhead light, flashing gold like a memory.

Her anchor. Her always.

Azzi’s fingers twitched, holding tighter. Her eyelids fluttered. Paige leaned forward and pressed her lips gently to the back of her hand.

She could still feel it—Azzi’s laugh just one day ago. The warmth of her pressed against her side on the couch, legs tangled as they half-watched reruns of Grey’s Anatomy. More giggles than dialogue. More kisses than plot.

Azzi had rested a hand on her barely-there bump and whispered something about baby shoes.

"I want them to have your laugh," she'd said.

Paige had kissed her temple, then her belly. "I want them to have your curls."

They were glowing. It had felt like the beginning of everything.

Until the bleeding started.

Just a few drops. Azzi brushed it off.

“I feel fine,” she’d said. But her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

Paige knew better.

Ten minutes later, she was tearing through traffic—one hand on the wheel, the other gripping Azzi’s thigh like a lifeline. One of the rare moments she was grateful they didn’t live in New York City, but on the outskirts—far from the standstill of Manhattan traffic. Her heart thundered, drowning out every rational thought. Azzi tried to make her laugh. Tried to stay calm. She was always the strong one.

The ER was quiet. The ultrasound brought relief. A heartbeat. A strong one.

“Just in case,” the doctor said. “We want to keep her overnight.”

Just in case.

Three words that would echo through Paige for the rest of her life.

Because around 5 a.m., Azzi gasped awake—sharp, broken, terrified.

“Cramping,” she choked out. “Bad. It’s bad, P—”

Everything blurred after that.

Nurses. Wires. Monitors. Azzi crying out. Paige holding her hand with both of hers, trying not to fall apart.

Then came the silence.

The awful, echoing silence.

“We’re so sorry. There’s no heartbeat.”

Paige didn’t cry right away.

She held Azzi instead—rocked her through the sobs, kissed her hair, whispered broken promises:

“I’m here. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

Hours passed like that.

Later, Azzi blinked awake, her eyes dull and empty. She looked at Paige and whispered, “I lost them.”

Paige’s heart cracked open.

“No, baby,” she said. “We lost them.”

Azzi sobbed into her chest, and this time, Paige cried too. The grief split them open. But it didn’t tear them apart.

If anything, it bound them tighter.

—

The rest of the day and into the night, the hospital room was still. Azzi curled on her side, Paige sitting behind her, tracing soft circles on her back and she holds her.

“I don’t know if I can do this again,” Azzi said, barely above a breath.

Paige felt it like a punch. Her voice cracked. “Baby… we don’t have to think about that now.”

Azzi turned toward her, tears streaking her cheeks. “I know how bad you wanted this. A family.”

Paige cupped her face like it was made of glass. “I wanted us. That’s it. That’s always been it.”

Azzi’s fingers trembled as she reached for Paige’s.

“There are other ways,” Paige whispered. “Adoption. Surrogacy. Or none of it. We don’t have to decide. Not today. Not for a long time.”

“Would you still want it that way?” Azzi asked.

Paige didn’t hesitate. “I want to be a parent with you. That’s what matters. You are what matters.”

Azzi let out a breath she’d been holding for days and sunk back into her wife's arms, tears silently streaming down her face.

Two days later, the hospital quietly discharged Azzi. 

No cameras. No headlines. Just Paige wheeling her out the back in an oversized hoodie, sunglasses low on her face, her free hand clutching Azzi’s bag like it held their whole life inside.

Their agents released a joint statement that morning:

“Two months ago, Azzi and Paige were overjoyed to learn that Azzi was pregnant after privately going through IVF this past year. They shared the news privately with close friends, family, and their team—the New York Liberty—as well as league officials and training staff.
Azzi continued to train with the team under close supervision, with full support from medical professionals. As the pregnancy progressed, they planned to make a public announcement closer to the start of the WNBA season.
Unfortunately, Azzi recently experienced a miscarriage and is currently recovering at home with Paige and loved ones by her side.
They ask for privacy as they grieve this loss together.”

The moment it went live, support poured in—quiet, respectful, heartfelt.

What mattered most were the messages from their community. Teammates from every corner of the league. Former UConn girls. Past WNBA teammates. Coaches. Staff. League officials. Flowers. Letters. Texts that didn’t demand responses.

Paige turned off her phone after answering just one message:

“Take all the time you need. We’ve got you both.”
—Her Liberty coach

Azzi hadn’t looked at her phone once.

She sat on the edge of their bed, holding the printed copy of the statement in her lap. Her hands trembled.

“I wanted to tell the world,” she said. “Not like this. Not through someone else’s words.”

“I know,” Paige said, sitting beside her. “You still can. In your time. Your voice.”

Azzi nodded, staring down. “It just felt so real, you know? Like... we were really doing it. A baby. A life. People knew. People were happy for us.”

Paige pulled her into her side. “We were doing it. And that joy—that love—we still have it. That’s ours. That doesn’t go away.”

Azzi whispered, “I don’t want them to just be a headline.”

“They won’t be,” Paige said. “They’re part of us now. Always.”

Azzi leaned into her, burying her face in Paige’s shoulder. Paige kissed her crown.

The flowers kept coming. So did the letters. Dozens of them. Handwritten notes. Text messages. Voicemails Paige couldn’t yet bring herself to play. The WNBA might be full of fierce competitors, but off the court—it was a sisterhood.

From Chicago to Seattle, players wore subtle tributes in offseason workouts: black wristbands, initials scrawled in marker on sneakers, quiet nods captured on team social accounts.

Stewie and Marta sent beautiful flowers. Nika, Ice, KK and other UConn teammates sent food. Caroline stopped by with a hand-knitted baby blanket she’d been working on since the pregnancy news - she hadn't even known how to knit but was determined to make something for the new addition. She didn’t say much—just hugged Azzi, handed it over, and left it folded gently on the arm of the couch.

Even players they weren’t especially close to reached out. The WNBA community wrapped around them like a soft, unseen net—quiet, but unshakable.

And through it all, Katie and Tim stayed. Katie cooked meals Azzi barely picked at, organized the overflow of cards and gifts on the kitchen table, and brewed tea only Paige seemed to drink. Tim helped clean the house, doing dishes, laundry, anything that he could to help out.

One week after they came home, Azzi sat on the back porch with her mom, wrapped in a fleece blanket despite the warmth outside. The quiet hum of the city felt distant out here. Paige was inside, folding laundry she didn’t need to fold.

Azzi stared ahead. Her voice, when it came, was barely louder than the breeze.

“I’m scared of my body, Mom.”

Katie didn’t flinch. She reached for her daughter’s hand. “Tell me what you mean.”

“I thought I knew it,” Azzi said, slowly. “My body. I’ve spent my whole life trusting it—training it. Pushing it. But I couldn’t protect them.” Her fingers clenched. “I couldn’t keep them safe. So what does that mean for me?”

Katie didn’t answer right away. She let the words settle between them.

“It means you’re human,” she said at last. “Not broken. Not a failure. Just human.”

Azzi’s throat tightened. “But if my body can’t do this… if I can’t do this... then what kind of mother can I be?”

Katie turned toward her, cupping her face gently. “You carried love in that body, Az. So much love. You dreamed for them. Fought for them. You and Paige built a world around that dream. It’s okay to be angry. It’s okay to be scared.”

“I don’t know if I can ever do it again.”

“You don’t have to decide that now,” Katie said. “Right now, just breathe. Let yourself grieve.”

Azzi’s eyes filled. Her breath hitched.

“And when you forget how strong you are,” Katie whispered, brushing away the tears, “we’ll remind you.”

Inside, Paige watched from the kitchen window. She couldn’t hear the words—but she saw the moment Azzi leaned into her mother’s shoulder and let go. She blinked against the blur in her own eyes.

They weren’t okay.

Not yet.

—

Katie and Tim left exactly one week after Azzi was discharged. Not because they wanted to—because Azzi insisted.

She hugged them both tightly at the door, whispering “thank you” into her mother’s shoulder over and over again.

When the door shut and the car pulled away, the house felt bigger. Too big.

Paige stood in the hallway, arms crossed, watching Azzi slowly slide down to sit on the staircase. She didn’t cry. She just stared at the door for a long, long time.

It was the first time they’d been truly alone since everything happened.

Paige sat beside her. For several minutes, neither of them spoke. The quiet didn’t feel peaceful. It felt like a vacuum. Like something had been ripped away and they were both still waiting for it to return—even knowing it never would.

Later that night, Azzi woke up alone.

The side of the bed where Paige usually slept was still warm, the sheets crumpled—but empty.

Azzi padded barefoot through the hallway. “Paige?” she called softly.

No answer.

Then she saw the light.

The nursery.

They’d only just started putting it together. There was barely anything inside—just a small rug, the beginnings of a crib frame, a rocking chair Paige had insisted on assembling herself.

Azzi stopped in the doorway.

Paige sat on the floor, her back against the wall, cradling a soft yellow onesie in her lap. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks. She didn’t sob. She didn’t move. She just stared down at the little outfit like it held a piece of her soul.

“Baby…” Azzi’s voice cracked.

Paige jumped slightly and turned her face away, quickly swiping at her cheeks. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to… I couldn’t sleep.”

“You don’t have to hide from me,” Azzi whispered, stepping inside.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” Paige murmured. “You’ve been through enough.”

Azzi knelt in front of her. “And so have you.”

Paige shook her head, wiping at her face again, but the tears kept coming. “I just… I thought if I stayed strong, if I didn’t fall apart, maybe you wouldn’t have to. But—” Her voice cracked. “I miss them, Azzi. I miss them so much. And I never even got to hold them.”

Azzi pulled her into a hug. Paige collapsed into her, the dam finally breaking.

“They were ours,” Paige sobbed into her shoulder. “And I loved them the second I knew they existed. And now they’re just… gone.”

Azzi’s own tears fell freely now, but she held Paige tighter, rocking slightly—the way she’d already imagined doing in that very room.

“I know,” she whispered. “I know, baby. I loved them too. So much. And I hate that this is real.”

They stayed like that a long time—wrapped around each other in a half-finished nursery filled with dreams they couldn’t quite let go of.

Eventually, Paige looked up, her eyes red and hollow. “We’ll be okay… right?”

Azzi kissed her forehead. “We’ll be okay. Not today. But one day.”

She helped Paige to her feet, and they turned off the nursery light together. The house was still too quiet. Still too big. But now, they weren’t alone in it.

Long after they had gone back to bed, curled into one another, Paige's voice broke through the silence. 

“I already saw you as a mom, you know.”

Azzi turned slightly, brow furrowed. Paige stared at the ceiling, her voice soft.

“You were already one,” she said. “The way you talked to them—when you thought I was asleep. How you’d rub your stomach every morning like it was instinct. The way you gave up your morning coffee without a single complaint,” she added with a faint, tearful smile.

Azzi let out a shaky breath.

“I watched you research every prenatal vitamin. Make a playlist. Start learning baby sign language—at like four weeks,” Paige said, her voice cracking. “And I just kept thinking, God, she’s already doing it. She’s already loving them the way only a mother can.”

Azzi blinked fast, tears welling.

Paige finally turned to her. “You didn’t fail them, Az. You gave them everything you had for as long as you could. And I saw it. Every day.”

Azzi didn’t speak. She just reached under the covers and clutched Paige’s hand like she was holding on to something sacred.

Paige kissed the back of her fingers. “You are a mother, Azzi. No matter what anyone says. No matter what happens next. You already are.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty.

It was full—of grief, and love, and the invisible threads still tying them to the life they had started to build.

And for the first time in days, Azzi slept. Paige did too.

Not because the pain was gone.

But because love stayed.

—

It had been twelve days since they left the hospital.

Paige hadn’t touched a basketball in almost three weeks.

She moved through the house in quiet, careful rhythms—making tea she didn’t drink, folding laundry that didn’t need folding, stagnant.

She wasn’t sulking. Not exactly.

Just… dimmed.

And Azzi noticed everything. She knew her wife well enough to know her true outlet was the court with a basketball in her hands. 

“Babe,” she said one morning, pushing a spoon through her oatmeal, eyes on Paige. “Go to the gym.”

Paige looked up, startled. “What?”

“Just for a little. Nothing serious—just shoot around. Be around people.”

“I’m not ready. And I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“I’m okay,” Azzi lied gently. “And you don’t have to be ready. But you need it. You can’t keep holding everything in just to protect me.”

“I’m not—”

“You are,” Azzi said, reaching across the table to rest her hand over Paige’s. “And I love you for it. But you’re allowed to let someone else carry this too.”

Paige hesitated, her gaze dropping to their hands. Then, slowly, she nodded.

Two hours later, she was at a quiet gym where Liberty players trained in the offseason.

No cameras. No press. Just a few teammates and familiar trainers.

She kept it light—free throws, soft layups, a few half-speed drills. At first, it felt foreign. Like her body didn’t quite belong to her. But then… her feet remembered. Her hands remembered.

The ball became part of her again.

And for the first time in days, she exhaled without realizing she’d been holding her breath.

When she finished, she sat on the locker room bench, toweling off. She could hear her teammates in the background—talking, laughing.

The sound felt like warmth in winter.

Then:

“Hey,” a familiar voice said gently from the doorway.

Azzi.

Still in a hoodie and leggings, she stepped inside. The room quieted, but not out of discomfort—out of reverence. Every person in there had heard. And every single one softened.

Azzi offered quiet smiles, exchanged a few hugs, a few nods. No one tried to say too much.

They didn’t have to.

She made her way over to Paige and crouched in front of her, brushing a loose hair from her eyes.

“You good?” she asked, her voice soft.

Paige nodded. “It helped.”

Azzi smiled softly and reached for her hand. Paige squeezed back.

As they stood to leave, a teammate gently touched Azzi’s arm. “If you ever want to come shoot… or just be around—we’ve got you.”

Azzi’s throat tightened. “Thank you.”

She didn’t say much on the ride home. She didn’t have to.

Paige glanced over, and somewhere between a stoplight and their driveway, whispered, “Thank you for pushing me to go.”

Azzi reached for her hand. “That’s what we do. We hold each other up.”

And that was how healing started, too. Not in leaps. Not in grand gestures.
But in these quiet, steady moments.

Of showing up.

Of holding on.

Again and again.

—

The tree arrived 23 days after they left the hospital, on a warm, overcast afternoon. 

A willow tree, to represent healing, hope, and mourning. A way to remember the love they lost so suddenly and too soon.

Azzi stood at the window as the delivery truck pulled away, arms wrapped around herself. Paige came up behind her and gently touched the small of her back.

“You still want to do this today?” Paige asked.

Azzi didn’t answer right away. Her throat was tight, but she nodded. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I want to.”

They took their time in the backyard. Paige dug the hole while Azzi knelt nearby, hands curled around the tree’s slender trunk.

Every few minutes, they paused. For air. For tears. For the weight of it all.

Azzi held the tree steady while Paige filled the earth back in, both of them silent.

“It’s a good spot,” Paige said quietly. “Peaceful.”

When it was done, Paige pressed a hand against the new soil, and Azzi knelt and placed a small ceramic marker in the earth, just in front of the trunk. No name. No dates. Just a few words, engraved in soft cursive:

For the one who made us mothers. You are so loved.

Paige knelt beside her. “Always,” she whispered.

The wind picked up gently, rustling through the branches above. Azzi tilted her head toward the sky and closed her eyes.

“Do you want to tell people?” Paige asked quietly.

Azzi nodded, her voice caught in her chest. “Yeah. I want the world to know they were real, with our words.”

They drafted the post together. The picture was of the tree, catching golden light, the stone nestled beneath it. Nothing posed. Nothing polished.

The caption read:

We found out we were expecting a baby two months ago.

Our joy was deep, quiet, and full.

Twenty three days ago, we experienced a miscarriage.

This tree was planted in our backyard to honor the space they will always hold in our lives.

We are heartbroken, but we are holding each other close.

Thank you to our families, teams, and the entire WNBA community for your love and support.

With grief, and with gratitude,

— Paige & Azzi 🤍

 

They posted it together, Azzi’s hand wrapped tightly in Paige’s.

They didn’t check their phones for hours. They didn’t need to.

The world would see it, feel it, and hopefully understand: their baby existed. They were theirs. They always would be.

—

It was early evening when they walked into the empty gym together. The same kind of gym they’d grown up in. The kind that smelled like polished wood and dusted chalk, that echoed with every step, every bounce, every breath.

Paige carried the ball, spinning it slowly in her fingers. Azzi walked beside her, arms crossed loosely over her chest, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands.

They hadn’t planned it. There was no dramatic conversation. Just a look exchanged over dinner, and then Paige saying quietly, “Wanna go shoot?”

Azzi had nodded.

The gym was quiet. Sacred.

Paige took a deep breath, and shot. The ball kissed the net and fell through. Azzi watched her, eyes soft, then moved to retrieve the rebound. She passed it back gently.

They didn’t speak for a while.

Just passed. Shot. Retrieved. Repeat.

It wasn’t practice. It wasn’t about points or stats or reps. It was communion.

It was Paige looking at Azzi’s follow-through and smiling faintly. It was Azzi catching Paige’s crossover and shaking her head with mock disapproval. It was muscle memory, sure—but it was more than that.

It was theirs.

Paige dribbled to the top of the arc and held the ball in both hands.

“This was where I first realized I was in love with you,” she said suddenly. "On the court."

Azzi turned, surprised.

“We were just messing around after practice for the USA U-17 camp. You hit three in a row from the corner and turned around to grin at me like you always do. And I just knew.”

Azzi swallowed. “You didn’t say anything.”

“You were my best friend. I was scared.”

Azzi walked to her, slipped her arms around Paige’s waist. “I wasn’t. I just waited for you to catch up.”

Paige laughed, the sound thick with emotion, and rested her forehead against Azzi’s.

They stood like that in the middle of the court—no clock running, no crowd watching. Just two women holding the weight of their grief and love together. Stronger than before, somehow.

Azzi leaned her head on Paige’s shoulder. “We’ll come back. All the way. Together.”

Paige nodded, pulling her close. “Yeah. Just not all at once.”

Chapter Text

The bar is loud with people trying to shout over the music to hear their friends talking. The dance floor is packed, bodies swaying to the music. Paige has her arms wrapped around Azzi’s hips while Azzi has one hand holding the back of Paige’s head, her fingers in her hair.

The amount of alcohol they both have consumed is the only reason they are dancing this close in public. Usually, they are too careful about looking like a couple. But right now, that’s not on either of their minds.

Azzi turns in Paige’s arms, wrapping her own around Paige’s neck. Paige’s eyes are dark, darker than normal as they move from Azzi’s face to her lips. 

They both begin to lean in until a body pushes into theirs, putting a stop to the moment. Almost as they both remember where they are, they pull apart quickly, Paige looking up at the ceiling and sighing, Azzi looks to the floor.  

“I’m going to get another drink,” Paige yells, “do you want one?” 

Azzi just shakes her head before turning and trying to push her way back to the booth some of their teammates were sitting at. 

Nika caught the interaction from a few feet away on the dance floor, the annoyed and irritated look on Az’s face, Paige’s disappointment and hesitation. She follows Paige to the bar, leaning against her as Paige drops her arms on the bar rather dramatically. 

“Hey Twin,” as she pats Paige on the shoulder.

Paige lets out a grunt in response, twisting to rest her hip against the bar to face Nika.

“You okay?” She tries to catch Paige’s eye, but her eyes are back at the booth, where half her heart sits.

“She’s pissed. And rightfully so.” She sighs. “Can’t be too touchy, can’t look at each other too long, can’t be too affectionate. It’s so fucking frustrating.” 

Nika nods, sympathetically. “I’m sorry P. I can’t imagine how frustrating that is.”

Paige looks away, biting her lip to stop herself from saying more in the crowded bar. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Azzi stand up quickly and reach for her purse. Paige knows that look in her eye - she’s done. Done with the night or with what, Paige doesn’t know.

“Shit,” Paige turns back to the bartender who is too busy to have even taken her order. 

Nika sees Azzi leave and the worried look in Paige’s eyes. She nudges Paige, “I’ll pay for your drinks. You can Venmo me later. Go get your girl.” 

Paige nods and gives her a quick hug before pushing to the door. Towards where Azzi is trying to make her way through the crowd towards the exit.

“Az!” Paige tries to yell over the noise, but Azzi doesn’t hear her as the opens the door harshly. 

“Fuck,” she says under her breath, moving faster. “Azzi!”

Azzi turns quickly to Paige, “What?” her voice harsh.

“Baby-“

“No. Don’t.”

Paige freezes hearing her response. One she hasn’t ever gotten before. 

“Just,” Azzi’s voice dies off. “Just don’t.”

Paige hesitates, unsure of how to respond. The cold settles into her body, the November air crisp. She nods and looks to the ground. 

A car pulls up to the curb and she looks up. Azzi is looking at her, waiting. The window rolls down and the driver speaks, “Azzi?” 

She nods without turning to face the Uber driver. 

“I’m going back to my apartment. If you want to finish this conversation tonight, I’m leaving now.” 

Paige nods quickly, understanding the tense invitation to go back with her. She quickly moves to open the door for Azzi. Even in the moment, her instincts to treat Azzi as a princess appear.

Azzi moves all to the other side of the back seat, putting enough space between her and Paige for Paige to get the message. The car ride is tense, even for the short ride back to student housing. 

Once inside Azzi’s apartment, Paige is quiet for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts.

“Baby-“

Azzi scoffs, shaking her head. Paige stops talking.

“I thought-” she pauses. “I thought coming here, playing together, I thought we could finally be us. Paige and Azzi. Together.” She shakes her head.

“Playing for the same school. Living close enough to each other to see each other regularly. Have the moments we couldn’t have when you were here and I wasn’t yet.” 

“We still can,” Paige’s voice cracks, already hating the direction this conversation is going.

Azzi laughs, humorlessly. “No we fucking can’t. It’s November, of my freshman year. We haven’t even been here together for a year and we can’t be together in public.”

“We can’t hold hands when we walk through campus. We can’t stand too close during practice or games. We can’t even fucking kiss at Ted’s,” Azzi closes her eyes, her shoulders tense. 

“Az-“

“That isn’t a relationship P. That’s a friendship. Hell, not even that! We can be more affectionate with Nika or Carol than with each other.” 

Paige doesn’t know how to respond. Her heart beginning to tug apart in two different directions.

“I knew this was how it was going to be,” Azzi mumbles under her breath. 

“Baby I love you. I have for years. When I was here and you were still in Virginia. I know we don’t get the big moments but we’re still physically together.” Her voice cracks again.

Azzi shakes her head. “It’s not enough.”

Paige freezes. Her blood turning to ice. She’s frozen, standing in Azzi’s quad. Already feeling the distance between them.

“W- what?” 

Azzi doesn’t answer right away. She looks down at her hands — fists clenched at her sides, like she’s holding herself together.

“I don’t mean I want to break up,” she finally says, her voice rough with emotion. “But sometimes… it feels like I’m the only one suffocating from this.”

Paige steps forward, instinct pulling her closer, but Azzi holds up a hand.

“Don’t,” she says again, but softer this time. “Just—just let me say this.”

Paige swallows hard and nods, her chest tightening.

“I see the way people look at us when we’re too close. I see how you step away like you’re trying to protect us. I know why. I know it’s for the team. I know it’s for the press. I know it’s because you love me enough to try to shield me from the fallout.”

She finally lifts her eyes to meet Paige’s, and they’re glassy with unshed tears. “But it hurts. It fucking hurts, P. Because I’m in love with you and I have to act like I’m not.”

Paige’s breath catches. She’s never seen Azzi like this — not after a bad game, not after hard practices, not even when they were long distance and aching for each other over late-night FaceTimes.

“I don’t want to hide you,” Paige whispers, her voice breaking. “I don’t want to pretend you’re just my teammate. But I also don’t want anyone to take this away from us. You know what it’s like here. If we’re a distraction, they’ll bench us. Or worse.”

Azzi nods slowly, the tears finally spilling down her cheeks.

“I know,” she says quietly. “But I don’t know how much more of this kind of love I can take.”

That hits Paige like a body blow.

She takes one careful step forward. Azzi doesn’t stop her this time.

“I don’t have all the answers,” Paige says, her voice cracking. “But I love you, Az. I love you so much. And I thought—being here together—I thought that would mean something.”

Azzi lets out a shaky breath, avoiding Paige’s eyes. “Sometimes I think it would’ve been easier if I hadn’t committed here.”

The words hit Paige like a slap. Her body stiffens, her eyes going wide. She blinks once, like maybe she misheard, but Azzi doesn’t take it back.

Paige steps back, her hands falling from Azzi’s waist. “Wow.”

“Paige—”

“No,” she interrupts, laughing bitterly as her buzz turns bitter. “You’re seriously saying this was a mistake?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“You just said it would’ve been easier if you weren’t here—if you weren’t with me. What the hell else am I supposed to hear?”

Azzi rubs her hand over her face. “I said it would’ve been easier, not that I don’t love you.”

“But you’re saying it’s not worth it.” Paige’s voice rises, her words slurred with emotion more than alcohol. “That all the hard parts—sneaking around, keeping it private, loving each other in silence—it’s too much for you. That I’m not enough to make it worth it.”

Azzi’s eyes flash, hurt and anger tangled together. “Don’t twist what I said.”

“You think I want to hide us?” Paige’s voice breaks now. “You think this doesn’t kill me too? But I’m trying. I’m trying to make this work because you’re the only thing that matters to me, Azzi.”

Azzi’s jaw clenches. “You don’t get it. You’re everyone’s golden girl. You can smile and brush things off. No one questions you. I walk across campus and people are watching me all the time. I can’t breathe.”

“And I can’t do this,” Paige says, her voice hoarse. “I can’t stand here while you tell me that the first time we’ve ever had a shot at us, it’s not enough for you.”

Silence falls heavy between them.

Azzi’s breathing is sharp now, like she’s holding back something she doesn’t want to say. She shakes her head, tears in her eyes. “You think this is easy for me? You think this doesn’t hurt?”

“You said it’d be easier if you’d never come,” Paige snaps, her own tears falling now. “Do you even know what that sounds like to me?”

Azzi opens her mouth, then closes it again. She doesn’t know how to explain that her pain isn’t about regret—it’s about longing. Exhaustion. The constant ache of loving Paige in a cage.

But it’s too late. Paige has already stepped back further, arms wrapped around herself now like she’s trying to hold her heart together.

“Maybe I should go,” Paige mumbles, voice raw.

Azzi doesn’t stop her.

And that hurts more than anything.

—

Paige's apartment is quiet, eerily so. She stumbles through the front door, the cold air still biting at her skin. Her keys hit the entry table with a clatter, but there’s no one there to notice. She barely manages to toe off her sneakers before she walks straight to her room and shuts the door softly behind her.

She doesn’t bother turning on the light.

The dark feels fitting.

The second her knees hit the mattress, she caves. Sobs tear from her chest like they’d been waiting, coiled and sharp, just behind her ribs. She buries her face into her pillow, the muffled cries echoing back against her cheeks. Her hands claw at the covers, like gripping something—anything—might make the ache stop.

She thought Azzi would follow her. Maybe not right away, but eventually. She thought Azzi would call, or text, or knock on the door with that heart-in-her-eyes look she always gets when she’s about to apologize.

But the silence is loud. And it's killing her.

A soft knock comes at her door.

She doesn’t answer. She can’t.

Nika pushes it open anyway, her voice gentle. “P?”

Paige doesn’t lift her head. Just lets out another choked sob.

Nika crosses the room quickly, sitting on the bed beside her and placing a comforting hand on her back.

“What happened?” she asks, not expecting an answer right away.

Paige turns just enough to speak, though her voice is broken and small. “We fought.”

“About?”

“Us,” Paige whispers. “She said… it might’ve been easier if she didn’t commit to UConn. And I—” her voice catches, and she hides her face again. “I thought she meant me. Like all this—us—wasn’t worth it.”

Nika’s heart aches for her. “I’m sure that’s not what she meant.”

“I wanted her to come after me,” Paige says, voice trembling. “I wanted her to fight for us. But she didn’t. She just let me leave.”

“Paige…” Nika slides into the bed beside her, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close.

“I love her so much,” Paige mumbles against Nika’s shirt. “I didn’t even realize how much until I thought I might lose her.”

Nika doesn’t say anything right away. She just holds her. She knows better than to offer false hope or quick answers.

The tears keep coming until they slow—until Paige’s breaths even out and the heartbreak gives way to exhaustion.

She falls asleep like that: curled into Nika, tears still drying on her cheeks, the ache in her chest temporarily softened by the presence of someone who loves her enough to stay.

Azzi wakes up with a headache and a hollow chest.

The night plays in fragments—her words, Paige’s face, the slam of the car door, the way Paige just stood there, not knowing if she was supposed to follow or flee. She regrets all of it. Or maybe not all of it. Maybe just how it ended—how she ended it.

She picks up her phone and stares at the last text Paige sent her the night before, telling her she was on her way to her apartment to get ready for going out. “Omw baby. Can't wait to see you. I love you."

She rereads it until her screen dims and she has to get ready for her classes.

Eventually, she opens a new message.

AZZI: Can we talk today? Please? About us. Our future.

She hovers over the send button for a second before tapping it. And then all she can do is wait.

But Paige doesn’t respond.

Azzi checks her phone obsessively through her morning classes, pretending to take notes in “Intro to Accounting” while secretly refreshing her messages every few minutes. Her stomach clenches tighter each time she sees no new notifications.

By mid-afternoon, the silence is loud. Heavy. Tiring.

She thinks maybe Paige just needs time. Maybe she’s still sleeping. Maybe she’s with Nika or in the gym, trying to burn off the pain. Paige doesn’t always talk through things—sometimes she shuts down first.

Azzi understands that. But understanding doesn’t make it any easier.

She stares at her phone all the way through lunch.

—

When she walks into the locker room before practice, there’s an ache in her chest that intensifies with every step. Paige’s usual spot is empty—her shoes not by her locker, her jersey not hanging up. It makes everything colder.

Azzi moves slower than usual, delaying getting dressed. Hoping for the sound of the locker room door swinging open. For Paige’s laugh. For anything.

When the clock creeps closer to practice time and Paige still hasn’t shown, the tension settles under Azzi’s skin like a splinter she can’t dig out. Her hands feel numb as she laces her shoes.

She waits until the last possible second before walking out—only moving when a student manager passes by and gives her a look that says, If you’re late, Coach will notice.

Warm-ups have already started. Balls are bouncing. Sneakers squeak. But Paige is nowhere.

Azzi jogs over to where Nika is stretching on the sideline. She hesitates before speaking, heart already in her throat.

“Is Paige coming?” she asks, trying to sound casual, but her voice cracks a little.

Nika doesn’t look at her—just keeps stretching her hamstring.

“No,” she says flatly. “She’s not.”

Azzi flinches like she’s been slapped. “Oh,” she whispers.

That’s all she gets. No explanation. No tone of comfort. Just the clipped answer and the silence that follows.

Azzi stares at her feet for a moment, then jogs off toward the rest of the team. Her chest tightens with every step. Every drill. Every time she looks toward the door.

She’s never felt more on a team and more alone at the same time.

Halfway through a shooting drill, Ice jogs up beside her, catching a rebound and tossing it back gently.

“Yo,” Ice says, bouncing the ball once. “Where’s Paige?”

Azzi’s heart skips. Her fingers tighten around the ball.

“I… I don’t know,” she admits, voice low.

Ice raises her brows. “You don’t know?” There’s no judgment in her tone—just surprise.

A second later, KK joins them, wiping sweat off her forehead. “Wait, for real?” she asks, glancing between them. “She’s not in the gym and you don’t know why?”

Azzi presses her lips together and looks at the floor. She shrugs. “We didn’t talk this morning.”

That alone earns her a few wide-eyed glances. The entire team knows Azzi and Paige are close. Maybe not public about everything—but always in sync. Always a unit. The idea that Paige didn’t tell Azzi she wouldn’t be at practice? That’s new. And it spreads like wildfire across the court.

Even Aaliyah and Lou pause in their drills, exchanging confused glances. Dorka gives a little shake of her head, like she’s trying to dismiss it but can’t.

The atmosphere shifts. Murmurs drift through the players. Even the student managers whisper.

Geno catches on quick.

“Alright,” his voice slices through the noise like a whistle. Everyone freezes. “I hear the chatter—cut it.”

He walks slowly toward the center of the court, arms crossed.

“Bueckers is out today. Sick.” He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t look at anyone in particular. “But we don’t cancel practice because one player is missing. Not even her. Got it?”

A round of quiet nods follows.

“Then let’s move,” he says. “Azzi, you’re running point for scrimmage.”

Azzi nods without arguing, even though her stomach churns. She picks up the ball and gets in position. But everything feels wrong.

She doesn’t know where Paige is.

She doesn’t know how they’re going to come back from what happened.

And now everyone else knows something’s off too.

Azzi doesn’t waste time after practice. She showers quickly, barely towel-dries her hair, and pulls a hoodie over her head before making her way to Paige and Nika’s apartment. The whole walk, her chest twists tighter. She’d spent all day trying to figure out what to say—what she felt—but nothing came out right in her head. And now, she’s just showing up, still unsure, but needing to try.

Nika answers the door, her stance guarded, arms crossed.

“She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“I need to see her,” Azzi says quietly.

“She needed you last night. And you bailed.”

Azzi flinches at that—because she’s right. She stayed frozen in her bed while Paige fell apart across in her own apartment.

“I know,” she says. “Please, just… let me try.”

Nika glares at her for a long moment before stepping aside with a begrudging sigh. “One chance. And if she tells you to leave, don’t be stupid.”

Azzi walks the short hallway, her steps barely making a sound. She pushes Paige’s door open gently.

The room is dim, the blanket over her window blocking what little light is left of the day. Paige is curled on her bed, knees hugged to her chest, staring blankly at the wall.

“Paige?” Azzi says softly.

Paige doesn’t move, but her voice floats back, rough and flat. “Now you want to talk?”

Azzi steps in cautiously. “I never stopped wanting to.”

Paige scoffs and wipes at her face. “Sure felt like it.”

Azzi sits at the edge of the bed, the distance between them wide and painful.

“I didn’t know what to say last night,” she admits. “I still don’t, really. I just… I’m so tired of pretending. Of hiding. And I don’t know if I can keep doing it.”

Paige turns her head, finally looking at her—her eyes bloodshot, rimmed with exhaustion.

“So what are you saying?” Paige asks. “That we can’t be together?”

“I don’t know.” Azzi presses her hands together, knuckles white. “I keep thinking… if I’d gone to UCLA, or somewhere else, maybe it’d be easier. We wouldn’t be teammates. We wouldn’t have rules or eyes watching us every second.”

Paige’s breath catches. “You really think that would’ve been better?”

Azzi sighs, her voice quiet. “Maybe not better, but easier.”

A beat of silence. Then Paige sits up, bristling.

“Easier?” she repeats, voice rising. “You would’ve been on the West Coast, Azzi. We’d be thousands of miles apart. Maybe we could’ve held hands if we got a weekend together once a month—if that. That’s better than what we have now?”

Azzi looks down, guilt swelling in her chest.

“How often do we see each other now as a couple?” she asks. “We share a gym and a locker room and we can’t even touch. We live minutes apart and have to act like strangers outside closed doors.”

“We are together,” Paige argues. “Even if it’s hard. Even if it sucks sometimes. We’re together. I thought that’s what mattered.”

Azzi’s voice wavers. “But what if being together just hurts more than it helps?”

That lands like a knife. Paige’s jaw clenches. “So now it’s not even worth it?”

“I didn’t say that—”

“But you’re thinking it.” Paige stands up, pacing now, eyes glossy with unshed tears. “You’re saying that if we can’t post a picture together or hold hands on campus, that it’s not worth it to love me.”

“I do love you,” Azzi says, standing too. “That’s why this is killing me.”

“Then fight for it,” Paige snaps. “Fight for me.”

Azzi goes quiet, chest heaving.

And in the silence, Paige deflates. Her voice breaks as she asks, “Or are you just waiting for me to let go so you don’t have to?”

Azzi doesn’t answer.

That silence answers for her.

Paige nods slowly, swallowing hard. “You should go.”

Azzi’s heart thuds, a dull ache behind her ribs. “Paige…”

“Please,” Paige whispers, turning her back.

Azzi takes a step, then another, the floor beneath her feeling miles long. When she reaches the door, she stops.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” she says softly.

Paige doesn’t turn around. “Then why does it feel like you just did?”

Azzi barely slept.

She spent most of the night curled on the far edge of her bed, staring at her ceiling, replaying everything Paige said—and everything she didn’t. Her chest ached, heavy with guilt and confusion, and the silence on her phone screen only made it worse.

Classes the next day felt like a blur. She scribbled notes without processing a word. Her headphones played music she couldn’t hear. Every time her phone buzzed, her heart leapt—only to drop again when it wasn’t Paige. Over and over, like cruel clockwork.

By the time practice rolled around, Azzi felt hollowed out.

Paige was already in the locker room when Azzi arrived. Their eyes met for half a second before Paige looked away, tightening the laces of her shoes like it was the most important task in the world.

The tension in the air was sharp, undeniable. The team could feel it.

Nika didn’t say a word to Azzi. Ice and KK gave her slightly puzzled, concerned looks but didn’t ask anything. Aaliyah lingered a little longer by her locker, like she wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

Geno’s voice snapped them all into movement, and practice began.

Paige was laser-focused. Not in her usual passionate, driven way—but in a sharp, cold sort of way, as if she could outrun her emotions through sheer physical effort.

During drills, Paige went out of her way not to be paired with Azzi. She traded spots with Lou. Asked to rotate with Dorka. Gave Nika a look that made it clear: not now. Not her.

Azzi felt it in every cell of her body. It was like they were strangers. Paige wouldn’t even look at her.

And Azzi? She was all over the place.

Her shots were off.

She fumbled a pass.

Her footwork was sloppy in the defensive drills.

Geno pulled her aside more than once, frustrated but trying not to show it in front of the others.

When practice ended, everyone filtered out, laughing and groaning about soreness and weekend plans. Paige left without a word.

Azzi stayed behind, asking one of the assistants if she could keep shooting. She needed the distraction, the rhythm, the noise of a bouncing ball to drown out the quiet echo in her chest.

She stayed until the lights dimmed and the custodian swept near the benches.

Only then did she shower quickly and head back to the locker room.

It was nearly empty—just the hum of fluorescent lights and the clatter of a closing locker down the hall.

She moved toward her locker slowly, her body aching from overworking, but her mind still too busy to feel it. 

She freezes when something catcher her eye in Paige's locker. Sitting neatly at the corner of her top shelf was a small ring. Delicate, with a small stone, her birthstone. She knows that ring, she has almost an exact replica, but the one she has on has Paige's birthstone. Whereas this one has Azzi's. 

The rings Azzi and Paige had exchanged months ago. A quiet gift, shared one night after a long game and an even longer talk about forever. Paige had worn it nearly every day since.

Until now. Now as it sits in Paige's locker. Left or forgotten, she's unsure.

Azzi stared at it for a long time. Her throat burned, and her stomach dropped with a slow, sickening weight.

She didn’t touch it.

She couldn’t.

Instead, she turned away, grabbed her bag with trembling fingers, and left the locker room in silence—her footsteps echoing behind her.

Azzi didn’t make it far before the dam inside her cracked.

She slid down the hallway wall, knees folding under her as tears spilled over—hot, desperate, and unstoppable. Her chest heaved, trying to catch a breath she couldn’t find.

Her hands trembled as she pressed them to her face, trying to hide the flood she’d held back for so long.

The ring. The ring was still there—in Paige’s locker, untouched, like everything else between them right now. It was a quiet reminder that despite everything, Paige hadn’t let go completely. Yet here Azzi was, feeling more alone than ever.

Was this the right choice? Walking away from what could have been? Was her fear of secrecy and distance enough to break them apart? Or was it just an excuse she told herself to protect a heart already bruised?

Azzi’s mind spun in a whirlpool of doubt and regret.

Maybe if I had been stronger… if I had fought harder…

Maybe if I hadn’t chosen this school… or if we’d never been teammates…

But deep down, she knew the truth was messier.

Even if they were at different schools, thousands of miles apart, maybe it still would have been just as hard.

Was it the distance or the silence that crushed them?

Her phone buzzed softly in her pocket.

She glanced down, hope flickering—

But the screen was blank. No new messages.

She buried her face in her hands again, the tears coming harder now, her body trembling with the weight of it all.

Was she running away from love or from the pain of loving in the shadows?

Azzi didn’t know. All she knew was that the ache in her chest was raw and unbearable.

And for the first time in a long time, Azzi let herself break.

Because sometimes love hurts so much that even the strongest have to fall apart before they can figure out how to hold on.

—

Azzi shuffled into her apartment, the weight of the day dragging at her every step. Aaliyah was lounging on the couch, headphones resting around her neck, scrolling through her phone.

She looked up when she heard the door open, concern flickering in her eyes. “Hey, what’s going on? You look wrecked.”

Azzi ran a hand through her hair, voice tight. “It’s Paige. I love her so much, but it feels like the hurt is just too big to handle. This secret, the waiting, the not being able to be us like I thought we would… I’m scared I’m breaking us.”

Aaliyah nodded slowly. “That’s a heavy load. But have you thought about what you do have? The moments you get—even if they’re not what you dreamed.”

Azzi shook her head, bitter. “Sometimes I wonder if the moments we have are just crumbs. We can be with each other in certain moments, like with teammates, but not at practices because of the coaches. In our rooms but not outside of them... Maybe if I’d gone somewhere else, it’d be different. Maybe we’d be able to be together openly. But then—”

“But then,” Aaliyah interrupted gently, “you wouldn’t have her here. You’d be thousands of miles apart. Texts, calls, maybe a flight home once in a while. You’d be together in theory, but not really. Right now, you have her physically nearby. You get those stolen moments, the quick hugs, the late-night talks, the sleepovers, the way you know she’s there when you need her. That’s something.”

Azzi’s eyes flickered with the truth in Aaliyah’s words, but the ache was still there. “I want that too—the ‘together’ that’s not hidden or stolen. But I’m terrified this is all we get. And it feels like... like that’s not enough.”

Aaliyah reached out, squeezing Azzi’s hand. “Maybe it’s not what you imagined. But it’s real. It’s what you have right now. And sometimes, that’s what matters most. You have her. She has you. Don’t lose sight of that.”

Azzi swallowed hard, her breath catching. “You’re right. I don’t want to lose her. I just... I don’t know how to live with this pain.”

Aaliyah smiled softly. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

She sighed deeply before picking herself up and making her way slowly towards her room. Sinking down onto her bed, her chest tightening as if an invisible hand was squeezing it, harder and harder with every shallow breath. The room seemed to shrink around her, the walls closing in like they were inching closer with every heartbeat.

Her vision blurred at the edges, sounds muffled and distant, as if she was underwater. The steady rhythm of her pulse pounded in her ears louder than anything else. Her fingers trembled uncontrollably, clutching at her shirt as though it could anchor her to something solid.

What if she ruined it? Ruined them? What if what she did - said and didn't say - was unforgivable and they couldn't find their way back to each other?

A cold sweat broke out across her skin, goosebumps rising despite the warmth of the room. Her legs felt weak, and the panic twisted in her gut like a storm she couldn’t escape.

She tried to slow her breathing—inhale, exhale like her exercises have taught her to do —but the air felt too thick, too heavy to pull in properly. Her chest heaved desperately, each breath shallow and frantic, but it wasn’t enough.

The tightness spread, a crushing weight on her ribs. Her throat tightened, words stuck somewhere between her heart and her lips. She was suffocating in her own mind, trapped in a loop of fear and confusion.

Her thoughts raced—What if I’ve lost her? What if this is the end? What if I’m never enough?—until they spiraled out of control.

Azzi’s hands shook so badly she almost dropped her phone. Without thinking, she dialed Paige’s number, pressing the phone to her ear as the panic wrapped tighter around her.

“Please, please pick up,” she whispered to herself, heart pounding louder than the ringing tone.

Then, a voice—soft, cracking, familiar—answered.

“Azzi?”

Paige’s voice was raw, like she’d been crying too. It broke through the fog suffocating Azzi, grounding her somehow.

“Paige,” Azzi managed, voice trembling, “I... I don’t know... I can’t breathe... I think it’s—”

Her words caught in her throat, choked by the weight of the panic squeezing her lungs, and the phrase barely escaped her lips, broken and fragile: “...pan... pan... panic…”

She swallowed hard, trying again, but the words tangled, lost in the rising fear and tightness in her chest.

Paige’s silence was gentle, patient. She spoke, voice soft but steady:

“I’m coming. I’m right there.”

And with that promise, the weight on Azzi’s chest loosened just enough for her to hold on.

The knock on the door felt like a million miles away. Azzi’s fingers trembled uncontrollably as she unlocked it and opened the door just enough for Paige to slip inside.

Azzi barely was able to move out of the doorway for Paige to come in before her knees buckled. Her chest felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible vise, every breath shallow and burning. The room seemed to tilt and spin around her. Her hands shook, heart hammering so loud she thought it might burst.

Paige’s arms caught her, with her eyes immediately finding Azzi’s face — pale, slick with sweat, eyes wide and glassy with fear. Without hesitation, Paige wrapped her arms around Azzi, pulling her close, grounding her in the moment.

Azzi’s breath hitched into short, rapid gasps. The tightness in her chest crushed harder, and she felt like she was drowning in air she couldn’t grasp. Her body shook violently, legs threatening to give out.

“I… I can’t…” Her voice came out in a broken whisper, ragged and strangled. “It’s… can’t… breathe…”

Paige’s hand slid soothingly down Azzi’s back. “You’re safe, baby. I’m right here. Just try to breathe with me, okay? In… slow… and out…”

Azzi tried to follow the rhythm but her chest still burned, lungs desperate for more air that wouldn’t come. Her fingers dug into Paige’s shirt like an achor, desperate to hold onto something real. The walls seemed to close in, the shadows stretching and twisting until the room was a cage.

“I’m so scared,” Azzi gasped between sobs. “I— I don’t want to lose you. I think I ruined us…”

Paige tightened her embrace, her voice soft but unwavering. “You won’t lose me. No matter what, I’m here. We’re still us, okay? We’re going to get through this together.”

Azzi’s body was trembling uncontrollably now, tears streaming down her cheeks as the panic slowly began to ebb, the crushing weight loosening just enough for her breath to deepen. Her heartbeat was still racing, but the edges of the terror started to blur.

Leaning into Paige’s warmth, Azzi let the tears come freely, the fear still lingering but slightly muted. For the first time that night, she felt a fragile thread of hope — maybe, just maybe, they could survive this storm together.

"Let's lay down," Paige whispered, ushering Azzi onto the bed and off her feet. Paige eased down beside her, wrapping an arm around Azzi’s shoulders, pulling her close.

“It's okay, you're okay,” Paige murmured softly, pressing her hand to Azzi’s back, rubbing slow, soothing circles that felt like a lifeline in the chaos. Her other hand threaded gently through Azzi’s damp hair, cradling her head with quiet tenderness.

Azzi tried to speak, to make sense of the jumble of emotions tearing her apart inside. Her voice came out broken and raw, “Paige, I—”

Paige shook her head, silencing her with a softness that demanded rest. “Not yet, love. We’ll talk when you’re feeling better. Right now, just breathe. Just rest.”

Azzi’s fingers curled desperately around the hem of Paige’s shirt, gripping so tightly her knuckles whitened. It was as if letting go would mean losing the only tether keeping her from falling apart completely.

Tears slipped unbidden down her cheeks, warm and heavy trails of release she couldn’t stop. Paige leaned in, her forehead resting against Azzi’s, their breaths mingling in the fragile quiet.

“You’re not alone, okay?” Paige whispered, her voice steady and soft, like a promise. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

For a long moment, all that existed was the rhythm of their breaths and the steady pulse of Paige’s hands. Outside the walls of the apartment, the world kept turning—but here, in this fragile cocoon, there was only this: two hearts beating through the dark, holding on.

Her voice trembled, barely more than a whisper. “I thought… I thought being here with you, at UConn, would be different. I imagined us—together—actually together,” she said, her words catching in her throat. “I dreamed about us walking across campus, holding hands, being loud and proud, not hiding.”

She swallowed hard, the weight of those unspoken dreams pressing down. “But I never really thought about how we wouldn’t be allowed to be public. How we’d have to keep everything so quiet—like we were doing something wrong.”

Her vision blurred again. “It’s like… even though we’re close, we’re still so far apart. Like I’m standing right next to you but still can’t touch you in the way I want.”

Her chest tightened, each breath a struggle. “I don’t know if I can do this—this constant pretending. This fear that every look, every touch might get us in trouble or make someone uncomfortable.”

Azzi’s voice cracked under the weight of her confession as she continued. “I’m scared that my dreams were just… illusions. That the ‘us’ I imagined doesn’t exist here.”

She pressed her forehead against Paige’s chest, her whole body trembling. “I love you so much. But sometimes, it feels like loving you is the hardest thing I’ll ever do.”

Her tears soaked into Paige’s shirt, and for a moment, all that was left was the quiet, heavy ache of what they wanted—and what they were forced to hide.

Paige held Azzi close, anchoring her trembling body with her own steady warmth. She didn’t rush to speak. Instead, she just let Azzi cry, rubbing slow circles into her back, breathing deeply so Azzi could try to match the rhythm.

Her voice, when it came, was barely more than a whisper in the quiet dark.

“Az… I’m so sorry you’ve been carrying this,” she said, her lips brushing the top of Azzi’s head. “I wish I could’ve taken some of it for you. I wish I’d seen it all sooner.”

Azzi clung to her, her fingers still holding Paige’s shirt, her breaths shaky and uneven.

“I know it’s not fair,” Paige continued gently. “It’s not fair that we finally got here—together—and it still doesn’t feel safe to be us. It’s not fair that you’ve had to question everything, or feel like you were wrong to hope.”

She pulled back just enough to tilt Azzi’s face up, cupping her cheek with a tenderness that felt like home.

“But I need you to hear me, okay? You didn’t ruin anything. You haven’t failed. You’re not too much, or not enough. You are everything. And I love you, Azzi. So much.”

Azzi’s mouth opened like she wanted to say something, but only another quiet sob came out. Paige just held her tighter, cradling her head against her chest as if she could will Azzi’s pain to ease.

“We don’t have to have all the answers right now,” Paige murmured. “We don’t have to know what comes next. All we have to do is breathe… together. You’re not alone in this. I’m here. I’m right here.”

She kissed Azzi’s forehead, slowly, reverently. “You’re safe with me. Always.”

And when Azzi’s grip loosened just slightly, her body curling in closer, Paige stayed exactly where she was—holding, grounding, loving her through the ache, the fear, the aftermath of it all.

The room was quiet, save for the sounds of their breathing — one still shaky, the other trying to guide it toward calm. Paige stayed there, her fingers moving gently through Azzi’s curls, grounding her with every slow stroke. The tension in Azzi’s body hadn’t fully faded, but it had softened. Her hands still gripped Paige’s shirt, but now with less desperation, more like anchoring herself to something — someone — she trusted.

Paige didn’t try to fill the silence. She knew sometimes love wasn’t loud or dramatic. Sometimes it was just… staying. Not moving. Not letting go.

Azzi’s cheek was pressed to Paige’s chest, and she could hear the steady beat of her heart, like a drum in the dark. Steady. Reliable. Still hers.

“I don’t want to be scared of this anymore,” Azzi whispered eventually, voice ragged, small. “But I am.”

Paige kissed the crown of her head. “I know. You don’t have to pretend you’re not.”

Azzi squeezed her eyes shut, tears still slipping out silently. “I just… I didn’t think it would be like this. I thought being here — with you — would feel like a beginning. But it’s been so hard.”

“I know,” Paige said again, this time quieter. She gently rocked them, just a little, the way someone would soothe a child. “We’ve been through so much. Too much.”

Azzi buried her face deeper into her chest. “It’s not supposed to be this hard to love someone.”

Paige’s voice broke as she responded, “No. But loving you… it’s still the best thing I’ve ever known.”

Azzi didn’t say anything right away. Her chest ached, her head still pounding faintly from the panic and crying, but Paige’s arms were around her, and she hadn’t let go. Not once. Not even when Azzi had pushed and pulled and fallen apart.

They stayed like that for a long time, wrapped up in silence, in pain, in love.

Eventually, Azzi’s breathing evened out, her hand loosened its grip in Paige’s shirt, just slightly, but her fingers still rested there. Paige shifted only to pull the blanket over both of them.

Paige stayed still, not daring to move. Azzi needed rest. She needed peace. Paige would hold still for hours if that’s what it took to give her that.

In the dark quiet, Paige stared up at the ceiling, her fingers continuing their gentle sweep through Azzi’s curls.

God, she loved her. Loved her so much it hurt. And not just in the poetic, romantic way. No — it physically hurt sometimes. This deep ache behind her ribs that never quite went away, especially when Azzi was in pain.

Paige had spent so much time trying to be strong — for Azzi, for both of them. Holding it close to the chest, keeping her anger at the universe locked behind her teeth. And maybe that was a mistake.

Maybe Azzi hadn’t needed her to be unshakable. Maybe Azzi had just needed her to be real.

Paige blinked, eyes stinging with the tears she hadn’t let fall earlier. She gently brushed a knuckle across Azzi’s cheek, watching how her face twitched faintly in sleep but relaxed again at the soft touch.

What do you need from me? Paige thought. How can I make this easier for you?

She replayed the things Azzi had said — about fear, about distance, about expectations she hadn’t realized would be so heavy until she was in them. Paige had asked Azzi to fight for them. But maybe she hadn’t seen that Azzi had been fighting — just differently.

Maybe it wasn’t about grand declarations or secret late-night kisses. Maybe it was about weathering every hard moment and not turning away.

And maybe Paige needed to stop trying to fix it all — to stop trying to be the solution and just be there.

She exhaled slowly, barely making a sound, and closed her eyes, resting her cheek against Azzi’s forehead.

I can do better, she promised silently. Not by being tougher. By being honest. By showing you that you don’t have to carry it all alone.

She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. But she knew this — she was in it. With Azzi. Through all of it.

And tonight, as Azzi finally slept, Paige let herself be soft, vulnerable, open. Her arms stayed wrapped around the girl she loved more than anything in this world.

No matter what came next — this was the part she’d never let go of.

Morning crept in slowly. The world outside was still hushed, as if holding its breath.

Azzi stirred, eyelids fluttering open. Her head was nestled in the crook of Paige’s neck, one leg tangled with hers beneath the sheets. She blinked slowly, taking in the warm press of Paige’s body, the steady rhythm of her breathing.

Then she looked up and found Paige already awake — watching her.

Their eyes met.

Azzi’s breath hitched. “How long have you been awake?”

Paige smiled faintly, brushing a thumb across Azzi’s cheek. “A little while.”

Azzi groaned softly and buried her face against Paige’s shoulder, her voice muffled. “God. I’m sorry. For last night. For… all of it.”

Paige’s hand moved gently through her hair again. “Don’t be.”

“I had a full-blown panic attack,” Azzi whispered, her voice cracking. “I couldn’t even breathe. I couldn’t speak. I—I completely lost it.”

“You didn’t lose anything,” Paige said quietly. “You were overwhelmed. You needed someone. I’m glad it was me.”

Azzi swallowed thickly. Her voice was still hoarse from crying, from panic. “It’s embarrassing.”

Paige’s thumb found her jaw and guided her gently until their eyes met again. “No, it’s not. Don’t ever feel like you have to be perfect with me. Not ever.”

Azzi searched her face, still blinking away the remnants of exhaustion and fear. “It’s just—everything. I feel like I’ve failed you.”

“You haven’t,” Paige said, her voice low and steady. “Not even close.”

Azzi paused, her hand sliding across Paige’s chest, her fingers brushing over her heartbeat. “I just… I didn’t expect all of this to be so hard. Being together like this — quietly. Hidden. It’s not what I thought it would be.”

“I know,” Paige murmured, brushing her lips softly against Azzi’s hairline. “Neither did I.”

There was a long moment where neither spoke, only held each other in the early light.

Then Paige exhaled and whispered, “I would give it up.”

Azzi looked up, confused. “Give what up?”

“Basketball,” Paige said plainly. “If it meant I could be with you, really with you. Out in the open. No hiding. No aching. No waiting for the ‘right time.’ If that’s what it took to have you, I’d walk away from the court today.”

Azzi pulled back slightly, her brow knit tight. “You’d give up basketball… just like that?”

Paige nodded slowly, her hand never leaving Azzi’s. “Yeah. If it meant keeping you — really having you.”

Azzi blinked, her voice brittle. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“You’ve dreamed about the WNBA since we were kids. You talk about basketball like it’s part of your soul.” Azzi shook her head. “You would never give it up. Not for anyone.”

Paige didn’t flinch. Her gaze stayed soft but steady. “I would for you.”

Azzi let out a small, pained laugh, disbelief thick in her throat. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” Paige’s fingers curled gently under Azzi’s chin, lifting her face until their eyes locked again. “You think I haven’t imagined my future? I have. A million times. And whether I’m holding a basketball or not — you’re in every version of it. I'm in this, together, with you.”

Azzi’s mouth trembled. “Even if we’re thousands of miles apart?”

“I don’t want distance,” Paige said quietly. “I want you. And I don’t care what I have to give up to get there.”

Paige leaned in, her forehead resting against Azzi’s. “You’re the best part of it in every scenario.”

Azzi’s voice was a breath. “Even if I still don’t know what I’m doing?”

Paige closed her eyes, letting the moment wash over them both. “You don’t have to know. We’ll figure it out — together.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy this time. It was full of warmth, of clarity, of something solid beneath their feet. Azzi curled closer into Paige’s arms again, her hand gripping her shirt like she never wanted to let go.

Paige whispered, her lips brushing against Azzi’s temple, “You don’t ever have to be afraid of me leaving. Because I won’t. Even without basketball, Azzi… I still have everything I need. I have you.”

Azzi finally let the tears come again, not from fear, not from regret — but from being seen. Truly seen.

They sit in silence, holding each other a little longer.

“I think I always imagined college being this magical time,” Azzi said softly, her cheek still pressed against Paige’s shoulder. “You and me walking to class, holding hands. You sneaking into my room after curfew. Postgame kisses in the hallway like it was a movie.”

Paige chuckled gently, “You mean like that one time I tried to kiss you after practice and almost got hit in the face with a basketball?”

Azzi let out a small laugh, her nose scrunching as she smiled. “Okay, maybe not that part. But I had this whole version of us… and I didn’t think about what we’d have to give up to have it.”

Paige shifted so she could see her better, brushing a strand of hair from Azzi’s face. “It’s not the version we pictured… but I still think it’s a pretty good one.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Even when we’re pretending we’re just teammates who accidentally make too much eye contact?”

Paige smirked. “Especially then. Because I still get to try and flirt with you in press-conferences and in front of cameras and see you try to hide your blush. I still get to see your post-practice hair and hear your half-asleep voice when you FaceTime me at midnight.”

Azzi grinned, a blush rising to her cheeks. “You like my half-asleep voice?”

“It’s my favorite,” Paige whispered. “Well… second to your game-day trash talk.”

Azzi laughed, nudging her gently. “Okay, now you’re delusional.”

“But seriously,” Paige said, growing softer again. “We don’t get everything. Not right now. But we get us. We still get sleepy mornings and secret smiles and locker room notes.”

Azzi tilted her head. “And maybe... matching shoelaces?”

“Only if they’re glittery.”

Azzi leaned her head into Paige’s neck. “Deal.”

There was a quiet beat before Azzi asked, “And in the summer?”

Paige smiled, already picturing it. “Ice cream dates. Beach walks. Driving nowhere with the windows down and music up. Your mom cooking us dinner while we slow dance in the living room.”

Azzi closed her eyes, imagining it too. “That sounds perfect.”

“And one day,” Paige said, voice a bit more serious but still warm, “we won’t have to keep anything secret. One day, we’ll go to games holding hands. And people will just know.”

Azzi pulled back just enough to meet Paige’s eyes. “You really believe that?”

“I do,” Paige nodded. “Because when I picture the future… you’re in every part of it. Glitter shoelaces and all.”

Azzi smiled through watery eyes. “Even if we’re old and cranky and yelling at refs from the stands?”

“Especially then,” Paige said, grinning. “Old and cranky together.”

Azzi laughed, and Paige leaned forward to kiss her forehead — soft and sure.

“We’re gonna be okay,” Paige whispered.

Azzi nestled closer. “Yeah. We really might be.”

Later that day, after a slow morning breakfast before a quick rush to class, with a chaste kiss as Paige leaves Azzi's apartment, sunlight filtered through the gym windows as Azzi laced up her sneakers, nerves still fluttering but steadier than the day before.

Walking into the locker room, she immediately felt the familiar hum of teammates chatting and gearing up. Nika spotted her first, a sly grin spreading across her face as she crossed the room and pulled Azzi into a quick, teasing hug after seeing them together this morning.

Azzi laughed softly, relieved by the warm welcome.

Ice and KK sauntered over, eyebrows raised and smirking. “So, where’s your girl, Az? Keeping her out of trouble?” Ice teased, nudging Azzi playfully.

Azzi rolls her eyes with a smile. 

Paige appeared just then, leaning against the lockers with that familiar mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “Hey, I heard my name,” she called out, voice light but with a knowing glance at Azzi. 

Azzi and Paige exchanged a quick glance, their smiles soft but full of unspoken affection.

Geno’s voice cut through the laughter. “Alright, save the flirting for after practice. Time to get serious.”

The girls groaned, but their faces shone with happiness. As they moved onto the court, the teasing faded into easy camaraderie. Paige caught Azzi’s eye during warm-ups, giving her a quick, shy smile.

Azzi’s heart swelled with warmth. Here, with this team, with Paige, things felt right again. The quiet moments mattered — more than ever.

And when they leave practice together later, Paige's ring is nestled onto her finger again, just like Azzi's. 

- 

It didn’t happen all at once.

There was no grand gesture or sweeping return to how things used to be. But that was the point — they weren’t trying to go back. They were building something new.

It came in moments like Paige leaving an extra protein bar in Azzi’s locker, scribbled with a dumb inside joke. Or Azzi quietly adjusting Paige’s knee brace mid-practice without a word. In the way Paige waited to walk out of the gym until she knew Azzi had her coat. In the way Azzi always kept two cups of hot tea ready in her dorm — one peppermint, one chamomile — just in case.

They didn’t hold hands in the open, not at school, not yet. But Paige would tap Azzi’s pinky under the table at team meetings, the smallest link that said I’m here. And Azzi would brush her hand across Paige’s lower back as they passed each other in the locker room, fleeting but grounding.

They started using each other’s playlists to speak more than words could. Paige sent her a playlist titled "Soft Light at 3AM". Azzi sent one back called "If I Could Touch the Moon."

One night, after a win, while the team celebrated loudly down the hall, Paige and Azzi sat in the back stairwell — their secret place — leaning their heads together in exhausted peace.

“We did good today,” Azzi whispered.

“You did great,” Paige murmured, bumping their knees gently. “I couldn’t stop staring.”

Azzi smiled. “I noticed.”

They didn’t need to say much. Not anymore. What mattered lived in the space between them — quieter, but stronger than ever.

Love that didn’t shout, but stayed.

Love that learned to breathe again.

Chapter Text

Azzi texted Paige to let her know that she was almost to the UConn campus.

The trees around campus were just beginning to change color and she thought it was one of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen.

Her phone buzzed, a text from Paige popped up. “I can’t wait to see you baby.”

The couple hadn’t seen each other in about a month and Azzi hated it. With Paige adjusting to college life and Azzi heading into her senior year of high school, they both knew time together would become harder to find. She tried not to think about that right now.

Azzi pulls into the student parking lot and immediately spots Paige standing near the sidewalk, a huge smile already on her face.

She takes a deep breath, trying to slow down her heart rate. Even though her and Paige had been official for some time, she still got butterflies when seeing the girl.

Azzi parked and barely had time to shut the engine off before she was out of the car. Paige was already walking briskly toward her, arms open, and Azzi didn’t even think — she ran the short distance between them and wrapped herself around her girlfriend like she’d been holding her breath for a month.

“Hi,” Paige whispered into her hair, her voice low and breathy from the emotion.

Azzi clung to her tighter. “Hi.”

They stood there for a while, not caring that the air was thick and humid, not caring that someone might see. Paige had her hands under Azzi’s sweatshirt, squeezing gently, and Azzi could feel Paige’s smile pressed against her neck.

“God, I missed you,” Azzi murmured.

“You have no idea,” Paige said, pulling back slightly to look at her. Her eyes were already glassy, and Azzi’s stomach turned over at the sight. Paige tucked a curl behind Azzi’s ear. “You’re really here.”

Azzi smiled, shy and sure. “I’m really here.”

Paige set her down gently and walked the few feet back to Azzi's car and reached inside for her duffle bag and backpack.

“Hey,” Azzi protested, gripping the strap. “I can carry my stuff.”

Paige gave her a look — playful but stubborn — and tugged it out of her hand. “Not when I’ve been waiting a month to see you. You’re not lifting a finger.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but smiled, falling in step beside her as Paige slung the duffel over one shoulder and looped the backpack over the other.

“Paige, that bag has like three hoodies and a pair of sneakers in it.”

“Yeah,” Paige grinned. “Your hoodies, which will become my hoodies. Which means they’re precious cargo.”

Azzi bit her lip to stop from grinning too wide. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yep,” Paige said, starting up the path toward her dorm. “Now come on before I start kissing you on the sidewalk.”

They were almost to the building when the dorm door swung open and one of the freshman players — a tall girl Azzi vaguely recognized from Instagram — stepped out. Her eyes widened when she spotted Paige.

“Hey, Paige,” she said with a bright smile. 

“Hey,” Paige said shortly, not breaking stride.

The girl blinked, clearly surprised at the clipped tone, but Paige didn’t look back. She was already nudging the door open with her shoulder and motioning for Azzi to follow her inside the building.

Azzi glanced behind them and whispered, “Rude.”

Paige didn’t look the least bit sorry. “She’ll be fine. I have priorities.”

“Oh really?” Azzi teased.

“Yeah,” Paige said, voice dropping, serious now. “You’re here. I need to kiss you properly, and I’m not doing that in front of the vending machines.”

Azzi flushed all over, heart skipping, legs suddenly feeling wobbly.

They made it up to Paige's floor and down the hall. Her shoulders were tense with purpose, her grip still tight on Azzi’s bags. Paige used her keys to open the door, and the second they were inside, Paige pulled Azzi into her arms like she’d been holding back for days, dropping her bags on the ground. 

Her kiss was soft at first, a little shaky from nerves and excitement. Then deeper. Like she needed Azzi to feel everything she hadn’t been able to say.

When they finally pulled apart, Azzi rested her hands against Paige’s chest, catching her breath. “You missed me.”

Paige just looked at her, eyes full, voice low. “You have no idea.” Paige kissed her again quickly before pulling her through the area with a couch and coffee table towards two doors.

Azzi was already familiar with the layout of the quad, having helped move her in before summer sessions and workouts started, but it was nice to see the area actually lived in this time. 

She looked around Paige's room, seeing a pair of shoes in the corner, her desk littered with pens and what appeared to be a notebook with drills written in it. A UConn hoodie hanging off the back of her chair. She smiled.

Paige slowly dropped Azzi's bags on the floor as Azzi turned to face her, both girls with big smiles on their faces. 

Paige reached for Azzi, and Azzi met her halfway. Their lips met, this time slower, deeper, her hands settling carefully on Azzi’s waist like she was still afraid she might disappear. Azzi let herself fall into it — the soft hum in Paige’s throat, the way her fingers flexed just slightly against her hoodie — until they were on the edge of Paige’s bed, tangled up in the kind of closeness that only comes after too much time apart.

Paige leaned in again, kissing just under Azzi’s jaw, and her hand slid to Azzi’s thigh. It wasn’t rushed, it wasn’t needy — just a question, barely whispered in the way she moved.

Azzi exhaled and gently took Paige’s wrist, grounding her.

Paige pulled back immediately, eyes searching. “Too fast?”

Azzi shook her head, her voice soft but steady. “Not too fast. Just… not what I want right now.”

Paige blinked. “What do you want?”

“To actually see you,” Azzi said, brushing her fingers along Paige’s cheek, rolling her eyes with a chuckle. “Like, outside of this room. I want to see your world. Your campus. Where you get coffee. Where your classes are gonna be.”

Paige slumped back onto her elbows dramatically. “Ugh. You mean I have to go outside?”

Azzi rolled her eyes with a grin. “Yeah, P. As much as I would like to stay in your room for the entire weekend," Paige smirked at this. "I want to see the campus, everything."

Paige muttered, gesturing to the room. “This is the best place to be right now. It has snacks and blankets and a girlfriend in it.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

Paige smirked. “I just thought we’d make the most of our time together… you know, by having sex.”

Azzi shoved her lightly and stood up. “You are such a freshman.”

“Don’t freshman-shame me,” Paige called after her, grabbing the hoodie from her chair and trailing behind. “I’m just trying to maximize efficiency!”

Azzi turned in the doorway and gave her a look — one that Paige knew meant I love you but I will absolutely leave you here.

Paige sighed, dramatic as ever. “Fine. Let’s go look at some trees and buildings and academic crap.”

Azzi slipped her hand into Paige’s and smiled. “Thank you.”

Paige squeezed it, quieter now, bending down to kiss her check.

—

Paige’s version of a campus tour was underwhelming so far.

“This is the dining hall,” Paige announced proudly, pointing at a building Azzi had already walked past. “Where I will, undoubtedly, be consuming an unhealthy amount of chicken tenders.”

Azzi smirked. “Is this the highlight of the tour?”

Paige pretended to look serious. “Absolutely. Next stop: the library.”

They walked side by side, fingers brushing but never fully interlacing — Paige glanced around a few times, as if checking for someone before relaxing again. Azzi noticed, but didn’t say anything.

They reached the library, and Paige gestured toward it like she was a tour guide with no credentials. “This is the part of campus I will pretend to use responsibly.”

“Paige.”

“Okay, okay.” Paige laughed. “I’m joking. I’ll study here. At least once.”

Azzi tilted her head, skeptical. “You haven’t even shown me your classrooms yet.”

“Yeah, about that…” Paige rubbed the back of her neck. “I… don’t exactly know where those are yet.”

Azzi gave her that look.

Paige held up both hands. “I’m joking! Kind of. They sent a map and everything. I’ll find them. Eventually.”

Azzi shook her head with a smile. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Oh, I believe in me,” Paige said, tossing her ponytail back with faux confidence. “Anyway, the best part of the tour is coming up.”

She led Azzi down a path toward the athletic complex. Her steps quickened, the building ahead sparking a flicker of pride in her chest. This was her domain, and she wanted Azzi to see it.

After swiping them in, Paige guided her through tiled hallways echoing with pounding feet and voices. As they neared the locker room, Paige glanced back. “If anyone asks, you’re a prospective walk-on. Or my long-lost shooting coach.”

Azzi grinned. “You’re such a rule-breaker.”

Inside, a few of Paige’s teammates lounged around, stretching and chatting. The energy shifted as soon as they saw her.

“Bueckers!” one called out. “Finally dragging your girl out in the open?”

Azzi blinked in surprise, but Paige just rolled her eyes.

“This is Azzi,” she introduced, trying to sound casual as she kept walking. “She’s visiting for the weekend.”

“Azzi?” Aaliyah raised an eyebrow, nudging another freshman. “Ohhh, this is the famous Azzi? The one with the deadly jump?”

“Oh my god,” Paige muttered, ears going red.

“I thought you made her up,” one of the upperclassmen teased. “Like an imaginary girlfriend from another school.”

Azzi laughed, playing along. “I’m real. Promise.”

Aaliyah pointed at Paige. “She’s been talking about you since orientation. Like, full-on heart-eyes mode.”

Paige groaned. “You all suck.”

“Love you too,” Nika called from her locker, grinning.

The teasing eventually faded into friendly chatter. Azzi felt the warmth in how they welcomed her—loud, playful, but genuine. Paige lingered nearby, close enough that her shoulder brushed Azzi’s once or twice. It wasn’t an overt claim, but it said something.

Still, Azzi noticed the distance. The way Paige didn’t touch her too much. The way she introduced her as just Azzi, not her girlfriend. It didn’t hurt exactly… but it tugged at something. That small ache of loving someone who’s still figuring out how to share you with the world.

But then Paige glanced over mid-conversation, eyes soft, and gave her a small smile.

Azzi smiled back. That was enough for now.

With a tilt of her head, Paige nodded toward a different door. “C’mon. There’s one more thing I wanna show you.”

They slipped through the doors and into the gym. The main court opened up around them like a cathedral.

Azzi let out a breath. “Wow.”

Paige beamed. “Yeah.”

She ran ahead and grabbed a ball. “You ready to get humbled?” she asked, jogging over to where a basketball lay abandoned.

Azzi crossed her arms. “You really wanna get embarrassed with your college teammates in the next room?”

Paige spun the ball in her hands, smirking. “Let’s see if all that hype about you is real.”

The next fifteen minutes turned into a full-on battle — exaggerated jump shots, unnecessary spin moves, dramatic grunts. Paige flopped after a missed three, yelling, “Foul!” while Azzi danced down the court in victory.

When Paige tried to post up, Azzi wrapped her arms around her waist and refused to move.

“This is cheating,” Paige laughed.

“Nope,” Azzi said, grinning. “Just strategic defense.”

They collapsed into each other near half-court, sweaty and laughing. Paige rested her forehead against Azzi’s.

“I love this,” she murmured, voice soft now. “Having you here.”

Azzi’s hands slid behind her neck. “You sure you’re not just saying that because I let you win one game?”

“I let you win,” Paige said, indignant.

Azzi kissed the tip of her nose. “Sure, freshman.”

Paige looked around the gym — empty. No one watching.

She tilted her chin, kissed her.

It was slower now. Less teasing. Azzi sank into it, feeling the calm settle into her bones.

This wasn’t just Paige’s gym anymore. It was their memory now.

“You still have the better shot,” Paige whispered when they broke apart.

Azzi smiled. “Told you.”

They lingered on the court longer than they planned, finding reasons to stay—another shot, another joke, another kiss because the gym was still and empty. But eventually, the light through the high windows began to shift and Azzi’s stomach rumbled, pulling them back to reality.

“Okay, fine,” Paige said dramatically, slinging her arm around Azzi’s shoulder as they exited the gym. “Let’s head back. I guess I can’t keep you all to myself out here forever.”

Azzi leaned into her. “You literally dragged me to an empty gym just to do that.”

“And you’re welcome.”

The walk to Paige’s apartment was slow and filled with little things — Azzi taking pictures of the changing leaves and Paige secretly taking pictures of her. Their fingers brushed occasionally, and every time they did, Azzi felt like something sparkled just under her skin.

When they reached the apartment, Paige unlocked the door and nudged it open with her hip.

“Nika might be here,” she said as they stepped in. “Just a heads up.”

Azzi blinked. “Nika... Nika Mühl?”

Paige smirked. “The one and only. Prepare yourself.”

Azzi barely had time to toe her shoes off before a voice called from the other room. “Paige? That you?”

“Yeah,” Paige called back, already kicking off her shoes. “And I brought someone with me.”

Nika emerged from the kitchen, wearing athletic shorts and a UConn hoodie, a half-eaten granola bar in her hand. Her eyes landed on Azzi, and her face lit up.

“Ayyy, the famous Azzi Fudd,” Nika said with a grin. “Nice to officially meet you.”

Azzi laughed, slightly shy. "Paige has told me a lot about you - and how you're putting up with her."

Paige protested, but Nika said "She's told me even more about you." Her tone of voice suggestive.

Paige chuckled and wrapped an arm around Azzi’s waist without hesitation, tugging her closer.

Nika’s eyebrows went up just slightly—just enough to say noted—but she didn’t say anything else, only gave a nod of approval and took another bite of her granola bar.

“Lies,” Paige muttered, nuzzling Azzi’s shoulder and earning a quiet, delighted laugh from her.

Azzi turned to her, eyes glowing. “You talk about me?”

“Not nearly enough,” Paige said easily, the affection in her voice undeniable.

It was simple—an arm around her waist, a soft voice, a bit of teasing in front of a friend—but for Azzi, it felt huge. She could feel the difference. The warmth. The care. The fact that Paige didn’t hesitate to hold her in front of someone else.

She leaned into her, soaking in the quiet claim of it all.

Nika grabbed her water bottle from the counter. “Alright, lovebirds, I’m heading out before you start making out in the kitchen.”

Paige snorted. “No promises.”

“Bye, Nika,” Azzi said, grinning.

When the door closed behind her, Paige turned to Azzi. “So... that wasn’t too bad, right?”

Azzi shook her head and smiled.

They stood there for a moment, facing each other in the soft glow of the late afternoon, quiet and content.

Then Paige brushed a strand of hair behind Azzi’s ear. “You wanna go lay down?" Azzi nodded and let Paige lead her to her room.

She tugged her toward the bed with a soft “Come here,” and Azzi followed, toes sinking into the carpet. Paige pulled the blankets down and they both collapsed into the mattress, tangled together without much thought. Azzi rolled onto her side and Paige curled in behind her, tucking her head into the crook of Azzi’s neck like it was muscle memory.

For a while, they were just quiet. Paige’s arm rested lazily around Azzi’s waist, and Azzi traced shapes on Paige’s hand with her fingertips.

“So,” Azzi said finally, soft and curious. “What’s the verdict? How’s it really been here?”

Paige let out a hum, nuzzling her shoulder. “It’s... good. Weird-good. Everything’s faster, bigger. The gym’s always full, the practice schedule is kind of insane. But it’s starting to feel normal. I’ve got a routine.”

“And Nika?”

“She’s... something,” Paige said, laughing. “She’s loud and chaotic and I think I’m slightly afraid of her, but in a good way. She’s kind of like a golden retriever on espresso. We’ve got a good thing going though. She actually wakes me up practice if  I'm not awake in time.”

“That’s a miracle,” Azzi teased.

“Right? Saint Nika. Write it down.”

Azzi turned a little to look at her. “Do you miss home?”

Paige’s expression softened. “I miss you. I miss Drew and my Dad. The rest is whatever.”

Azzi’s heart did that fluttery thing, like it couldn’t decide if it wanted to melt or fly away. She reached up and brushed a thumb gently across Paige’s cheek.

“I missed you too,” she said, quiet. “So much.”

Paige leaned forward, kissing her softly. “Tell me everything. What’ve you been up to?”

Azzi smiled, settling closer. “Hmm... well. The team at St. John's is still the same, prepping for another season. Practice has been intense. Coach made us run suicides last week for like twenty minutes straight—I swear I saw my ancestors at one point.”

Paige laughed into her shoulder. “Tragic. I should’ve been there to save you.”

“Oh, please. You would’ve watched and sent me videos.”

“Okay, true.”

Azzi ran her fingers through Paige’s hair, slow and soothing. “Mom’s good. She keeps asking when she can visit and meet your coaches. I think she’s planning to bribe them with cookies.”

“Tell her it’ll totally work,” Paige said, closing her eyes with a content sigh, thinking of the famous Katie Fudd.

They laid like that for a long time, swapping little updates—inside jokes, gossip from mutual friends, thoughts of upcoming classes. At one point, Paige shifted so she was half on top of Azzi, her arm thrown across her stomach, her head tucked under Azzi’s chin.

Azzi looked down at her and smiled. “You comfortable?”

“I’m happy,” Paige murmured sleepily.

Azzi swallowed against the warmth blooming in her chest. “Me too.”

They drifted into a soft, golden silence, the kind that didn’t need to be filled. Just the quiet sound of their breathing and the feel of each other—real, present, whole again.

For the first time in weeks, everything felt still. And enough.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon and the sky turned a gentle watercolor of purples and oranges, Paige and Azzi had moved to the apartment's small living room couch waiting for their Chipotle order to arrive.

Paige’s arm was draped lazily around Azzi’s shoulders, her thumb tracing soft circles along Azzi’s upper arm. Azzi was leaned into her side, legs curled beneath her, quietly content. Paige turned on reruns of Scandal from Netflix, picking a random episode to play in the background, but neither of them was really paying attention.

When the knock finally came at the door, Paige groaned like she’d just been asked to run suicides.

“Don’t move,” she whispered dramatically into Azzi’s hair before dragging herself off the couch to grab the food.

Azzi giggled and called after her, “You’re the one who picked this place.”

“Because Chipotle is elite,” Paige argued from the door, “and also because I knew you wouldn’t say no to a burrito bowl.”

She was right, and Azzi didn’t deny it when Paige returned with the bags, triumphantly lifting them like trophies.

As they ate, their knees bumped constantly. Paige sneakily stole bites of Azzi’s chips and guac, and Azzi playfully swatted her hand every time.

“Why are your chips always better than mine?” Paige mumbled with a full mouth.

“They’re the same chips, babe.”

“Lies. Yours taste like love and excellent seasoning.”

Azzi laughed, and Paige looked at her with soft eyes, pausing mid-bite.

“I missed your laugh,” Paige said quietly.

Azzi’s cheeks flushed pink, and she looked down at her bowl, suddenly feeling warm all over.

“I missed you,” Azzi said, equally soft.

Paige nudged her shoulder. “Then don’t wait so long to visit next time.”

“Then don’t live hours away,” Azzi teased, though there was a quiet weight behind the words.

Paige didn’t say anything for a second. Instead, she reached over and gently tucked a loose curl behind Azzi’s ear. Her fingers lingered along her cheek.

“I'm really glad you're here, have I mentioned that?” Paige whispered.

Azzi leaned into her touch, her eyes closing briefly. “Me too.”

When they finished eating, Paige pulled Azzi back onto the couch with Azzi laying between her legs. Azzi's back resting against Paige's front, wrapping them in one of the fleece blankets folded over the side. They sank into each other like muscle memory, a familiar rhythm of warmth and quiet. The world outside didn’t matter for a little while.

They didn’t talk much after that. Just soft giggles, fingers intertwining, and the quiet hum of a show neither of them cared about. Paige kissed Azzi’s temple once, twice, three times—like she couldn’t help it. Azzi sighed, completely content in her arms.

“This is nice,” Azzi murmured, her fingers playing lightly with the hem of Paige’s hoodie.

Paige smiled, resting her cheek against Azzi’s temple. “You’re nice.”

Azzi tilted her head and gave her a look. “That was such a bad line.”

“Yeah,” Paige chuckled, brushing her fingers down Azzi’s arm. “But you love me anyway.”

Azzi didn’t answer. She shifted to look at her and kissed her—slow at first, the kind of kiss that meant I missed you, I’m here now, I love you. Paige kissed her back with just as much weight, her hand finding Azzi’s waist, pulling her in closer.

The warmth built between them gradually, a slow burn that deepened as the minutes passed. Azzi’s hand cupped Paige’s jaw, her thumb brushing over her cheekbone, and when Paige let out a soft sound, Azzi moved in again—this time more insistent.

Their kisses turned more urgent, more tangled. Azzi shifted in Paige’s lap without thinking, straddling her thighs, her hands finding the back of Paige’s neck. Paige’s breath hitched as she instinctively held Azzi tighter, her hands settling firmly at her hips.

“God, I missed this,” Paige whispered into the space between kisses, her voice almost reverent.

Azzi smiled against her lips, pressing her forehead to Paige’s for a beat. “I can tell.” She kissed her again, deeper this time. 

Paige’s phone, forgotten on the armrest, buzzed. Once. Twice. Then again. The whole couch was vibrating.

Azzi pulled back, breath uneven. “Someone’s blowing up your phone.”

Paige groaned, head falling back. “Noooo. We were having a moment.”

“Check it,” Azzi teased, brushing Paige’s cheek. “It might be Nika.”

Paige reached for the phone and unlocked it. Her eyebrows lifted.

“What?” Azzi leaned in to look.

Paige scrolled. “The team’s going to Olivia’s dorm tonight for a team bonding thing. They’re harassing me in the group chat.”

More notifications popped up from the freshman chat:

Nika: Y’all going to Olivia’s?

Caroline: She has the fancy cookies again I’m not missing this.

Aaliyah: Paige has been suspiciously silent 👀

Nika: She’s busy with her girlfriend, duh

Aaliyah: Tell Paige to bring Azzi. We wanna see the famous GF in real time

Paige snorted. “They’re so dramatic.”

Azzi leaned over, grinning. “You’ve been exposed.”

“They’ve met you for like five minutes and now they act like you're royalty.”

“You kind of love it,” Azzi said, gently brushing her fingers through Paige’s hair.

“I really do,” Paige admitted with a sheepish grin. “I get to show you off.”

Another ping.

Nika: Wait. Are they kissing right now. Am I in the same apartment as a live rom-com??

Both girls froze.

“…She’s here?” Azzi whispered.

They turned—Nika was standing in the doorway, arms crossed, looking far too pleased.

“You forgot I live here?” she asked flatly.

“You were in your room the whole time?” Paige blinked.

“I walked in halfway through your Notebook moment. Got a granola bar. Stayed quiet.”

Azzi covered her face. “Oh my God.”

“Thin walls?” Paige asked hesitantly.

“Thinner than you think,” Nika said with a wink.

Azzi collapsed sideways into Paige’s arms. “We’re never showing our faces again.”

Nika shrugged. “It’s fine. You’re disgustingly cute. Everyone’s obsessed already.”

Azzi looks at Paige and she's her hesitation. "We can go," Azzi tries to say, nonchalantly.

"You sure?"

Azzi nods, smiling, "Yeah baby, let's go."

Paige smirked. “You’re wearing my shirt, your jeans, and that smug look like you knew I wouldn’t last.”

Azzi leaned in and whispered, “I didn’t want you to.”

“I’ve been thinking about this all week,” Paige murmured against her lips.

Paige's hands find Azzi's waist  instinctively, pulling closer, deeper. Her fingers danced along the waistband of Azzi’s jeans, gripping lightly before sliding around to her back and tugging her in again. Their laughter from earlier was replaced by something quieter, more intentional—kisses deepening as the air between them shifted from playful to reverent.

They made it to the bedroom in quiet, breathless steps—giggling softly when they bumped into the wall, then leaning into the stumble to steal another kiss. A piece of Azzi's hair fell out of her ponytail, and Paige gently tucked it behind her ear, her hand lingering along her cheek as she looked at her.

Paige’s touch was confident but patient. She didn’t rush—she knew what was underneath that shirt, the pale green lace Azzi had sent her a photo of weeks ago with a cheeky caption. She’d thought about it too many times since.

Azzi’s fingers slipped under Paige’s crop top, feeling the heat of her skin, the muscles in her back shifting as they moved together. She tugged the shirt up and off, their lips only parting for a second before finding each other again. 

Clothes came off slowly—Paige undoing the buttons on her own shirt just so she could see Azzi watching, see the effect she had. Azzi peeling Paige’s cargo pants off with a deliberate slide. Kisses left in the hollow of a collarbone, along a rib, against the curve of a hip.

“You’re so beautiful,” Paige whispered, as if the words had been waiting all night to be spoken.

Azzi kissed her again instead of answering, trying to say everything with her lips—the missing her, the wanting her, the need coursing through her veins. 

Chapter Text

The shift between them hadn’t been sudden, but it had become undeniable.

By this point in the summer, Paige had practically moved in with the Fudds. She was at their house so often, it felt more like home than her own.

With the high school season right around the corner, no one questioned their desire to stay close—especially not their parents. Azzi’s recovery from her torn ACL and MCL had kept her off the court, and Paige had been by her side through every frustrating milestone and every quiet night. If Paige had it her way, she’d live with the Fudds full-time and still play her senior season at Hopkins.

Tim and Katie Fudd had their suspicions. They weren’t blind to the way the girls looked at each other, or how Paige clung to Azzi like she was something sacred. But they figured the girls would talk when they were ready. So when Paige started staying over regularly—when they found her each morning wrapped around Azzi under the covers—they noticed, but said nothing.

They let them have this closeness. Whatever it was becoming.

“Good night, girls!” Katie called as she passed by Azzi’s room, the soft glow from the lamp seeping under the door.

Inside, the air was thick with something unspoken.

Azzi lay on her back, propped up by pillows, her leg elevated in its brace. Paige curled beside her, turned toward her, one hand resting just beneath her ribs, the other gently tangled in her curls.

The silence between them buzzed—alive with tension.

Their kisses lately had grown deeper. Slower. Lingering in a way that made Azzi breathless and left Paige flushed. Hands had begun to wander—tentative, curious—but always stopped just short. They hadn’t crossed that line. Not yet.

But they both felt how close they were to it.

Azzi sighed, fingers sliding through Paige’s hair. “I’m never gonna be able to sleep like this.”

“Too wired?” Paige murmured, her voice low, a little rough with the quiet.

Azzi nodded. “You’re warm.”

“You’re hogging all the pillows,” Paige teased, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Azzi turned her head, just enough to meet her gaze. “I like when you stay.”

Paige looked at her—soft, a little breathless. “Yeah?”

Azzi nodded, slipping her fingers into Paige’s hand beneath the blanket, threading them together. “I feel better when you’re here.”

Paige gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Feels like I’m always here.”

“Good,” Azzi said quietly, smiling as her thumb brushed over Paige’s knuckles.

Their lips brushed—gentle, lingering—but didn’t quite become a kiss. Not yet. Paige’s breath caught, her gaze dropping to Azzi’s mouth, then back to her eyes.

She could feel Azzi’s heartbeat in the quiet. The low hum of the ceiling fan, the closeness of them, the moment held still.

Paige shifted closer, fingers skimming Azzi’s waist—gentle and reverent, careful of her healing leg. Her thumb traced slow circles, and Azzi’s breath hitched.

Azzi turned, meeting her halfway. This kiss was deeper—no teasing, no playfulness. Just warmth. Want. It lingered even after they pulled apart, only to find each other again a moment later.

Paige cupped her cheek, angling her gently. Her fingers slid into soft curls again. Azzi reached for Paige’s waist, grounding herself. Each kiss was deliberate now—measured, breathless. Neither in a hurry, neither wanting to stop.

Paige kissed her like she meant to memorize her. Every sigh, every shiver. Azzi’s hands slipped under her shirt—not pushing, just resting against warm skin. Paige inhaled sharply, her own hand gliding over Azzi’s side, to her hip, just skimming the edge of her brace.

The heat between them bloomed—tender and charged. Their kisses slowed, deepened, then slowed again. Wanting more. Holding back.

Chapter Text

Paige shifted her weight from one foot to the other, checking her phone every six seconds like it might offer reassurance. Her other hand held a bouquet of twenty-four pink roses — slightly too big, slightly too romantic, but exactly right.

She stood under the glow of the “Dallas Fort Worth International Airport – Arrivals” sign, trying to look casual. The dark blue baseball cap she wore was tugged low over her brow, shielding her face from too much attention. Not that she could blend in if she tried — her nerves made her stand out more than anything.

But inside, Paige felt anything but calm. The last few months in Dallas had been a lonely, quiet battle. The excitement she’d once felt about joining the Wings was fading, replaced by the weight of being away from Azzi, her family, and the familiar comforts of home. The team felt distant, competitive in ways that didn’t bring her joy. She told no one how much she missed the easy laughter, the late-night talks, or even just Azzi’s presence in the same room.

She clenched the bouquet tighter, her fingers aching — a small, physical anchor to reality. The ache in her chest was deeper, harder to shake. She was exhausted. Exhausted from forcing smiles in practice, exhausted from pretending that everything was fine when she felt like she was barely holding on.

Her phone buzzed in her hand, and she answered it before the second ring.

“Hey baby,” she said, voice softening immediately, the tension in her chest easing just at the sound of Azzi’s voice.

“I’m walking to baggage claim now,” Azzi replied, slightly breathless. “About to pass through the doors.”

Paige looked up, eyes scanning the crowd. “I’m here, near the back—” she broke off mid-sentence.

She saw her.

Azzi was weaving through the crowd, eyes darting, lips parted in search. The moment their eyes met, Azzi’s face lit up like someone flipped on every light in the world.

And Paige’s heart—God. It stopped. A breathless, full-body ache that knocked the wind out of her, like some part of her had been missing and just slammed back into place.

Azzi’s steps quickened, almost breaking into a run, and Paige was already moving forward, arms wide open, bouquet awkwardly tucked between them as they closed the distance in record time.

Azzi crashed into her chest with a laugh, arms locking tightly around Paige’s neck as Paige lifted her slightly off the ground, spinning her once before setting her back down.

“You smell like home,” Azzi murmured into her shoulder, squeezing her tightly, fingers fisting in the back of Paige’s hoodie.

“You are home,” Paige whispered back without thinking, pressing her face into Azzi’s neck, lips brushing skin as her eyes fluttered closed.

They stood there for a beat too long, ignoring the flow of passengers rushing by them — just the two of them, wrapped in that strange bubble of time that forms when you haven’t touched someone you love in too long.

Azzi pulled back a little and looked at her with gentle concern. “You okay baby,?” she asked, running her thumb across Paige’s cheek. 

Paige’s throat tightened. She hated showing weakness — hated how easily everything felt like it could unravel. She wanted to tell Azzi everything — how this new chapter felt like quicksand, how the isolation gnawed at her during quiet moments, how fear had begun to shadow every practice and game. But the words wouldn’t come.

So she shrugged, forcing a small, almost brittle smile. “It’s nothing.” Paige swallowed hard, her hands trembling just slightly. “I missed you,” she said finally, voice thick with everything she wasn’t saying. “That’s all.”

Inside, she was screaming for a way to make it all better — to feel like herself again, to have the support she needed. But she’d always been her own hardest critic, and that voice whispered that she should handle it alone.

Azzi reached for her hand, squeezing it firmly. “I missed you too. And I’m here now.”

Paige smiled, though it was fragile, like a small, flickering light in the dark. “You have no idea how happy I am that you are.”

But as they walked out of the airport together, Paige’s heart carried a quiet, unspoken ache — the weight of a struggle she was still trying to figure out how to share.

As they stepped outside, the heavy July heat of Texas - even in the morning - wrapped around them like a weighted blanket. Azzi immediately let out a groan and fanned herself with the roses.

“Oh my God , it’s like walking into someone’s mouth,” she muttered, pulling her hoodie off in one dramatic motion.

Paige laughed and took it from her, slinging it over her own arm. “Welcome to Texas. Humidity builds character.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “I think it’s building a heatstroke.”

Paige just grinned and gestured to the parking garage. “C’mon. I parked close so you wouldn’t melt before we even left the airport.”

When they reached Paige’s car — a sleek black SUV with tinted windows — Paige jogged ahead to open the passenger door.

Azzi smirked. “Chivalry isn’t dead after all.”

“It better not be,” Paige said, helping her in and gently closing the door. She tossed both their bags in the back, then slid into the driver’s seat and started the car, the AC roaring to life like a gift from the heavens.

The drive back to Paige’s apartment was quiet and easy. The morning traffic was light, and Azzi leaned her head against the window, yawning softly, still sleepy from the flight. Paige reached over at a red light and briefly laced their fingers together.

“Did you sleep at all?” she asked, glancing over.

“A little. Mostly just daydreamed about seeing you,” Azzi murmured with a teasing smirk.

Paige’s heart squeezed. She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it.”

She did.

But even as Azzi’s voice filled the car with warmth, Paige felt her grip loosen just slightly. She didn’t mean to—she just suddenly felt far away, like her body was there and her mind was still tangled up in the weight she’d been carrying for weeks. The loneliness, the pressure, the homesickness… it all blurred around the edges of this perfect moment she was supposed to be enjoying.

When they reached the apartment, Azzi slipped off her shoes and made a beeline for the couch, already knowing where Paige kept the extra blankets from helping her move in a few weeks ago.

“I have practice around noon,” Paige said as she kicked off her own sneakers. “It’s short—just a walk-through for tomorrow’s game. But you can crash here, shower, eat, whatever you want. Mi casa es tu casa. ”

Azzi smiled sleepily. “You’re cute when you pretend you know Spanish.”

Paige chuckled, but the sound was softer than usual. She turned quickly, almost too quickly, and disappeared into the bedroom to grab her gear. Azzi blinked. That was... abrupt. She shook her head. Probably just tired.

When Paige reemerged, dressed in shorts and a team-issued hoodie, tightening her ponytail, Azzi was curled up on the couch, scrolling aimlessly on her phone.

“I’m heading out,” Paige said, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Wait,” Azzi said, sitting up. “I’ll drive you.”

Paige blinked. “You… what?”

“I mean, I’m awake now. I’ll just drive you, that way we can spend even more time together.”

There was a small pause — just long enough for Azzi to feel it.

Paige hesitated, like she wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Her ears turned pink, and she forced a small smile. “That’s… really sweet. Very domestic of you.”

Azzi tilted her head, reading something flicker across Paige’s face. It vanished too fast for her to name. “Well, I am staying at my girlfriend’s place and borrowing her car. That’s peak domestic, right?”

Paige laughed softly, but her laugh didn’t have the usual sparkle. It was careful, a little too practiced.

“You’re kind of a dream,” she said, eyes briefly darting to the floor before returning to Azzi’s.

Azzi stood and brushed her knuckles gently against Paige’s hip. She felt Paige’s body shift almost imperceptibly away, like she was there but not fully present.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Azzi teased, still smiling — but somewhere in the back of her mind, something felt just slightly… off. 

She was reminded of the recent weeks where she could feel a slight shift between the two of them, but she shook the thought out of her head. She told herself she was imagining it. Long flights, early mornings, nerves about the game. That’s all it was. 

Still, she held Paige’s gaze a second longer than usual. Just in case.

A few hours later, Azzi blinked awake slowly, the Texas sunlight slipping in through the apartment blinds. The soft whir of the ceiling fan above her was oddly soothing, and for a moment she wasn’t sure where she was—until she turned and caught sight of Paige’s hoodie draped over the arm of the couch.

Dallas. Paige.

She stretched, the blanket falling away from her legs as she sat up and rubbed at her eyes. Her phone buzzed on the coffee table.

p buckets: wrapping up now 🏀💦
p buckets: u still alive?

Azzi grinned and replied: Barely. On my way. Try not to sweat through your shirt again.

She threw on a cropped UConn tee and pulled her hair into a messy ponytail before grabbing the keys. The ride over was short—just a ten-minute drive to the practice facility—and she parked near the player’s entrance.

A few minutes later, the gym doors opened and Paige emerged, duffle bag slung over one shoulder, water bottle tucked under her arm, and her teammates filing out behind her in clumps. Azzi leaned casually against the car, arms crossed, waiting.

“Look who’s got herself a chauffeur,” one of Paige’s teammates called out, nudging her with a smirk. “Is that Azzi Fudd ? Dang, you brought your college girlfriend to come pick you up like it’s high school again.”

Another chimed in. “Where’s the prom corsage, P?”

Paige rolled her eyes, trying to play it cool, but the blush was already creeping up her neck. “Y’all are so annoying,” she muttered, unable to hide the tiny smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Azzi raised an eyebrow as Paige approached. “You good, superstar?”

“Fine,” Paige said, biting back a soft grin. “Just being publicly roasted by my entire team. Nothing new.”

Inside the car, Paige leaned over the center console and kissed her cheek gently. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

Azzi glanced sideways at her with a smile. “Of course.”

As they pulled out of the parking lot, Paige tilted her head toward Azzi. “Hey, wanna stop and grab some groceries? I figured we could cook a little this weekend, hang out in our pajamas, binge bad reality TV…”

Azzi smiled, already nodding. “Yeah, definitely. Your fridge is... sad.”

Paige gave her a mock-offended look. “It’s not that bad.”

“You have three bottles of Gatorade, half a jar of peanut butter, and an expired pack of string cheese,” Azzi said, holding up three fingers. “That’s not a kitchen, that’s a cry for help.”

Paige laughed, throwing her head back. “Okay, fair. I’ve been busy.”

Her laugh echoed, but it faded faster than usual. By the time they pulled into the grocery store lot, Paige had gone quiet again, her hand resting loosely on the gearshift, her eyes trained ahead.

Azzi glanced at her as they walked inside. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Paige said, too quickly. “Just tired. Practice was kind of a grind.”

Azzi nodded, brushing it off. It made sense — early mornings, media attention, the pressure of carrying a struggling team. She knew how exhausting it could be. But still, there was something hollow behind Paige’s smile that made Azzi glance back once, then twice, as they moved down the first aisle.

Inside the store, Azzi took the lead, grabbing things off shelves with practiced ease. Paige trailed behind her, one hand loosely on the cart, the other tucked in her hoodie pocket.

“You want chicken or ground turkey?” Azzi asked, holding both up.

“Whichever,” Paige said, offering a small shrug. “You pick.”

Azzi paused. “You sure? You usually have strong opinions about pasta night.”

Paige smiled faintly. “I trust you.”

It was sweet. Too sweet. Like someone trying to stay above water without making waves.

Azzi turned back to the shelf, tossing the ground turkey into the cart. She told herself not to overthink it. But as they moved through the aisles, Azzi noticed a quiet pattern: Paige nodding to everything she chose, barely offering input. She smiled and laughed in the right places, but her energy felt muted, like her thoughts were somewhere else entirely.

Azzi tossed in a bunch of broccoli. Paige added a box of Pop-Tarts when Azzi’s back was turned.

“You think I didn’t see that?” Azzi said with mock sternness, glancing at the cart.

“I have to get my nutrients,” Paige said, dryly. “It’s athlete fuel.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, nudging her shoulder. Paige chuckled and leaned in slightly, but the moment passed quickly — and that familiar weight settled between them again.

It wasn’t a fight. It wasn’t even a disagreement. It was more like… Paige had zipped herself up in something Azzi couldn’t quite reach through. But maybe that’s just what being tired looked like.

Still, when they got to checkout, and Paige rested her elbow on the cart while Azzi unloaded the groceries, Azzi snuck another glance at her. Paige was staring ahead, jaw tight, eyes dim, like she was somewhere else entirely.

Azzi opened her mouth to ask again if she was okay.

But instead, she just said softly, “Don’t forget to grab your rewards card.”

Paige blinked, pulled herself back, and gave her a grateful smile. “Thanks, babe.”

Azzi smiled back, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes either.

By the time they made it back to the apartment and had everything put away, it was already close to 5:30.

Paige glanced at the clock, then over at Azzi, who was barefoot in the kitchen and still wearing the same UConn tee from earlier. “I was thinking maybe I could take you out for dinner tonight?”

Azzi gave a sleepy smile. “You trying to impress me with your fancy Dallas restaurant taste?”

Paige leaned against the counter, lips twitching into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “A little. You’re here for the weekend, I want to make it special.”

There was a warmth to her voice, but it felt thinner somehow—like she was going through the motions of sweetness without fully landing in them. Azzi clocked it, barely, but shrugged it off.

Azzi brushed past Paige on the way to the bedroom, fingers trailing across her arm. “Then I guess I better find something cute to wear.”

Paige followed after her, watching her go with a softened expression. “You look cute in a hoodie.”

Azzi shot her a look over her shoulder. “You’re not wearing a hoodie to dinner.”

“No,” Paige said, deadpan. “I’m wearing that button-down you said made me look hot.”

Azzi bit her lip. “Dangerous move.”

Paige winked. “I know.”

Azzi stood in front of the mirror near the entryway, adjusting one of her earrings with practiced ease. Her dress was a deep navy, soft and satiny, clinging to her in ways that had Paige actively trying to slow her breathing. It hit just above the knee, hugging her curves with a low neckline that was probably illegal in six states. She looked confident and effortless and entirely too kissable.

“You’re staring,” Azzi said, meeting Paige’s eyes in the mirror.

“I’m admiring,” Paige corrected, leaning against the doorway with her hands in her pockets. Her button-down was crisp, tucked into charcoal-gray dress pants, sleeves rolled to her forearms, the top few buttons undone just enough to make Azzi look twice. “I have every right.”

Her words were smooth, but her energy still felt a little distant—like she was performing ease, but something in her posture was guarded. Azzi noticed it again, the slight delay in Paige’s responses, the way her eyes kept drifting like her mind was somewhere else. But Azzi didn’t press. She smiled, trying to stay in the moment. 

Azzi turned, arching an eyebrow as she approached. “You clean up nice.”

Paige grinned—softer this time, more genuine—and stood up straighter as Azzi closed the distance between them. “Yeah? You too. Not that it’s a surprise. You looked good even in your airport sweats.”

Azzi slipped her arms around Paige’s waist, smoothing her hands over the fabric of the dress pants. “You sure you still want to go out?”

Paige’s hands found her hips without hesitation, her voice dipping low. “Don’t tempt me.”

But even as she said it, her touch held a certain restraint—like something was holding her back, an invisible tension in her fingers that Azzi half-felt but didn’t name.

Azzi just smirked and tilted her head, brushing her lips lightly against Paige’s jaw. “Too late.”

Paige groaned softly. “You’re not playing fair.”

Azzi kissed the corner of her mouth. “I never said I would.”

They were still tangled together when Paige’s phone buzzed on the entry table — a subtle reminder that their reservation was, unfortunately, real and soon.

Paige rested her forehead against Azzi’s shoulder, her breath catching there for just a second longer than usual before she pulled away. “Okay, okay. We need to leave before I forget how to walk.”

Azzi laughed, but her hand slipped into Paige’s as they walked out the door. Still magnetic, still close—but there was something quieter beneath Paige’s touch now, like she was anchoring herself to the moment so she wouldn’t drift too far.

Paige locked the door with her free hand while Azzi leaned into her side. The hallway was quiet except for the click of Azzi’s heels and Paige’s low whistle when she caught another glance at her in the dress.

“I feel like I should be warning people at the restaurant,” Paige murmured as they reached the elevator.

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Why? Because I’m gonna steal all their attention?”

Paige smirked, her voice a little more present now, a little more her. “Because I might not make it through dinner without kissing you in front of the entire waitstaff.”

Azzi leaned in, her voice playful and low in Paige’s ear. “Then maybe we better get there fast.”

The restaurant was dimly lit and elegant, with rich mahogany furniture and soft amber lighting that cast a golden haze over the room. A few couples lingered in the entryway ahead of them, and Paige and Azzi stood just inside the doors, hand in hand, waiting for their name to be called.

Paige looked effortlessly cool—shirt neatly tucked in, the shadows of her cheekbones more pronounced under the warm lights. Azzi, meanwhile, looked like she belonged in a fashion spread, and a few heads turned when they walked in together. Paige didn’t seem to notice.

But someone else did.

“Oh my god—Paige Bueckers?”

Paige turned at the sound of her name, eyes landing on a young woman, probably mid-20s, wearing a Wings jersey and clutching her phone. She looked between Paige and Azzi with wide eyes before settling on Paige. “I’m such a fan. I saw you play last weekend—you were amazing. Can I get a quick picture?”

Azzi’s fingers slipped from Paige’s. Not intentionally, not in protest. It just… happened. Like the spell broke, and now she was no longer part of the scene.

Paige smiled politely and gave a soft shake of her head. “Thanks, that’s really sweet. I’m actually with someone right now, so I’m not taking pictures, but I can sign something if you want?”

The fan’s face flickered with slight disappointment, but she nodded, fumbling in her bag until she produced a crumpled napkin and a pen. Paige scribbled her name and handed it back with a kind smile and a quick thank you before turning back toward Azzi, who had taken a small step to the side.

Something about that step—the physical space between them now—unsettled Paige in a way she couldn’t quite name. Her stomach tightened. She told herself it was nothing.

Before either of them could say anything, the hostess returned. “Ms. Bueckers? Your table’s ready.”

Azzi blinked, still processing, but followed Paige toward the back of the restaurant. They were led to a quiet booth tucked away in a corner, candlelight flickering softly between them. Paige let Azzi slide in first, then followed, her leg brushing against Azzi’s under the table.

For a moment, silence settled over them like a thick velvet curtain.

Azzi broke it, her voice low and curious. “Do you ever get used to that?”

Paige tilted her head. “What?”

“People recognizing you. Asking for pictures. Treating you like... I don’t know, like you’re not real.”

Paige let out an awkward chuckle, rubbing the back of her neck. “Honestly? Not really. It still feels weird. I mean, I get it... kind of. But it always catches me off guard.”

Azzi nodded slowly, her eyes flickering to the candle, watching the flame sway slightly. “It’s just... strange. Seeing people look at you like that. Like they own a part of you.”

Paige’s smile faltered, her fingers drumming lightly on the table. “Yeah. It’s a lot sometimes.”

There was another pause. Not tense, exactly—just full of unspoken things. Paige shifted in her seat, then sat still again. Her knee bounced once, then stopped. Inside, a quiet guilt began to creep in, even though she’d done nothing wrong. She hated that look in Azzi’s eyes. That distant softness.

“I didn’t mean to make it weird,” Azzi said gently, finally meeting Paige’s eyes.

“You didn’t,” Paige said quickly, reaching across the table and curling her fingers around Azzi’s. Her voice was warm, but her grip was just a little too firm, like she needed the connection more than she wanted to admit. “I’m still figuring out how to handle all of it, you know? I just... don’t want anything to take away from us being together.”

Azzi squeezed her hand, and Paige gave her a grateful smile—small but sincere. And yet, even with their hands linked across the table, the distance still hummed faintly between them.

Dinner had been nice—at least, it started that way. The food was incredible, the kind of indulgent, Texas-style upscale dining Paige had been excited to share with Azzi. And for a while, it was easy. Comfortable. But partway through the appetizers, a fan stopped by the table asking for a signature. Then again during dessert—this time someone asked for a selfie.

Paige handled it gracefully, like she always did. Smiles, polite declines, soft apologies. But with each interruption, something in her dimmed a little. Like she was both there and not . Like she was watching herself from just outside her body.

Azzi did her best not to let it show. She pushed food around her plate while Paige reassured the well-meaning strangers that she was just trying to enjoy a quiet night. But every time it happened, Azzi’s smile got a little tighter. Her heart twisted with something she didn’t really know how to name—not jealousy exactly, but a strange sort of ache. Like she was losing Paige to something neither of them could control. Like there was a version of Paige out in the world that everyone else wanted—and Azzi wasn’t sure where she fit into that picture.

By the time they were getting up to leave, the energy had shifted. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t light either. Paige placed a hand on Azzi’s lower back like she always did, but even that felt a little too careful—like she knew something was off but didn’t quite know how to say it.

She stayed quiet on the short walk to the car, and Paige didn’t say much either.

Once they were inside and the doors were shut, Paige let out a long, tired sigh, resting her head back against the seat as the engine hummed to life.

“I didn’t think it’d be like that tonight,” she muttered, almost to herself. “I really just wanted to take you out. Just... us.”

She meant it. But even to her own ears, the words sounded thin. She wasn’t sure if she was apologizing for the fans, or for how far away she felt—even now, with Azzi just inches away.

Azzi glanced out the window, her fingers absently tugging at the hem of her dress. She didn’t know what to say—didn’t want to seem petty or unsupportive. She was proud of Paige. She knew this came with the territory. But knowing it didn’t make her feel any less like a bystander at her own dinner date.

The silence stretched, just a beat too long. Then Paige reached across the console and placed her hand on Azzi’s thigh—not casually, not just affectionately. It felt more like a tether. A quiet apology, yes. But also something a little more desperate underneath.

Azzi looked down at her hand, then slowly traced soft, deliberate patterns along the back of Paige’s fingers. The contact grounded them, softened something in the air. But she didn’t miss the way Paige’s thumb tightened ever so slightly against her leg—like she needed the reassurance just as badly.

“The food was really good though,” Azzi said gently, offering a small, almost sheepish smile.

Paige’s eyes flicked over, her face shadowed in the dim light of the garage. The corners of her mouth curved up faintly, like the smile cost her a little more effort tonight. “Yeah?”

Azzi nodded. “That mac and cheese was like... criminally good.”

Paige let out a soft, low laugh, grateful more than amused. “It was. And you looked criminally good too, just for the record.”

Azzi shook her head, the smile lingering. “Flattery doesn’t erase the three people who wanted your autograph.”

Paige groaned and leaned over, kissing the back of Azzi’s hand like it was something she needed. “I owe you a better dinner. Just us. No fans. No interruptions. Just you and me... and probably some takeout.”

“Maybe tomorrow night,” Azzi murmured, still looking out the windshield, voice quiet but certain. “After your game.”

Paige turned to her fully now, her hand still resting heavy and warm on Azzi’s thigh. “Yeah?” she asked, a little breathless. Like she needed the idea of that night as much as the night itself.

Azzi nodded and finally turned to look at her, smiling. “Takeout. No fans. Just us.”

Paige’s shoulders loosened a bit, like she’d been holding tension she hadn’t even noticed. “That sounds perfect.”

They pulled into the apartment parking lot a few minutes later. The car settled into silence as the engine wound down, the muffled hum of the city barely audible beyond the concrete walls. Neither of them spoke as they got out. The quiet wasn’t awkward—just thick with everything left unspoken. As they walked toward the elevator, Paige’s steps slowed a fraction, her hand brushing Azzi’s as if by accident, but not really.

And then, just before they reached the elevator, Paige reached out again. This time, she caught Azzi by the hips, holding her a little tighter than usual, tugging her gently back so she stood between Paige’s legs, her back lightly brushing the cool wall behind them.

Azzi went easily, but her eyes flicked over Paige’s face—searching. There was something rawer in her eyes now, something closer to need than want.

Paige leaned in, her hands at Azzi’s hips like she was afraid to let go. The kiss that followed wasn’t rushed, but it had an urgency to it—a deeper pull. Less about desire, more about staying close. Azzi kissed her back with the same quiet intensity, one hand sliding up Paige’s side, the other curling lightly behind her neck.

She felt the way Paige’s chest rose unevenly against hers.

When they pulled back, Paige didn’t step away. Instead, she pressed her forehead to Azzi’s and let her eyes fall shut, her breath still a little shaky.

“I wish I didn’t have a game tomorrow,” she whispered, almost like she hated herself for admitting it.

Azzi’s hands stayed steady, one moving slowly down Paige’s back. “I know,” she whispered. “But I want you rested. No sex before game day.” It was said with a teasing tone, both of them knowing how much they missed their intimate moments.

Paige smiled—tired, reluctant, grateful all at once—and pulled Azzi in tighter, like it physically hurt to let go. “You make waiting really hard.”

Azzi tilted her head, brushing her lips lightly against Paige’s again. This one was slower, softer. “Good.” 

When they fall asleep that night, Paige wrapped around Azzi, Azzi’s heart begins to settle. The feeling was once she missed greatly, and made her think of the number of nights this was their normal.

Azzi stirred in the early morning light, the softness of the sheets tangled around her as she shifted awake. Her senses slowly tuned in to the gentle pressure of lips trailing soft kisses along her neck and shoulders—the parts of her face not pressed into the pillow.

She turned her head slightly, catching Paige’s eyes—bright, awake, and already full of that focused game-day energy.

Paige was already dressed in her team tracksuit. “Don’t go,” Azzi mumbled, reaching out and tugging gently at Paige’s arm, trying to pull her back toward the warmth of the bed.

Paige laughed softly, that light, melodic sound that made Azzi’s heart flip. She leaned down, brushing a tender kiss across Azzi’s forehead before settling one more gentle kiss on her lips.

“I really have to go,” Paige said with a smile that was half apology, half excitement. “But a car’s coming to pick you up around two—plenty of time to get ready before the game at four.”

Azzi pouted but nodded, her fingers still clutching Paige’s shirt.

Paige grinned. “I can’t wait to see you there. And I’ll be the one in the number 5 jersey, with the word Wings on it.”

She gave a teasing wink. “Don’t embarrass me.”

Azzi laughed softly, brushing her fingers through Paige’s hair one last time before she slipped out the door, and Azzi fell back asleep. 

Azzi woke again an hour or so later, this time to a still, quiet apartment and a patch of golden morning light cutting across the foot of the bed. For a moment, she just lay there, blinking slowly, trying to piece together the soft goodbye and the lingering warmth on the pillow beside her.

Eventually, she slid out of bed and padded barefoot into the kitchen, wrapping one of Paige’s oversized sweatshirts around herself. The smell of coffee still lingered in the air—Paige must’ve brewed it before she left—and Azzi smiled faintly at the small kindness. She poured herself a cup, cradling it in both hands after she doctored it to her liking, as she leaned against the counter, letting the steam warm her face.

She drank slowly, the silence thick but not unwelcome. Still, without Paige here, the space felt… different. Not cold, exactly. Just unfamiliar in a way Azzi hadn’t expected.

After finishing her coffee, she wandered through the apartment, mug still in hand. She traced the edges of picture frames on shelves, picked up a book from the coffee table she didn’t recognize, and let her fingers linger on the spine. The throw pillows were new. So was the rug. The scent in the air—Paige’s cologne, yes, but also something floral and faintly citrusy—wasn’t one Azzi remembered.

In the bedroom, she ran her hand along the dresser. A few drawers were open slightly, filled with neatly folded clothes Azzi had never seen her wear. The jewelry tray by the mirror held rings and necklaces she couldn’t place. On the nightstand sat a half-burned candle and a journal she didn’t dare open.

Azzi sat on the edge of the bed and looked around again, really looked.

It wasn’t that Paige had changed.

It was that Paige had lived.

And Azzi hadn’t been here to see it.

She sat on the bed softly, eyes wandering trying to notice all the small changes, heart caught somewhere between pride and something quieter, more uncertain. The distance between them wasn’t measured in miles anymore—but in all the things she didn’t recognize. 

And yet, the sweatshirt she was wearing still smelled like Paige.

So she stayed there for a while, sitting in that quiet, trying to memorize the pieces of Paige’s world she was only now seeing for the first time.

Azzi stood in front of the bathroom mirror, curling her lashes with slow, distracted movements. Her makeup bag lay open on the counter, but she hadn’t touched half of what she’d pulled out. Her eyes flicked to her reflection—fresh-faced, simple. She looked the same. But everything else felt slightly off-kilter.

She was pulling her hair into a low ponytail when her phone buzzed on the counter.
KK 💫 Calling.

Azzi blinked, then answered.

“Hey, KK.”

“Alright, spill,” KK’s voice came through warm and teasing. “How’s Dallas? And how’s our golden girl treating you?”

Azzi let out a soft laugh but didn’t answer right away. She leaned against the counter, twisting the hem of her shirt between her fingers.

“It’s… it’s good,” she said. Then paused. “It’s just different.”

KK’s tone shifted, still gentle. “Different how?”

Azzi drew in a breath, searching for the right words. “I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. Everything’s moving around Paige now—the media, the fans, the team. She’s amazing, don’t get me wrong. But it feels like there’s this whole version of her that I’m not part of.”

She looked down at the tiled floor.

“I thought that things were off when we talked on the phone because of the distance, or her being homesick. But it sort of feels that way even with me here.”

KK didn’t speak for a second. Then, gently: “Do you think she’s pulling away?”

Azzi hesitated. Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “I don’t think she means to. But I’m not sure she even notices it’s happening. And I—I keep trying to act normal, like I’m okay with everything, but I feel like I’m standing on the outside of something that used to be ours.”

“Az,” KK said, her voice laced with concern. “You two have history. That doesn’t vanish just because of some new city or a few new friends.”

“I know,” Azzi said quickly. “I know she loves me. I just… I don’t know if she needs me in the same way anymore. And I don’t want to become a memory she’s trying to keep alive out of guilt.”

KK let out a sigh. “You’re not a memory. You’re Azzi. You’re her Azzi. But I get it—being with someone who’s suddenly part of a bigger world… it’s easy to feel small.”

Azzi nodded, eyes trained on the corner of the mirror. “I just don’t want to lose her.”

“You’re not losing her. You’re just seeing her under different lights now. Give yourself time to adjust too.”

Azzi let that sit for a moment. Then: “She has a game today. I’m heading over soon.”

“Okay. Deep breath. You show up, like you always do. Let the rest unfold. And text me if she drops thirty,” KK said lightly. “Or if she winks at you on camera. I want all the drama.”

Azzi laughed weakly, her chest still tight. “Deal.”

“And Azzi?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not crazy for feeling this. You’re just in it. That’s what love looks like sometimes.”

Azzi swallowed. “Thanks, KK.”

She ended the call and set the phone back down. Her eyes found her reflection again. The same face. But she didn’t feel the same.

The car Paige had called arrived on time, and Azzi spent the short ride looking at the Wings social media, trying to find a glimpse of Paige. 

But even in their pictures, she wasn’t smiling as bright as she had been before. Her smile seemed reserved, or maybe even a little forced.

Azzi made sure to thank her driver as she was dropped off at the ‘Friends and Family’ stadium entrance. She checked in and then was taken to her seat by an usher.

Her seat near the lower rows, tucked just off the baseline where the players would sprint past during warmups. The court gleamed under the overhead lights, the sharp scent of resin and Gatorade clinging to the air, familiar and strange all at once. She folded her hands in her lap, letting her gaze drift to the court where Paige was already out there, dribbling through cones and shooting with the kind of laser focus Azzi had always admired.

She looked good—sharp, locked in. Her form was as fluid as ever, that barely-contained energy radiating from her even in warmups. But something was... off. Azzi couldn’t name it exactly. There was a weight to her movements, like Paige was holding something just beneath the surface. It wasn’t how she used to play—free, fearless, unfiltered. This was different. Clean, efficient. Controlled in a way that felt a little too careful.

Still, the more Wings players who filtered onto the court, the more Paige seemed to loosen. Azzi saw it in the way her shoulders dropped just a bit, in the faint grin that crept in after a perfectly timed pass from a teammate. She nudged one of the other rookies with her hip after a missed three, laughed at something said in passing—those little flashes of warmth Azzi remembered so well. The parts of Paige that felt like home.

Then the Indiana Fever players started jogging out of the tunnel. Azzi recognized most of them—faces from Team USA camps, the W, March Madness. Familiar, confident, effortless.

A few of them beelined straight for Paige.

Azzi watched one player tap Paige’s shoulder before leaning in for a hug. Another came around her side, pulling her briefly into conversation, grinning like they’d known each other forever.

Azzi’s stomach twisted. She looked away.

She didn’t see Paige’s reaction. Didn’t catch the way her body visibly tensed the second that first arm wrapped around her shoulders. Didn’t notice how Paige shifted her feet, subtly taking a step back, answering their questions with half-smiles and clipped replies. One of the Fever girls nudged her playfully, and Paige laughed—but it was brittle, a little too sharp around the edges.

She didn’t want to be rude. But she didn’t want to be there either.

Her eyes flicked up toward the stands. Scanning.

Looking for Azzi.

But Azzi wasn’t watching anymore.

All she heard was the sound of Paige laughing—louder now, a sound that felt like it didn’t belong to her anymore. Not the way it used to. And something cold settled in Azzi’s chest as she sat up a little straighter, eyes locked on the court without really seeing it.

Maybe it’s just with me, she thought suddenly, before she could stop herself. Maybe this tension, this distance—it’s not Dallas. It’s us.

And that thought… it stayed.

Even when the buzzer sounded and the teams huddled at their benches.

Even when the crowd rose in applause.

Even when Paige finally turned in her direction, scanning the lower rows.

Because Azzi didn’t meet her eyes.

The girl didn’t know how, too wrapped up in her own thoughts.

By the third quarter, it was clear Paige was off.

Her shots weren’t falling—not the way they usually did. She missed an open three early, then passed up a drive entirely in favor of swinging the ball wide. Her handles were tight but cautious, almost like she was second-guessing herself every time the ball touched her fingertips. The announcers on the overhead speakers started using words like tentative and uncharacteristic .

She heard them.

And even if she hadn’t, she knew. She could feel it.

She tried to play through it, tried to find her rhythm again, but it was like running in mud—every movement a little too heavy, a little too off. She turned the ball over on a misread. Got beat on a backdoor cut. Fouled out of frustration. Her jaw tightened with every possession. The crowd didn’t boo—this wasn’t a disaster—but it was enough to feel the weight of her own expectations pressing down.

God, what is wrong with me?

Her jaw tightened. She could feel her teammates’ sidelong glances. Could feel the momentum slipping and her control with it. She hated this feeling—hated not being the one who could fix things, pull them back. She knew better. But she couldn’t get out of her own head long enough to reset.

Focus, Paige. Come on. Snap the hell out of it.

Her body moved, but her mind was nowhere near the court. It was back in her apartment, in the quiet space Azzi had filled that morning without saying much. It was in the tension in Azzi’s jaw. In the distance in her eyes.

It was the way Azzi hadn’t smiled at her once tonight—not really.

She tried to shake it. Tried to tell herself to focus, to play her game. But the doubt was louder. What if I’m losing her? What if I already have?

To anyone watching closely, it looked like Paige might’ve had tears in her eyes when she walked to the bench late in the fourth.

But Azzi didn’t see it.

She sat in her seat, elbows resting on her knees, staring somewhere in the general direction of the court but not really watching. Her eyes flicked over to the scoreboard every so often—Fever up by seven, then ten, then twelve—but it barely registered. The noise of the crowd ebbed and roared around her, and she felt completely still, completely out of place.

When Paige checked back in, Azzi didn’t even notice.

But Paige noticed her, though. She kept sneaking glances toward the baseline, scanning the seats where she knew Azzi was sitting. But Azzi wasn’t looking at her. Not the way she usually did. Not like she used to.

It twisted something in Paige’s chest.

When the final buzzer sounded and the Fever players swarmed each other mid-court, Paige just stood there for a beat too long, her hands on her hips, staring at the floor.

The game was over. Dallas lost.

A crowd of fans pressed toward the barrier before Paige could get a chance to talk to Azzi, calling her name.

“Paige! That was a great hustle out there!”

“Can I get a photo, please?”

“You’re amazing — thanks for signing this!”

She forced a smile. Nodded. Took the sharpie someone handed her and scrawled her name across jerseys and basketballs like it didn’t burn. With each thank-you, each flash of a camera, her eyes flicked back to the seats, scanning for Azzi.

Nothing.

The crowd was thick. Too many faces. Not the one she needed.

She gave each fan what she could, offering warmth she barely felt. Her fingers trembled as she signed a program. A little girl leaned in for a hug, and Paige crouched and wrapped her arms around her—clinging a second longer than she meant to, because it was something soft. Something simple.

Her smile cracked on the way back up.

“Thanks so much,” she murmured to the last fan as they stepped away.

She turned quickly, gaze darting to the tunnel entrance again, breath caught in her throat.

There.

Azzi was standing a few steps inside, tucked into the shadows. She wasn’t watching the court. Her face was lit by the blue glow of her phone, her shoulders hunched, body closed in on itself like she was somewhere else entirely.

Not with her.

Paige’s heart sank. She’d spent the last two hours clawing through quicksand, trying to find something steady—Azzi’s face, Azzi’s eyes—but she’d never looked up.

The one face she searched for every time something went wrong. The one person she needed to feel steady again.

But Azzi hadn’t been there— not really. Not during warmups, not during the game, not after.

And that— that hurt worst of all.

A sharp bitterness swelled in Paige’s chest, but it was aimed at herself. For letting this happen. For not knowing how to fix it. For playing like shit in front of the one person she wanted to impress more than anyone else in the world.

She blinked quickly, the sting behind her eyes hot and insistent. Her hands clenched at her sides. Nails dug into the soft skin of her palms, a poor substitute for control.

She turned away. Walked toward the locker room, every step heavy and hollow. The fans’ cheers faded behind her, replaced by the low hum of fluorescent lights and the sharp echo of her own thoughts.

You blew it. On the court. With her. All of it.

Inside, the locker room was quiet. Too quiet.

She stood for a long moment, not moving, just letting the air settle around her. Her chest was still tight, her throat raw. Every sound—zippered bags, muted voices, the shuffle of shoes—felt like it came from underwater.

Then her phone buzzed in her pocket.

She pulled it out.

Azzi: Sorry I didn’t come out. Needed a minute.

Paige stared at the message.

Read it again.

And again.

The words weren’t cruel. They weren’t even unexpected. But they still hurt in a way she couldn’t name. Like the space between them had been named and confirmed in eight words.

She lowered the phone and pressed her forehead to the cool tile wall. Her breath hitched.

She’d wanted so badly to be enough tonight.

But all she felt was like she wasn’t.

The journey to the car was silent. Azzi leaned to give Paige a kiss on the cheek after Paige dipped out of the locker room.

The arena lights faded in the rearview mirror as she pulled onto the highway, her hands tight on the steering wheel.

The road home stretched out in front of them in quiet darkness, again, lit only by the steady flicker of passing streetlights and the occasional wash of headlights from oncoming cars. Paige’s hands gripped the steering wheel at ten and two, knuckles pale from the tension.

Neither of them said a word.

Paige kept her eyes trained on the road, jaw tight, her foot pressing the gas with more force than needed, only to ease up again. Her thoughts ran too fast to untangle.

She kept replaying the game. Every mistake. Every time the ball slipped away from her like it didn’t belong in her hands. The way the coaches had looked at her after the final whistle. Her teammates’ quiet pats on the back—sympathetic, not triumphant.

She wasn’t just disappointed. She was furious. At herself.

Why couldn’t I just lock in? Why didn’t I show up when it mattered?

Her stomach turned. Her chest ached, heavy with the pressure she always carried—being the first draft pick, the rookie, the golden girl everyone expected to lead. But tonight, all she’d felt like was a burden. 

And then there was Azzi.

The one face she searched for every time something went wrong. The one person she needed to feel steady again.

Next to her, Azzi stared out the window, chin resting in her hand, expression unreadable. The orange glow of the passing lights reflected in her eyes.

She didn’t know how to bring it up—this feeling she couldn’t shake. The sense that something had changed between them, and not just because of the move or the team or the schedule. It was Paige.

She was different now.

Not bad. Not cold. Just... distant. Guarded. And Azzi kept going back through the last few weeks, searching for clues she might’ve missed.

The text messages were getting shorter and less frequent. How she didn’t reach for her hand while they walked to the car—something she used to do without thinking.

And tonight.

Tonight it felt like they were on opposite sides of a glass wall, both pressing their hands against it, neither saying what they really wanted to say.

Azzi stole a glance at Paige, but Paige didn’t notice. Her shoulders were tense, her eyes focused straight ahead, lips pressed into a line.

Azzi felt her heart twist. This wasn’t how they were supposed to feel around each other. This wasn’t what they had built—not back in Storrs, not in hotel rooms after wins, not in quiet mornings before workouts. They used to be in sync. Always.

Now, it felt like every breath they took was timed differently.

And still, neither of them spoke.

She could feel Azzi watching her. Or maybe imagining it. But she didn’t dare look over. She didn’t trust herself not to crack open if she did.

The soft chime of the apartment door opening was the only sound that broke the silence as they stepped inside. Paige dropped her keys into the ceramic bowl by the entryway with a dull clink, then kicked off her sneakers without looking back.

Azzi followed a few paces behind, untying her shoes more slowly. The apartment was dim and still, as if it too were waiting for one of them to say something first. Paige walked past the kitchen, toward the hallway, wordless.

Azzi paused by the fridge, suddenly aware of how dry her throat felt. She opened the door and grabbed a glass from the cupboard, filling it with water and sipping slowly, buying time. The hum of the refrigerator buzzed softly beside her.

She heard Paige’s footsteps stall just before the hallway.

“I thought you played well tonight,” Azzi said suddenly, not turning around. Her voice was quiet but clear.

A beat passed.

Then Paige let out a short, humorless laugh. “You didn’t watch the game.”

Azzi blinked. She turned around, confused. “Yes, I did.”

“No, you didn’t.” Paige’s voice wasn’t angry—it was tired. Barely above a whisper, but it landed with weight. “You were there. But you weren’t watching.”

Azzi set the glass down slowly, lips parting but no words coming out yet.

Paige shook her head and leaned against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. “I kept looking for you. Every quarter. Every time I messed up. I looked—because I needed to see you. And every time I did, you weren’t really there.”

Azzi’s breath caught, and the tension she’d been holding at bay cracked open like thin ice beneath her feet.

“I wasn’t there?” Her voice trembled, disbelief and pain mingling in the quiet room.

Paige’s eyes didn’t waver as she met Azzi’s. “No. Not really. Not like before.”

Azzi swallowed hard, the weight of the truth sinking deeper. Then, a rush of feelings she’d buried for weeks surged forward, breaking free.

“It feels like you’re not in this anymore,” Azzi said, voice cracking. “Like you’re here, but not here with me—like I’m the only one trying to hold on.”

“That’s not true,” Paige responded softly. “I am trying. Really fucking hard.” Her voice cracked at the end.

“But you don’t try with me.” Azzi stepped forward, frustration boiling over. “You shut me out, Paige. You disappear, and I’m left guessing how to reach you.” 

Paige’s jaw clenched hard. “That’s bullshit.”

Azzi’s eyes flickered with frustration, her voice rising a little. “Is it? Like when I text you and get a ‘busy’ or a ‘k’ back. Like when I try to call and you don’t answer, or when I catch you staring off into space like you’re somewhere else entirely.”

Paige’s face tightened, her voice low but fierce. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

“No, you’re not.” Azzi’s hands clenched at her sides. “You don’t reach out. You don’t talk about your day, your struggles. You don’t let me in anymore. It’s like you’re building this wall between us, and I don’t know how to break through it.”

Paige’s hands clenched at her sides. “You think it’s that simple? That I’m just choosing not to be here?”

“I’m not saying it’s simple.” Azzi’s voice was fierce now, the hurt bleeding through the anger. “But you can’t just shut me out and expect me to stand by silently.” 

Paige looked at the floor, biting her lip, trying to keep the tears at bay. Azzi didn’t see the storm building behind her eyes. 

Azzi took a shaky breath, the question burning in her throat. “Do you even want me here, Paige?”

Paige’s head snapped up, eyes wide, stung. “Of course I want you here.”

Azzi’s voice was low, shaking. “Because it doesn’t feel like it. We’ve been struggling to talk, even when we’re in person. I thought you wouldn’t be as distant in person but it’s almost worse because I can read your emotions.”

Paige’s expression tightened, a flicker of defensiveness creeping in. “This is my life now. The life I’m trying to build—for us, for our future.”

Azzi’s eyes glistened, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “I don’t even know who you’re trying to build this life with anymore, Paige. Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it’s with me.”

Paige inhaled sharply but said nothing.

Azzi’s voice broke again. “I’ve been trying so hard to be here for you. But I feel like I’m on the outside now. Like you’re keeping everything locked away.”

“You used to tell me everything,” she continued. “Now? I don’t even know what your practices are like. I don’t know how your teammates treat you. I don’t know how you’re really doing. You just smile, say you’re tired, and change the subject.”

Paige’s eyes glistened but she didn’t let them fall. She couldn’t. If she started crying now, she wouldn’t stop. So she stayed quiet. Stoic.

Azzi took another step forward. “I want to be here. I am here. But it’s like... you’ve already decided you have to go through all of this alone. And you never asked if I was okay with that.”

Paige looked up, something flickering in her expression—guilt, maybe. Pain.

But still, silence.

Azzi’s chest heaved. “Say something.”

“I’m trying,” Paige finally whispered. “I’m just—” She cut herself off. She was about to say too much. About the weight, the pressure, the fear of not being enough. But she stopped herself, swallowing it all.

Azzi’s eyes searched her. “Trying to what?”

Paige shook her head. “Forget it.”

“No. Say it.”

But Paige only looked away.

Azzi’s heart broke a little more with every second that passed. “Do you even miss me when we’re apart?”

Paige’s eyes snapped back, wounded. “Of course I do.”

“Then why do I feel like you’re always pulling away?”

Silence again. Paige felt her body trembling under the weight of it all, but she still didn’t break.

Azzi exhaled shakily. “I just want the person I used to talk to. I want the Paige who let me in.”

Paige closed her eyes. She wanted to scream, I’m trying to protect you . She wanted to say that everything she did was to hold Azzi together while she herself unraveled. But the words wouldn’t come.

Azzi's voice wavered. “Is it something I did?” She took a step back, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “Is it something I’m doing now?”

Paige’s head snapped up, startled. “What? No, Azzi, this isn’t about—”

“Because it really feels like it is,” Azzi cut her off, her voice growing sharper. “It feels like ever since you got here, ever since the season started, you've been pulling away. Like I’m... like I’m in the way or something.”

Paige’s lips parted, but nothing came out. Her throat burned with things she couldn’t say.

Azzi laughed, bitter and quiet. “Right. Of course. You don’t want to talk about it. Again.”

“That’s not fair,” Paige said, barely above a whisper.

“No, what’s not fair is being shut out of your life like I’m some stranger. You act like I don’t know you, Paige, like I haven’t been through all of it with you. Storrs, the rehab, the late nights crying into each other’s arms after losses. And now that you're a pro, what? That all just disappears?”

Paige turned away, jaw clenched, tears threatening to rise. She pressed her hand to the bridge of her nose, trying to breathe through it, to keep it in.

Azzi’s words came sharper now, more desperate, like she was trying to wound and protect herself at the same time. “You think just because you’re in the W now, everything has to be different? That I wouldn’t understand? That I don’t belong in this part of your life?”

“Azzi—” Paige tried, her voice cracking.

“No,” Azzi said harshly, stepping forward. “Because it really seems like you don’t want me to belong here. You come home and don’t say a word. You don’t talk to me about the team, the plays, the coaches—nothing. I ask about your day, and you give me one-word answers like I’m your damn teammate in a film session. You don’t even look at me sometimes.”

Paige’s eyes were glassy now, but she stayed quiet, breathing uneven. She couldn’t speak—because if she started, everything might spill out. All of it. And she couldn’t do that to Azzi. She couldn’t give her that weight.

Azzi’s voice dropped, but the pain in it was sharp as glass. “I didn’t come here to feel like this, Paige. I didn’t come here to be tolerated.”

That word—tolerated—landed like a slap.

Paige flinched, visibly.

Azzi noticed, but she was too far gone now. “It feels like you’re not really here anymore. I don’t even recognize you some days.”

Paige blinked rapidly, a tear slipping free. She turned her face slightly, hoping Azzi wouldn’t see it.

Azzi did.

And it broke something in her.

The anger in her tone cracked, replaced by something quieter. “Just tell me what I did wrong,” she whispered. “Tell me what I need to change, and I will.”

Paige’s chest caved inward. She shook her head, heart pounding against her ribs like a warning bell. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Azzi’s lip trembled. “Then why does it feel like you don’t want me anymore?”

That stopped Paige cold. Her breath caught in her throat.

She wanted to scream, That’s not true, that’s the furthest thing from the truth, but her mouth wouldn’t move.

Because if she said that, she’d have to explain why she was like this. Why she came home and collapsed in silence. Why she didn’t want Azzi to see her unraveling.

Because if Azzi saw her like that—crumbling, full of self-doubt, guilt, shame—maybe she would leave. Maybe she’d see how much Paige was failing. At everything. At basketball. At being strong. At being someone Azzi could depend on.

Paige thought she was protecting her. Keeping her safe from this... mess.

Azzi stared at her for a long, aching moment. Her hands slowly dropped to her sides. “Say something.”

Paige turned away instead, resting her hands on the kitchen island, her head hanging, trying to stop the tears she knew were inevitable. 

Because the truth she couldn’t say— not yet —was that she didn’t know how to be everything at once: the leader Dallas wanted, the player her teammates needed, and the partner Azzi deserved.

And tonight, it felt like she was failing all three.

And that—more than anything—was what gutted Azzi, the silence. Paige’s back turned to her..

She let out a shaky breath, stepping back like the air in the room had turned toxic. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.”

The word lingered between them, hollow and full of heartbreak.

Azzi walked past Paige then, heading toward the bedroom. Not slamming the door. Just closing it. Quietly. Like it hurt too much to fight anymore.

Paige stood there in the half-dark kitchen, tears falling freely now, and still no words came.

She’d broken the only person who still made her feel whole.

The couch didn’t give. Neither did Paige.

She lay stiff as a board, barely covered by a throw blanket that didn’t even reach her feet. Her body ached in all the usual places — knees, shoulders, back — but the real pain sat somewhere deeper. Somewhere marrow-deep, beyond the reach of ice baths or compression sleeves.

The apartment was still, but her mind was chaos.

The cushions felt like concrete beneath her. The ceiling fan whirred overhead, steady and indifferent, cutting through the silence that rang too loud in her ears. Somewhere, across the apartment, behind a shut door, Azzi was sleeping alone — or not sleeping at all.

Paige wouldn’t blame her.

She stared at the ceiling until her eyes blurred, not blinking, barely breathing, a thousand thoughts crashing over each other like waves in a storm.

She wanted to get up. Knock on the door. Crawl in beside Azzi and just hold her. Whisper I’m sorry into her hair, again and again, until Azzi could feel how much Paige hated herself for letting her down.

But she didn’t move.

She didn’t think she deserved that kind of comfort.

Not after tonight.

Not after the way Azzi had looked at her — like she didn’t recognize her anymore. Like she was watching the person she loved disappear inch by inch, and didn’t know how to stop it.

Paige pressed her knuckles against her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut.

What was she doing wrong?

Where had she stopped being enough?

She kept asking herself that question, over and over, the way athletes replay a missed shot in their mind until the rim haunts their dreams.

Was it that she didn’t talk enough?

Didn’t listen enough?

Didn’t show up enough?

She thought she was trying. Every spare ounce of her energy went somewhere — practice, film, lifting, team meetings, media interviews. And when it was all over, all she wanted was Azzi. But by then, she had nothing left to give. Just hollow eyes and late replies and empty silence.

That silence was poison. She could see that now.

Azzi had asked: Is it something I did?

The words still rang through Paige’s chest like a bruise being pressed. Azzi had sounded hurt . She’d sounded like she believed it. Like she really thought the problem was her .

And Paige had stood there and let her think that. 

She turned onto her side, curling into herself, tears slipping freely now. Her breath hitched as she pulled the scratchy blanket tighter, like it could contain the hurt spilling out of her ribcage.

It’s not you. It’s me. I’m drowning. I don’t know how to breathe and be enough for everyone at the same time.

She hadn’t said it. She never said it.

Instead, she made Azzi feel small and forgotten — the one person who had always been Paige’s anchor, now left adrift in the wake of her silence.

Her chest squeezed painfully. Her jaw ached from clenching.

She wanted to go back in time — to when these feelings first started to rear their ugly head. She could have just picked up the phone and told Azzi “I’m struggling. I need help.” 

But she didn’t. 

Should’ve told her how badly she needed her there, even if Paige couldn’t find the words for why.

Instead, she’d said nothing.

She always said nothing.

Because saying it would make it real. Because saying it would admit weakness. And if she let even a crack show, she wasn’t sure she’d survive the flood behind it.

Her whole life, she’d been the one people leaned on. The one with the answers. The golden girl, the competitor, the leader.

She didn’t know how to fall apart and still be that person.

But tonight… tonight she had already broken. Quietly, invisibly, but completely.

And the worst part?

She wasn’t even sure if she could fix it this time.

Not with Azzi. Not with the team. Not with herself.

She buried her face into the crook of her arm and let the tears come, silent and relentless.

I’m not enough.

The thought looped over and over, steady and cruel.

I’m not enough for her. I’m not enough for any of this.

The couch creaked as she shifted, trying to find comfort in the place she’d chosen as punishment. But there was no comfort. Just cold leather, tear-soaked fabric, and the sharp echo of everything unsaid.

Azzi lay on her side in the bed — Paige’s bed — staring at the shadowy outline of the dresser across the room. The soft hum of the air conditioning was the only sound, save for the occasional creak of the leather couch outside and the faint, unmistakable sound of Paige quietly sniffing.

It landed in Azzi’s chest like a stone.

She closed her eyes and tried to block it out, but it was no use.

Paige was crying. Alone.

Just outside that door. Separated by maybe ten feet and a lifetime of distance.

Azzi pressed her hand over her chest, as if it could slow the thudding in her heart.

Why couldn’t Paige just cry in front of her?

She wanted to be there. She was there. And still, Paige had chosen the couch. Had chosen silence. Had chosen solitude. Again.

It made Azzi want to scream into the pillow, to claw at the walls of this too-modern, too-perfect apartment that never really felt like home. It was always Paige’s — Paige’s layout, Paige’s furniture, Paige’s team jerseys framed on the wall. Her name on the buzzer. Her keys on the hook. Her city.

Not theirs .

Azzi had tried to brush it off, told herself she was being sensitive. That it was new. Temporary. That they’d find their rhythm.

But they hadn’t. Not really. Not since she got here.

And now Paige was crying on the couch — after refusing to say anything real to Azzi — and it was breaking Azzi’s heart in a way she didn’t know how to carry.

She pulled the covers tighter around herself, trying not to cry too, but her eyes stung anyway.

Why won’t she let me in?

That was the question clawing at her ribs.

Azzi had cried in front of Paige. Had said the hard things. Had cracked open her insecurities, her fears about fading into the background, about being a spectator in Paige’s life instead of her partner.

But Paige?

She hid. Always.

Behind her clenched jaw. Behind her focus. Behind her damn loyalty, which was so fierce it often felt like a wall.

Azzi had tried to be patient. God, she’d tried.

But tonight made something inside her feel irreparably distant. As if Paige didn’t just need space — she was building an entire world Azzi wasn’t allowed to walk into.

She turned over, stared at the spot where Paige’s pillow usually sat.

Cold. Flat.

She missed her. Missed her even though they were in the same apartment, under the same roof. Missed the way they used to talk without tiptoeing, the way Paige used to make her laugh over nothing, the way she used to be held like she was home .

Azzi wasn’t even sure Paige knew how far she’d drifted.

Was it the pressure? The spotlight? The schedule? Or was it her?

Azzi’s throat tightened. The thought that it could be her — that Paige didn’t feel the same way anymore, or didn’t want her here — was unbearable.

She curled deeper into the blankets, and in the dark, a single tear traced a hot, silent line down her cheek.

The sound of another muffled sniffle echoed from the living room, and Azzi squeezed her eyes shut.

It would’ve been so simple.

Paige could’ve come in and cried beside her. Let her hold her. Let her love her.

But she didn’t.

Morning came in slow shades of gray.

The apartment was hushed, the light from the tall windows barely cutting through the dull overcast sky outside. Everything felt muted — the walls, the floor, the silence. Like the whole place was holding its breath.

Azzi woke with a dull ache in her chest and a tension behind her eyes that no amount of blinking could shake off. She rolled over, instinctively reaching for the other side of the bed before she remembered.

It was still empty.

Still Paige’s bed, she thought bitterly.

She sat up slowly, rubbing at her face, then padded out of the bedroom, her steps soft on the hardwood floor. The hallway was quiet, save for the low hum of the refrigerator and the distant sounds of early city traffic filtering through the closed windows.

When she turned the corner into the living room, Paige was already awake.

She sat at the kitchen island in the hoodie she’d worn the night before, knees drawn up slightly on the stool, like she was trying to take up less space in her own home. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and her posture made her look even smaller than she was—like the weight of everything around her had settled on her shoulders overnight.

Her eyes were red. Puffy. Like she hadn’t stopped crying for hours. 

Neither had Azzi.

Azzi didn’t say anything. Just walked past her in silence toward the coffee pot. But then she paused.

There, already set out on the counter, was a clean mug. Next to it sat the bottle of hazelnut syrup Azzi liked — the expensive one they’d once argued about in Target — and the oat milk creamer she always reached for. It was already opened.

Azzi stared at it for a second longer than she meant to.

Paige hadn’t slept. Paige had cried. Paige had made sure her coffee was ready.

It was such a small gesture.

But it hit like a punch to the chest.

Azzi poured herself a cup, the warm steam rising between them like a wall neither of them knew how to break through. She added the syrup slowly, stirring it into the coffee in silence.

Azzi took a sip, letting the warmth settle in her throat before she finally spoke.

“I heard you crying,” she said quietly. No accusation. Just the truth.

Paige closed her eyes. A sharp breath left her like a wound reopening.

Azzi looked over at her then, really looked.

Paige looked wrecked. The hoodie didn’t hide the way her shoulders slumped or the dark circles under her eyes. Her expression was open in a way it rarely was — unguarded and raw and filled with something close to guilt.

“I didn’t want you to hear that,” Paige said, barely above a whisper.

“I know,” Azzi replied. “That’s the problem.”

Paige’s eyes flinched shut again.

Azzi took a slow sip of her coffee, her eyes focused somewhere far away—just past the edge of the counter. Her fingers curled tightly around the mug, as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded.

A moment passed, then she spoke, barely above a whisper.

“My flight’s at one.”

Paige looked up quickly, startled by how soon it was. Her mouth opened like she wanted to say something, maybe ask her to stay just a little longer, but she closed it again, nodding instead.

“I’ll get ready,” she said softly. “I’ll take you.”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She reached for the spoon, stirring her coffee again even though it didn’t need it. The silence stretched until Paige glanced over, and that’s when Azzi spoke.

“I think I’d rather take an Uber.”

Her voice was quiet, like saying it out loud cost her something.

And it hit Paige like a blow to the chest.

Her breath caught, sharp and immediate. Her throat tightened, and when she tried to respond, the words didn’t come easily.

“Az—” Paige’s voice broke.

She swallowed hard, staring at the counter like maybe she could will her body not to shake.

But Azzi didn’t meet her eyes.

She couldn’t. Because if she did, she knew she might shatter.

There was no malice in her words. No anger. Just a quiet kind of sadness. The kind that comes from loving someone who’s right there and still feels so far away.

Paige reached up, fingers brushing her temple as if trying to steady herself. Her chest ached—not from rejection, but from the truth that she had made Azzi feel like this. That Azzi didn’t want to be in a car with her, not even for a few minutes more. That her presence didn’t feel like comfort anymore.

It felt like a wound.

Azzi stood slowly, leaving the rest of her coffee untouched. She started to walk toward the hallway, toward Paige’s room—the one that never quite felt like theirs . Her footsteps were soft but final.

Paige sat frozen at the island, mug trembling in her hand.

“Az—” she tried again, but her voice caught on the second syllable, breath hitching painfully. She shut her mouth, blinking hard against the pressure behind her eyes.

The girl pauses outside the bedroom door, turns to face Paige. She’s the pain, the terror, and the agony in her eyes.

Paige tried to speak again, but all that came out was air.

“I just… I think it’s easier,” Azzi added, voice flat, trying to sound casual, like it wasn’t tearing her apart too.

Easier. That word hit Paige like another sharp twist to the ribs.

Azzi didn’t want easy. She’d never been someone who chose easy. She chose love. She chose commitment. She chose them —every single time.

And now she couldn’t even choose a car ride beside her.

Paige looked up slowly, watching as Azzi turned and shut the bedroom door behind her.

Paige stared after her.

Then she lowered her head, pressing her fingers into her eyes.

Her mind raced. Not with anger, not even with defense. Just panic. Helplessness. Shame.

She wanted to run after Azzi, to say, please don’t do this, please don’t go, please let me try. But what would she say when Azzi asked, try how? Try with what?

She’d given everything she had to the team, to the image, to the version of herself people needed her to be. What was left for Azzi?

And if she tried to give even more—would there be anything left of her at all?

She sat there for what felt like an hour. Coffee gone cold. Eyes burning.

The clock on the microwave read 9:26.

There was still time.

But she didn’t move.

Eventually, she heard the door creak open again behind her. The sound of a backpack zipper. A soft shuffle as Azzi came back into the kitchen, now dressed in leggings and a hoodie, her coffee cup and the coffee inside having gone cold. Her eyes were tired—rimmed red with the kind of exhaustion that comes from emotional heaviness, not sleep deprivation.

Paige stood slowly, her knees stiff from sitting too long on the hard stool. Her fingers reached for her phone on the counter, almost as a reflex. Then she looked up.

Azzi didn’t make eye contact.

Instead, she grabbed her phone charger from the outlet, then moved toward the coffee pot again. Her eyes flicked to the cup, the syrup, the creamer Paige had left out.

Something in her expression shifted. Barely. A flicker of something Paige couldn’t name.

She poured herself the rest of the coffee, and stirred it slowly. Her hands were steady, but her face was blank.

Paige couldn’t take it anymore.

“I didn’t want you to hear me cry,” she said suddenly, voice raw, cracking in the middle.

Azzi froze.

Her back was still to Paige, but the silence that followed was sharp, brittle.

Azzi’s shoulders tightened. She set the spoon down gently, then turned around, the mug clutched in her hand like a shield.

“You didn’t want me to hear,” she repeated, her voice quiet but not soft.

Paige nodded, swallowing hard. “I didn’t want to make you worry. Or deal with my struggles.”

Azzi’s jaw flexed, the kind of motion someone makes when they’re holding back something sharp.

“You think I haven’t already been worried?”

Paige looked away.

“All the ways you’ve pulled away from me. 

The way you barely looked at me this week. The way you collapse into yourself after every game. You think I haven’t seen it?”

“I didn’t want you to carry it too,” Paige murmured.

Azzi let out a breath—half a laugh, half a sob.

“I’m not afraid to carry your pain, Paige. I want to. That’s what loving someone means. But you—” She shook her head. “You act like protecting me means hiding from me.”

“I’m not hiding,” Paige whispered.

“Yes, you are,” Azzi shot back. “You’re hiding right in front of me. And it’s the loneliest feeling I’ve ever known.”

The words hit so hard Paige physically swayed. She gripped the edge of the counter to steady herself.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “God, Azzi, I’m so sorry .”

Azzi stared at her, eyes glassy.

“I know you are,” she said softly. “I know.”

After a second of silence, they both try to speak.

“I know-”

“I’m-”

They pause before Azzi asks if she can go first. Paige nodded, eyes locked on her. She didn’t trust her voice not to crack again.

Azzi drew in a breath, holding it for a moment before releasing it slowly. She looked down at her coffee, then up again.

“I know it’s been hard,” she began. “This whole… adjustment. Going pro. The pressure. The city. Being away from your family. From everything familiar. I know it’s not been easy.” She paused, then added more softly, “And your team’s struggling. That’s not your fault—but I know it’s been weighing on you.”

Paige looked away, her shoulders tense.

Azzi kept going. “And I came here this weekend thinking—hoping—that once we were together, things would feel… better. That I’d walk in the door and something in you would soften. That we’d laugh again, that we’d talk about dumb stuff. That you’d wrap your arms around me like you used to and just… be with me.”

She swallowed hard. “But it didn’t feel like that.”

Paige winced, her throat tightening.

Azzi set her mug down gently, both hands bracing the edge of the counter. She was trying so hard to stay calm, to stay kind—but her voice broke just slightly on the next words.

“I felt like I was intruding. Like I was trying to fit into your new life, and I didn’t belong.”

Paige’s lips parted, but Azzi held up a hand gently.

“I’m not saying that to hurt you. I just need to say it. I need to be honest, because we haven’t really been honest, have we? Not fully.”

Silence.

Then: “I think we both need to take some time. To really think about what we want moving forward. Not just what we say we want, but what we’re willing to give. ”

She blinked quickly, tears threatening but not yet falling.

“Because what we’re doing right now? This version of us? It’s not working. And I can’t keep pretending like it is.”

The words hung in the space between them, trembling but true.

Paige didn’t respond right away. Her chest rose and fell slowly, like she was absorbing the impact. Like she was physically trying to get herself to breathe, in and out, in and out.

Azzi finally looked at her again, eyes wide and aching. “I’m not saying I don’t love you,” she added, a whisper. “I do. God, I do.”

That made Paige’s knees go weak. She gripped the counter harder.

“But love doesn’t fix everything if we can’t show up for each other.”

Paige opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. Just a noise—small, helpless.

Azzi turned, walking slowly down the hall, and Paige stood frozen in place.

The sound of retreating footsteps faded, but the weight of Azzi’s words did not. They echoed louder than anything else in the room.

“Because what we’re doing right now? This version of us? It’s not working.”

Paige’s stomach twisted. Her fingers, still gripping the edge of the kitchen island, began to tremble. She leaned forward slightly, her arms locked to keep herself from collapsing under the sudden rush of heat and despair that surged up her spine.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move.

It felt like the floor had cracked open beneath her, like the weight she’d been carrying for weeks had finally broken her body, her resolve, her ability to pretend she had any of it under control.

Azzi’s voice, soft but unrelenting, circled her like a storm.

“I felt like I was intruding. Like I was trying to fit into your new life, and I didn’t belong.”

Her breath hitched. A silent sob. Her throat clenched so tightly she thought she might be sick.

Paige dropped back into the stool she was sitting on, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes like that might hold everything in—like that might stop the flood.

But it didn’t.

Tears slipped through her fingers, hot and fast. A shaking breath escaped her lips. Then another. Her whole chest shuddered like something had split open inside of her.

Azzi didn’t feel like she belonged here. With me.

Paige bit down hard on the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. Still, the tears kept falling. She curled in tighter, her back pressed against the cool base of the cabinets, her knees drawn close.

She had wanted to protect Azzi from this. From the chaos. From the crushing weight of pressure and failure and exhaustion that never left her. She thought if she could just hold it all on her own, maybe Azzi would still feel safe. Still feel loved.

But she’d failed.

She failed Azzi.

She failed herself.

“We haven’t really been honest, have we?”

The truth of that cut deeper than anything else. Paige had been holding back everything. Not out of malice. Not because she didn’t care. But because she cared too much. Because she was scared of what it would look like if Azzi saw just how broken she really felt.

But now?

Now Azzi had walked away. Not out of anger. Not out of coldness. But out of heartbreak. Paige had seen it in her eyes, felt it in the way her voice cracked when she said “I do. God, I do.”

The love was still there. Paige could feel it like a bruise that hadn’t healed.

But maybe love wasn’t enough anymore.

She didn’t know how long she stayed there. Time blurred. The only thing she knew was that the one person who had ever made her feel whole now wasn’t sure they had a future.

And the worst part?

Paige couldn’t blame her.

Because for the first time in her life, she wasn’t sure she knew how to be what Azzi needed.

The silence hung heavy in the kitchen, broken only by the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant rustling of Azzi in the bedroom. Paige drew her knees up to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them like she was bracing herself against a storm that had already passed but left her wrecked.

Her breath came in shallow, uneven pulls. Every word Azzi had said replayed over and over in her head like a skipping record: “We both need to think about what we want… because what we’re doing right now isn’t working.”

She buried her face in her arms. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed. All she knew was the ache. Her body hurt. Her heart felt like it was being squeezed in someone else’s hands. And beneath all of it was a voice whispering cruel things— You’re not enough. You’re not enough for her.

Then, from down the hallway, a faint sound broke through— ding —followed by the rustle of luggage wheels and the zipper of a bag. Paige didn’t have to look to know what it was.

Azzi’s Uber was here.

She heard Azzi’s soft footsteps approach but didn’t move. She couldn’t. Not yet.

Azzi paused near the bedroom doorway, clutching the handle of her bag. Her face was tight, her jaw clenched as if she was holding everything in. She wasn’t angry—not right now. Just tired. Wounded. Like she was leaving something behind that still mattered to her, but didn’t know how to carry anymore.

She turned slightly to glance toward Paige, who hadn’t moved. Her eyes flicked to the door. She shifted her weight like she was about to say goodbye. But before she could, Paige finally looked up, her voice barely audible.

“Why does it feel like you’re walking out on us?”

Azzi froze.

The words were quiet, but they landed like thunder. Paige didn’t even try to hide the devastation in her face—red-rimmed eyes, skin pale and drawn, lips trembling as though holding back a scream. Her voice cracked mid-sentence, but she forced the words out anyway, raw and broken.

Azzi looked at her, blinking fast like she hadn’t expected that.

And then she answered, her own voice just as soft, just as wrecked.

“Why do I feel like you already did?”

The silence that followed was immediate and suffocating.

Paige flinched, like the words physically hit her. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. There were no defenses left. No protest. No logic. Just pain. Tears trailing down her checks.

Azzi’s eyes filled, but she didn’t let the tears fall this time. She looked at Paige like she was memorizing her face, like she knew this would be the last time she saw her in this space—this apartment that never quite felt like theirs . Then she took a breath, swallowed hard, and turned toward the door. 

Chapter Text

The soft buzz of Paige’s alarm hummed through the room, low and persistent, like it knew better than to startle anyone awake. Paige stirred first, her arm stretching across the bed before blindly silencing her phone. For a few seconds, she lay still, eyes half-open, blinking against the pale morning light slipping through the blinds.

Azzi was curled into her, face tucked into the crook of Paige’s neck, her breath warm and slow. Paige smiled — that quiet kind of smile meant just for mornings like this, when the world felt suspended and nothing needed to be rushed.

Azzi mumbled something unintelligible and shifted closer, her hand sliding lazily along Paige’s side. Paige didn’t move. She didn’t want to. Not when Azzi’s curls were brushing her cheek, not when she could feel the steady beat of Azzi’s heart against her own.

“Alarm already?” Azzi asked, voice thick with sleep.

“Mm-hmm,” Paige said softly, her fingers tracing slow circles along Azzi’s back. “We should get up.”

“Five more minutes,” Azzi whispered, which really meant ten. Or fifteen. Paige let out a quiet laugh, one that rumbled through both of them.

“You nervous for today?” Azzi asked suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Paige’s hand stilled for a second. “No,” she said softly. “Not really.” She shifted so she could see Azzi’s face, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. “Are you?”

Azzi hesitated, biting her lip. “A little,” she admitted, almost like she didn’t want Paige to hear it.

Paige’s brow furrowed, tender curiosity in her eyes. “Why?”

Azzi opened her mouth to answer—but just then, the bedroom doorknob jiggled. A sharp rattle against the lock.

They both froze.

Another shake. This time louder.

Then, through the door, a familiar voice barked in pure dramatic outrage: “ What the fuck?! ”

Paige clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laugh. Azzi’s eyes widened, and she dove halfway under the covers.

“Try it again,” came Ice’s calm, unbothered tone — like this was just another item on the morning schedule.

Another shake of the doorknob. This one even more forceful.

Then: “ Paige Madison Bueckers, why the fuck is the door locked?!” Nika’s voice was full of mock betrayal, loud enough to wake the entire house.

Azzi let out a strangled laugh and ducked her head fully under the blankets, mortified. Paige was already laughing silently into her pillow, her shoulders shaking.

More footsteps.

And then the voice that really did them in.

“Azzi Fudd, you better not be in there!”

Aaliyah.

Azzi let out a full-body groan and flopped backward dramatically. “We’re so dead.”

Paige grabbed her hand and laced their fingers together. “It’s fine. They’ll forgive us in like five minutes. Maybe ten.”

“They’re gonna talk about this in the speeches,” Azzi whined.

“They were gonna do that anyway.”

From outside: “You both know it’s bad luck to see each other before the wedding!”

“Technically,” Paige whispered, leaning in, “it’s only bad luck if we get caught.”

Azzi snorted. “We’re literally caught right now. ”

Paige smiled and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Then we might as well enjoy it.”

Azzi turned to face her, their foreheads brushing, noses bumping gently. “You really aren’t nervous?” she asked again, voice quieter now, like the noise outside had softened something between them.

Paige shook her head. “Not even a little. Not when it’s you.”

Azzi melted. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” Paige whispered back, pulling her into a soft kiss just as—

They hear someone else hit the door, again. 

“Ten minutes until hair and makeup, lovers!” Nika shouted.

“Chop chop!” Aaliyah added. “Before we have to break down this door. ”

They groaned in unison, cuddling deeper under the blankets like kids avoiding chores. Paige begins to leave the bed while Azzi tries to pull her back in, again. 

The older girl leans down and presses a kiss from the younger girl’s shoulder and up the side of her neck.

"We," kiss.

"Are," kiss.

"Getting," kiss.

"Married," kiss.

"Today," she says softer than the other words, leaning forward to finally kiss Azzi on the mouth. 

The softness and sweetness makes Azzi grin as she finally decides to emerge.

On the other side of the door, they find their closest friends - and bridesmaids - with crossed arms and raised eyebrows.

“You two are so lucky I love love,” Nika says.

Aaliyah shook her head, but she was smiling. “Locked door, tangled hair, matching sleep shirts? You’re not even trying to be subtle.”

Paige gave them a sheepish grin as Azzi ducked behind her, still pink in the cheeks.

“Okay, okay,” Caroline said, already ushering people into motion like the cool-headed general she was. “Enough chaos. We’ve got exactly—” she checked her watch, “—five hours before showtime. Let’s move.”

Paige turned to Azzi, their hands finding each other instinctively in the middle of the hallway. Neither of them said anything at first. Just looked. Held on.

Azzi’s thumb rubbed slow circles over the back of Paige’s hand. “Last time I see you before we’re both dressed..”

Paige gave her a soft, crooked smile. “You’re gonna take my breath away.”

Azzi blinked fast, her smile trembling. “Too late. You already do.”

Paige leaned in, rested her forehead against Azzi’s one last time. “See you at the end of the aisle.”

Azzi nodded, voice barely above a whisper. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

Paige’s bridal suite was full of motion — curling irons humming, champagne flutes clinking, laughter bouncing off the walls. She sat in a chair by the mirror, already in her robe, as a stylist combs through her hair. 

She sees Nika shake her head at her in the mirror. 

“What?” she laughs.

“I can’t believe - well actually I can - that you guys slept in the same bed last night. Especially when we said good night you two were in separate rooms!”

“Are you really shocked?” says Maddy as she walks over to join the conversation.

Nika rolls her eyes before sitting in the chair next to Paige. “Okay, but seriously, how do you feel? Like are we talking butterflies or full-on emotional earthquakes?”

Paige let out a breath, smiling into her reflection. “I feel... peaceful. I’ve been ready for this for years. I feel like I’ve already won, ya know?”

“That’s the sappiest thing you’ve ever said. I’m proud of you” Ice tries to say with a straight face. If her eyes are a litle watery, no one acknowledges it.

“I’ve been saving it for today,” Paige deadpanned.

About an hour later, down the hall, Caroline is handing Azzi a champagne flute and waving dramatically with the other, “Azzi Jazlyn Fudd, I need to know what it feels like to be minutes away from becoming a wife. Not a girlfriend. Not a fiancée. A whole-ass, in-the-eyes-of-God wife. ”

Azzi lets out a breathy laugh, sinking further into the soft velvet couch. “It feels like my heart is trying to run a fast break through my ribcage.”

Aaliyah raised her glass. “To gay panic — bridal edition.”

KK smirked from across the room, casually adjusting the cufflinks she wasn’t even wearing yet. “You’re not panicking, you’re glowing,” drawing the last word out for emphasis. The entire room laughs, including the person working on Azzi’s hair. 

“I’m sweating ,” she shot back, fanning herself with a silk robe sleeve. “I’m literally just sitting here and I feel like I ran a full-court press.”

“Yeah, that’s love, girl,” Aaliyah grinned. “Also nerves. And hormones. And maybe the mimosa.”

The girls laughed, but Azzi’s gaze drifted to the window, unfocused. She was quiet for a second too long.

“You thinking about her?” Carlone asked, gentle now.

She nodded. “Yeah. I just… I hope the days goes perfect for her, for us. You know how she panics right before big events.”

Carol waved her hand dismissadly. “She’s fine. Ice and Maddy have her. If she’s not laughing, she’s definitely rolling her eyes at Nika stressing about the schedule.”

Azzi swallowed hard. 

Aaliyah catches her eyes in the mirror, “Are you okay?” 

Azzi nods slowly, but her friend is not convinced. Aaliyah bends down to be at her eye level. “What do you need?” she asks softly.

“Paige,” is whispered by the bride. Aaliyah nods.

“So let’s go get her.”

The hairdresser must have been listening to the conversation because she steps away, allowing Azzi to get up.

Caroline and KK see what is happening and have confused looks on their faces, but Aaliyah just shakes her head and leads Azzi to the other room.

After knocking, the music playing gets turned down as Nika opens the door partly, “Yes?”

She sees Azzi and Aaliyah and immediately clocks what is happening.

“Paige,” she turns and says, voice louder than the music. Paige turns, laughing at something Ice had said.

Nika mouths “Azzi,” and Paige moves quickly towards the door. 

Paige didn’t hesitate.

She practically flew across the room, the silky robe trailing behind her as she slipped through the door that Nika had only just barely managed to hold open.

Paige’s breath hitched when she saw Azzi — eyes a little glassy, lips pressed together like she was holding something back. Both Nika and Aaliyah step into the room to give them privacy in the hallway. 

Azzi stepped in close, hands finding Paige’s waist like a reflex. “Sorry,” she breathed. “I just—”

“No,” Paige whispered, already pulling her into an embrace. “No sorrys.”

Azzi buried her face in Paige’s shoulder, wrapping her arms tightly around her like the world might slip away if she let go.

“I know it’s stupid,” Azzi said into the soft fabric of Paige’s robe. “I just needed to see you. Just for a minute.”

Paige pulled back enough to cradle Azzi’s face in her hands. “You’re allowed to need me. Today of all days, especially.”

Azzi blinked hard, tears clinging to her lashes. “Everyone keeps saying I look calm, but I feel like I’m holding my breath.”

Paige smiled softly, brushing her thumbs across Azzi’s cheeks. “Then breathe with me.”

She took Azzi’s hands and pressed them to her chest. “You feel that?”

Azzi nodded, her fingertips resting over Paige’s steady heartbeat.

“That’s yours,” Paige whispered. “Always has been.”

Azzi’s breath caught on a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. “God, I love you.”

“I know,” Paige said, forehead pressing to hers. “I love you, too. And in like… three hours, I get to call you my wife.”

Azzi let out a breathy laugh, tears finally falling freely. “That word still sounds fake.”

“Real as this,” Paige said, kissing the corner of her mouth, then the tip of her nose. “Real as me and you.”

They stand there quietly for a moment, holding each other, holding space for the day.

The door slowly opens and Nika makes a loud throat-clearing noise. “Okay, sappiest thing I’ve ever witnessed. I give it a 10/10, but also — we are still on a schedule.”

Aaliyah grinned as she leaned around the other maid-of-honor. “You good now, Az?”

Azzi nodded, sniffling once. “Yeah. I am.”

Paige gave her one more kiss, lingering just a second longer than she probably should have. Then she leaned back, fingers still tangled with Azzi’s. “I can’t wait to see you in your dress.” 

Azzi smiles, “You’re going to love it.”

“I already do, because it’s on you,” Azzi lightly rolls her eyes, trying to keep the blush off her face. ​​“Now go,” she said softly. “Or they really will put this in the speeches.”

Azzi groaned, reluctantly letting go. “Too late for damage control.”

Aaliyah stepped out of the room Paige and draped an arm around her friend’s shoulders, leading her back down the hall. “It’s okay. I’ll blame it on your soft heart and overwhelming beauty. You’re welcome.”

Paige stood in the doorway, watching until Azzi turned back and flashed her a grin. A real one this time.

Then she was gone again.

Back in the suite, Maddy handed Paige a tissue as she sat down, eyes glassy in the mirror.

“I thought you weren’t nervous,” she teased gently.

“I’m not,” Paige said. “I’m just… full.”

“Of love?” Nika groaned dramatically, grabbing a drink. “God, I’m gonna need three mimosas to get through this ceremony.”

While Paige was laughing with Ice, Maddy leaned over, her expression softer than usual, and handed Paige a small envelope nestled atop a box wrapped in ivory paper and tied with a delicate bow.

“One the list of sappy moments of the day - this just got dropped off. From the other half.”

Paige’s breath caught as she reached for it — her name written in Azzi’s unmistakable handwriting, soft and careful, like every letter had been touched with intention. She didn’t open it right away. Instead, she held it for a long moment, eyes fluttering closed, letting the warmth of it settle into her like sunlight through glass. She felt it — the depth of Azzi’s love, the tenderness woven into even this small moment.

She opened the letter with shaking hands.

Paige ,

I know I’m not always the best at putting feelings into words, but I needed you to hear this today. On the day we start forever.

Loving you has been the most natural thing I’ve ever done. It’s like breathing — I don’t have to think about it. You came into my life and turned everything upside down in the most beautiful way. Suddenly, my whole world began revolving around your smile, your laugh, the way you pull me into your arms like you’re protecting me from everything.

And maybe you are.

You make me feel seen, and safe, and strong — all at once. When I’m with you, I believe in things I never dared to before. Like soulmates. And fate. And forever. You made a believer out of someone who used to be scared to hope.

This watch isn’t just a gift. It’s a promise. That no matter where life takes us, no matter what time gives or steals, I’m yours. Every hour. Every minute. Every second. I’ll be loving you. Rooting for you. Choosing you — again and again.

I know we’ll have hard days. We always will. But we’ve already walked through storms and come out stronger. We’ve grown up together. And through everything, one thing has never changed: You are it for me. You always have been.

I had the back engraved with “Still Us.” Because no matter what comes — fame, distance, late nights, early mornings — it’ll still be us. Always. The forehead kisses. The pinky holds. The quiet, wordless ways we say “I love you.”

I’d choose you a thousand times, in every version of this life.

I’ll see you soon, my love. And I’ll probably cry when I do — so we’ll be even.

Paige blinked fast, but the tears spilled over anyway. Her thumb brushed the corner of the letter as if it could hold back the emotion flooding her chest. She gently set the paper down and turned to the small box, unwrapping it slowly like something sacred. Inside: a sleek, elegant watch with a soft leather strap. She turned it over, her heart catching in her throat as her fingers found the engraving:

Still Us.

She let out a soft breath, the kind that only comes when love breaks you open and puts you back together in the same heartbeat.

Nika, always with impeccable timing, looked up. “Is she actually… oh my god, are you crying? ”

Paige sniffled, trying to brush her tears away with the back of her hand. “No, I’m just—shut up.”

Ice tilted her head, amused but tender. “Wow. Didn’t think this would be what broke you.”

“It’s the letter,” Paige whispered, voice cracking. “She wrote me the sweetest letter. And the watch—she really thought about it. Like… really thought about it.”

Nika handed her a tissue. “Okay, okay. Let it out. But do it gently, alright? That makeup took forty-five minutes and I’m not doing a touch-up after the first look.”

“I’m fine,” Paige mumbled, laughing and crying at once. “I just… I love her so much.”

Down the hall, Azzi sat in front of the mirror, her lip balm barely applied when someone knocked lightly and Maddy peeked her head in. She scanned the room, found someone with free hands, and passed off a rectangular box and envelope.

“For Azzi,” she mouthed with a knowing smile, before slipping away like a ghost.

Azzi took it with a curious frown — then froze.

My Azzi, written in Paige’s handwriting.

The words alone made her eyes sting. She sat down slowly, laying the box in her lap, and carefully unfolded the letter, heart pounding like it already knew what was coming.

I must’ve started this letter a hundred times. There’s so much I want to say — and still, I know I’ll never find words big enough for what I feel for you.

You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I mean that with every part of me.

You didn’t just walk into my life — you changed it. You showed me what love is supposed to feel like. Not loud. Not chaotic. But steady. Safe. True. The kind of love that tucks the blanket higher when I’m cold. That leaves notes on bad days. That holds me quietly when I can’t find the words to explain the tears.

That’s the kind of love you give me. Every single day.

This necklace is simple, but it holds everything I see in you — elegant, timeless, strong. The engraving on the back says “We always find our way back.” Because no matter where life takes us — across courts or continents — I know we’ll always return to each other. We always have. We always will.

I can’t wait to see you walk down the aisle. Not because of the dress, or the setting, or the crowd. But because in that moment, I get to look at the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known and say — That’s her. That’s the love of my life. That’s my wife.

You are my favorite everything.

Forever yours,
Paige

Azzi’s hands trembled as she reached for the box. She pulled at the ribbon like she was afraid it would break — and when she finally opened it, her breath caught. A delicate gold necklace, radiant in its simplicity, lay nestled inside. She picked it up reverently, her thumb brushing the back of the pendant.

She turned it over, whispering the words engraved there like a prayer.

We always find our way back.

A soft sniff betrayed her.

Caroline looked up from the makeup table. “Uh oh. Oh no. Is it beautiful? Is it sweet?”

Azzi could only nod, pressing the letter to her chest, eyes already glistening.

Aaliyah moved to her side, seeing the tremble in her hands. “Girl… don’t you dare cry right now.”

“Too late,” Azzi whispered, laughing through the tears, her voice trembling as she dabbed under her eyes. “I’m trying, I swear.”

“Awww,” Caroline crooned. “Okay, but gently . If you mess up that eyeliner, we’re gonna need a full recon mission.”

Azzi laughed again — soft, choked, full of light. “It’s just… she loves me so much. It’s in every single word. I can feel it. Like she poured her whole heart onto the page.”

Aaliyah knelt beside her, hand resting firmly on her shoulder. “That’s because she did. You’re her world, Az.”

The wedding planner peaks her head into the room before softly announcing, "It's time for the dress," and the room dissolves into squeals.

Across the hall, Paige steps out of the bathroom and her friends gasped.

The tux hung like a promise.

There was a stillness that fell over the room as Paige slipped her arms into the jacket of her white tuxedo.

Not the quiet of nerves — but the kind that comes before something sacred.

Ice adjusted the collar with the precision of a military officer, then stepped back, giving a low, appreciative nod. “Okay, I take it back — you’re gonna be the one who makes her cry.”

Nika was frozen near the couch, her jaw slack, mimosa halfway to her mouth. “Oh my god , Bueckers. You look like… like James Bond if he was hotter and had feelings.”

Maddy let out a laugh. “That’s the gayest thing you’ve ever said.”

“She looks so good it transcends sexuality, okay?!” Nika barked. “ Look at her.”

Paige turned toward the full-length mirror. Her tux was perfectly tailored — crisp lines, sleek lapels, every button in place. The white jacket stood out with bold grace with the white pants and black bow tie, and the cufflinks gleamed under the soft light.

A for Azzi.

Ice stepped beside her, brushing imaginary lint from Paige’s shoulder. “You know she’s not gonna survive this, right? That dress could be stitched by angels and it still won’t matter. You’re about to ruin her.”

Paige flushed slightly, but her smile was all mischief and heart. “I hope she loses her mind a little.”

“She will ,” Maddy said. “We all are. Like… how is this legal? You’re a tux-wearing menace.”

Paige laughed, then caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror again. But this time, it wasn’t just about how good she looked — it was about who she was becoming. A partner. A wife.

“I feel like… me,” she said quietly. “The best version of me. Because of her.”

And in the mirror, all three of her friends softened.

Nika blinked fast. “Well, damn .”

The moment Azzi stepped out from behind the privacy screen, the room went silent .

Not a word. Not a breath.

Caroline’s eyes went wide, her champagne flute lowering slowly. “You’re joking.”

Aaliyah let out an actual gasp, hand flying to her chest. “I need a minute.”

KK spun around in her chair and clutched the armrests. “Azzi. Jazlyn. Fudd.”

Azzi’s brow furrowed slightly. “Is it… too much?”

“Too much?!” Caroline screeched. “It’s a crime how good you look. This isn’t a wedding, it’s a red carpet moment. No — a royal ball. No — a religious experience .”

Azzi laughed nervously, smoothing her hands down the front of the gown. The fabric clung to her body like it had been poured there — sleek, satin, no lace or tulle, just clean lines and breathtaking elegance. The halter top hugged her shoulders and arms, leaving her back completely bare. The neckline dipped tastefully, showing just enough to make jaws drop — which, judging by the state of the room, it already had.

“You look like a goddess,” Aaliyah said, walking a slow circle around her. “Like Venus stepping out of a seashell. Except she’s hot and queer and about to break a woman in half with love.”

Caroline was already misty-eyed. “Paige is going to collapse. I hope we’ve got a bench at the altar because she’s gonna need to sit down .”

KK, normally composed, let out a low whistle. “Okay, I was prepared to be emotional, but I wasn’t prepared for this . Like damn, Azzi.”

Azzi’s face was bright pink, but her eyes sparkled as she caught her reflection. “You really think she’ll like it?”

Caroline nearly choked. “She’s going to lose her mind . She’s gonna fumble her vows. She’s gonna cry and not care who sees .”

Azzi fingered the gold necklace resting at her collarbone — the one Paige had given her just hours earlier — and whispered, almost reverently, “I hope she knows how much I love her.”

“She does ,” Aaliyah said. “But after she sees you in that dress? She’ll feel it. With every inch of her soul.”

Caroline grabbed a tissue and fanned her eyes. “I love love. I love lesbians. I love arms . God bless this gay day.”

Everyone laughed — but it was layered with something sacred. They weren’t just reacting to how good Azzi looked.

They were witnessing something holy.

After the bridesmaids were ushered out, Azzi's family entered.

Azzi stood by the window, her sleek dress catching the soft light, the smooth fabric hugging her curves like a second skin. Her hands trembled slightly as she adjusted the straps of her halter top, suddenly aware of how exposed and vulnerable she felt — but in the best way.

The door opened quietly, and her mom, Katie, stepped in first, her breath catching as she took in the sight.

“Oh, Azzi…” Katie’s voice was thick with emotion. She took a small step forward, eyes shining. “You look absolutely stunning. Like a vision.”

Azzi’s throat tightened. She reached out instinctively, and Katie crossed the room in two quick steps, pulling her into a warm, trembling embrace.

“I’m so proud of you,” Katie whispered into her hair. “You’re glowing.”

Tim entered next, his usual stoic expression melting into one of awe. He closed the distance and gently cupped Azzi’s face, thumbs brushing her cheeks.

“You’re my girl,” he said softly, voice cracking. “Stronger than I ever knew you could be. And more beautiful than I ever dared to dream.”

Azzi blinked rapidly, tears threatening to spill. She squeezed his hands tightly.

Her brothers — Thomas, Jon, and Jose — came in behind, all with their own smiles and looks of disbelief.

Thomas laughed quietly, shaking his head. “I didn’t know you had this in you. That dress is fire, sis.”

Jon gave a low whistle. “Okay, no one’s ready for Paige to see this.”

Jose stepped forward, his voice warm. “You look like power and grace all at once.”

Azzi grinned through her tears and reached out to clasp her brothers’ hands.

“Thanks for always having my back. This — this moment — means everything to me.”

Katie took Azzi’s face gently in her hands. “You’re ready. And we’re right here with you, every step.”

They all gathered around her, a circle of love and pride, holding her close before the day truly began.

Down the hall, Paige was checking her cufflinks nervously, again.

Bob stepped in first, eyes locking onto hers immediately. Whatever he’d planned to say vanished — his expression crumpled with emotion.

“Paige…” he breathed, voice thick. The tough-dad exterior softened in an instant, replaced by something raw and full of awe. “You look like you stepped out of a dream.”

She smiled, shy and radiant. “Thanks, Dad.”

“I never thought I’d see you in a tux,” he added, stepping closer, brushing a hand down the lapel. “But damn… you wear it like you were born for it.”

Drew was right behind him, grinning like he couldn’t help it. “You’re about to blow everyone away.”

Paige laughed under her breath. “We’ll see.”

Then came the others — her mom, Ryan, and Lauren — slipping into the room one after the other like sunlight through a curtain. Her mom’s eyes welled up instantly.

“Oh, Paigey…” she whispered, her hand fluttering to her chest before stepping forward and gently touching Paige’s sleeve, as if trying to memorize the feel of it. “You’re radiant.”

Paige blinked quickly, the emotion building again. “I’m nervous,” she admitted.

Her mom took her hands and squeezed them gently. “That’s okay. It means your heart is wide open.”

“Besides,” Ryan added with a teasing smile, “if you didn’t feel anything right now, then we’d be concerned.”

Drew was already pulling out his phone. “Hold still — this light is perfect. You're basically the cover of a magazine.”

Paige rolled her eyes playfully, but she stood a little taller, her nerves easing under the steady, familiar presence of her family.

Bob reached up and brushed a stray piece of hair back from her face. “I’m so proud of you. Not just for today — for every day you’ve fought to be yourself. To find happiness. To love with your whole heart.”

Paige’s eyes brimmed. “I’m lucky,” she said, her voice thick. “So lucky.”

“We all are,” Bob said, pulling her into a firm hug — grounding, unwavering.

Lauren stepped in next for a quick side hug. “Just promise me you won’t cry at the altar. If you cry, she’ll cry, and then we’ll all cry, and I didn’t bring waterproof anything.”

“No promises,” Paige laughed.

Ryan grinned. “Still waiting on those tuxedo dance moves though. Don’t hold out on us.”

“Maybe after the ceremony,” she said with a wink.

Her mom pulled her close one last time, voice steady and full of love. “We love you. We’re so proud of the woman you’ve become. You deserve all the happiness this world has to offer.”

And Paige leaned into it — the moment, the embrace, the overwhelming warmth of the people who’d shaped her and stood by her. The room held her like a shelter, and for a minute, it was enough to keep the nerves at bay.

Because they were here. And because she was ready.

Following the wedding planner, Paige was brought to a completely new room - one with better lighting apparently - for their first look. 

Her bow tie had just been straightened again. The cuff links on her sleeves caught the sunlight spilling in through the tall windows. The photographer positioned her near the far end of the room, a soft hush falling over everything.

“Okay,” the photographer said kindly. “Face the window for us, just like that. Stay where you are. She’ll come in behind you, tap your shoulder — then you can turn around.”

Paige turned her head slightly, needing to be sure. “So just… stand here? She taps me, and then I turn?”

The videographer smiled. “Exactly. Just breathe. Let the moment happen.”

Paige nodded, taking a slow breath. She adjusted her sleeves, her fingers twitching just slightly at her sides. She didn’t even realize she was grinning until the photographer whispered, “You’re already smiling so big.”

“I can’t help it,” Paige whispered back. “She’s… it’s her .”

Then a pause — and a quiet, “Alright. Let’s bring Azzi in.”

The room shifted.

Paige didn’t see her — couldn’t — but she felt her. The gentle click of heels across the hardwood floor was barely audible, but it echoed inside Paige’s chest like a heartbeat. The air seemed to bend around the moment, the kind of silence that holds its breath. Her heart was pounding and warm, and her smile stretched impossibly wider.

Then — soft, familiar, reverent — came a whisper.

“Hi,” Azzi said.

Paige let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. Her voice cracked on a laugh as she replied, “Hi.”

The camera caught the way Paige’s fingers curled slightly in anticipation, the tremble in her shoulders as she fought the urge to turn around too soon.

Silence again. That thick, buzzing stillness of hearts beating just a little too fast. Paige didn’t dare turn around. Her back straightened. Her hands curled gently into fists.

Behind her, Azzi took another step closer and said, just above a whisper, “Are you ready?”

And Paige—

She broke.

A startled laugh burst out of her chest, breathless and choked with emotion. Her shoulders shook as she tried to keep it together, but the truth escaped her mouth before she could even try to fake it.

“No,” she said, with a tearful laugh. “God, no.”

Even the photographer muffled a soft chuckle behind the camera.

Azzi laughed, too — a warm, breathy sound filled with affection. “You want a second?”

Paige took a deep, shaky breath. “I want a lifetime, but I’ll settle for ten seconds.”

A pause. Then the photographer whispered, “Okay, Azzi… go ahead.”

Paige heard the shift behind her — the creak of the floorboards, the movement in the air — and she closed her eyes for just a beat, trying to breathe through it.

Then she felt it.

Azzi’s hand, warm and familiar, pressing gently against her shoulder.

Everything inside her felt suspended in that moment. Time. Breath. Gravity. As if the room, the whole world, was holding still — waiting.

Then slowly, she turned.

And the second her eyes met Azzi’s, Paige shattered.

A gasp caught in her throat, sharp and full. Her chest caved around the feeling, eyes blinking rapidly as they filled.

Because there she was.

Azzi stood just feet away, radiant and breathtaking — in a dress that clung to her like it had been made for her, because it was actually custom made just for her. The halter neckline framed the elegant curve of her shoulders, strong and golden in the light. The low, open back made Paige’s breath catch, but it was her face — that impossibly beautiful, open, emotional face — that undid her completely.

Azzi’s eyes were wide, glistening. Her lips parted, trembling just slightly as she took Paige in. “Oh… Paige,” she breathed.

That’s all it took.

Paige let out a wet, involuntary laugh-sob and immediately pressed her hands to her face, trying and failing to stop the tears.

“Oh my god,” she choked out, voice raw. “I can’t— you’re so— I can’t.”

Azzi was already moving.

She closed the space between them in seconds, reaching up to gently pull Paige’s hands away from her face. “Hey,” she whispered, voice thick, “don’t hide from me. I want to see you.”

Paige let her.

Azzi cupped her jaw with both hands, brushing tears away with her thumbs. Paige leaned into her touch instantly, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as she tried to collect herself.

“You look…” Azzi faltered, eyes scanning her — the crisp white tux, the soft silk bow tie, the subtle glint of the cufflinks. “You look unreal. Like—how are you real?”

Paige laughed again, watery and overwhelmed. “I was gonna say the same thing,” she whispered. “You’re… Azzi, you’re perfect. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

They stood like that for a breathless beat, hands roaming — Azzi’s fingers drifting down Paige’s arms, Paige’s hands sliding to Azzi’s waist, then around to the small of her bare back. The heat of her skin beneath Paige’s palms made her dizzy. She held her like she was made of gold — precious, grounding.

Azzi tilted her head slightly, eyes glassy but full of light. “Can I kiss you?” she asked, voice low, unsure. “Just—on the cheek. I know we’re not supposed to…”

Paige nodded, her chin wobbling. “Please.”

Azzi leaned in slowly and pressed her lips to Paige’s cheek, lingering there — a soft, steady kiss full of unspoken vows and years of love. Paige’s eyes closed again, a tear slipping out as she whispered, “I love you. So much.”

Azzi pulled back just enough to rest her forehead against Paige’s. “I love you more.”

They stood like that, wrapped in each other, forgetting the camera entirely. Paige’s fingers gripped the sides of Azzi’s dress, holding on like it was the only thing tethering her to earth. Azzi ran her hand gently over Paige’s back, up to the nape of her neck, then down again — slow, grounding strokes.

The photographer didn’t speak. The click of the shutter was the only sound besides the soft breaths they shared between them.

Paige sniffled and let out a shaky breath. “I’ve never been so happy in my life.”

Azzi smiled, brushing their noses together. “Me neither.”

The camera shutter slowed, then stilled completely.

The photographer quietly stepped back, giving them space. The videographer, eyes a little misty behind the lens, murmured softly, “Take all the time you need. I’ll go get everyone.”

Azzi and Paige barely registered it. They were still wrapped around each other — Paige’s arms now fully looped around Azzi’s waist, Azzi’s hands cradling Paige’s face like it was something holy. The quiet hum between them, their joined breath and trembling smiles, felt like a world of its own.

Eventually, Paige pulled back just enough to look at her — really look at her — and said in a breathless, reverent voice, “You’re gonna ruin me forever.”

Azzi grinned through her tears. “That’s the plan.”

Then came the sound of approaching footsteps — laughter, whispers, anticipation buzzing in the air like electricity.

And then the door opened.

First came Nika, who froze in place with her mouth open like she’d just seen the sun itself. “OH. MY. GOD.”

Aaliyah appeared just behind her and let out an actual scream. “Are you KIDDING ME? Look at you two!”

Caroline followed, eyes wide and shiny, hand over her heart. “Oh no. No, I’m gonna cry again.”

The room flooded quickly after that — bridal party members from both sides spilling in, stopping dead in their tracks as they caught sight of the couple.

Ice blinked slowly and then said, voice full of stunned reverence, “Y’all look like a damn movie.”

Someone in the back let out a dramatic whistle. Another person just whispered “holy shit” under their breath, completely gobsmacked.

Paige stood a little taller, one hand still at the small of Azzi’s back, the other brushing at her damp cheek. Azzi reached down and laced their fingers together instinctively.

The compliments flew fast and loud:

“Okay but that tux? Paige, you are clean. ”

“Azzi, that dress should be illegal.”

“The way you’re looking at each other, I—”

“You guys look like… like love. Like what love should look like.”

“I need someone to look at me the way Paige is looking at Azzi right now, immediately.”

Azzi laughed, a little bashful, but didn’t let go of Paige’s hand. Paige turned a deep shade of pink, brushing a knuckle under her eye again.

“You guys,” she said, voice cracking from emotion, “thank you. I—”

“She’s speechless,” Nika teased, eyes twinkling. “That never happens.”

“Shut up,” Paige said with a watery laugh, and the room erupted in affection.

Aaliyah stepped forward first, wrapping them both up in a group hug so tight it made them stumble a little. “You two look so good together it hurts. And you’ve always been beautiful, but this? This is next level.”

More hugs followed — arms wrapped around waists, cheeks pressed gently to shoulders, careful not to smudge makeup or crease anything — but full of emotion nonetheless. People dabbed their eyes, high-fived Paige, gently spun Azzi in a circle to admire her dress from every angle.

Amid the chaos, someone softly said, “This is what soulmates look like,” and no one disagreed.

The photographer finally spoke again, voice kind and amused. “Okay, okay — let’s get a few group shots before we all start crying again.”

The group gathered together, with both bridal parties dressed in black - some in dresses and some in tuxes - uniquely elegant yet harmonized in tone together to bring a perfect blend of individuality and unity.

“Okay, everyone, eyes here!” The photographer’s voice was calm but energized as the shutter clicked. The group held a moment—a perfect freeze-frame of love, friendship, and fierce loyalty.

Some faces beamed, others teared up, and some simply stood in awe of the brides, the couple who had somehow made the impossible look effortless.

Between shots, whispered words and soft touches—hands brushing arms, quick hugs, a cheek pressed against another’s shoulder—created a web of connection.

Azzi leaned slightly into Paige, their hands finding each other naturally. “This is everything.”

After so many pictures, everyone was expecting their cheeks to hurt from so much smiling, but it was natural. Everyone basking in the love and happiness on this special day. 

“You know, I think we all always knew this moment was coming. They’re perfect for each other. It was just a matter of time before the whole world saw it too.”

“But let’s not act like this was some huge surprise. We’ve been planning for this wedding since 2020. We just had to wait for you two to catch up.”

“Do you know how many group chats we’ve had titled ‘Paige & Azzi Wedding Moodboard’?” Nika asked, fake-offended. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Azzi laughed so hard she had to dab at the corners of her eyes. “You guys are a mess.”

“But we’re your mess,” Aaliyah said sweetly, winking.

The other girls smiled, some nodding, others wiping away quiet tears.

The wedding planner poked her head into the room, "It's time."

The bridal party files out, each giving the couple a big smile or a squeeze on the arm.

“So, I’ll see you at the end of the aisle?” Azzi asks, a little breathlessly.

Paige nods, and smiles softly, “I’ll be waiting.”

Even though Paige had seen Azzi in her dress, given ample time to admire and awe, when she saw the love of her life walking down the aisle towards her, the tears flowed.

When Azzi saw Paige watching her, like she was the most beautiful thing she has ever seen in the world, the admiration, love, and unfaltering devotion clear on her face, her tears started in slow waves. 

The officiant looks to Paige to begin her vows, and she takes a deep breath and chokes out, “I need a second,” trying to wipe her eyes as everyone laughs. Nika leans forward and hands her the piece of paper she had hidden in her pocket and whispers “Good luck,” making Paige chuckle through her tears.

 She clears her throat before beginning

“Azzi, 

There have only been two things I have known for certain in my life. The first being basketball, and the second was you. 

I’ve always known it would be you that I stand next to for the rest of my life. The person I turn to when things are hard, when I need comfort and support, when I want to celebrate my greatest achievements. 

You have this incredible gift of making this clear . As if the fog in my brain clears whenever I see you. Like I don’t have to explain myself or be anything other than who I am. 

You have seen me through every storm - through wins I didn’t feel worthy of, and losses that nearly broke me. 

And through it all, you’ve held me like your love was a promise that you already made, long before either of us had the words. 

I vow, in front of our friends and family and in front of God today, to make you feel that same safet. That same steady, quiet certainty that is our love for each other.

I vow to listen when you speak with words, and when you can’t speak at all.

I vow to grow with you, to fight for you, for us , to choose you - not out of obligation because you are my favorite choice. Every time. 

I vow to build a life with you, whatever you want it to look like. I vow to build a life that honors the girl I sat to next to on that plane ride where all of this started and the woman standing in front of me today,

who is everything I hoped for, and more than I deserve.

You are my once-in-a-lifetime, Azzi.

And I’ll spend every breath and day proving that I know how blessed I am - because I am doing this life with you.”

Azzi’s eyes spilled over and she reached to cup Paige’s cheek, wiping the tears flowing with her thumb. She mouths “I love you” and Paige leans into her hand, as if they were the only two in the room.

Azzi turns towards Aaliyah for her piece of paper, her voice shakes as she begins,

“Paige,

From the very beginning, even before I knew what to call it what it was, I loved you.

I didn’t know the first time we locked eyes that you would become who you are today for me, but I remember that feeling - pulling me to you. Like something in me leaned toward you before I could stop.

Loving you has been the most natural thing I’ve ever done. You are patient when I am guarded. Gentle when I am stubborn. Calm when I am anxious. Silly when I am too serious. 

You see me in ways I didn’t know I needed to be seen.

I’ve watched you carry pressure that would crush most people, and you’ve still found space to carry me - to love me with your whole heart, even when your own felt too heavy.

I vow to never take that for granted. 

I vow to honor your softness, your strength, your fire.

I vow to protect the life we’ve built - where tenderness and truth live at the center of everything. 

I vow to love you in every version of yourself: the loud, the quiet, the unsure, the radiant.

Paige, you are my forever. And I will choose you - every day, in every way - for the rest of my life.”

Paige lets out a breath, as if Azzi’s words had reached every buried part of her. She swallowed hard, blinking away the new tears that had already made their choice to fall. 

A hush fell again throughout the room. No one dared to breathe too loudly as they reached for each other's hands. Azzi’s thumb traced over Paige’s knuckles, slow and reverent.

The officiant’s voice, thick with emotion, finally cut through the silence. “You may now kiss the bride-” Paige pulled Azzi in before the sentence even finished. 

The room erupts into cheers and laughs as the newlyweds share a kiss. Slow, intentional, tender. And when they pull away, their smiles take up their entire faces, foreheads pressed together, glowing. 

Paige and Azzi don’t move at first. They just look at each other. Their foreheads press together for a breath, their hands still clasped between them. Both are smiling so hard it hurts, blinking through the blur of happy tears.

Then Paige whispers, “Ready?”

Azzi nods, her voice caught in her throat. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

They turn to face their loved ones and begin the walk—together.

The aisle feels different this time. Less like a path, more like a portal . The moment they take that first step, something shifts. Laughter and joy spill into the space like sunlight. Hands are reaching, tissues dabbing cheeks, bridesmaids are crying and laughing all at once.

Some guests are on their feet, clapping like they just witnessed something holy. Others are quiet, still taking in the picture of Paige in her white tux, bowtie slightly loosened, and Azzi beside her in that sleek, breathtaking dress—arms out, shoulders proud, eyes only for Paige.

Their fingers are laced tightly between them. Flower petals are thrown into the air as they make their way down.

Paige gives one small squeeze. Azzi smiles so brightly it could split the sky.

The wedding planner is waiting off the side of the aisle, hidden from view and ushers them into one of the rooms they got ready in - Azzi’s. It smells faintly of her perfume and a trace of hairspray. 

“You have about an hour,” the planner says kindly. “Guests are enjoying cocktail hour, so it’s just you two back here. You’ve got plenty of time to change if you want, touch up makeup, or just… be.” 

Azzi nods slowly, a soft smile playing on her lips. “Thank you.”

“We’ll give you a 10-minute heads up before dinner starts,” the planner adds. “Take your time. Soak it in.”

She closes the door just as gently as she opened it, leaving them in the warm, comfortable quiet once again.

Paige looks at Azzi, her hand still resting against her waist. “An hour.”

Azzi grins. “That’s 59 more minutes than I need to keep staring at you like this.”

Paige laughs, her shoulders relaxing for the first time all day. “Good. Because I don’t think I’m ready to share you yet.”

Azzi walks backward toward the small couch near the window, tugging Paige by the hand with her. “Then don’t. Not yet.”

Then Paige laughs—soft, disbelieving, overwhelmed. “You’re my wife.”

Azzi bites her lip to hold back the emotion, then steps forward, arms out. “ You’re my wife.”

And then they’re holding each other.

Not the ceremonial kind. Not the kind for photos or for show. This is something else—bone-deep, breathless, aching with relief. The kind of hug that says, We made it. You’re here. I’m here. We get to do this now.

Azzi buries her face in Paige’s shoulder. “I’m not letting go for like… ever.”

“You don’t have to,” Paige murmurs, wrapping her arms even tighter. She presses a kiss to the top of Azzi’s head, her lips trembling against her curls.

They stay like that for a while, swaying slightly, still in their wedding clothes. Azzi’s fingers tug gently at the hem of Paige’s jacket, her cheek resting against Paige’s chest, listening to the rhythm of her heartbeat begin to settle.

Paige finally pulls back, just enough to look at her. “You really wore that dress and expected me not to cry like a baby?”

Azzi smirks. “I told you I’d make it hard for you to focus.”

Paige’s laugh breaks through again—this one deeper, looser. She leans in, brushing a strand of hair behind Azzi’s ear. Her thumb grazes her cheek, the softness of the moment stretching between them like something sacred. Their foreheads press together first, a quiet inhale shared between them. Then—finally—their lips meet.

It’s slow at first. Passionate. A kiss like a vow of its own.

Azzi exhales against Paige’s mouth, her fingers curling into the lapel of Paige’s white tux jacket. “You know we’re married now,” she murmurs against her lips, eyes fluttering open.

Paige smiles, a little crooked, a little breathless. “Yeah. I was there.”

Azzi laughs, low and warm. “So you’re mine.”

Paige kisses her again. “I’ve always been yours.”

They lose time in the kiss, in the closeness, in the hush of the room that still smells like peonies and perfume. Paige’s hand slips down Azzi’s back—bare and smooth in her halter gown—and lingers at her waist.

Eventually, Paige pulls back just enough to whisper, “I should help you change. Into your reception dress.”

Azzi raises an eyebrow, eyes sparkling, a smirk clear on her face. “Only if I get to help you change too.”

Paige tilts her head, smirking as she runs a knuckle lightly down Azzi’s shoulder. “That seems fair. Wife privileges, right?”

“Exactly.” Azzi shifts, her legs swinging off the couch as she stands, the low dip of her dress catching the golden light from the window. She looks over her shoulder with a teasing smile. “And just so you know... the second dress might be even better than the first.”

Paige stands too, slowly, drinking her in with open admiration. “Doubt it,” she murmurs, eyes lingering. “But I’ll be the judge of that.” 

She reaches for the zipper on Azzi's dress, Azzi exhales when the gown loosens against her frame. Paige places a kiss just below her shoulder blade before she lets the dress fall, catching it at Azzi’s hips to guide it the rest of the way down.

Azzi steps out of it, standing there barefoot, glowing with probably the smallest, lacy white thong Paige has ever seen, a damp spot visibly noticeable.

“No bra? Damn,” she pauses, taking in her wife . “You’re unreal,” Paige murmurs, eyes roaming, but not just in awe of her beauty — in awe of her. “How do you always look like magic?”

Azzi smiles, then tugs gently at Paige’s tux jacket. “My turn.”

She slips it from her shoulders, folding it carefully over a chair like it’s sacred. Then she starts on the buttons of Paige’s shirt, undoing them one by one, knuckles brushing Paige’s skin with every pass. Her hands are steady, but there’s a softness in her touch like she’s memorizing her all over again.

Paige watches her with half-lidded eyes, chin tilted down just enough to meet her gaze. “You always take your time with me.”

“We have all the time in the world, wife .”

“I want you,” Azzi breathes, low and certain.

Paige’s heart clenches, and she answers without hesitation, without needing to think — because she’s already known for a long, long time.

“You’ve always had me.”

Paige grabs Azzi’s hips, and they’ve done this long enough that she knows Paige wants her to wrap her legs around her waist, and she loops her arms around Paige’s neck. 

She walks them back over to the couch, and gently lowers her onto it like she’s something precious. 

Azzi doesn’t let go.

Her fingers slide into Paige’s hair, pulling her in close again. Their lips meet with a different kind of urgency now — not rushed, but full of the weight of years: quiet nights on FaceTime, team buses, whispered prayers before games, long hugs at baggage claim, dreams woven together in private.

Every kiss is a promise remembered.

Paige’s hands trace along Azzi’s waist, now bare, the silk of her dress pooled beside them like a forgotten memory. Azzi tugs at Paige’s shirt, half-open from earlier, her fingers grazing warm skin and strong shoulders. 

After the shirt, she pulls Paige’s sports bra over her head, laughing while mumbling, “I can’t believe you wore a sports bra to our wedding. ”

“I wanted to be comfortable!”

Azzi shakes her head laughing, as Paige turns them and pushes Azzi back into the couch. 

“I love you,” Paige says, as she stands between Azzi’s legs, looking down at her wife lovingly. 

“I love you,” Azzi responds softly, hooking her fingers into the top of Paige’s pants. She begins to button them and Paige steps back, stepping out of them.

“A dream,” Azzi whispers, as her eyes travel down, and then back up Paige’s body. 

Paige leans in to kiss her, before sinking down onto her knees. Azzi moans at the image. 

She began placing soft kisses at her ankle before moving closer to where the younger girl sat with open legs, wanting, waiting. 

Her fingers lightly traced through Azzi’s folds and she lets out a moan when she feels how wet the girl is. “All of this,” she says, circling her clit, “for me?” 

Azzi nods her head, biting her lip to keep the sounds from tumbling out of her mouth.

Paige leans forward to mouth at one of her nipples, her right hand slowly working two fingers into her, Azzi’s slick beginning to slide down her hand. 

Paige moves to the other breast, puncutating her next words with a kiss, as she thrusts her fingers, curling them each time as she circles Azzi’s clit.

“My wife,” Azzi groans.

“The love of my life,” she shutters.

“The future mother of my children,”  then moans louder than before. 

Azzi’s thighs begin to clench and Paige kisses her way up to Azzi’s face, across her collarbone, up her neck, down her jaw until landing on her lips. 

Paige’s “Iloveyou-” is met with Azzi’s whine, her eyes closed as she falls over the edge. 

She slows her fingers, helping Azzi ride the wave of pleasure, content to just simply stare at her wife. 

When she does open her eyes, she sees Paige’s blue eyes scanning her, taking her in. 

“Have I mentioned,” Azzi begins, breathlessly, “that I love being your wife ?”

Paige bites her lip and Azzi pulls her down so she is straddling her thigh. “I'll fuck you with my tounge later-” to which Paige moans, throwing her head back. Azzi responds with a  laugh, “ but, I don’t want to ruin this makeup and then everyone knows what we’ve been doing while they mingle.”

Paige groans, “We’re literally married. It doesn’t matter.”

“Do you want your entire family to know that I just went down on you because the bottom of my face is makeup free?” she asks sarcastically.

To which Paige purses her lips, “You make a good point. Our grandparents are out there.”

“And,” Azzi begins to kiss across her chest, “you can see the little number I’ll have on under the other dress.” 

And Paige is a moaning mess, again. 

“Soon baby. But now-” Azz begins to say as she flexes her thigh.

“I’m- I’m not going to last,” Paige whispers, leaning into Azzi’s neck. 

Azzi begins to suck a bruise on the underside of Paige’s breast, where she knows she is sensitive. Her hands find the girl’s hips, helping to hold her upright. 

Paige starts to move frantically and Azzi knows that she’s close. 

She whispers, “ My wife,” before grabbing Paige’s ear with her teeth and tugging. 

And Paige loses it. Coming undone by the possession in her voice.

Her wife.

Azzi’s wife.

Paige slumps forward, leaning her weight into Azzi, trying to catch her breath. 

Azzi runs her hand through Paige’s hair until she begins to place soft kisses along her neck.

It’s a soft moment, the two of them, basking in each other’s warmth, and they begin to kiss slowly, unhurriedly. 

“You’re going to absolutely love my second dress,” Azzi whispers with a smirk. 

“Baby, I love everything you wear,” Paige says, rolling her eyes.

They kiss once more before separating, moving to their respective garment bags.

“I’m going to change in the bathroom,” which causes Paige to whine. “I don’t want you to see what I’m putting on, it’s for later!” she laughs, skipping to the bathroom with her bag and a final look over her shoulder.

Paige groans, shaking her head before smiling. She knows that whatever it is, she will thoroughly enjoy it.

Ten minutes later and Paige is adjusting her vest in the mirror. The same white dress pants are now with a white vest, no jacket or shirt underneath. Lucily, it being custom made means that it molds her body perfectly, preventing anything from slipping free.

She hears the bathroom door open and turns, losing her breath all over again.

This dress is short, falling at Azzi’s mid-thighs, pulled tight across her chest with lace sleeves stopping at her wrists. 

“You look-” Paige begins to say.

“Hot.” Azzi finishes, eyes roaming down Paige’s arms.

“Something like that,” she responds with a laugh.

They both walk forward, taking each other in.

“This dress,” Paige makes a face, biting her lip.

“I can’t wait to get you out of this vest,” Azzi mumbles, hands wandering down Paige’s side. 

"Later," Paige draws out, with a laugh. "Right now I just want to hold you." 

They stay there wrapped in each others arms, swaying slowly until a knock on the door interrupts them.

“Ten minutes before you guys make your entrance,” the wedding planner says through the door. 

Their lips meet, and Paige can feel Azzi smile.

“Are you ready to go have the best party ever, Azzi Bueckers-Fudd?” Paige asks with a wide grin.

“Absolutely I am, Paige Bueckers-Fudd.”

When they look back, they won’t remember much of the night. 

Small details like Azzi crowd surfing, family friends mixing with WNBA teammates that had long since turned into family, Nika’s speech making Paige and Azzi both blush while Aaliyah’s made them cry, a lot of alcohol — so much alcohol — and ending the night with quiet laughter echoing down the hallway as they finally slipped away.

Their shoes were off. Hair slightly tousled. Glitter clung to their cheeks like remnants of joy.

Back in the room where Paige was supposed to sleep the night before without her fiancée, now Azzi stood barefoot, tugging gently at the zipper of her second dress. Her back was to Paige, but she looked over her shoulder with a slow smile and said, “I have one more outfit left tonight.”

Paige, already undoing the buttons of her vest, raised an eyebrow pretending like that single thought hasn't been in the background of her mind since Azzi mentioned it earlier. 

“Something less... bridal. But still for you.”

That was how the night ended: not with a grand send-off or a sparkler tunnel, but with the soft rustle of lace and satin, whispered I love you’s against collarbones, and the kind of closeness that only comes after vows have been said and hearts have been fully, fearlessly given.

The world outside could wait. For now, it was just the two of them — tangled in love, laughter, and lingerie. 

Chapter Text

Azzi hadn’t been back to Dallas since that weekend. The one that almost broke them.
It felt strange now—returning not as a visitor, not as a girlfriend tiptoeing around something fragile, but as someone who had stayed. Who had fought for them.

She remembered how certain she was that it would be the end of Paige and Azzi. That once she walked out that door, there’d be no turning back. Until Paige ran after her. Stopped her before she could get in the car—before she could leave the relationship, leave Paige, leave everything they'd built.

They hadn’t shattered that night. Instead, they began to rebuild.

Since then, they’d grown—together and apart. Paige had started seeing a sports psychologist, finally, after Azzi gently nudged (and, okay, maybe firmly encouraged) her to. And Azzi had been finding ways to show Paige she was still with her, even from 1,687 miles away. Voice notes. Surprise care packages. Quiet good morning texts. Little things. Things that mattered.

Now she was back. Just for the night. Just long enough to watch Paige play.

Waiting at passenger pickup was a man in a sharp suit holding an iPad with her name on it in bold letters: Azzi Fudd.

She smiled. 

Paige had wanted to pick her up herself but couldn’t swing it with the game schedule. Still, she hadn’t let Azzi take an Uber. Classic Paige—stubborn in the softest, most infuriating ways.

The man caught her eye and walked over.

“Ms. Fudd, I’m glad you made it safely,” he said politely.

She blinked, caught off guard, and he must’ve noticed because he quickly added, a little sheepishly, “Ms. Bueckers gave me your picture so I’d recognize you.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, laughing. Of course she did.

Inside the car, he glanced at his notes and said, “I’m supposed to take you to Ms. Bueckers’ apartment, give you time to drop off your things or freshen up, and then drive you to the stadium.”

“Sounds good,” she said, already typing out a message to her girlfriend.

You really didn’t need to have this poor man chauffeur me everywhere 🙄

Another message followed as the typing bubble popped up.

I think I’ll just drop my stuff off real quick and then head to the stadium.
Want to see you.

The car pulled up to Paige’s apartment just as the sun started to dip behind the Dallas skyline, casting a soft, golden haze across the quiet street.

Azzi thanked the driver and stepped out, grabbing her basically empty duffle bag. She hesitated for a second at the door to the apartment, fingers brushing over the key in her pocket. Paige had given it to her a few months back—not in some grand, dramatic moment, but quietly. Deliberately.

“It’s your home too,” she’d said.

That stayed with her.

Azzi unlocked the door and stepped inside. The air inside smelled faintly like eucalyptus and laundry detergent—comforting in a way that made her chest ache.

She took a few steps in, setting her bag gently against the wall, and then stopped.

On the kitchen counter, sitting like it had been waiting for her all day, was a bouquet of fresh flowers. Not the flashy, overdone kind. They were soft and thoughtful—lilies, ranunculus, sunflowers, a few sprigs of lavender. Bright and grounded. Just like Paige.

Tucked into the vase was a little card, folded shut with her name written in Paige’s looping, unmistakable handwriting.

Azzi

She didn’t open it right away. She stood there first, taking in the scene, the quiet hum of the apartment, the tiny signs of Paige’s life scattered everywhere—her sneakers kicked off near the couch, a half-finished protein shake on the sink, a candle burned down almost to the end.

Azzi ran her fingers over the edge of the card before finally flipping it over.

Welcome home, Az.

I know it’s just for the night, but it still counts.

I’m really glad you're here. I love you.

—P

Her throat tightened. It still amazed her sometimes, how Paige could say so much in so few words.

Azzi blinked back the sudden sting in her eyes and placed the card back gently. She glanced around the apartment again, and for the first time since landing, she felt it—
Not just familiarity.
Belonging.

She pulled out her phone and typed another message.

Okay…

You win.

Flowers and a personal chauffeur?? You're really doing the most 😭

I love you.

Be safe out there tonight. I’ll be in the stands. Always.

Azzi lingered in the apartment a little longer than she meant to. Just standing there, letting the calm settle over her. The flowers. The note. The familiar messiness of Paige’s life—all of it wrapped around her like a memory she didn’t want to leave just yet.

But she checked the time. Game night didn’t wait.

She grabbed her wallet and the special pass Paige had left out for her on the kitchen counter—tucked under the bouquet, like a final detail in a carefully orchestrated welcome. Her name printed cleanly across the top. Paige always paid attention like that.

The drive to the stadium was short, but the butterflies had time to show up anyway. Not nerves, exactly. Just that feeling she always got before watching Paige play—the electric buzz of anticipation and quiet pride.

She stared out the window as the city blurred by, her phone quiet in her lap, her heart already at the arena.

By the time the car pulled into the private entrance, golden hour casting long shadows across the concrete. A staff member was already waiting, checking badges and holding the door open like he knew who she was before she even stepped out.

Azzi nodded in thanks, slid on her pass, and walked through the tunnel.

The air inside was cooler. Echoing. Expectant.

And then she saw the court.

Saw Paige.

She was at the top of the key in her practice jersey, casually dribbling between cones, headphones still on. Focused. Locked in. Azzi had seen that version of her before—the one that moved like she belonged to the game. But there was something different tonight. Something softer beneath the sharpness.

Paige glanced up.

Stopped.

And the basketball rolled away unnoticed.

Azzi didn’t wave. Didn’t call her name.

She just smiled.

Paige broke into a run, crossing the court with a kind of reckless joy that made Azzi’s chest ache. No theatrics. Just a girl running toward the person she loved.

And then she was in her arms—Azzi lifted clear off the ground, Paige’s arms wrapped tight around her waist, her face pressed into Azzi’s shoulder like she hadn’t been able to breathe until this moment.

Azzi laughed softly, curling her arms around her. “Hi,” she whispered.

“Hi,” Paige said, barely audible. Still holding her like she might disappear if she let go.

“I missed you,” Paige murmured.

Azzi smiled against her. “You just saw me a few weeks ago.”

Paige pulled back just enough to look at her, their faces inches apart.

“I missed you anyway.”

There was a quiet in that moment that didn’t need filling. Just the sound of sneakers squeaking in the distance and the hum of the arena lights above them.

Azzi reached up to brush a strand of hair from Paige’s forehead. “You’ve got a game to win, superstar.”

Paige gave her a look—teasing, but soft around the edges. “It’s already a good night.”

She kissed Azzi’s cheek and lowered her gently back to the floor, fingers lingering for just a moment longer before she jogged back toward the court, glancing over her shoulder like she couldn’t help herself.

Azzi watched her go, heart steady now.

As the stadium fills, so does her heart. Full of pride and love as people surrounding her can't wait to see the girl play. The fans around her either don’t recognize her or don’t care, so she blends in naturally. 

The stadium is buzzing — a deep, electric roar that pulses through the air. College Park Arena is packed, a sea of blue and green, and the lights seem just a little too bright. The crowd is alive, rowdy and energetic.

Azzi sits, her knees bouncing, her phone tucked away, her eyes fixed on the court. She’s already smiling before tipoff. Paige stands at halfcourt, hands on her hips, hair pulled back tight. She looks composed, locked in — and when she glances Azzi’s way, just for a second, that composure breaks into a subtle grin. That’s theirs.

The opening tip flies, and Dallas gets possession. The game starts physical right away — elbows, tight screens, arms flying for rebounds. Chicago’s defense is sharp and aggressive. On one drive, Paige gets trapped in the corner, fights her way out with a behind-the-back dribble and kicks it to the wing for a clean three. Azzi claps hard, pride glowing across her face.

But the energy shifts fast.

It’s the fourth minute of the first quarter, and Paige is coming off a stagger screen, curling into the paint. She makes a quick crossover and cuts hard toward the rim — but Courtney Vandersloot slides in, chest out, feet set.

The collision is brutal. Paige slams into her at full speed, the contact knocking her backward. Her feet fly out from under her, and her head hits the hardwood with a sickening thud.

Azzi’s smile vanishes.

She jolts upright in her seat, frozen for a second, breath caught in her throat. Paige doesn’t get up right away — she blinks, her hand going to the back of her head. The arena noise fades for Azzi, muffled under the thumping in her chest.

A teammate helps Paige to her feet. The coach yells something from the bench. Keep playing.

Azzi stays standing, arms crossed tightly across her chest. Paige is moving — but something is off. Her stride isn’t as fluid. She misses a rotation on defense, blinks hard under the lights.

Azzi’s stomach knots.
She watches every movement after that with new eyes — not as a fan, but as someone who loves her.

Something’s not right.
And Paige won’t say it.

Azzi doesn’t sit down again.

She stands stiffly, arms folded tight, eyes locked on Paige as the game rolls on. The crowd roars around her — people cheering, swaying, filming — but all Azzi can focus on is the way Paige stumbles slightly after a rebound, the way she blinks too much between plays.

“She shouldn’t still be out there,” Azzi mutters, voice sharp, jaw clenched.

Another minute passes. Paige brings the ball up, calling for a screen, but she hesitates half a beat too long. The pass comes late. A turnover.

Azzi shakes her head.
“She’s off. She’s—dammit.” Her voice is low, harsh, meant for no one but herself.

Dallas calls a timeout, and Paige jogs to the bench. The Wings coach claps her on the back, says something that makes her smile — that same tired, performative smile she’s used since UConn when she didn’t want anyone to worry.

Azzi narrows her eyes.

“She hit her head,” she mutters again, a little louder this time. “She hit her head. What are they doing?”

No one seems to notice. Around her, people are laughing, high-fiving. Commentators talk about grit and hustle. But Azzi’s not seeing that anymore.

She’s watching how Paige keeps touching the side of her head, just for a second when no one’s looking.
She’s watching the way her feet aren’t as quick on defense, the way her shoulders sag between whistles.
Subtle things. Barely noticeable to the untrained eye. But Azzi knows every inch of Paige’s body, every rhythm of her game.

And this isn’t it. This is her pushing through something she shouldn't be pushing through.

Her fists clench.

“Take her out,” she hisses toward the bench. “Take her out before she gets worse.”

But Paige goes back in.
Of course she does.

Azzi’s heart pounds in her ears. She’s not even watching the score anymore. Just Paige. Just the subtle cracks in her armor.

The final buzzer sounds, and Paige is already halfway to halfcourt to shake hands. Her jersey clings to her back with sweat, but she moves like she always does — fluid, composed, unbothered. It’s an illusion Azzi’s seen before. She can see through it now.

Azzi pushes through a few people by the tunnel entrance as fans start to file out. Her eyes stay locked on Paige.

Paige spots her, and her expression shifts — only for a second. She knows. Azzi can see it.
But the cameras are still rolling. The arena lights are still up.

Paige jogs over and wraps Azzi in a quick, tight hug, her voice soft and sweet like nothing’s wrong.
“I’m fine,” she says into Azzi’s ear. The smile she flashes is for the crowd, the press. The lie is for everyone but Azzi.

Azzi doesn’t hug her back at first.

“You shouldn’t have stayed in,” she whispers, tight-lipped, pulling back just enough to look Paige in the eyes.
Paige’s smile wavers, but only for half a second.

“Meet me by the locker room,” Paige says quietly, already turning away before Azzi can respond. The performance is still on.

Azzi watches her go, heart still in her throat, her hands clenched at her sides.

She makes her way around to the back corridors, near the home team's locker room. The noise of the crowd fades behind her. Staff, media, and security mill about, but it all blurs.

She waits.

Minutes pass. Five. Then ten.

No Paige.

A staffer hurries by with a clipboard. Another player exits, chatting on her phone. No sign of Paige.

Azzi's unease grows into something heavier — sharp, rising. She checks her phone. Nothing.

Her arms cross again, tighter this time. She leans against the wall but can’t keep still. Her foot taps restlessly. The worst-case thoughts start creeping in.

She told someone. Or maybe someone noticed. Maybe she got dizzy. Maybe she finally told the truth.

But if that were true, why hadn’t anyone come to tell her? Why hadn’t Paige?

Another few minutes. Still nothing.

Azzi swallows hard. The edge of fear she’d tried to push down all game begins to rise again — but this time it’s threaded with something else:

Anger.

Not just at the team.
Not just at the coach.
At Paige. For pretending. For shutting her out. For making her wait in the dark.

Azzi’s about to head toward the locker room door herself — ready to knock, demand answers — when it finally cracks open.

Maddy Siegrist steps out. She’s still in her warmups, hair damp, a towel slung around her neck. Her face softens the second she spots Azzi.

Azzi straightens, arms still folded, the tension in her body coiled tight.

Maddy walks up slowly, almost cautiously, like she knows this isn’t going to go over quietly.

“She’s okay,” Maddy says first, gently. “I mean—she’s being looked at. For a concussion.”

Azzi’s mouth goes tight. “What?”

Maddy nods, her voice quieting. “She told the trainers about the headache after the game. She didn’t want to, but it got worse.”

Azzi’s eyes flick toward the door. “She knew something was wrong and she stayed in ?”

Maddy sighs, rubbing the back of her neck. “Yeah. She didn’t want to be taken out. You know Paige.”

“Yeah,” Azzi says sharply. “I do. That’s the problem.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I’m not surprised, though,” Maddy adds, voice edged now. “That’s just… Paige. She acts fine even when she’s not. Acts like pushing through makes it better.”

Azzi’s jaw tightens. “Yeah. Until it doesn’t.”

Maddy nods once. “Exactly. I’m pissed at her too.”

She pauses before continuing, softer now.

“She’s asking for you. Back in the exam room.”

Azzi doesn’t move right away, her body a storm of adrenaline, fear, and something sharp that feels like betrayal.

Maddy gives a single nod, then walks away, her footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Azzi stares at the door in front of her. Every part of her wants to see Paige — to make sure she’s okay — but that doesn’t mean letting this go.

When she finally makes her way to the exam room, and pushes the door open, Paige doesn’t move.
A towel rests over her eyes, and her body is still except for the subtle rise and fall of her chest. But she feels it — the shift in the air, the subtle static of presence.
Azzi.

She knows it by the way her arms prickle, like her skin is reaching before her voice can. By the way the silence suddenly feels charged — too full. Too personal.

She pretends to be asleep.

But even with her eyes covered, she can feel the anger radiating from the doorway. It fills the space before Azzi even says a word.

Then, quietly, the door shuts behind her.

Footsteps cross the room. Slow. Controlled. But each one lands heavy. Paige braces.

“Are you serious right now?” Azzi says, voice low and tight.

Paige slowly lifts the towel, squinting up at her. “Hey,” she tries, soft, like a peace offering. “You found me.”

Azzi doesn’t smile. Doesn’t even blink.
“‘I’m fine,’” she mocks, her voice clipped. “You hugged me and said ‘I’m fine’ while your head was probably still ringing.”

Paige sighs and drops the towel onto her chest. “I didn’t want to make it a thing.”

“Well, it is a thing, Paige.”

“I’m being checked now, aren’t I?”

Azzi stares down at her, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “That’s not the point. You knew something was wrong. And you kept playing like it was nothing.”

“I didn’t know , know,” Paige mutters, turning her head toward the wall. “I felt off. But it wasn’t—”

“You hit your head.” Azzi’s voice rises, the heat behind it flaring. “I saw it. Everyone saw it. And you just got up like you always do, like nothing happened. You waved off the trainer, Paige.”

Paige stays quiet.

“You didn’t even tell me,” Azzi adds, her voice cracking with the edge of betrayal. “I had to hear it from Maddy. Who, by the way, is pissed at you too.”

“She was worried?”

“She was angry. And scared. Just like me.”

Paige finally turns back to face her, eyes tired. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

Azzi lets out a bitter laugh. “Well, too bad. Because I did. From the second you hit the floor, I’ve been losing my mind. Watching you play through it like you were fine when you weren’t.”

“I was trying to finish the game.”

“You were trying to pretend you’re invincible,” Azzi snaps. “Newsflash: you’re not.”

Paige doesn’t argue. Not because she agrees, but because she’s out of excuses. Her eyes drop to the towel in her hands, fingers curling around the edge.

Azzi runs a hand through her hair and exhales hard. The silence stretches.

The anger is still there — but it starts to tremble under the weight of something else.
Her voice lowers, thick now. “You scared me.”

Paige glances up, her own walls softening at the shift.

Azzi looks at her for a long moment. And then, quieter still: “I waited out there. Ten, fifteen minutes. I didn’t know if you were passed out, or—” She stops herself.

Her jaw clenches. She swallows it down.

“I just—don’t do that to me again, okay?”

Paige nods. “Okay.”

Azzi moves to the edge of the exam table and finally sits beside her, close but still holding herself back. Paige reaches for her hand.

“I didn’t mean to make you worry,” she says again, smaller now. “I just… I didn’t want to admit it.”

Azzi takes her hand, but her grip is firm. “Then let me say it for you next time.”

Another beat of silence.

Then Paige whispers, “Are you still mad?”

Azzi sighs. “Yeah. But… I think I’m more scared than mad now.” She pauses before continuing, quieter now, not accusing - just tired:

“I thought you were working on this.”

Paige tilts her head slightly, confused.

“On… what?”

Azzi swallows. “Asking for help. Telling someone when you’re not okay. Not carrying it all by yourself until it explodes.”

Her voice shakes a little, but she keeps it steady. “You said you were trying. That’s what we talked about.”

Paige’s face softens with the sting of that. She doesn’t look away — doesn’t retreat. Just blinks a few times like her body is catching up to the words.

Azzi goes on, even gentler now:
“And what you did out there? That was the opposite.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Paige exhales slowly, the exhaustion making her words heavy. “I just… I wanted to finish the game. I thought if I pushed through, it’d be okay. Like I could beat it. Like it was just in my head.”

Azzi’s jaw tightens. “That’s exactly the problem.”

Paige looks up, a little defensive but honest. “I’m used to pushing through pain, through doubt, through everything. I thought if I gave up, it meant I wasn’t strong enough.”

Azzi’s voice softens but holds firm. “Paige, that’s not healthy. Not for your body. Not for your mind. Powering through isn’t always strength. Sometimes it’s just ignoring the warning signs.”

Paige swallows, biting her lip. “I know that. But it’s hard. It feels like if I stop, even for a second, I’m losing more than just a game. I’m losing… everything I’ve worked for.”

Azzi leans forward, her voice almost gentle, but edged with urgency. “You’re not losing anything by being honest about what you’re feeling. You’re not less of a player, less of a person, if you take care of yourself. In fact, it’s the only way you stay strong — long term.”

Paige’s eyes flicker with uncertainty, and then she nods slowly. “I want to believe that. I want to learn that.”

Azzi’s gaze softens further. “Then let me help you. Please. You don’t have to do it alone.”

Paige squeezes Azzi’s hand, a small, grateful smile breaking through. 

“My sports psych is gonna love this in our next session,” she says, her voice full of self-depricaion.

Azzi raises an eyebrow. “Gonna tell her the part where you lied to your girlfriend in front of ten thousand people and the ESPN cameras?”

Paige cracks a tiny, guilty smile. “Yeah… I think that’s the part she’s going to flag.”

Azzi lets herself smile too — barely. But she’s still sitting tense, still holding back.

Paige looks up at her again, quieter this time. “You’re right. I thought I could push through it. And maybe I could’ve. But that’s not the point, is it?”

Azzi shakes her head. “No. It’s not.”

Her hand is still wrapped around Paige’s and her voice softens, “Okay… tell me. How are you feeling right now? Any headaches? Dizziness? Nausea?”

Paige blinks slowly, then nods. “Yeah… my head feels kind of fuzzy. Like it’s full of cotton. And the lights are kinda… bright. I’m tired, it feels like I can’t concentrate.”

Azzi listens, her thumb brushing lightly over Paige’s knuckles. “Any nausea? Blurry vision? Ringing in your ears?”

“A little nausea,” Paige admits quietly. “And my eyes feel weird if I move them too fast.”

Azzi’s eyes darken with concern but she keeps her tone calm, steady. “Okay. That’s important. We need to keep track of everything, alright?”

Paige offers a tired smile. “Thanks for asking.”

Just then, the door opens gently and the trainer steps in, clipboard in hand, expression professional but kind.

“Hey, Azzi. Paige,” she says softly, nodding to both. “We’ve been monitoring Paige and based on her symptoms, the team thinks it’s best she goes for a scan. We want to be sure there’s no serious injury.”

Paige exhales, a bit resigned but relieved to have some clarity.

Azzi immediately stands, placing a reassuring hand on Paige’s shoulder. 

The trainer gives a small, reassuring smile.

“I’ll go with you to the hospital for the scan. And Azzi, you’re allowed to come too. We want Paige to feel as supported as possible.”

Azzi nods, the relief clear on her face - and Paige’s.

Paige slowly pushes herself up from the table, and Azzi moves to steady her. They begin walking toward the exit.

Azzi immediately notices — Paige’s steps are uneven, her body swaying slightly as she tries to steady herself.

Her eyes squint against the harsh fluorescent lights of the hallway, wincing.

Azzi’s hand tightens gently around Paige’s waist, supporting her without saying a word.

At the waiting car, the driver is ready, and the trainer takes the front passenger seat.

Azzi and Paige climb into the back together.

Paige leans heavily against Azzi’s shoulder, exhaustion and discomfort plain on her face.

The car glides through the quiet streets on the short drive to the hospital. Paige rests against Azzi’s shoulder, her breaths shallow and uneven. Azzi’s arm tightens instinctively around her, trying to steady her as she uses the other to text updates to Paige’s family and also hers, knowing they will all be concerned.

Suddenly, Paige’s hand moves to her mouth, fingers trembling slightly.

“I—” Paige starts, voice barely a whisper. “I think… I’m gonna be sick.”

Azzi’s eyes widen instantly, panic bubbling beneath her calm exterior. She gently lifts Paige’s hand away and leans in closer, voice soft but urgent.
“Okay, okay. Just breathe. I’m right here.”

Paige closes her eyes, her face tightening as nausea washes over her.

Azzi’s heart races. This isn’t just exhaustion or discomfort anymore. She can feel the weight of it—Paige’s body is struggling, and the concussion might be worse than she’d hoped.

The trainer, sitting upfront, glances back quickly and reaches into her bag.

“Azzi, here,” she says, handing over a small plastic trash bag. “Just in case.”

Azzi catches it without hesitation, eyes never leaving Paige.

Azzi held the bag steady as Paige leaned over, the sound of sickness filling the small space of the car. Her heart hammered in her chest, each moment dragging out like an eternity.

This isn’t just a bump on the head, Azzi thought, panic creeping in. Paige looks worse than I’ve ever seen her.

She could feel Paige’s body trembling against her, fragile and scared in a way that cut deeper than any physical pain.

Why didn’t she listen? Azzi’s mind raced. Why did she keep pushing?

She wanted to be angry, but underneath that was a deep, gnawing fear — fear that Paige was suffering alone, that maybe this time, it was serious.

Azzi squeezed Paige’s hand gently, trying to offer strength even as her own felt weak as she gently rubbed Paige’s back.

“It’s okay, Paige. You’re okay. Just let it out.”

Paige closes her eyes, exhausted and vulnerable, but comforted by Azzi’s steady presence.

Azzi holds the bag steady and wipes Paige’s mouth with a tissue from the trainer’s bag.

The car pulls up to the hospital entrance, bright lights cutting through the early evening gloom. The sliding doors whoosh open, revealing the cold, clinical interior.

Paige doesn’t let go of Azzi’s hand as they step out. Instead, her grip tightens, fingers clutching Azzi’s palm like an anchor.

Azzi notices immediately—the way Paige leans slightly into her, unsteady but seeking support. She wraps her arm gently around Paige’s waist, guiding her through the automatic doors and into the busy emergency area.

Voices and footsteps buzz around them, but in this moment, it’s just Azzi and Paige, connected by that tight, unspoken bond.

Paige’s breath is shallow, and she leans closer, resting her head briefly against Azzi’s shoulder.

Azzi lowers her voice to a comforting whisper. “We’re almost there. You’re doing great.”

Paige nods weakly, still holding on like she’s afraid to let go. Azzi knows this isn’t just physical weakness—it’s trust, and a need to feel safe.

They’re escorted directly to a quiet, private room where soft lighting contrasts with the harshness of the hospital’s usual bustle. One positive aspect of playing a professional sport - but Azzi is having a hard time thinking of any other positive aspects right now, seeing her love in so much pain and discomfort. 

Azzi helps Paige ease onto the bed, never letting go of her hand. Paige’s fingers squeeze Azzi’s tightly — a silent plea for support.

A nurse enters with a hospital gown and hands it to Azzi. “This will help Paige get comfortable,” she says softly.

Azzi helps Paige change, carefully assisting her out of her clothes and into the gown, making sure to be gentle with every movement.

Once Paige is settled, the nurse prepares an IV line. “We’re going to give you some fluids to keep you hydrated and help with your symptoms,” she explains kindly.

Paige flinches slightly at the needle but Azzi immediately squeezes her hand. “You’re doing great,” Azzi whispers.

As the fluids begin to drip, Paige leans back, exhausted, her breathing steadying slightly. Azzi stays close, brushing a loose strand of hair from Paige’s face, offering quiet comfort in the sterile room.

The door to the room opens, and a doctor walks in, flanked by two nurses.

“Paige, we’re ready to take you for your MRI now,” the doctor says kindly.

Azzi steps forward, still holding Paige’s hand. “Wait—why MRI instead of a CT scan?”

The doctor pauses, then replies, “We don’t suspect any brain bleeding or major structural damage, which is what a CT scan is best at detecting. The MRI is better for seeing subtle brain injuries like concussions because it provides a clearer image of the brain’s soft tissues.”

The nurses begin to gently move the bed closer to the door, preparing to transfer Paige. Paige tightens her grip on Azzi’s hand, not letting go.

The nurses hesitate, exchanging glances. One looks to the doctor, who then says firmly, “Ma'am, I’m sorry, but you won’t be allowed to accompany Paige into the MRI room.”

Paige’s eyes flash with upset. “What? No-”

The doctor frowns, conflicted but unmoving. “Hospital policy is strict on this. The MRI environment is controlled for safety. Visitors can’t enter.”

Paige’s eyes begin to water, and Azzi leans forward to cup her face. “Hey, it’s okay. Don’t worry. Maybe I can walk to the room with you and wait outside?” she says quietly, looking toward the doctor.

The doctor pauses, scanning Paige’s face and noticing the tension there.

After a moment, the doctor nods slowly. “Alright. You can walk with her to the MRI room, but you’ll have to wait just outside while she’s scanned.”

Azzi squeezes Paige’s hand gently and begins running her fingers through her hair. “I’ve got you, I'm right here,” she whispers.

Azzi paces the hallway outside of the MRI room. Unable to stay still, she walks back and forth, trying to not jump to the worst case scenario. 

Her phone buzzes in her hands.

Momma Fudd : Any updates? Is Paige okay?
Father Fudd : We’re thinking of you both. Let us know how she’s doing.

She types back quickly.
She’s still getting her MRI. Think she’ll be able to go home after. 

Another vibration—this one from a different name. Paige’s dad.

Bob Bueckers : How is she doing?

She writes, She’s okay - threw up in the car. They’re taking her for imaging now. Will let you know how it goes.

A door down the hall opens and Azzi looks up, hopeful that it’s Paige, and when it’s not she goes back to answering text messages and pacing back and forth.

She finally opens the string of messages she has in the UConn players groupchat. 

Ice : What’s the verdict? Did they pull her from the game?

Aaliyah : That hit looked nasty. I can’t believe she kept playing.

Caroline : Did they even check her on the sideline? How could they let her stay in?

Jana : She’s tough as hell, but this is dangerous. No way that was okay.

Azzi : She stayed in. Coach didn’t take her out. It’s making me so mad.

She watches the message pop up on the screen before putting the phone down again, her anger bubbling up.

KK : I’m so pissed too. That was irresponsible. She didn’t look right after that hit.

Sarah : It’s honestly ridiculous. She should’ve been pulled immediately.

Caroline : Azzi, you okay? We’re here for you, girl.

Ice : Let us know if you need anything. We’re all thinking of you two.

Azzi replies quickly but with a bite in her words.

Azzi : I’m okay. I’m just so mad at her coach for not protecting her. I don’t care how much of a warrior Paige is, someone should’ve stepped in. This could have been so much worse.

A few moments pass, then she gets a response.

Caroline: We know, Azzi. It’s frustrating, but just focus on being there for her now. You’re the most important person right now.

The door to the MRI room finally swings open, and Azzi is on her feet in a heartbeat.

Paige is wheeled out slowly, looking pale and exhausted, but when her eyes find Azzi standing there, a soft smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. She lifts her hand, reaching for her instinctively.

Azzi is there in a second, lacing her fingers gently through Paige’s and walking beside the bed as the nurses guide it back down the hallway.

"Hey," Paige murmurs, her voice hoarse, still shaky from the long scan. “You waited.”

“Of course I did,” Azzi says softly, brushing a piece of hair off Paige’s forehead. “You really think I’d leave?”

When they return to the room, the nurses help settle Paige back onto the bed and adjust the IV line. The lights are dimmed now, the air quieter, softer around them.

Paige looks over at Azzi, eyes heavy, voice barely a whisper. “Will you lie with me?”

Azzi hesitates for only a second, then nods. She carefully climbs into the narrow bed beside her, mindful of the IV and the gentle pressure in Paige’s temples. Paige shifts just enough to curl into Azzi’s side, head tucked under her chin like it's the only place that makes sense.

Azzi holds her quietly, letting her fingers trace soothing circles on Paige’s back.

Paige's breathing starts to slow, the tension in her body softening.

“I’m just gonna close my eyes,” Paige murmurs sleepily.

Azzi’s hand pauses, her voice a gentle hush against the top of Paige’s head. “Not yet, baby. You know they said we have to wait a bit. Just until the doctor clears it.”

Paige groans quietly in protest, nuzzling deeper. “You’re warm,” she whispers.

Azzi kisses the top of her head. “I know. Just stay awake a little longer, okay? Talk to me.”

Paige sighs, her voice already slipping toward sleep. “You’re bossy.”

Azzi smiles, pulling her a little closer. “Only because I love you.”

Azzi kept tracing light, rhythmic circles against Paige’s back, her voice soft and steady.

“You know,” she murmured, “I was thinking about that ridiculous hat you wore on media day last year. The one that looked like it belonged to a fisherman.”

Paige huffed a quiet laugh against her collarbone. “It was fashion.”

“It was a cry for help,” Azzi teased, her tone light, coaxing.

Paige snorted again, but her body shifted slightly, her arm tightening just a bit around Azzi’s waist. Her breathing, while slow, stayed even.

“Hey,” Azzi said, leaning down to brush her nose against Paige’s hair. “Talk to me. What’s one good thing that happened today—besides, you know, scaring the hell out of me.”

Paige was quiet for a moment, then whispered, “You were at the game.”

Azzi’s heart pulled in her chest.

“I always will be,” she said. “But that doesn’t count as a good thing if I left with you half-conscious.”

Paige hummed. “Still worth it.”

“No,” Azzi said softly but firmly. “That’s what I’m trying to get through to you, Paige. You don’t have to be the hero every time. You don’t have to push through like your body doesn’t matter.”

“I just… I didn’t want to let anyone down.”

Azzi exhaled slowly. “You won’t. Not by listening to your body. Not by saying, ‘I need help.’ That’s the bravest thing you could do. You keep saying you’re working on that, but tonight… this wasn’t it.”

She felt Paige tense again, guilt threading through her muscles. Azzi gently cupped her cheek and nudged her to look up.

“I’m not mad,” she said, voice thick now, full of the fear she’d been holding in since the fourth minute of the game. “I’m scared. I love you too much to pretend I’m okay with what happened tonight.”

Paige’s eyes welled just a bit, but she blinked the tears back and nodded slowly.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Azzi brushed her thumb under Paige’s eye. “I know. Just… stay with me, okay? A little longer.”

Paige’s voice was almost inaudible now. “Tell me another story.”

Azzi smiled, heart aching and full all at once.

“Okay,” she said. “Remember the time you tried to cook me dinner and nearly set the smoke alarm off with a grilled cheese?”

Paige groaned. “You said you liked it.”

“I lied to protect your pride.”

Paige gave a sleepy laugh. “Rude.”

Azzi grinned. “Love makes you do wild things.”

A soft knock tapped against the doorframe, and the moment between them dissolved like fog under sunlight.

Azzi lifted her head just as the doctor stepped into the room, flanked by a nurse holding a clipboard.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the doctor said gently, eyes flicking to the two of them curled up together. “We’ve got the scan results back.”

Paige stirred, her hand still tangled in Azzi’s hoodie. Azzi sat up a little, her arm still draped protectively around Paige’s shoulders.

The doctor’s expression was calm, measured. “It’s a mild concussion. No signs of structural damage, no bleeding. But that doesn’t mean it’s nothing.”

Azzi’s hand instinctively tightened.

“What does that mean, exactly?” she asked, voice quiet but firm.

The doctor nodded. “It means she needs rest—no screens, no strenuous activity, minimal stimulation. No basketball for at least a week, possibly longer depending on how symptoms progress.”

Paige groaned under her breath and closed her eyes again.

The doctor glanced down at the chart in her hand. “We spoke with your team doctor,” she said, directing it toward Paige. “Given the mild grade and that your vitals are stable, you’re okay to go home tonight… but only if you’re not alone.”

“I’ll be with her,” Azzi jumped in immediately, barely letting the doctor finish.

The doctor raised an eyebrow. “You’ll stay with her for the next 24 to 48 hours? Monitor symptoms, wake her if needed, bring her back if anything gets worse?”

“Yes,” Azzi said without hesitation. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Paige turned her head slowly to look up at her, and despite how awful she felt, something soft passed through her expression—gratitude, affection, something deeper than either of them could name in that moment.

The nurse stepped forward and handed Azzi a printed sheet of care instructions. “Here’s everything you’ll need to know. We’re going to give her a bit more fluids and then get you discharged.”

The doctor nodded to both of them. “I’ll check back in before you leave.”

As the door clicked softly shut behind them, Paige let out a long, quiet breath.

“Mild concussion,” she muttered.

“Still a concussion,” Azzi replied gently. “Still serious.”

Paige turned toward her, guilt written across her face. “I messed up, huh?”

Azzi leaned in and kissed her temple. “You tried to push through. I get it. But now… you’re letting me take care of you. That’s what matters.”

Paige looked at her, eyes glassy and heavy with exhaustion. “I really don’t deserve you.”

Azzi smiled, resting her forehead against Paige’s. “Good thing that’s not up to you.”

A few minutes later, the team trainer stepped into the hospital room, quietly shutting the door behind her. She offered a small smile as she took in the sight of Paige curled into Azzi, eyes half-lidded with fatigue but clearly more at ease.

“We’ve arranged for a car to take you both back to Paige’s apartment,” the trainer said, her voice low and considerate. “It’ll be out front in about fifteen minutes. I’ll ride with the driver and help get her settled, but after that, it’s all you, Azzi.”

Azzi nodded, brushing her fingers along Paige’s hairline. “Thanks. I’ve got her.”

Paige didn’t say anything—just leaned a little more heavily into Azzi, her face tucked near Azzi’s shoulder. The IV had been removed, and the pale pink bandage on her arm made her look even smaller somehow, like her body had finally surrendered to the weight it had been carrying.

Azzi reached for her phone, quietly unlocking it with one hand while her other stayed wrapped around Paige.

The screen lit up again with messages:

KK : Updates?
Ice : Azzi?? How is she?
Caroline : Do we need to fly out?
Jana : Tell P we love her.

Azzi’s thumbs moved quickly.

She has a mild concussion. Nothing showed up on the scan, but she’s wiped. I’m taking her home. I’ll be with her all night.
Thank you all for checking in. I’ll keep you posted when she wakes up later.

A moment later, another text popped up—this one from Paige’s dad.

Bob Bueckers : Thank you for staying with her. Let me know if she needs anything. And tell her I said to stop scaring me.

Azzi smiled faintly and replied:

She scared me too. But she’ll be okay. I promise.

Then she locked the phone and tucked it into her pocket, turning her full attention back to Paige. She gently ran her knuckles down the length of Paige’s spine, soothing, steady.

“You ready to go home, baby?” she whispered.

Paige just nodded, not lifting her head, her voice muffled against Azzi’s sweatshirt. “Only if you’re still with me.”

“Always, I'm not going anywhere” Azzi said, kissing the top of her head.

The ride home had been quiet. Paige leaned against Azzi in the back seat, eyes closed but not asleep, flinching slightly every time the driver hit a bump or a streetlight flared too bright through the window.

When they finally reached her apartment building, Azzi gently helped her out of the car, one arm wrapped securely around Paige’s waist. The trainer followed with Paige’s bag and left with a promise to check in tomorrow.

Inside, the apartment was still and dim, just how Paige needed it. Azzi guided her straight to the couch, moving around with quiet efficiency—pulling the blinds closed, grabbing a blanket, dimming the overhead lights until the whole place felt like a soft exhale.

“Sit,” Azzi said gently, pressing Paige down onto the couch. “I’ll get you some water.”

Paige obeyed without a word, sinking into the cushions with a long breath. She leaned her head back against the armrest and closed her eyes, her fingers twitching slightly against the edge of the blanket draped over her lap.

When Azzi returned with the glass, she crouched in front of her. “Here. Small sips.”

Paige tried to sit up straighter but winced as a wave of dizziness hit her hard. Her face tensed, and she stopped moving.

“Still dizzy?” Azzi asked, voice soft but tight.

“Yeah,” Paige whispered. “And the lights… even now, they feel like too much.”

Azzi nodded, though worry was crawling up her spine. “Okay. That’s okay. We expected that.”

But she couldn’t ignore the sluggishness in Paige’s eyes, the delay between her blinking and actually focusing again. Her movements were slower than usual, and her grip on the glass was weak. Every few seconds, it seemed like she had to fight to stay present.

“You feel nauseous again?” Azzi asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Paige gave a small nod. “It’s better than earlier… but it’s still there. Like I’m on a boat.”

Azzi exhaled slowly, brushing her hand gently along Paige’s back. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “I’m watching you. I’ve got you.”

Still, the fear was there. Quiet but persistent. She knew how concussions could shift, and she wasn’t about to take any chances. Not with Paige. She pulled out her phone and opened her notes app, typing in every symptom Paige had mentioned—dizziness, nausea, light sensitivity, sluggishness. A growing list. Something to point to if things turned.

Then she looked back up at her, her voice soft but serious. “We’re not messing around with this. If anything gets worse, even a little, we’re going back in. Deal?”

Paige gave a small nod. “Deal.”

Azzi leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her temple, whispering, “You scared the hell out of me, you know that?”

A faint smile tugged at Paige’s lips. “Yeah… I scared myself a little too.”

Azzi squeezed her hand and stood. “Come on,” she said softly. “Let’s get you lying down.”

Paige nodded and let Azzi help her up. The short walk to the bedroom was slow, careful. Once there, Azzi pulled back the covers and helped her settle in, propping her head slightly and adjusting the dimmer on the bedside lamp until the room was soft and golden with light.

She sat beside her, leaning against the headboard. Paige shifted until her head rested lightly against Azzi’s leg, her eyes half-lidded, her breathing shallow but steady.

They sat like that for a while—quiet, the sounds of the city muffled through the windows.

Then Paige spoke, her voice a whisper. “I’m so mad at myself.”

Azzi looked down at her. “Why?”

Paige didn’t answer right away. Her fingers were fidgeting slightly with the edge of the blanket.

“It’s not just about tonight,” she said finally. “Or the game. It’s that… I promised myself I wouldn’t do this again. I promised you.”

Azzi’s expression softened. “Do what again?”

“Shut down,” Paige said, her voice tight. “Pretend I’m fine when I’m clearly not. I worked so hard to change that. And today—I didn’t even think. I just went right back.”

Azzi waited, giving her space.

Paige blinked, tears starting to well. “I keep thinking… what if today had been worse? What if I blacked out and no one knew what was going on because I didn’t say anything? What if I scared you so badly you couldn’t forgive me?”

Azzi gently brushed Paige’s hair back and leaned down so they were eye to eye. “You scared me, yeah. But not because you did something wrong. You scared me because I love you. And seeing you hurt—especially when you try to hide it—makes me feel helpless.”

Paige’s throat tightened. “I didn’t want to lose you again.”

Azzi frowned gently. “Lose me? You could never lose me.”

“I almost did,” she whispers.

Azzi’s heart cracked. “You didn’t lose me,” she said, voice soft. “And you’re not going to now. But Paige… I need you to tell me when you’re not okay. I don’t need you to be strong all the time. I just need you to let me in.”

Paige’s voice cracked. “I want to. I do. I’m just… still scared sometimes.”

Azzi leaned her forehead to Paige’s, voice steady. “Then be scared. Let me be scared with you.”

Paige let out a shaky breath. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask.” Azzi gently threaded their fingers together beneath the blanket. “Just keep trying.”

The hours stretched long into the night.

Azzi had tried to sleep. She’d dimmed the lights to nearly nothing, drawn the blackout curtains, and nestled beside Paige under the covers. But her body wouldn’t relax. Every time Paige shifted, every quiet exhale, every time her breathing hitched, Azzi’s eyes snapped open.

At one point, Paige stirred and let out a soft whimper, pressing the heel of her palm to her temple.

Azzi immediately sat up. “Hey. You okay?”

Paige blinked slowly, her face scrunched in discomfort. “Head’s pounding.”

Azzi reached for the water on the nightstand and offered it, but Paige barely managed two sips before she leaned back with a grimace.

“Too much?” Azzi asked.

Paige nodded faintly. “Everything’s spinning again. I feel… foggy.”

Azzi exhaled, her chest tightening. “Do you want me to call the doctor?”

“No,” Paige murmured, closing her eyes. “Not yet. Just… stay?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Azzi climbed fully out of bed and returned with a cold compress from the freezer. She dimmed the light even further, then sat on the edge of the mattress and gently pressed the cloth to Paige’s forehead. Paige flinched at first, then sighed into the relief.

Azzi sat there for a long time, one hand lightly resting on Paige’s arm, the other holding the compress. The digital clock on the dresser glowed past 3:00 a.m.

Every few minutes, Azzi whispered Paige’s name, just to be sure she was still responsive.

“Paige,” she said softly. “Still with me?”

Paige blinked slowly. “Yeah.”

Her voice was weaker now, rougher. Azzi didn’t like that.

When she stood to jot down symptoms again in her phone—new headache, disorientation, interrupted sleep—Paige reached out blindly, her fingers brushing Azzi’s wrist.

“Don’t leave,” she said, barely audible.

Azzi immediately returned, cupping her hand over Paige’s. “I’m right here. I promise.”

“You should sleep…”

Azzi gave her a sad smile. “I’ll rest when you’re okay.”

She pulled a blanket from the end of the bed and curled up next to Paige, keeping one arm gently around her shoulders. She could feel Paige’s heartbeat through the fabric—uneven and quick at first, then slowly calming as the cold compress worked and her breathing steadied.

But Azzi’s own thoughts wouldn’t quiet. She hated how helpless this made her feel. Every time Paige flinched or whimpered in her sleep, it was like a fresh cut.

She kept checking her list—no vomiting, no slurred speech, still responsive—but the edge of fear never left.

Around dawn, as pale light began to filter through the curtains, Paige stirred again, eyes fluttering open.

Azzi immediately leaned in. “How’s your head?”

“Still hurts,” Paige murmured. “But not spinning now.”

Azzi nodded slowly, trying to hold back tears of relief. “Okay. That’s good. That’s something. Get some more rest,” as she softly kisses the girl’s forehead. 

She didn’t say the rest: that she’d barely slept, that she’d considered calling the doctor three separate times, that she’d whispered prayers into Paige’s hair between each hour. 

Soon after Paige closed her eyes again, Azzi’s phone began to vibrate against the mattress. She blinked blearily at the screen.

Aaliyah.

Azzi glanced down. Paige was still asleep, curled into her side, her face half-buried in Azzi’s shoulder. Azzi exhaled softly, brushing a gentle hand down Paige’s back. Then, carefully, slowly, she shifted out from under her, sliding a pillow into her place and pulling the blanket back over Paige’s body. Paige murmured something under her breath but didn’t wake.

Azzi grabbed her phone and padded into the hallway, stepping into the dimly lit kitchen as she accepted the call.

“Hey,” she whispered, voice rough from sleep.

Aaliyah didn’t waste time. “You okay?”

Azzi rubbed her eyes. “I’m fine. Paige is still asleep. I didn’t want to move too much.”

“I figured. I saw the groupchat blowing up last night but… I wanted to hear it from you,” Aaliyah said. “How is she really?”

Azzi leaned against the counter, pressing a hand to her temple. “She’s... not great. It’s a mild concussion, but her symptoms were bad last night. Dizzy, light-sensitive, nauseous. It took hours for her to settle. I barely slept. I didn’t want to miss anything.”

“Damn.” Aaliyah let out a slow breath. “That’s terrifying.”

“Yeah. It was.”

There was a pause. Then Aaliyah said softly, “And you? How are you handling it?”

Azzi blinked, caught off guard. “I’m… okay. I guess. I mean, I’m here. I’m just… trying to keep her calm. Take care of her.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Azzi hesitated. Her eyes stung from the lack of sleep, and she gripped the edge of the counter to ground herself.

“I’m scared,” she admitted finally. “Not just about the symptoms, though those freaked me out. But… just seeing her like that. The way she looked at me last night—I could tell she was spiraling. And I’ve seen it before. But this time…” Her voice cracked slightly. “It felt heavier. Like she was mad at herself for slipping, even though she’s hurt. She thinks this is her fault.”

“Az,” Aaliyah said gently, “it’s not her fault. And it’s not yours either.”

“I know. But that doesn’t stop me from lying here watching her breathe like something’s going to go wrong. I kept a list of symptoms on my phone in case I had to call someone in the middle of the night. Who does that?”

“Someone who loves her,” Aaliyah said. “Someone who’s scared and exhausted but still shows up.”

Azzi swallowed hard. “I switched my flight. I was supposed to leave this morning, but I couldn’t. I’m staying two more days.”

“I’m glad,” Aaliyah said. “You being there probably means more to her than she knows how to say.”

“She said she’s scared of pushing me away again. That this is what nearly ended us once.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Aaliyah said quietly. “That was a hard time for both of you.”

“I just don’t want to go back there,” Azzi whispered. “Not again.”

“You won’t,” Aaliyah assured. “You two aren’t the same as you were then. And she’s learning to ask for help—because you’ve made it safe for her to.”

Azzi let out a slow breath and closed her eyes, letting Aaliyah’s words settle into her chest.

“Thanks for calling,” she murmured.

“Of course. You need anything, you call me. Anytime. And give Paige a hug for me when she’s up.”

Azzi smiled faintly. “Will do.”

They said goodbye, and Azzi lingered a moment in the quiet kitchen before returning to the bedroom. Paige was still asleep, the pillow she’d left barely holding her shape. Azzi crawled back in, curling up beside her and brushing a strand of hair from her face.

Paige stirred slightly and instinctively reached for her. Azzi molds her body to Paige’s without disturbing her too much. She watched the soft rise and fall of Paige’s chest, her fingers laced gently through hers, the early morning quiet wrapping around them like a blanket.

It wasn’t long before Paige began to stir. Her brow furrowed first, followed by a soft groan as her body tensed, shifting against the sheets. Azzi immediately straightened, her hand instinctively moving to Paige’s forehead, brushing sweat-dampened strands of hair back.

“Paige?” she whispered. “Hey, baby… you with me?”

Paige’s eyes fluttered open—blurry, unfocused, tired. She winced and squeezed them shut again.

“My head,” she murmured, her voice gravelly. “Still pounding. And my eyes… ugh. Light’s still awful.”

Azzi reached behind her and gently tugged the blackout curtains tighter, darkening the room to a soft gray. “Okay. It’s okay. You’re safe. Want me to grab your meds?”

Paige gave a tiny nod, her fingers still gripping Azzi’s. “Yeah… maybe in a minute.”

Azzi didn’t move. Not yet. She waited, rubbing soft circles over Paige’s knuckles until she felt her breathing settle again.

Then, almost too quietly to hear, Paige said, “Az?”

Azzi looked down, brushing a thumb under her eye. “Yeah, babe?”

Paige hesitated, blinking slowly. It took effort to form the words—Azzi could see it. But she waited, patient and present.

“Would you…” Paige swallowed. “Would you mind staying one more day? Just… being here. With me.”

Azzi’s heart clenched in her chest. Not because of the request—but because of what it meant.

Paige never asked for help. Not like this. Not so plainly.

Azzi leaned in, pressing her lips gently to Paige’s temple.

“Of course I’ll stay,” she whispered. “As long as you need me.”

Paige’s face crumpled, just for a second—relief, guilt, love, all crashing together in her expression.

“I didn’t want to ask,” she said quietly. “But I can’t do this alone today. And I just… I don’t want to pretend I’m fine.”

Azzi brought her forehead to Paige’s, their hands still clasped between them.

“You don’t have to pretend,” she said. “Not with me.”

Azzi stayed beside her for a few more minutes, just letting the quiet hold them. But when she felt Paige’s breathing even out again, she pulled back slightly, brushing her knuckles along Paige’s cheek.

“Let’s get something in you,” Azzi said softly. “Even just a little. You’ll feel better with food in your stomach.”

Paige grimaced faintly, but she didn’t argue. She blinked up at Azzi, her voice groggy. “Okay… but I’m not sure I can do much.”

Azzi smiled gently. “That’s fine. I’ll do everything. You just have to sit and look cute.”

That earned the smallest huff of a laugh from Paige—barely there, but it was enough. Azzi helped her up slowly, keeping an arm around her waist as they walked. Paige was a little unsteady, leaning into her as they made it down the hall.

Azzi led her to the living room first, guiding her down onto the couch with care. She adjusted a pillow behind her and pulled a throw blanket over Paige’s lap before brushing her hair gently out of her face.

“You good here for a second?” Azzi asked.

Paige nodded, closing her eyes for a beat. “Yeah… just a little dizzy. But I’m okay.”

“Alright. I’ll be right there. Don’t move unless you need to, okay?”

Azzi pressed a kiss to her forehead and padded into the kitchen. She moved quietly, pulling things from the fridge with practiced hands—nothing too heavy, just some toast, scrambled eggs, a banana. Something bland and easy on the stomach.

As she cooked, she kept an ear tuned toward the living room. Every time Paige shifted, Azzi paused, listening—ready to drop everything if needed. She brought out a small tray a few minutes later, along with a water bottle and the anti-nausea medication the doctor had given them.

Paige was curled up on the couch, eyes open now but glazed. Azzi knelt beside her again.

“Hey, love. Try a bite or two?”

Paige looked at the tray, then at her. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

Azzi kissed her temple. “I know. I wanted to.”

She handed her a fork and sat beside her again, close but gentle, ready to catch her if she swayed. Paige tried a few bites—slowly, carefully—and Azzi smiled with quiet pride.

“That’s my girl,” she murmured.

Paige took another small bite of toast, her hand slightly unsteady but determined. Azzi watched her with soft eyes, resisting the urge to do everything for her.

After a quiet moment, Azzi said gently, “Hey… I think some people would like to see if you’re okay. If you’re up for it.”

Paige looked over, brow creasing faintly. “Who?”

“Just a few people who love you,” Azzi said, running her hand down Paige’s back. “Li. Arike. Nai. Maddy.”

Paige blinked slowly, processing the names. Her lips curved into a small, tired smile. “Of course it’s them.”

“They’ve all been texting me. No pressure,” Azzi added quickly. 

Paige leaned her head against Azzi’s shoulder, her voice quiet. “Maybe later today? I just… I want to be more with it, you know?”

Azzi nodded, brushing a kiss against the crown of her head. “Whenever you’re ready. They’ll understand.” She pulled out her phone and opened the group chat with Li, Arike, Nai, and Maddy. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before she started typing.

Hey — Paige’s doing okay, and she’d like to see you all today if you’re up for it. Just a heads up: she’s still really sensitive, so please keep voices low and avoid sudden movements or loud noises. We want to keep things calm and easy for her.

She paused, then added, Let me know when you’re on your way, and I’ll make sure Paige is ready.

Azzi hit send and stared at the screen, hoping they’d understand. Moments later, the replies started rolling in — hearts, quiet emojis, and quick affirmations.

Got it. We’ll be respectful. See you soon.

Sending good vibes. We’ll keep it chill.

Thanks for the heads-up. We’re on our way.

Azzi slipped her phone back into her pocket and glanced over at Paige, who was resting quietly on the couch. “They’re coming by later,” Azzi whispered, brushing a strand of hair behind Paige’s ear. “I told them to keep it quiet. No loud hellos.”

Paige managed a faint smile. “Good. I’m glad it’s them.”

A soft knock on the door an hour later brings them out of the bubble, and Azzi rose to open it. Li, Arike, Nai, and Maddy stepped inside, their faces shaded with concern but gentle smiles lighting their features.

“Hey, Paige,” Li whispered, stepping forward carefully. “We brought some snacks and coloring books — low key stuff.”

Paige’s eyes flickered open, a faint but real smile appearing. “Thanks, Li.”

Arike knelt down beside the couch, keeping her voice low. “We’re just here to hang out, no pressure.”

Nai pulled a blanket from her bag and draped it over Paige’s legs. “We’ve got you.”

Maddy settled in beside Azzi, offering a quiet nod. “We’re just here to be with you.”

The room settled into a calm rhythm — soft whispers, quiet laughter, and the comfort of friends who understood the fragile line Paige was walking.

They all found quiet places around the room — Li cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table, Nai curled into an armchair with her legs tucked under her, and Arike perched on the kitchen stool, slowly peeling a clementine. Maddy opened a tote bag and pulled out a stack of coloring books and a box of colored pencils.

“Thought we could use something chill,” Maddy said, smiling gently as she handed a book to Paige. “They’re all basketball-themed. Or animals. Or outer space. Take your pick.”

Paige blinked, a little surprised. “You brought coloring books?”

“Coloring’s healing,” Nai said with mock seriousness, flipping through one. “Also, Li’s weirdly competitive about staying in the lines.”

“I just believe in precision,” Li muttered as she picked out a sharp navy pencil and knelt at the coffee table.

They all started coloring in quiet companionship. The soft scratch of pencil on paper filled the space as the light outside shifted into a warm golden wash. Azzi sat beside Paige on the couch, leaning her head lightly against Paige’s shoulder while shading a moon illustration. Paige worked slowly on a mandala pattern, sometimes pausing to let her eyes rest when the pain behind them flared up. But she smiled — not big, not forced, just quietly content to have them there.

“Hey,” Li said after a while, still coloring. “Just so you know… I filed a complaint.”

Paige’s hand froze over her page. She looked up, her forehead knitting. “What?”

“About Chris. About what happened. About how he left you out there.”

Nai nodded, not looking up. “Me too. Arike, Maddy. A bunch of others. We all signed statements.”

“Some of us don’t even play there anymore,” Arike added from the kitchen. “But we’ve seen enough. This wasn’t the first time he ignored pain on the court. Just the first time it got this scary.”

Paige’s eyes flicked to Azzi, then to the page again. “I didn’t even say anything. I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Exactly,” Maddy said gently. “You shouldn’t have had to. That’s the point.”

Paige stared at her half-colored page. “It’s just… I keep thinking I should’ve pulled myself.”

Azzi reached over and stilled her hand. “No. He should’ve pulled you. You did your job. You showed up, you played hard, and you trusted your coach. That’s what you were supposed to do.”

Nai looked up then, her voice calm but resolute. “The department’s already reviewing things. They're pulling game footage. Timing. Bench reactions. It’s not a small thing, Paige. And it shouldn’t be on your shoulders.”

Paige swallowed thickly, emotion rising again. But Azzi didn’t let go of her hand. She squeezed it and stayed close, her shoulder pressed to Paige’s, grounding her in the warmth of now.

“You’re not in this alone,” Azzi murmured.

The apartment felt oddly still after everyone left — the kind of hush that settles once laughter fades and the door clicks shut.

Azzi stood for a moment, glancing around at the coloring books still splayed on the coffee table, the soft pile of blankets on the couch, the untouched mugs of herbal tea. Paige was quiet, sitting where Azzi had left her, her head leaning against the back of the couch, her body slouched with exhaustion.

Azzi crossed the room and crouched in front of her. “Hey,” she said softly. “You good to move to bed?”

Paige blinked up at her, a little out of it, but nodded. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Azzi reached out, letting her hands find Paige’s gently. “Okay. Let’s go slow.”

They walked together, Azzi supporting her just enough to make sure she didn’t sway too far to one side. Once Paige was settled under the covers, Azzi turned off the overhead light, leaving just the streetlamp’s orange wash coming through the curtain.

Azzi didn’t go far. She just toed off her socks and slipped in beside her, careful not to jostle the bed. Paige immediately turned toward her — not quite pressed close, but close enough that Azzi could feel the warmth of her breath in the small space between them.

Neither of them spoke for a while.

Azzi ran her fingers gently through Paige’s hair, thumb brushing the shell of her ear. She watched Paige’s eyelids flutter with sleep, but not quite shut.

“You’re still awake,” Azzi murmured, a smile in her voice.

“Mm,” Paige hummed. “Trying not to fall asleep too fast. Just… soaking this in.”

Azzi tilted her head. “This?”

Paige opened her eyes. “You. Still here. Not mad at me. Not leaving.”

Azzi’s heart gave a little tug. “Paige.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I’m not fishing. I’m just… trying to let it feel real.”

Azzi moved closer and kissed her forehead. “It is real. I’m not going anywhere.”

There was a pause, then Paige added quietly, “I didn’t realize how much I needed this until tonight. Like… letting people in. Letting you in. Not trying to be the strong one all the time.”

Azzi smiled gently against her hair. “You can still be strong. Just not alone.”

Paige reached for her hand under the blanket. Their fingers twined, slow and deliberate.

“I think I’m finally starting to believe that,” Paige whispered.

They lay like that for a while. Paige’s breathing started to slow, deeper and more even, but Azzi didn’t close her eyes yet. She kept her hand on Paige’s side, her thumb drawing soft lines. Just in case she stirred. Just in case the headache flared or the nausea came back.

Eventually, Paige mumbled, “You should sleep too.”

Azzi smiled to herself. “I will. Just keeping watch a little longer.”

“Always watching,” Paige murmured, almost teasing. “Like a hawk.”

“More like a really hot guardian angel,” Azzi said, making Paige snort softly.

The quiet returned, but this time it felt full — of love, of trust, of slow rebuilding.

And for once, Paige didn’t resist the care. She leaned into it, eyes fluttering shut, Azzi’s hand steady on her side as the night held them both.

That night, they both slept better.

But Azzi still woke up every few hours—just to check.

She’d blink into the soft dark, feel Paige’s forehead for warmth, watch her chest rise and fall. Once, when Paige stirred, Azzi whispered, “It’s okay, go back to sleep,” and kissed her forehead. Another time, she held her a little tighter, like her body couldn’t relax unless Paige was safely wrapped up in her arms.

By morning, Azzi looked like she hadn’t slept a full night—but her heart was a little more at ease.

The knock came at 9:17 a.m.

Paige was still lying in bed, propped up against two pillows. Her head hurt less than the day before, but her body still felt like it had been rung out. Azzi was padding around in socks, making toast and checking her phone when the knock startled both of them.

Azzi glanced toward the bedroom. “Coming,” she called out softly, unsure of who it could be.

When she opened the door, Dijonai was standing there in her hoodie and slides, and a look on her face that said she wasn’t here to chitchat.

Azzi raised her eyebrows. “Nai,” she says with a surprised voice, not expecting a visitor this early.

Nai stepped inside. “You’ll want to hear this.”

She held out her phone, already open to a message from one of the assistant coaches.

Coach Kolcalnes suspended, effective immediately. Internal review underway. Interim coach TBD.

Azzi let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

Nai nodded toward the bedroom. “Has she heard yet?”

“No,” Azzi said softly. “She just woke up.”

“I can tell her, if you want.”

Azzi hesitated, then shook her head. “No… let me.” 

She pads back down to the bedroom, hands twisting in the sleeves of the sweatshirt she’s wearing. 

“You okay?” she asked, voice rough with sleep.

Azzi nodded, but sat carefully at the edge of the bed. She reached for Paige’s hand. “I’ve got some news.”

Paige blinked at her, nerves flickering in her chest.

Azzi took a breath. “Your coach. He’s suspended. As of this morning.”

Paige stared at her, silent.

“There’s an internal review happening. The team, the staff—they’re taking it seriously.”

A long pause. Paige shifted upright a little more, face unreadable. “Because of me?”

Azzi shook her head immediately. “Not just you. Your teammates spoke up. Li filed the complaint. Arike added to it. Maddy too. They all had stories. It wasn’t one thing—it was everything adding up. You were the last straw, not the reason.”

Paige pressed her lips together, eyes misting despite her best efforts. “It still feels like… a lot.”

Azzi leaned in and cupped her cheek. “I know. But it’s not on you. It’s on him. And this—this is how change happens. Quiet at first. But real.”

Paige nodded slowly, the tension in her shoulders softening just slightly. “Okay.”

“Dijonai is here, are you up for seeing her?”

A beat passed. Then: “Yeah. I think I am.”

Azzi smiled and kissed her temple before heading for the door.

Nai settled onto the edge of the bed like she’d done it a hundred times before, her usual casual posture softer now, more careful. She looked at Paige with that same directness that always cut through the noise, no frills.

“You look better,” she said gently.

Paige gave a crooked smile. “That’s a low bar.”

Nai snorted, then looked at her seriously. “How’s your head?”

“Still hurts. Still foggy. But… better than yesterday,” Paige said, voice low. “Still not great.”

Azzi sat beside her, one leg tucked under the other, her hand resting lightly on Paige’s ankle beneath the blanket. She didn’t say anything, but she was listening—anchoring the moment.

“Good,” Nai said. “You scared the hell out of all of us, P.”

Paige looked down at her hands. “I know.”

“And I’m not just talking about you being hurt,” Nai continued. “I mean the part where you didn’t tell anyone. Where you stayed on the court like it was fine when it really, really wasn’t.”

“I didn’t think it was that bad until it was,” Paige said, barely audible. “And I didn’t want to let anyone down.”

“You didn’t,” Nai said quickly. “But he did.”

Azzi nodded at that, quiet but firm.

Paige swallowed hard, pressing her fingers together. “I just keep thinking… if Azzi hadn’t been there, if I’d gone back to my apartment alone, what would’ve happened? Would I have even told anyone?”

Azzi gently squeezed her ankle.

Nai looked at her for a long moment. “I know it’s hard asking for help. But we’re not going to let you spiral, Paige. Not anymore. You don’t get to disappear into your pain again. Not with us still here.”

There was no accusation in her voice—just fierce loyalty.

Paige blinked rapidly. “I didn’t mean to shut down.”

“We know,” Azzi said softly. “But even if you don’t mean to, it still hurts the people who love you.”

Paige looked between them, her chest tight. “I don’t know how to be better at this. I’m trying.”

“You are being better,” Nai said. “You let us come yesterday. You let Azzi stay. You let yourself be helped. That counts. That’s not nothing.”

Paige nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“Also,” Nai added, “it’s a good thing you’re such a pain in the ass, or none of us would’ve had the guts to speak up.”

That pulled a faint laugh from Paige.

Azzi smiled. “You’re stubborn. But you make people brave.”

Paige reached for Azzi’s hand and looked back at Nai. “Do you really think they’ll fire him?”

“I think it’s possible,” Nai said. “There’s a lot coming out. Not just what happened to you. He’s had years of silence behind him. Now that people are talking, it’s unraveling.”

Paige exhaled, her body sinking deeper into the pillows.

“I just… I never wanted to be the reason someone lost their job.”

“You’re not,” Nai said. “His decisions did that. You were just the one brave enough to finally shine a light on it.”

The silence that followed was heavy, but not painful—just full of truth.

Azzi brushed her thumb along Paige’s hand. “We’ve got you. For all of this. However long it takes.”

Chapter Text

Paige tries to get comfortable on the plush couch she’s sitting in as Azzi sits across from her on the other end of the coach, moving the microphone she has in front of her face to a better angle.

Lindsey, the producer, hands Azzi a piece of paper and Paige tries to see what’s on it, but Azzi moves it before she can read it.

“No peeking!”

Paige rolls her eyes, sighing dramatically. “Why can’t I seeeee?”

“Because you’re a guest, you aren’t supposed to know the questions beforehand!” Azzi grins, already slipping into host mode.

“But I’m not just a guest,” Paige protests, slouching down a little further in the couch. “I’m your wife. Doesn’t that earn me, like, some kind of immunity?”

Azzi raises an eyebrow. “You want immunity or honesty?”

Paige tilts her head, pretending to think about it. “Immunity sounds safer.”

“Exactly,” Azzi says, tapping the piece of paper against her palm. “Which is why I’m not giving you either.

Lindsey chuckles from behind the camera, then gives them the countdown with her fingers.

Azzi straightens, clears her throat lightly, and her professional-yet-casual podcast voice slides in like a second skin.

“Welcome back to Fudd Around and Find Out, the show where we talk about life, love, hoops, and all the beautiful mess in between. I’m your host, Azzi Fudd—and today’s guest needs no introduction, but I’ll give her one anyway, because she’ll pout if I don’t.”

Paige grins, already shaking her head.

Azzi continues, voice warm. “She’s a WNBA champion, UConn legend, my partner in basketball and life—Paige Bueckers, everyone.”

Paige leans into her mic, deadpan. “Wow. That was almost nice. Are you feeling okay?”

Azzi smirks. “I’m being recorded. Don’t get used to it.”

They both laugh.

Azzi holds up the sheet of paper Lindsey gave her and adds, “Also—fun fact—you are officially the most requested guest we’ve ever had. Like, it’s not even close.”

Paige lifts her brows, clearly pleased. “Really?”

Azzi nods. “Really. Unfortunately, you’re also the most annoying guest to schedule. Which is wild, considering we live in the same house.”

Paige gasps dramatically. “That is so rude. I’m busy! I have things to do!”

“Like rearranging the snack drawer for the third time this week?”

“It was a mess, Azzi. A mess. ”

Azzi looks straight into the camera and deadpans, “She labeled the granola bars by flavor and date of expiration.”

Paige shrugs, unbothered. “I like efficiency. And I care about your digestive health.”

Azzi laughs, shaking her head, then taps the paper in her hand. “Okay, so. For today’s episode, I asked listeners to send in questions for Paige—and let’s just say, y’all did not hold back.”

Paige’s eyes widen slightly. “Define ‘not holding back.’”

Azzi smirks. “We got a lot of questions. Some sweet. Some nosy. Some deeply unhinged.”

Paige grins. “So basically, I’ll be emotionally exposed on every level.”

Azzi points a finger at her. “Exactly. And I expect vulnerability and good storytelling. Don’t let the people down.”

“I literally just came here for snacks and moral support.”

“And yet here you are—mic’d up and ready to spill your deepest secrets.” 

“Oh God.” Paige leans forward like she’s about to bolt. “I knew this was a trap.”

Azzi places a hand dramatically over her heart. “I would never trap you.”

“You literally just said you’re not giving me immunity or honesty.”

“Right, but it’s a gentle trap. Like a soft launch into chaos.”

Paige lets out a resigned sigh and leans back again. “Fine. Let the chaos begin.”

Azzi grins like the cat that caught the canary. “We’ll try to get through as many as we can—no promises, because someone talks a lot.”

Paige looks affronted. “Excuse me? You’re the one with a podcast.”

“Yeah, and today it’s a podcast with you. Which means I’ll be lucky to get a word in.”

They both laugh again, the easy rhythm of their banter filling the space between them like second nature.

Azzi glances at the first question, eyes scanning it quickly before looking up with a mischievous glint. “Okay… this one’s actually pretty cute. Ready?”

Paige narrows her eyes suspiciously. “As I’ll ever be.”

Azzi taps the paper and leans toward the mic. “Alright, we’re starting off light. First question: What’s your favorite outfit the other person has ever worn? ”

She glances up at Paige. “This might be a challenge, considering your closet is just five hundred versions of the same hoodie.”

Paige smirks. “Okay, first of all, comfortable is a lifestyle. Second of all, you like my hoodies.”

“I do,” Azzi admits. “But only because you somehow make dressing like a sleep-deprived college freshman look good.”

Paige gasps. “Wow. Rude. I have range!”

Azzi raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Define ‘range.’”

“I have black hoodies and gray hoodies. And one navy blue crewneck.”

Azzi bursts out laughing. “Groundbreaking.”

Paige gestures to her. “And you wear real clothes just to check the mail.”

“That’s called having standards. ”

“That’s called doing the most.”

Azzi grins, clearly enjoying herself. “Anyway. Favorite outfit. Go.”

Paige doesn’t even hesitate. “Easy. Your wedding dress.”

Azzi’s eyebrows lift. “Wow, quick answer.”

“It took my breath away,” Paige says, voice quieter now, sincere. “Like—I actually forgot how to function for a second when I saw you. I think I blacked out.”

Azzi pauses, visibly moved, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “That’s... really sweet.”

There’s a short, soft silence. Then—

Paige leans in, tone shifting. “Runner-up is what you wore under the second dress.”

Azzi blinks. “Wait—what?”

“You know what I mean.” Paige raises her eyebrows, looking way too proud of herself.

Azzi groans, shaking her head. “Nope. Nope. That’s getting cut. Lindsey—cut that. Edit that right out.”

From behind the camera, Lindsey snorts but offers no promises.

“Let the record show,” Paige says proudly, “I regret nothing. ”

Azzi shakes her head, still smiling, and taps her question sheet again. “Okay. My turn. Favorite Paige outfit—your WNBA draft night. Hands down.”

Paige’s expression shifts. “Really?”

“You looked so powerful,” Azzi says. “The suit, the shoes, the confidence. You walked in like you were about to change everything—and you did.”

Paige smiles softly. “You helped me pick it out.”

Azzi shrugs, mock-casual. “I mean, I do have excellent taste. And I was very motivated to make sure my girlfriend looked like a goddess on national television.”

Paige laughs. “Mission accomplished.”

Azzi grins, the affection in her eyes unmistakable. “Alright. Next question— favorite vacation you’ve taken together and why? ”

Paige immediately leans toward the mic. “Okay, but first—we need to define what kind of vacation we’re talking about.”

Azzi blinks. “It’s just a question.”

“No, no. It’s a lifestyle debate,” Paige insists. “Because there’s vacation —like, relaxing, doing absolutely nothing, maybe napping twice a day. And then there’s ‘vacation’ where you wake up and do stuff all day.”

Azzi tries not to laugh. “You mean… the one where I plan an itinerary.”

“Exactly. So my question is—are we talking vacation or ‘Azzi-style organized endurance test’ ?”

Azzi looks at the camera, deadpan. “She fell asleep in a taxi cab. Like mouth open, snoring.” 

“I was recharging, ” Paige says proudly. “It was a long day!”

Azzi laughs and shakes her head. “Okay, then. Just answer the question.”

Paige grins. “Paris. Like—imagine wandering cobblestone streets lined with tiny boutiques, each with the most perfect, unexpected finds. The smell of fresh baguettes from the corner bakery mixing with the hint of espresso in the air. I found this vintage leather jacket at a little shop that smelled like old books and promises. And the cafes—oh man, sitting outside sipping café au lait, watching people pass by in that effortlessly chic way only Parisians do. It felt like stepping into a dream where everything was beautiful and just… right. ”

Azzi raises an eyebrow. “So you’re saying your favorite vacation was basically a retail therapy trip? ”

Paige nods, unapologetic. “Don’t come at me. There’s a certain kind of magic in finding the perfect shoes on a street where every building looks like it belongs in a movie.”

Azzi smirks. “You only move fast on vacations when there’s food or shopping involved.”

Paige points a finger at her. “And you only move fast when there are activities to do.”

Azzi laughs. “True. I’m all about the sunrise hikes and packed days. You’re more of the ‘stroll at noon, brunch at two’ type.”

Paige shrugs, grinning. “Hey, everyone’s got their pace.”

Azzi laughs. “Fair enough. But I’m putting in a strong vote for Hawaii.”

Paige groans playfully. “Of course you are.”

Azzi grins. “Beach days where the sun feels like a warm hug, the ocean sparkling like someone shook a jar full of diamonds. Remember that time we snorkeled near that reef and watched a sea turtle glide right beside us? You were half-panicked, half-thrilled, trying not to freak out as it swam way too close.”

Paige laughs, shaking her head. “Yeah, and you were way too calm about it. Like, ‘Oh, the turtle is just borrowing you.’”

Azzi smirks. “I’m a firm believer in turtle diplomacy. And the sunsets—we sat on the beach wrapped in that scratchy blanket you hate but secretly love because it means I’m close. The way the sky turned this insane mix of pink and gold, and everything felt peaceful.”

Paige rolls her eyes but smiles. “That trip was perfect. No schedules, just us, the ocean, and way too many pineapple smoothies.”

Azzi nods, her eyes and nods. “We’ve had some good ones.” 

“And we definitely needed it after that season,” Paige grimaces, making Azzi laugh. 

Azzi glances back at the list. “Alright, next one’s a little heavier: What’s the biggest fight you’ve ever had—and how did you get through it? ”

She pauses, tilts her head. “Mmm… we’re skipping ‘biggest.’ We don’t need to relive that one.”

Paige exhales dramatically. “Yeah, no thank you. I don’t have the emotional snacks required for that story.”

Azzi smirks. “Instead, we’re pivoting to: most recent fight.”

Paige groans immediately. “Ugh. The dishwasher thing.”

Azzi sits up straighter, triumphant. “THANK YOU. Yes. Let’s unpack this.”

Paige turns to the mic. “Okay, for context: I’m what some people would call… relaxed about where things go in the dishwasher.”

Azzi raises an eyebrow. “Relaxed is generous. She stacked a Tupperware lid on top of a coffee mug and a fork was balanced in the silverware caddy like it was doing acrobatics.”

“It all still got clean!”

Azzi gapes. “It’s not just about clean, Paige. There’s a system. Cups go on the top left. Plates bottom right. Silverware handles down— always handles down. ”

Paige shrugs. “See, I just put things where there’s space and move on with my life. Like a normal person.”

Azzi turns to the camera. “You guys, do you know what she said when I confronted her about this?”

Paige leans forward dramatically. “I said, ‘It’s a dishwasher, not a puzzle box.’”

Azzi stares at her, deadpan. “And I said, ‘You’re lucky I love you.’”

Paige grins. “I think that’s your most-used sentence.”

Azzi laughs. “Because it applies daily. You’re messy. You leave sweatshirts on chairs. Your side of the bathroom counter looks like a tornado hit it, and don’t get me started on your closet.”

“And you vacuum like it’s a competitive sport,” Paige shoots back. “Sometimes I think you clean just to re-center emotionally. ”

Azzi nods. “That’s accurate. Cleaning calms me. Chaos makes my brain itch.”

Paige chuckles. “So yeah. We bicker about little things—like dishwashers and laundry piles—but we balance each other out.”

Azzi smiles. “And we’ve learned not to take it personally. I clean because I care. You leave messes because you… float through life.”

Paige gasps. “Float?!”

Azzi grins. “With style. Mostly.”

They both laugh, the tension gone.

Azzi looks back down at the sheet. “Okay, new question: What’s your morning routine like as a couple? ”

Paige leans into the mic. “It entirely depends on if we have practice, game day, or a day off.”

Azzi nods. “Yeah. There are basically two different versions of us.”

“Let’s start with practice days,” Paige says. “I usually wake up first, because I’m the morning person in this marriage—”

Azzi cuts in, eyes still half-lidded like she’s reliving the pain. “—and I’m not. Like, I can function, but only if there’s silence and caffeine involved.”

“She does this thing where she wraps herself in all the blankets like a human cinnamon roll and just… glares. She’s a whole different creature in the morning. She doesn’t talk. She grunts.”

Azzi shrugs. “I never asked to be conscious before 10 a.m.”

“But I always give her coffee first,” Paige says, sweetly. “Like, I literally set it on the nightstand and back away slowly like I’m feeding a bear.”

Azzi chuckles. “It’s the only way to live.”

“Then I do some stretching, sometimes journal, maybe scroll through my phone. If we’ve got time, I make us smoothies or a quick breakfast.”

Azzi nods. “Honestly, you keep our mornings from being chaos. I just show up, grab my gear, and hope for the best.”

“On game days,” Paige continues, “we usually wake up around the same time, but we’re both kind of in the zone. It’s more quiet, focused energy.”

“We’ll do music, separate playlists,” Azzi adds. “I need hype. Paige listens to like… lo-fi vibes and slow jams.”

“It’s calming!” Paige protests, laughing. “Let me live.”

Azzi grins, then leans back. “But off days are my favorite.”

Paige lights up too. “Off days are the best.”

Azzi says, “I sleep in. I mean, really sleep in. Paige wakes up first—no surprise—but instead of going full energy mode, she just… chills.”

“I’ll read, or do Wordle, or just stay in bed next to her,” Paige says. “And I am cuddly in the mornings. I like to wrap myself around her like a weighted blanket.”

“She does,” Azzi says with a fond smile. “And I pretend to be grumpy about it, but it’s my favorite.”

Paige smirks. “She’ll mumble something like, ‘Why are you breathing so early’.”

Azzi holds up her hands. “I never claimed to be coherent pre-caffeine.”

“And I make breakfast most days off,” Paige says. “Nothing fancy—eggs, toast, fruit. We eat in the kitchen or on the couch, and just… hang out. No rush.”

Azzi nods, her voice softer. “It’s slow and cozy. Feels like a real-life kind of love.”

Paige bumps her knee lightly. “It is a real-life kind of love.”

They hold a quiet moment, smiling at each other, before Azzi glances back at the paper. “Okay, this one’s from like… a hundred different people, all worded slightly differently. What’s it like being wives and teammates? ”

Paige smiles, already knowing what’s coming. “Classic.”

Azzi looks up. “You wanna start?”

Paige leans toward the mic a little. “Okay. So… I guess this is where we admit something we don’t talk about much.”

Azzi raises her eyebrows, mocking dramatically. “A scoop?”

Paige grins. “A mild scoop. We actually started dating way back in high school. So many people think we started dating at UConn but it was actually before.”

Azzi nods, smiling gently. “We were just babies.”

“We didn’t really tell people. We were best friends, and that was already true,” Paige says. “But yeah… we were together before UConn.”

“And then UConn happened,” Azzi adds, her tone soft but certain. “It changed everything and also… it didn’t.”

“Yeah. We just grew into it more. We had ups and downs like any college relationship, especially under that spotlight, but we always kept choosing each other,” Paige says. “And by the time we ended up in New York—same team again—it felt like everything had lined up.”

Azzi nods. “Playing together as wives sounds intense, and sometimes it is , but we had such a foundation already.”

Paige smiles. “We’ve always communicated well on the court. And I think being together made us sharper—not just as players, but in how we support each other.”

Azzi leans in. “That part. It’s not about correcting each other or calling each other out—it’s about trust.”

“We trust each other a lot,” Paige agrees. “But we also try really hard not to bring our work lives home with us.”

Azzi laughs. “Unless we’ve just won, then we’re definitely bringing that energy home.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Paige says. “But like… if we had a rough practice, or if one of us had an off night—we don’t drag that into dinner. Or bed.”

Azzi adds, “We’re still gonna talk basketball—we can’t help it. We love the game. But we don’t talk about us in the context of the team. We leave that at the gym.”

Paige smiles. “At home, we’re just Azzi and Paige. Not Liberty jerseys. Just us.”

Azzi bumps her foot against Paige’s, and they both smile. “Before we move on, I feel like we should talk a little about how we even got to playing on the same team. Because that wasn’t always the case.”

Paige nods. “Right. So I got drafted to Dallas first. That was right after college, and it was amazing—like, dream come true to be playing in the WNBA—but it was also tough, because it meant being away from you again.”

Azzi adds, “And I was still in Storrs at the time. So we were doing long distance again , like we had your freshman year at UConn and my senior year of highschool.”  

“And I feel like we should say—when we were on different teams, it wasn’t just the distance on the court that was hard.”

“Yeah,” Paige agrees, leaning back against the back of the couch. “It was everything around it. Like—having your life split in half.”

Azzi nods. “I was in D.C. with the Mystics, and you were in Dallas. We were both trying to make homes in our new cities, but… our home was also kind of with each other.”

Paige looks at her. “It was like, we were building lives in two places, but never really in the same one.”

“And don’t even get me started on the offseasons,” Azzi laughs, shaking her head. “Trying to figure out where to be was a whole thing.”

“We could never decide,” Paige says, smiling at the memory. “We’d be like, ‘Okay, maybe a month in Dallas, then a few weeks in D.C., then maybe go back to Minnesota or Virginia for a bit—’ and it just ended up being a blur of airports and suitcases.”

Azzi groans affectionately. “So many tiny, chaotic trips. Like—two days here, four days there. I think we were always just slightly jetlagged.”

“But we made it happen,” Paige says. “Every off day, every break, every spare moment—we found ways to see each other.”

Azzi nods. “Sometimes we’d fly in just for a night, just to be together. Even if it meant getting back on a plane the next morning.”

“It wasn’t sustainable,” Paige says, “but it kept us going.”

“And now,” Azzi says, glancing over with a soft smile, “we wake up in the same place every morning, and I don’t take that for granted.”

Paige reaches over and nudges her knee. “Me either.”

They share a sweet moment before Azzi clears her throat dramatically, holding the paper up. “Okay, this one’s dangerous.”

Paige smirks. “Oh, I like dangerous.”

Azzi reads it aloud: “ Who proposed—and how did it happen? ”

Paige grins and sinks a little deeper in her seat. “Ah, the people want details .”

She taks a big breath before beginning. 

“So, I started out wanting to do this huge, romantic thing. You know, flowers, fancy dinner, maybe a surprise getaway—the whole nine yards.”

Azzi chuckles. “Classic Paige with the grand gestures.”

Paige continues, “But every time I planned something, I kept making it bigger and bigger in my head. And then I thought—wait, that’s not really Azzi.”

Azzi nods knowingly. “I don’t care about the big gestures.”

Paige smiles warmly. “Exactly. She’s not the type who wants a show or a spectacle. She just wants something real, something honest.”

“So eventually,” Paige says, “I ditched all the big ideas and just waited for a quiet moment that felt right for us.”

Azzi grins. “And that moment came in our apartment, just the two of us. No cameras, no crowd—just us.”

Paige laughs. “I had the ring hidden under the bathroom sink for weeks, and one night while we were cooking dinner, I just knew it was time.”

Azzi leans forward. “She dropped to one knee right there in the kitchen, mid-stir.”

Paige smiles, a little bashful. “It wasn’t perfect or fancy, but it was exactly what we needed.”

Azzi reaches for Paige’s hand. “And I said yes before she even finished the question.”

They share a soft laugh, the warmth between them filling the room

Azzi clears her throat, breaking the moment. “Alright, next up— favorite thing about each other . Emotional prep, please.”

Azzi looks at Paige with a mock-serious expression. “I’ll go first. My favorite thing about Paige? It’s how fiercely she cares—about the game, about the people around her, about me. She’s like this unstoppable force of love and determination.”

Paige’s smile softens. “That’s a really sweet way to put it.”

Azzi grins, then adds playfully, “But also, I love her playfulness—the way she can turn even the toughest day into something light and funny. Like that time I was stressing over a bad practice and she started doing that ridiculous dance in the locker room—totally broke the tension and made me laugh when I really needed it. She reminds me not to take life too seriously. Like, ‘Hey, it’ll be okay,’ and somehow she makes me believe it.”

Paige laughs and nudges her. “I just like reminding you that not everything is so serious.”

Azzi rolls her eyes with a smile. “Touché. Okay, your turn.”

Paige pauses, then looks at Azzi with genuine warmth. “My favorite thing about Azzi is how grounded she keeps me. When my head starts spinning with everything—the pressure, the expectations, the noise—she’s the calm voice that brings me back. Like last season, when I was overwhelmed before a big game, and she just sat with me, told me to breathe, and reminded me why I love basketball in the first place. That steady calmness keeps me centered.”

Azzi reaches over and squeezes Paige’s hand. “And I love that you let me.”

Paige laughs softly. “I have to. Because I know I’m lucky to have you.”

Azzi’s eyes shine with affection. “Same here.”

Azzi smiles, a little surprised by how open they’ve been. “You know, I think this might be the most we’ve ever talked publicly about our relationship.”

Paige laughs softly. “Probably true.”

Azzi nods. “And honestly? It feels good. Like, we’ve never really needed to explain things—we just live them. But it’s kind of nice to share a little of that.”

Paige squeezes Azzi’s hand back. “Yeah, people only see what’s on the court or in photos, but there’s so much more.”

Azzi picks up the next question but pauses, swallowing hard. Paige notices the sudden shift and looks at her, concern flickering in her eyes. “Hey, you okay? What’s the question?”

Azzi blinks, then finally says quietly, “It’s… What’s the favorite gift you’ve given each other? ”

Paige sees the hesitation in Azzi’s face and offers a soft smile. “I’ll go first,” she says, giving Azzi’s knee a light squeeze. “You take a second.”

She turns toward the mic. “My favorite gift from Azzi is this watch she gave me on our wedding day. It’s beautiful — silver, classic, totally her taste. But what gets me every time is the inscription on the back. It says, ‘Still us.’ ” Her voice catches slightly. “I wear it whenever I can. On game days, on flights, even just when I’m missing her. It reminds me of the moment I married my best friend… and how grounded she makes me feel.”

Azzi reaches over and rests her hand on Paige’s leg, her lips curving into a tender smile.

Azzi takes a deep breath, her voice softening. “My favorite gift from Paige is this necklace she gave me. It’s a heart-shaped locket, but it’s not the usual kind. When you open it, there’s no photo—just a small engraving that says, ‘For the one who made us mothers. You are so loved.’”

Paige watches Azzi carefully, her own throat tightening.

Azzi continues, “She gave it to me so I could wear it when I’m not at home and don’t get to see the tree we planted for the baby we lost.”

Paige reaches over, taking Azzi’s hand gently. “That moment was hard. But giving you that locket—it was my way of keeping our memory close, even when we’re apart.”

Azzi squeezes Paige’s hand, eyes glistening. “It means everything to me. When I wear it, I feel like a part of us is always with me, no matter where I am.”

Paige takes a deep breath, then adds quietly, “We haven’t really talked much about the loss before, because…it was incredibly difficult for both of us.”

Azzi’s eyes grow distant for a moment as she gathers her thoughts. “The miscarriage… it was one of the hardest things we’ve ever gone through. It’s not something you expect, and when it happened, it just shattered us.”

Paige nods slowly, her voice thick with emotion. “We took it really hard. It wasn’t just the loss of the baby—it was the loss of the future we imagined, the dreams we had started to build. It felt like everything stopped for a while.”

Azzi swallows, her voice barely above a whisper. “There were days when it was hard to get out of bed, hard to even talk about it. We grieved in our own ways, sometimes together, sometimes apart. It was painful and raw.”

Paige reaches over and squeezes Azzi’s hand gently. “But we had each other. And that made a difference. Even when it felt like the world was crashing, we leaned on each other to keep going.”

Azzi nods, a tear slipping down her cheek. “The hardest part was feeling so alone in it, even though we weren’t. We wanted to keep it private because it was ours—our pain, our grief.”

Paige’s eyes glisten. “But the love and support we received from everyone around us—the friends, the family, even fans who reached out—it reminded us that we weren’t alone. That kindness gave us strength when we needed it most.”

Azzi wipes her eyes and smiles softly. “That’s why the locket means so much. It’s a way to carry that love and memory with me every day, even when we’re apart.”

Paige leans in, her voice steady. “It’s a part of us, always. And sharing it now… it feels like the right time.”

Azzi clears her throat softly and smiles at Paige. “Okay, that was a lot. How about we take a quick break to hear from our sponsors?”

Paige nods, a gentle warmth in her eyes. She scoots a little closer and reaches out, resting her hand lightly on Azzi’s arm. “Yeah, sounds good.”

Azzi moves the microphone away from her face and turns toward Paige, their eyes meeting in a quiet, tender moment.

Paige leans in and wraps her arms around Azzi’s waist, pulling her close. Azzi rests her head lightly against Paige’s, a sad smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Lindsey doesn’t say anything right away, just gives them a soft nod from behind the soundboard and quietly taps a few controls to pause the session. She knows better than to interrupt moments like this.

Paige keeps her arm around Azzi for a while longer, both of them just sitting there, breathing the same air, holding onto the quiet. No pressure. No cameras. Just them.

Eventually, Azzi shifts slightly and whispers, “We should probably get back to it.”

Paige exhales, brushing her lips against Azzi’s temple before pulling back. “Yeah,” she murmurs, offering a small smile. “Let’s do it.”

Lindsey gives them a quick countdown before the red “RECORDING” light turns on. 

Azzi brings the mic back toward her and clears her throat. “Okay. We’re back.”

Paige straightens, adjusting the headphones. “Little emotional intermission there.”

Azzi chuckles softly. “Just a little.”

She glances over at Paige, then at the mic. “Alright, let’s switch gears. We’ve talked enough about us, this next section is all about basketball—our professional life, how we manage it together, and probably a few stories that’ll come back to haunt us.”

Paige grins. “And, you know, maybe a few compliments too. We’ll see.”

Azzi snorts. “Don’t push your luck.”

They share a smile—something steady and knowing—before Azzi continues. “So, let’s talk about the game we love. The thing that brought us together in the first place.”

Paige nods, already smiling.

“Tournaments. We’ve played in a lot of them at this point. The next question asks if we have a favorite?”

Paige doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. The first one. USA U-16s. FIBA Americas Championship in Buenos Aires.”

Azzi raises her eyebrows, “Seriously? That’s your favorite one?” She doesn’t believe Paige for a second.

“Yes! Because that was how I met you,” Paige gives her an innocent smile.

“Don’t be all mushy and lie! That cannot be your favorite!”

Paige bursts into laughter, “Okay—yeah, you’re right.”

Azzi smirks. “I knew it.”

“But!” Paige says, holding up a finger. “It was our first one together. And it was Argentina. We were still kids. It was all new and exciting and big , and I remember thinking, ‘This is insane. This is the coolest thing I’ve ever done.’ And then there you were, locking me down on defense during practice and acting like we weren’t gonna be best friends by the end of the week.”

Azzi laughs. “I was focused!”

“You were intense ,” Paige teases. “But yeah, not my favorite overall.”

Azzi gives her a playful nudge. “So what is?”

Paige grins. “2028. Los Angeles. The Olympics. 5-on-5. Gold medal.”

Azzi's smile turns softer, remembering. “Yeah… that was something else.”

“The crowd was unreal,” Paige says. “Playing on home soil? Wearing those USA jerseys again, but with you out there beside me—both of us in our primes, playing the best ball of our lives. That was unforgettable.”

Azzi nods. “We grinded for that one. I’ve never been that exhausted in my life—and I’ve had Liberty two-a-days.”

Paige laughs and shakes her head in sympathy. 

Azzi pauses, thoughtful. “Okay, the Olympics was huge. Obviously. But… I think my favorite tournament was the 2025 NCAA Championship.”

Paige tilts her head. “Really?”

Azzi nods. “Yeah. I mean, we won again in 2026, and that was great—but 2025? That one had you. It was our last run together in college. Our last time wearing UConn jerseys side by side. We fought for that one.”

Paige’s expression softens, touched. “Az…”

Azzi shrugs with a smile, suddenly shy. “I don’t know. That whole tournament… you were coming off the injury, everyone was doubting you. Doubting us. But you came back and played with so much fire. You were just… you again. And I got to be right there with you.”

Paige leans back, grinning. “Wow. Now who’s the one being sappy?”

Azzi lets out a laugh. “Okay, okay, fair.”

“But seriously,” Paige says, her voice warm, “that meant a lot to me. That season was hard. I didn’t feel like myself for so long. And then you were just… steady. Constant. You always believed I’d get back there.”

Azzi bumps her shoulder. “Because I knew you would.”

They sit in a brief moment of shared pride and nostalgia, the silence comfortable.

“Alright,” Paige says, smiling. “So we’ve established I’m mushy, you’re mushy, and we peaked in 2025 and 2028.”

Azzi laughs. “Speak for yourself. I’m still getting better.”

Azzi looks down at the paper in her hand, grinning. “Alright. Next one — ‘Who’s more competitive during practice?’ ”

They both answer at the same time:

“Azzi,” from Paige. 

“Me,” from Azzi.

Azzi shakes her head, pretending to be offended. “Okay, but you instigate things!”

“I do not!” Paige says, laughing.

“You do,” Azzi insists. “You absolutely do. You wait until I’m locked in on a drill and then you start whispering dumb stuff behind me, or you try to distract me with fake crossovers or... like... weird noises or even poking me!”

Paige grins, clearly proud. “What can I say? You get this intense look on your face. It’s cute. I have to mess with it.”

Azzi gives the mic a deadpan stare. “I’m literally just trying to get my reps in and she’s making dolphin sounds behind me.”

“Okay, that was one time,” Paige says, laughing harder. “And it worked!”

Azzi sighs dramatically. “I’m out here trying to win a scrimmage and my wife is auditioning for SeaWorld.”

“I’m just keeping practice fun,” Paige says, still giggling. “You’re the one who takes it so seriously.”

Azzi crosses her arms. “Some of us are professionals, Bueckers.”

They both burst out laughing.

Azzi glances at the next line in her hand and her voice shifts, a little gentler. “Okay. This one says, ‘How do you support each other after tough games?’ ”

She looks over at Paige, who exhales slowly before answering.

“It’s kind of a layered thing,” Paige says, thoughtful. “Because we both take the game so seriously, and when it doesn’t go well, it hits deep. Like… it’s not just about stats. It’s about letting the team down, or not living up to what you expect from yourself.”

Azzi nods slowly. “It’s not always easy, especially because we’re wired differently. I’m the kind of person who goes quiet and replays everything in my head a hundred times.”

“And I’m more like…” Paige shrugs, “I want to talk it out immediately, or completely ignore it and watch a show and pretend it didn’t happen.”

Azzi smiles knowingly. “Yeah. And in the beginning, that was hard. We had to learn not to take each other’s reactions personally. Like if I needed space, that didn’t mean I was shutting her out. Or if she cracked a joke an hour after a loss, it wasn’t her being careless.”

“We had to learn how to read each other postgame the same way we do in games,” Paige adds. “Like, I know when you need me to just be there quietly. Or when you need a late-night film session and a cold brew.”

Azzi chuckles. “And I know when Paige needs to get it all out in a five-minute rant before she can move on.”

Paige grins. “I just need to yell about refs and missed shots and then eat popcorn. It’s therapy.”

They both laugh.

“But no matter what,” Azzi says, her tone softening again, “we don’t let each other stay in the bad headspace too long. We remind each other of who we are. What we’ve been through. And we try to keep perspective.”

“Yeah,” Paige says. “Like, we’re more than our worst game. And we’re always in each other’s corner. Even when one of us messes up. Especially then.”

Azzi smiles, eyes shining. “Sometimes it’s just… sitting together in the back of the team bus. Or brushing the other person’s hair out of their face when they’re lying on the couch and feel like crap.”

“Or,” Paige adds, nudging her with a smile, “sometimes it’s silently handing over a sleeve of Oreos and turning on a bad reality show.”

“That too,” Azzi laughs. “Healing comes in many forms.”

They sit for a second in the quiet that follows, a kind of warmth between them. The kind that can’t be faked.

Paige looks into the mic. “Long story short — we know how to take care of each other. That’s the real win.”

Azzi reads through the last few questions, then picks one with a knowing smile. “Ooh, here’s a good one. ‘How did you both end up on the Liberty?’ ”

Paige immediately starts laughing. “Oh man. That was not a smooth or easy thing.”

Azzi nods. “Nope. Not even close.”

Paige leans forward a little, getting into storytelling mode. “So, I got drafted to Dallas in 2025, and honestly? I had a great few years there. Learned a lot. But even then, we always kind of had it in the back of our minds — that one day, we’d want to play together again, wherever that would be.”

Azzi jumps in. “I got drafted to the Mystics in 2026, so for a couple years, we were doing long distance again during the season. It felt like déjà vu from college.”

“We’d done long distance a lot already,” Paige adds. “Like we already talked about, it was a lot .” 

“We started talking seriously about what it would look like to actually be in the same city — same team — full-time.”

Azzi leans toward the mic again. “It took a lot of effort and more than a few tough conversations. But we fought for this. And now we’re building something really special here — on the court and off.”

Paige nods. “And I think one of the best parts of coming to New York was how welcomed we were. Like, instantly. It wasn’t just, ‘Oh, cool, new players.’ It was like—we were brought into a family.”

Azzi smiles. “Seriously. From day one, it felt right. Seehia Ridard, Jaylyn Sherrod, Leonie Fiebich, Nyara Sabally, Sabrina… They were incredible. So much trust, so much love. They really set the tone.”

Paige jumps in, “And we were already big fans of a lot of them, like, we had played against them, watched film on them… and now we were like—okay, we get to go to war with these women? Sign us up.”

Azzi laughs softly. “Yeah, we had so much respect for the core already. And even the veterans who had retired by then — Stewie, Natasha Cloud — they reached out. Had conversations, told us how special the Liberty organization was. That meant a lot.”

“They didn’t have to do that,” Paige adds. “But they did. They left this legacy of leadership and love behind them, and it was like they were saying, ‘We see you, and we’re glad you’re part of this next chapter.’ It was beautiful.”

Azzi nods. “And Sandy—she was incredible. From the very beginning. She called us both separately, then together. Talked not just about how we’d fit as players, but how she cared about who we were as people .”

“She made it feel safe,” Paige says quietly. “Like we could show up exactly how we are.”

Azzi smiles. “That made all the difference.”

She nudges Paige playfully and adds, “And you know, one of the cutest parts about coming to New York—Paige immediately fell in love with Ellie.”

Paige laughs, cheeks coloring a little. “Hey! Ellie is amazing. She’s the best mascot ever.”

Azzi smiles warmly. “Ellie loves Paige just as much, I swear. Every game, Paige is out there with her, filming videos with her, doing pre-game struts with her to show out their outfits, all the good stuff.”

They look at each other fondly, remembering how excited they had been when they actually made it happen.

Azzi takes a deep breath before looking down at the next question, her voice steady but soft. “How do we deal with seeing each other get hurt? Honestly... it’s one of the hardest parts of this life.”

Paige leans forward, her eyes soft but shining with admiration. “I’ve seen Azzi go through some really tough injuries—like when she tore her ACL and MCL. Watching her face that kind of pain, and then the long, grueling rehab… it was heartbreaking. But what amazed me the most was how strong she was through all of it. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally.”

She smiles, a little wistfully. “Azzi never let it break her spirit. Even on the worst days, she kept fighting, kept pushing forward. That strength—it gave me hope, even when I felt helpless. It showed me what resilience really looks like.”

Paige’s voice softens. “I’m so proud of her. Proud to stand beside her, to be part of her journey. Her determination didn’t just inspire me—it made me want to be better, to be stronger for her too. We became this unshakable team, because we knew we could count on each other when things got hard.”

Azzi reaches out and squeezes Paige’s hand gently. “It means everything to hear you say that.”

Paige nods, eyes glistening. “There were moments I felt so powerless—just watching her in pain. But knowing she had that fire inside her made me believe we’d get through anything.”

Azzi nods slowly, her expression turning serious but gentle. “I felt the same way when Paige got hurt. When she fractured her tibia and tore her meniscus back in 2021… and then her ACL the following year. Watching her go through all that—it tore me up inside.”

“I’ll never forget the day Paige went down on the court. It was like my heart just stopped—everything else faded away for a second. Seeing her in pain, knowing how serious it was... it was terrifying.”

She swallows, trying to steady herself. “In that moment, all I could think about was how to be there for her, how to help her get through it. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever experienced.”

Azzi shifts slightly, her tone becoming a little more frustrated as she continues. “More recently, back in 2025 when Paige was with Dallas, she suffered a concussion during a game but didn’t take herself out. She kept playing through it.”

She pauses, then admits quietly, “Honestly, I really struggled with that. I was mad—not just at Paige, but at the coaching staff too. It felt like no one was protecting her the way they should have.”

Azzi’s eyes narrow slightly, voice firm but caring. “Watching someone you love push themselves so hard, even when it’s dangerous—it’s painful. But it also reminded me how stubborn and determined Paige can be.”

Paige nods slowly, looking a little sheepish but sincere. “Yeah… that game really stuck with me. At the time, I just kept thinking, I’ll be fine, I’ll push through. But after—especially hearing how Azzi felt—I realized how important it is to actually take care of my body.”

She glances at Azzi, her voice softening. “I wasn’t just hurting myself by ignoring it. I was putting people who care about me through something really hard.”

Paige lets out a quiet breath, thoughtful. “Since then, I’ve tried to be better about listening to my body—and about letting people help me. It’s not always easy, but... I’m learning.”

Azzi smiles gently, reaching over to squeeze Paige’s hand. “You’re doing better. Most days.”

Paige grins. “Most days.”

Azzi leans back slightly, scanning the last list of question on the paper in her hand. “Alright… last one before we wrap this up,” she says, glancing over at Paige. “What is the biggest achievement you’ve been proud of each other for?”

There’s a pause before Azzi answers, her voice thoughtful. “I mean… for me, I think it was draft night. Watching Paige go number one in 2025, knowing everything she’d overcome to get there—it was overwhelming. I remember trying not to cry so hard and just” she says with a quiet laugh. “It wasn’t even just pride. It was like this full-body awe . Because I saw what it took.”

Paige smiles warmly at her, blinking a little faster than usual.

Then she shifts in her seat, her voice softer. “Okay… can mine not be about basketball?” She glances over at Azzi, then at Lindsey behind the cameras. “Kind of related, but not really.”

Azzi gives her a curious look. “Sure.”

“When will this episode come out?” Paige asks, trying to sound casual.

Azzi tilts her head, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. “In like… four weeks?”

Paige breathes in and out, nodding. Then she turns to Azzi, her voice gentle but sure. “Then my answer is now. Right now. How you came back after the miscarriage… but also, how you’re continuing. How you’re carrying all of it—with grace and strength, even when it’s really hard.”

Azzi blinks, visibly caught off guard.

Paige reaches over and takes her hand. “Because, surprise, my answer’s also a bit of an announcement… Azzi’s pregnant. Three months now.”

The camera that has been recording pans out and finally, Azzi’s bump is visible. The first shot of it with Paige’s hand resting on it, Azzi’s hand over hers, their fingers intertwined.

Azzi exhales shakily, tears welling behind her eyes even as she smiles.

Paige squeezes her hand. “By the time this episode drops, she’ll be about four months along. And she’ll be easing up on contact and playing time, because… yeah. There’s another little one on the way.”

There’s a beat of silence in the room, and then soft cheers and clapping from Lindsey and a few people off camera, overjoyed with being able to share the happy news. 

Paige glances at Azzi, who is blinking quickly and trying to hold her breath, a smile on her trembling lips.

Paige turns back toward the microphone, her voice soft but full of emotion. “I’m just… I’m really proud of her. Because after everything we went through before, and after we talked about other ways we could grow our family—we were both open to all of it—but Azzi said she wanted to try again.”

She glances down at their intertwined hands, then squeezes them gently.

“She didn’t have to. No one would’ve expected her to. And I told her over and over again, you don’t have to put yourself through that again . But she said… she wanted to carry this baby. For us. For our family.”

Azzi wipes under her eyes, sniffling with a quiet laugh.

“And she’s doing it amazingly,” Paige continues. “Even knowing how hard it’s been before. Even knowing how hard it might be again. She’s doing it with so much grace and so much strength. And I know what this takes. What it’s already taken. The fatigue, the emotions, the fear. And she just… keeps showing up. For herself. For this baby. For me.”

She swallows hard and looks at Azzi again, her voice catching a little. “I just… I don’t think I’ve ever loved her more than I do right now.”

Her voice is lower now, more contemplative. “And… I just want to say this too,” she begins. “IVF is not easy.”

Azzi gently nods, eyes glassy but steady.

“I mean, we’re athletes. We’re used to hard things. Physical pain, exhaustion, pushing through — we live in that space. But what Azzi went through?” Paige shakes her head slowly. “The shots, the hormones, the appointments, the waiting. The physical toll. The emotional toll. And doing all of that while still showing up to practice, keeping up with the team, staying present in the locker room — I just… it blew me away.”

She turns to Azzi, voice thick. “You kept saying, ‘this is for us,’ and I couldn’t believe how strong you were. Even on the days when it was all so much. Even when you didn’t feel like yourself.”

Azzi’s lip wobbles a little, but she smiles and leans into Paige.

Paige brushes a thumb over the back of her hand and looks back toward the mic.

“I’m just… so thankful. For you. For what you’re doing to grow our family. For what you’ve already done. I know it’s not easy, and I’ll never be able to fully understand what it feels like. But I see you. I see everything you’re carrying — literally and emotionally — and I’ve never been more proud, or more in awe of you.”

Azzi sniffles, wiping at her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. She laughs softly, eyes still glassy as she looks over at Paige.

“Surprise,” she says with a watery grin. “I didn’t plan on us announcing that today - or technically when this gets released.”

Paige chuckles through her own tears, shaking her head like she still can’t believe she said it out loud.

Azzi exhales, letting the moment settle before continuing, “But… I think it’s a good way to end the episode. This whole conversation’s been about who we are — on and off the court, what we’ve been through, what we’ve grown through… and this is part of that. It’s scary, and it’s beautiful, and it’s ours.”

She turns back toward the mic, voice still soft but steady now. “So yeah. We’re gonna be moms. Again.”

There’s a brief pause before Paige adds, “And we’re really, really excited.”

Azzi nods. “And maybe a little terrified.”

They both laugh.

Paige gently bumps her shoulder against Azzi’s and says, “Mostly excited.”

Azzi leans her head against Paige’s, and the quiet holds, full and warm.

Azzi laughs again, the sound lighter now, as the weight of the moment begins to ease just a bit.

“Maybe,” she says, glancing toward the camera with a playful glint in her eye, “we’ll put the videos of how we told our parents in the podcast video extras. Who knows.”

Paige’s eyes widen, grinning. “Oh no, no, no. If we do that, people are gonna see me crying before I even say a word.”

“You did cry before you said anything,” Azzi teases gently. “You handed my mom a Liberty onesie and just stood there sobbing.”

Paige nods, proudly. “Because I love her, and I was emotional! ”

Azzi laughs again, eyes crinkling with affection. “Exactly.”

Lindsey smiles, leaning into the frame. “I’m just saying — if you two want to release that footage… I will personally sponsor the exclusive drop.”

Paige mock-gasps. “That sounds like bribery.”

Azzi shrugs, still laughing. “This is why we don’t plan our podcast endings.”

Paige raises her eyebrows. “But somehow… they always end up perfect.”

They share one more look — something soft, private, full — before Paige squeezes Azzi’s hand.

The video fades away, before moving to a shot of the recording room. Azzi and Paige are standing together, in front of the camera set up. 

Paige has her arms wrapped around Azzi from behind, her chin resting gently on her shoulder. Azzi’s eyes are a little puffy from crying, but her face glows - a quiet, tired kind of happiness.

“I’m just really happy we finally said it,” she says, her hand resting over Paige’s, the camera picks up on their voices. 

Paige kisses her temple. “You’re glowing. Like, actually glowing. I’ve been trying not to say it all episode.”

Azzi smiles, teary eyed. “It feels good. To just… share it. Let it be real.” 

Paige tightens the hug, rocking them slightly side to side. “It’s been real. But now it’s out there. And you’re amazing. Like, you’re growing a whole person and still being the baddest shooter in the league.” 

Azzi laughs through a sniffle, leaning more into her wife. “Stop, you’re going to make me cry again.” 

The video fades to another. Paige squatting in front of Azzi as she get’s one last lookover by the production team, one hand resting on her wife's belly. The bump is there, more obvious when Azzi is standing. Paige is staring at it like it’s the most miraculous thing in the world, a soft grin on her lips.

“Hi, little one. We’re filming mommies podcast episode today. Your first camera appearance and you’re not even born yet,” like it’s the most natural thing in the world, talking to the bump. She kisses the bump and Azzi looks down at her as if she hung the moon and the stars. Both so full of love for each other and their little one.

The video then switches to the inside of the Liberty media room, dated one month ago. The team is gathered—some stretched out in chairs, a few standing, water bottles in hand, sweaty from a tough practice. Coach Brondello is standing near the front, clipboard tucked under her arm, a familiar twinkle in her eye.

“We have one more announcement before we’re done for the day,” Sandy says, her gaze sliding over to the right where Paige and Azzi are standing near the side wall, barely containing themselves.

Immediately, heads begin to turn. Jaylyn raises an eyebrow, nudging Seehia with her elbow. Sabrina glances over her shoulder. Nyara squints at Azzi, narrowing her eyes. “Wait a second…”

Teammates' eyes widen, a ripple of anticipation spreading through the room.

Sandy grins and steps aside, giving the floor to the couple.

“So,” Paige starts, her hands fluttering like they don’t know where to land before she tucks one behind Azzi’s back. “We have an announcement.”

Azzi covers her mouth for a second, blinking fast. “Sorry,” she says, her voice already thick. “I told myself I wasn’t gonna cry.”

Paige laughs softly and gives her a little squeeze. “Too late.”

Azzi exhales, nodding, then turns to the room. “We’re pregnant.”

The room explodes.

Cheers erupt from every corner. Jaylyn actually jumps out of her seat. “NO WAY!” Sabrina claps her hands to her mouth before reaching for both of them. Leonie lets out a joyful shout in German before running over to hug them. Someone knocks over a water bottle in the chaos.

Nyara’s halfway to them already. “Are you serious? Oh my God, Azzi, Paige!” She throws her arms around them both as others swarm in.

Laughter and happy shouts fill the space. “Wait—how far along are you?” Seehia asks as she hugs Azzi tightly.

“Two months,” Azzi says, her cheeks flushed with emotion and joy. “Almost three now.”

“Bro, that’s why you’ve been dodging all contact drills!” Jaylyn shouts, eyes wide.

“I thought she was just tired of us,” Sabrina jokes.

“Never,” Azzi says, laughing through her tears.

Then suddenly, from the back of the room, someone yells, “We’re gonna have a team baby!”

The room erupts even louder, laughter bouncing off the walls. Paige doubles over laughing, and Azzi covers her face, shaking her head with a huge smile.

“They’re gonna be the most spoiled kid in WNBA history,” Leonie says.

“No, we're gonna be the best auntie squad ever,” Jaylyn corrects, grinning.

Sandy smiles from the front of the room, arms crossed, eyes soft. “We’ve known for a little bit. And I just want to say—on behalf of the coaching staff and the whole organization—we’re so proud of you both. This team is family. And we’re going to be here for every step of this journey with you.”

The room quiets just a little, emotion settling in. Paige wraps an arm around Azzi’s waist again and pulls her close, kissing the side of her head as Azzi leans into her.

The door opens in a flurry and Ellie runs up with a tiny Liberty baby onesie and plops it in Azzi’s hands, like the mascot has been saving it for this very moment. The team loses it all over again. 

Jaylyn’s grinning wide. “Okay but—are we talking boy or girl?! What’s the verdict?”

Azzi laughs and shakes her head, still wiping under her eyes. “We’re not finding out. It’s gonna be a surprise.”

A chorus of gasps and dramatic groans breaks out across the room.

Sabrina throws her head back. “You’re making us wait?!”

“That’s so unfair,” Nyara says, pretending to sulk.

Paige grins, tugging Azzi closer. “We figured we’ve gone through enough planning already… might as well let this one surprise us.”

“Just wait,” Azzi says through a smile. “One of you is going to guess right. But you won’t know until the baby’s here.”

“We’re gonna be so annoying about this,” Jaylyn says. “You’ve created monsters.”

“We’ll accept your fate,” Paige says with a laugh.

Azzi adds, “Just no betting pools, please.”

Jaylyn and Sabrina immediately exchange a look.

“No promises,” Sabrina says.

The laughter fades into soft background music as the screen begins to transition.

The video cuts to a still image:

A printed sonogram photo, carefully placed next to a positive pregnancy test, both resting on a tiny navy-and-white baby onesie with a miniature basketball stitched onto the chest.

Words fade in over the image, bold but tender:

“Bueckers-Fudd Team
Expansion Coming Soon.”

The screen holds on that image just a moment longer, the music swelling slightly — warm, intimate, full of promise — before slowly fading to black.

Chapter Text

The gym echoed with the familiar rhythm of practice—sneakers squeaking, balls thudding against the hardwood, coaches calling out drills in half-distracted tones. It was one of those easy days. Loosened shoulders, a little laughter, just enough intensity to keep things sharp.

Azzi was grinning as she jogged back into the rotation, bumping shoulders with Paige as they crossed paths at half court.

“Don’t let me outshoot you today,” she teased.

Paige shot back a mock glare. “In your dreams.”

They both knew Paige was lying—Azzi had been on fire all week.

Coach blew the whistle. One-on-one transition drills. Azzi took off down the sideline, catching the ball in stride, pivoting hard—

Then came the yelp.

A short, strangled sound. Sharp enough to cut through the noise.

Then came the fall.

Azzi crumpled.

Everything stopped.

No whistle this time. No shouting. Just the squeal of rubber soles skidding to a halt and the collective, instant freezing of movement.

Paige dropped her ball and sprinted without thinking.

She was on her knees beside Azzi in seconds, breath caught in her throat.

Azzi was hunched over, clutching her foot, her face twisted in pain she was trying—and failing—not to show.

“Azzi,” Paige said, voice urgent and too loud. “Hey. Hey, are you okay?”

Azzi didn’t answer. Her hands were trembling, gripping around her ankle like she was trying to hold the bones in place. Paige reached for her shoulder.

“Don’t,” Azzi bit out, eyes scrunched tight. “Don’t touch it.”

The trainer was already running. Coaches trailing behind. Players circling but keeping their distance like the air around Azzi was made of glass.

“Okay, okay, I’m here,” Paige murmured, shifting to stay near her head, her voice softening even as her heart pounded. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

Azzi didn’t look at her.

The training room was quiet, but heavy. One of those silences that made every sound louder—the buzz of the overhead lights, the hum of the mini fridge, the distant echo of a bouncing ball down the hall.

Azzi sat on the edge of the padded table, her ankle already wrapped in ice and elevated, her shoulders tense. She hadn’t said much since they got here. Just nodded through the trainer’s questions and stared straight ahead.

Paige hadn’t left her side.

She stood next to the table at first, then sat. Then stood again.

Now she was hovering.

“Do you want water?” Paige asked, voice too gentle.

Azzi shook her head.

Paige took a breath. “Your mom texted me back, by the way. She’s gonna call you later.”

“Okay.”

Paige sat back down on the rolling stool and tried not to fidget. “They said the MRI tech should be here soon. Like, twenty minutes.”

Azzi gave a clipped nod. Still not looking at her.

“You cold?” Paige asked, already halfway out of her seat.

“Paige,” Azzi said sharply. “Can you just… not?”

That landed hard. Paige blinked.

Azzi’s voice wasn’t cruel, but it was raw. Strained.

“I’m fine,” Azzi added, quieter now. “You don’t have to hover.”

Paige leaned back like she’d been pushed. “I wasn’t—”

“You are,” Azzi cut in. “You’re acting like I’m going to fall apart if you’re not right here.”

“I’m just trying to help.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

Paige’s jaw clenched. She didn’t say anything. Just stood up again, this time slower, and crossed her arms tightly over her chest.

The room felt even smaller.

Azzi stared at the wall, teeth pressing into her bottom lip like she was trying to hold something back.

“I don’t know what else to do,” Paige whispered. 

Azzi flinched. “Don’t make this about you.”

Paige doesn’t respond, just looks down at her hands. 

The door opened a minute later. The trainer reappeared, clipboard in hand. “MRI room’s ready.”

Azzi slid off the table, wincing as the pressure hit her foot, and Paige instinctively reached out to steady her.

Azzi brushed her off.

“I got it,” she muttered.

She didn’t look back as she limped down the hallway.

And Paige didn’t follow this time.

Her knees bouncing, fingers curled around the hem of her hoodie like they were holding her together.

The MRI had been running for forty-five minutes.

She had counted.

Three times she got up and paced. Twice she texted Geno to say she’d drive Azzi home, just in case. The message read casual, but her thumb had shaken when she typed it.

She just wanted to do something .

But when the door finally opened and Azzi rolled in— in a wheelchair —Paige shot to her feet, heart practically choking her.

“What happened? Did it get worse?” she blurted, halfway across the room before she caught herself.

Azzi blinked up at her, then rolled her eyes.

“It’s precautionary,” she said, dry. “They don’t want me putting weight on it. Calm down.”

Paige opened her mouth, closed it again.

“I’m fine,” Azzi added, leaning her head back against the chair. “Stop overreacting.”

Paige bit the inside of her cheek. She didn’t mean to make it a thing. She just—seeing Azzi like that, shoulders tense, eyes dulled with exhaustion and irritation—it made something ache deep in her chest.

The trainer came in with some papers. A plastic bag of meds. A boot. A pair of crutches. Paige helped gather it all without being asked.

Azzi didn’t stop her, but she didn’t thank her either.

The car ride home was quiet.

Too quiet.

Paige adjusted the music volume twice before just turning it off. It felt wrong. Like putting a pop song over a breakup scene in a movie.

Azzi sat in the passenger seat with her arms folded, leg stiffly extended. Her gaze stayed fixed out the window, jaw set.

Paige tried.

“You hungry? We could stop somewhere. Or I can order in later.”

“No.”

“I mean, I could make something too. I can make that pasta you like.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Paige gripped the wheel tighter. “Okay.”

A few more beats of silence. Then, trying again: “The team asked about you. Everyone’s hoping it’s just a short thing.”

Azzi let out a breath that wasn’t quite a sigh. “It’s not.”

Paige glanced over, heart pinching. “Azzi…”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

The rest of the drive passed with only the sound of tires on pavement.

By the time they pulled up to Azzi’s apartment, the sun was dipping low, casting everything in that soft, golden light that made the whole world feel too tender.

Paige parked. Unbuckled. Turned toward her.

“I’ll help you in.”

Azzi hesitated, then nodded.

But she still didn’t look at her.

And Paige didn’t say what she wanted to—that she hated seeing her like this, hated how quiet she’d gone, how unreachable she suddenly felt.

So she just took the bags, opened the door, and followed Azzi into the silence.

The air inside the apartment felt heavier. Stale with stillness, like everything had been holding its breath.

Paige carried the clunky boot and Azzi’s bag as she crutched her way through the room. The living room was dim, curtains half-drawn. The TV was still on from earlier—muted highlights from a game neither of them had watched.

“Couch or bed?” Paige asked gently.

“Couch,” Azzi muttered. “For now.”

Paige didn’t ask why. She just cleared a path, set the pillows in place, unfolded the fleece blanket Azzi always used when she was sick or tired or pretending not to be either.

She helped Azzi move the crutches out of the way as she sat down, supporting her weight with practiced care, like she was afraid she’d break something if she pressed too hard.

Azzi didn’t say anything, but she didn’t stop her either.

Once Azzi was settled, Paige crouched to unwrap her foot, replacing it with the boot. Her hands moved carefully. Too carefully.

Azzi watched her for a moment, then looked away.

“You don’t have to stay,” she said.

Paige’s hands paused. “I know I don’t.”

A beat. Then Azzi added, “But thank you.”

Paige gave her a small, hollow smile. “Anytime.”

It should’ve been warm. Comforting.

But it just hung there—flat, unsatisfying.

Paige stood, wiped her palms on her jeans. “You want something to eat? Or tea?”

“I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

Azzi nodded, eyes on the muted television now.

Paige hesitated, then moved to the kitchen anyway. She made tea. Poured water. Heated up a protein bowl Azzi probably wouldn’t touch.

She came back and set the mug and the meal down gently on the coffee table, within arm’s reach.

Azzi didn’t look at it.

“I think eating something might help,” Paige says softly. And when Azzi reaches for the bowl, part of Paige feels hopeful. 

And Paige stayed. She didn’t ask if she should—just moved through the space with a gentle kind of presence, filling in the silence Azzi kept leaving behind. Tried putting on a show they used to watch when they were too tired to talk—something light, dumb, background noise with a laugh track.

Azzi didn’t laugh.

Didn’t say much at all.

Her eyes followed the screen, but she wasn’t seeing it. Her body sat stiff, her jaw locked tight. Like any motion—any release—might make everything worse.

Paige sat on the opposite end of the couch, curled into herself. Watching. Waiting.

She didn’t know which version of Azzi she was trying to comfort—the one who needed space or the one who had stopped reaching for anything at all.

At one point, Azzi shifted to adjust the weight on her good foot. Her breath caught. Barely audible, but Paige noticed.

Her eyes flicked to her—quiet, worried.

Azzi didn’t meet her gaze.

Instead, she blinked once. Twice.

And then Paige saw it. The way Azzi’s lashes clumped together. The way her nose twitched, fast and stubborn, like she was holding something in. Fighting something off.

Her eyes watered, but she looked away so fast it might’ve been nothing.

Still, Paige saw.

She hesitated—every cell in her body aching to close the space between them.

“Az,” she said softly.

“I’m fine,” Azzi replied, too quickly.

But her voice cracked, just barely. Enough to break something open in Paige’s chest.

“You don’t have to be,” Paige said, barely louder than the hum of the TV.

Azzi shook her head. “Can we not—right now?”

Paige swallowed. “Okay.”

They sat there like that for a long time.

The clock ticked past midnight. The show credits rolled in loops. The apartment had gone still again.

Azzi hadn’t said much in over an hour.

Paige stayed in her corner of the couch, quietly watching Azzi drift between silence and restless shifting. Until, finally—barely above a whisper—

“Can you help me to bed?”

Paige turned to her instantly. “Of course.”

She stood and offered her hand, and after the briefest hesitation, Azzi took it.

Getting up was slow. Awkward. Azzi winced when she stepped wrong, bit back a sound when Paige helped guide her weight. Paige didn’t flinch. Just steadied her with a hand on her back and a kind of reverence in her touch.

They made it to the bedroom in silence.

“Do you want pajamas?” Paige asked gently, already heading toward the dresser she knew by heart.

Azzi nodded, eyes tired. Walls still up, but thinner now—more like glass than stone.

Paige pulled out the soft navy shirt Azzi always wore when she was sick or sad. Then the shorts. She brought them over and crouched in front of her.

Azzi was sitting on the edge of the bed, her shoulders curled, hands clenched in her lap.

“I’ll turn around if you want,” Paige offered softly.

But Azzi shook her head. “It’s fine. You can…”

Her voice trailed off, but Paige understood.

With a kind of care that made her chest ache, Paige helped Azzi lift her arms. Slid the shirt over her head slowly, gently guiding it down. Her fingers brushed bare skin only when necessary—each touch featherlight, almost apologetic.

Pulled the waistband of Azzi’s sweatpants down with a whisper of fabric and helped her step out of them, one leg at a time. The boot stayed.

The shorts went on last. Paige moved slowly, respectfully. Like Azzi might shatter if she pressed too hard.

When it was done, she adjusted the blanket and sat back, kneeling.

Azzi hadn’t looked at her the whole time.

Until now. Her eyes lifted, glassy but open.

And then, softly, almost like it hurt to say: “Will you stay?”

Paige blinked. “Of course.”

Azzi’s voice cracked. “Can you… hold me? Just for a while?”

Paige didn’t speak. She didn’t have to.

She rose, peeled back the covers, and slid in behind her—arms folding around Azzi’s waist as they settled in together. Her body curved instinctively to Azzi’s back, warm and steady and real.

Azzi let out a breath like she’d been holding it all night.

And then—finally, finally—she leaned back into Paige’s arms.

Just a little. Just enough. For now.

It was sometime past three when Paige stirred, pulled from a light sleep by a sharp sound.

A groan. Muffled, but pained.

She blinked her eyes open, disoriented for a second. The room was dark, lit only by the faint blue glow of the hallway nightlight. The sheets rustled again beside her.

Azzi.

Paige sat up fast. “Az?”

Azzi was curled on her side, her face twisted in pain, one hand gripping the edge of the blanket tight enough to turn her knuckles white. Her breathing was shallow—sharp inhales through her nose.

“I moved wrong,” she said through clenched teeth. “Freaking—God—”

Paige immediately slid closer. “What can I do?”

Azzi shook her head, barely able to speak. “Nothing. It’s just— I'm fine—”

She grimaced again. “It hurts. I didn’t mean to—I was asleep, I didn’t even think—I just moved—”

She pushed herself up a little with her elbow, like she wanted to sit, then immediately stopped, biting back a hiss. The boot was still on, but something in the angle had shifted. Her eyes welled—not from sadness this time, but from sheer frustration.

Paige reached toward her. “Let me—”

“I said I’m fine!” Azzi snapped.

The silence that followed was loud.

Azzi’s hands clenched in the blanket. She didn’t look at Paige, but her jaw was locked, eyes squeezed shut, trying to will herself still.

“I didn’t mean that,” she said after a long moment, quieter now. “I’m just—”

“I know,” Paige said gently. “It’s okay.”

Azzi exhaled hard through her nose. “I feel so stupid.”

“You’re not.”

“It’s a foot, Paige.” Her voice cracked with anger. “A freaking foot, and I can’t even sleep without screwing it up.”

Paige didn’t answer right away. She just moved again, slowly, carefully, and placed a hand over Azzi’s—resting on the twisted blanket.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she said.  “You’re hurt. And you’re allowed to be upset.”

Azzi turned her face into the pillow, breathing heavy.

“I hate this,” she whispered.

Paige tightened her hand gently. “I know.”

Azzi didn’t pull away this time.

But she didn’t cry either. Just lay there, burning inside, while Paige stayed by her side in the dark—offering the one thing Azzi hadn’t yet rejected.

Presence.

The room had gone still again. The pain had dulled, eventually, but Azzi stayed awake—eyes open in the dark, staring at nothing. The clock ticked toward four.

Finally, with a long, frustrated sigh, she shifted upright. Slowly, carefully.

Paige stirred beside her. “Az?”

“I’m fine,” Azzi said quickly, too quickly. “I just… I can’t sleep in here.”

She threw the blanket off with one hand and adjusted the boot with the other. Every movement was sharp, deliberate. Controlled anger hiding under the surface.

“I’m just gonna go sit on the couch.”

Paige blinked against the dim light, still groggy. “I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t have to,” Azzi muttered as she hobbled to the bedroom door. “It’s fine.”

“I want to,” Paige said, already pushing the blankets off and following.

Azzi made it to the couch before turning, exasperated. “Seriously, Paige. You don’t have to babysit me.”

“I’m not,” Paige replied calmly. “I just want to be where you are.”

Azzi paused. That landed. Something in her shoulders tensed, then sagged.

She looked away, embarrassed somehow by the quiet sincerity of it. She eased herself down onto the cushions, wincing as she adjusted her leg, then folded her arms and stared blankly at the floor.

Paige sat down beside her—not too close, just near enough.

Azzi didn’t say anything.

They sat like that for a while. The hum of the fridge buzzed faintly in the background. A car passed outside. Paige didn’t speak, didn’t try to distract her with words or comfort she wasn’t ready to accept.

She just… stayed. Until the sun was up and they both had classes to go to.

Azzi made it through the day on crutches and pure willpower.

By the time she got back to her apartment, her arms ached, her good leg was sore, and her patience was threadbare. She hadn’t wanted to go to class, but she also hadn’t wanted to sit around stewing in her own head all day.

Now she wasn’t sure which had been worse.

Everything was harder. Doors. Stairs. Her backpack slipping. People staring, even when they thought they weren’t. She could feel her identity shrinking in real time—from “Azzi Fudd, elite athlete” to “Azzi Fudd, girl with a boot.”

She hadn’t spoken much when she got home. Just grunted a hello at Aaliyah and made her way to her room, closing the door with more force than necessary.

Aaliyah didn’t ask. She just stayed in the living room, letting Azzi have her space.

By the time Paige came by later, Aaliyah was still stretched across the couch with a book in her lap and a low playlist humming on the speaker.

She opened the door when she heard Paige’s soft knock.

“Hey,” Paige greeted, eyes flicking toward the hallway.

Aaliyah gave her a long, knowing look. “She’s in a mood ,” she warned, voice quiet. “Didn’t say much when she got back. She looked exhausted.”

Paige’s brows pulled together. “Thanks.”

“She’ll talk to you,” Aaliyah added, standing aside to let her in.

Paige stepped in quietly, slipping off her shoes.

The apartment smelled faintly like takeout and worn-out tension. Azzi’s bedroom door was shut, the faintest edge of light peeking out from the bottom.

She wasn’t sure if Azzi wanted company. She was sure Azzi needed it.

She glanced back at Aaliyah, who gave her a small, encouraging nod.

And then Paige padded gently across the apartment, paused at the door, and knocked softly—once, before slowly opening the door.

The room was dim, lit only by the soft amber glow of the lamp on Azzi’s desk. The air felt heavy—quiet and still in the way that followed crying.

Azzi was lying on her side, curled up on top of the comforter. Her face was turned toward the wall, but Paige could see the tears glistening along her cheek, streaking slowly toward the pillow. Her body didn’t move when Paige entered, like she didn’t have the energy to hide it anymore.

Paige’s chest tightened.

She walked over quietly, kneeling beside the bed.

“Az,” she whispered, her voice low and tender. “Hey.”

Azzi blinked but didn’t look at her. Her eyes stayed fixed on the wall, unfocused.

“I talked to the training staff,” she said finally, voice hoarse and small. “They said… one to two weeks. No practice. No game stuff. Just… rest.”

Paige exhaled slowly. She sat on the edge of the bed and gently brushed a strand of hair away from Azzi’s face.

“That’s missing time. That’s… losing rhythm. That’s—falling behind,”  Azzi added, like she needed Paige to know it hurt.

Paige didn’t argue. She just nodded, still gently smoothing Azzi’s hair back, her fingers slow and soft.

“I know,” she murmured. “I’m sorry.”

Azzi’s throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. Her voice cracked on the next words. “I tried so hard to hold it together today.”

“You don’t have to hold it together for me,” Paige said softly. “You don’t have to hold it together at all.”

Azzi finally turned her head, just enough to meet her eyes.

There it was—that quiet desperation, raw and unfiltered. The ache of trying to be strong, when all she really wanted was to be held.

Paige opened her arms without asking.

Azzi leaned into her like gravity pulled her there.

And Paige held her—tight, steady, anchoring her to something safe.

They didn’t speak for a long while.

They didn’t have to.

The next day, the gym smelled like sweat, floor polish, and muscle memory.

Paige moved through practice with her usual rhythm—running drills, calling out switches on defense, checking in with teammates between reps. But every so often, her eyes flicked to the corner of the gym where the recovery room door sat closed.

Azzi was in there, somewhere. Doing rehab. Alone.

When practice ended and the team started to peel off toward showers and cooldowns, Paige didn’t linger. She grabbed her water bottle and headed toward the training room, sneakers squeaking slightly on the polished floor.

The door was propped open. She stepped in quietly.

Azzi was seated on a padded table with an ice pack wrapped around her foot, earbuds in, posture stiff. A trainer stood a few feet away, jotting notes on a clipboard. Azzi gave a small nod, signaling she was done.

Paige stepped into the room, soft-voiced. “Hey. Just wanted to see how it went.”

Azzi didn’t look up. “Fine.”

Paige stayed quiet for a beat, reading the tension in her shoulders, the clipped way she moved.

“Need anything?”

Azzi finally glanced at her—just long enough for Paige to catch the simmering in her eyes, the storm she was clearly trying to hold back.

“I just want to go home,” Azzi said flatly. Her voice wasn’t angry. It was low, steady, controlled—but in that dangerous way, the kind of quiet that comes after too many hours pretending you’re fine when you’re not.

Paige nodded, taking a breath.

“Okay,” she said gently. “Let’s go.”

Azzi didn’t respond. She just grabbed her crutches and swung herself upright, gaze locked on the floor.

Paige stepped in beside her, instinctively placing a hand on the small of her back to steady her—but Azzi shifted just slightly, out of reach.

Paige let the hand fall.

The walk down the hallway was quiet. Awkward. Like every step Azzi took widened the space between them instead of closing it.

The week dragged.

Each day followed the same rhythm: Paige went to practice, Azzi went to rehab. Paige stopped by after, brought food, offered help, tried to sit with her. And each day, Azzi let her in—just enough to keep her from leaving, but never close enough to feel real.

She’d say she was tired. Or that she had a paper due. Or that she just wanted to be alone for a bit. Always with a half-smile or a quick kiss on the cheek, like she was afraid Paige would notice how much she was slipping away.

By Thursday, Paige had stopped bringing dinner and started just texting from the hallway, waiting for a reply that came slower and shorter each time.

hey. outside your door.

you okay?

Azzi’s response came five minutes later.

yeah. tired. maybe tomorrow.

Paige stared at the screen, thumb hovering, then slipped the phone into her pocket without replying.

Friday afternoon, Paige showed up anyway.

Azzi opened the door with her crutches tucked under her arms and an unmistakable tension in her jaw.

“You didn’t text.”

“I figured maybe you didn’t want to be alone,” Paige said gently, stepping in.

Azzi moved back to let her pass but didn’t say anything.

Paige placed the Tupperware on the counter and turned, watching as Azzi lowered herself to the couch with a grimace.

“You do your exercises today?” Paige asked.

Azzi nodded, pulling a blanket over her legs. “Yeah.”

“How’d it go?”

Azzi looked at her. “Slow. Like every other day this week.”

Paige sat down on the edge of the couch. “It’s progress, though.”

Azzi scoffed. “It’s baby steps. Literal baby steps. Meanwhile, I get to watch clips of the team running sets I should be in.”

“That’s still an important part of the game,” Paige adds softly.

Azzi makes a face, unhappy with Paige’s answer.

That night, Paige stayed over.

Azzi hadn’t asked. But she hadn’t said no, either.

They both brushed their teeth in silence. Paige carried a glass of water into the bedroom. Azzi limped in after her, wincing as she sat on the edge of the mattress. Paige offered to help her get settled, but Azzi shook her head and muttered, “I got it.”

The room felt too still. Too sharp around the edges.

When they finally climbed into bed, Azzi turned her back without a word. She curled toward the wall, pulling the blanket tight up to her chin.

Paige laid on her side, blinking into the dim glow of the bedside lamp. The space between them was inches wide, but it felt like a canyon. She didn’t reach out. Didn’t press.

She just stared at the back of Azzi’s hoodie and let the ache bloom quietly in her chest.

It wasn’t just her body Azzi was protecting. It was her heart.

And Paige could feel every inch of that distance growing, night after night.

The days after were more of the same.

Paige still texted, still showed up. Sometimes Azzi replied. Sometimes she didn’t. And when she did, the messages were short, clipped, impersonal.

Long rehab today. Don’t wait up.

Trainer added extra reps. Tired.

Might nap for a while. Can I see you later?

Later didn’t come.

More than once, Paige sat in her car outside her apartment building, phone glowing in her lap, watching the unread messages stack like tiny silences. She didn’t know what she was hoping for—maybe for Azzi to miss her enough to say something real.

But it never came.

So slowly—quietly—Paige stopped showing up.

She still sent the check-in texts. Still reached for her when they passed each other in the gym. But she stopped walking up to the door. Stopped waiting in the hallway. Stopped bringing dinner, stopped asking questions Azzi wouldn’t answer.

And all the while, Azzi sat in her room, back pressed against the headboard, phone face-down on the nightstand, watching the light fade from the windows and feeling like her skin didn’t fit anymore.

She could’ve told Paige the truth: that rehab had ended hours ago. That she’d ignored three calls. That she wasn’t tired—she was just angry. At her body. At the world. At herself.

But she didn’t.

She just let the silence widen, let Paige drift away like everything else.

It has been three days since Paige had last seen Azzi outside of the gym. 

And for the couple that had been inseparable since they were finally both at UConn, it was a record.

Three long days of half-texts, excuses, the slow fade of presence. Paige had told herself to give Azzi space, to respect the distance. But when Azzi finally texted that afternoon—

Can you come over?

Paige didn’t hesitate. She grabbed her keys and was at the door in fifteen minutes.

Azzi answered in sweats, crutches leaning against the wall behind her. The apartment was dim, the TV buzzing quietly in the background. Her face was tight, eyes rimmed red. Paige stepped inside cautiously, scanning her.

“Hey,” Paige said, soft and careful. “How are you feeling?”

Azzi shrugged. “Fine.”

Paige looked at her. “Are you?”

Azzi turned away, moving toward the couch with a stiff limp. “I wouldn’t have texted if I wasn’t.”

Paige followed, sitting on the opposite end. The silence stretched like something fragile between them.

“I’ve missed you,” Paige said quietly.

Azzi didn’t respond.

“I know you’ve been frustrated—”

“No,” Azzi snapped, sharper than she meant to be. “Don’t say that.”

Paige blinked. “I’m just—”

“You don’t get it, Paige.”

Azzi’s voice cracked, and then the flood came. Her jaw clenched, her chest heaving like she’d been waiting to scream for ten days straight.

“You don’t get what it’s like to sit there while the team you were supposed to be an important part of is out there running plays without you. To feel your body betray you two weeks into the season. To watch clips of yourself limping and rehabbing and falling behind. I got to UConn thinking I’d finally— finally —feel like I belonged. Like I was worth all the hype. And now I’m the broken freshman on crutches.” 

Paige’s eyes softened, but Azzi was already spiraling.

“And you… you just keep showing up with food and soft eyes and your perfect practices and your calm voice like it’s supposed to fix anything. Like being near you is supposed to make this suck less. And it doesn’t. It just makes me feel worse.”

Azzi’s words cut through the quiet like a blade.

“You know what? Maybe if you weren’t so perfect all the time, maybe I wouldn’t feel so alone in this.”

Paige’s breath caught. The sentence landed with a weight she hadn’t expected, sharper than the injury itself.

Her eyes flicked up to Azzi’s face — tight, raw, eyes dark with frustration and pain.

Paige’s throat tightened. She blinked, swallowing the lump that formed. Her voice came out softer than she wanted, but steady.

“I think… I think maybe I should go.”

Azzi’s gaze locked on hers, startled for the first time that night. The anger in her eyes wavered, flickering into something fragile and uncertain.

“Yeah,” Azzi said after a pause, voice low and rough. “I think that’s best.”

Paige’s hands trembled slightly as she rose to her feet. She glanced down at the food she’d brought—the Chipotle order she knows Azzi loves, with the chips she usually doesn’t even buy herself. She picked them up quietly, careful not to make a sound.

She hesitated near the door, her fingers lingering on the handle as if hoping for a different answer, for Azzi to call her back, to say anything other than that quiet acquiescence.

But there was only silence.

Paige swallowed again and spoke one last time, soft but clear.

“I’m leaving this here,” she said, placing the food carefully on the kitchen counter. “For when you’re ready.”

Her eyes searched Azzi’s face, looking for something—hope, regret, apology—but found only the shadow of exhaustion and stubborn pride.

Paige gave a small, sad smile—the kind that tries to hide a breaking heart—and turned away.

The door clicked shut behind her, the sound loud in the stillness of the apartment.

Outside, the night was cool and quiet. Paige stood there for a moment, her hand resting lightly on the door, before she slid her phone from her pocket and sent a message she knew might never be answered.

I’m here when you want me.

Then she walked away, the weight of the silence following her like a shadow.

The moment the door clicked shut behind Paige, the silence felt suffocating.

Then, from the hallway, a sharp voice cut through the heavy air.

“What the fuck was that ?”

Aaliyah stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes blazing.

Azzi flinched, head still turned away from the door, but she didn’t answer.

Aaliyah stepped fully into the room, her gaze fixed on Azzi.

“You don’t get to scream at Paige and then just sit there like nothing happened. You two are supposed to be in this together, not tearing each other apart.”

Azzi’s jaw tightened, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “I’m not tearing anyone apart,” she said, voice low and tense.

Aaliyah’s expression didn’t soften.

“No? Because from where I’m standing, it looked like you just pushed away the one person who’s been trying to hold you up. Maybe it’s time you stop blaming everyone else for how hard this is.”

Azzi swallowed hard, the anger fading just enough to let the weight of Aaliyah’s words sink in.

Aaliyah softened her tone, stepping a little closer.

She crossed the room in a few determined strides, standing close enough that Azzi could feel the heat of her presence.

“Azzi,” she said firmly, “you’ve been acting like a storm trapped in a bottle since that injury. I get it. You’re pissed—hell, I’d be too. But this…” She gestured toward the empty space beside Azzi where Paige had just been. “This isn’t the way to handle it.”

Azzi’s eyes stayed fixed on the floor, jaw tight, fists clenched so hard her knuckles went white.

“Look, I know you’re pissed. You have every right to be. But pushing Paige away? That’s not strength. That’s isolation.”

“I’m not doing anything wrong,” she muttered.

“No, you’re hurting. And that’s okay. But you’re pushing everyone who cares about you away — especially Paige. Do you think she doesn’t see what you’re going through? That she doesn’t feel it just as much?”

Her voice was low, tense, and edged with bitterness.

“You don’t get it,” Azzi said, shaking her head. “Paige doesn’t get it. She hasn’t been the one who’s been talked about, dissected, hyped up, and then—just like that— hurt . It’s different when everyone expects you to be this perfect player, this future star, and then your body just… fails.”

She looked Aaliyah straight in the eyes, her expression fierce and raw.

“It’s not just about missing games or rehabbing. It’s about everything that comes with it—the whispers, the doubts, the pressure to bounce back like nothing happened. Paige can’t feel that weight. She doesn’t have to.”

Azzi’s voice cracked, the anger slipping into something closer to despair.

“And that’s why it’s so hard to let her in. Because how do you explain that kind of pain? How do you explain that fear?”

Aaliyah’s expression softened, but she didn’t back down.

“I get that. I really do. But pushing Paige away because she doesn’t carry those scars? That’s not fair to either of you.”

Azzi’s chest tightened as she struggled to put her feelings into words. She shifted uncomfortably, staring down at her hands tangled in her lap.

“I just… I need space,” she said finally, her voice quieter than she intended but heavy with everything left unsaid. “Not because I don’t care… but because right now, I feel like I’m drowning in all of it. The injury, the expectations, the looks, the whispers… And having everyone around me all the time—it’s too much.”

She swallowed hard, eyes flickering up to meet Aaliyah’s.

“I’m scared to let anyone in because I don’t want to fall apart in front of them. I don’t want to seem weak or… broken. And I don’t want to hurt Paige with my anger or my frustration. So maybe if I have some space, I can figure out how to handle this without dragging her down with me.”

Azzi’s voice cracked on the last words, but she didn’t stop.

“I just need… some time to be alone with this mess inside my head.”

Aaliyah wanted to argue, to tell Azzi that isolation wouldn’t heal the pain. But she knew Azzi was holding onto what little control she had, so instead she nodded slowly.

“Okay. Space it is. Just… don’t let it turn into shutting everyone out, alright? We’re here. Paige is here. When you’re ready.”

Azzi gave a faint nod, the faintest flicker of relief crossing her face.

As Aaliyah turned to leave, she thought to herself, This isn’t healthy. But she’s not ready to hear it yet.

The sterile lights of the recovery room felt colder than usual as Azzi sat stiffly on the treatment table, her foot wrapped tightly and propped up. The therapist’s words echoed hollowly in her ears: “We’re going to have to extend your recovery by at least another one to two weeks.”

Azzi’s jaw clenched so hard it ached.

She barely managed a nod before storming out, as best as one can on crutches, ignoring the concerned looks from the staff.

At home, the tension was thick enough to choke on.

Azzi slammed the front door behind her, the sound echoing through the apartment.

“This isn’t fair! ” she yelled into the empty room, voice raw and cracked.

She banged her fists against the wall before retreating into her room, the door slamming shut behind her.

Paige sat on her bed, phone in hand, the soft glow of the screen the only light in the room. Aaliyah’s message blinked back at her, a reminder of how far things had slipped.

She’s really struggling today. Slamming doors, yelling. Idk what happened. Do you?

Paige exhaled slowly, the weight of the silence pressing down on her.

She hadn’t heard from Azzi since that night—the night Azzi told her to leave.

Since then, her messages had gone unanswered. Calls ignored. Even when Paige stopped by the apartment, Azzi kept the door closed, the world between them growing colder and wider.

Idk, Paige typed slowly, her fingers hovering before sending. She hasn’t responded to any of my texts since the day she sent me away. I don’t know how to reach her.

Aaliyah’s reply came almost immediately.

I get it, but what Azzi’s doing… it’s not healthy. Pushing everyone away, bottling up all that anger and pain? That’s a dangerous place to be.

Paige’s heart sank. She knew Aaliyah was right.

Paige typed slowly, 

I know. I’ve been trying to be patient, but it’s hard watching her shut me out. I just want to help, but she won’t let me.

Aaliyah’s words lingered in her mind.

Paige’s fingers hovered over her phone, heart pounding as she stared at the silent screen again. No reply. No sign that Azzi was anywhere close to opening up.

She couldn’t just wait anymore.

Not like this.

With resolve tightening in her chest, Paige grabbed her keys and headed out.

When she reached Azzi's apartment, she paused, taking a moment to prepare herself for whatever version of Azzi she sees today.

When the door cracked open, Azzi’s eyes flashed sharp with exhaustion and anger. She looked like she hadn’t slept. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, and there were dark circles under her eyes. But her voice? Still sharp. Still trying to cut deep.

“I told you I don’t want to see you,” Azzi said, glaring.

“I know,” Paige said. “But I’m here anyway.”

Azzi pushed the door wider with a sarcastic huff. “Of course you are.”

“I’m not going to keep pretending everything’s okay just because you want to shut me out,” Paige continued, stepping into the apartment. “I’m not going to keep waiting for you to let me in while you lie and say you’re fine.”

Azzi crossed her arms, body taut with anger. “You act like you understand, like you get what I’m going through.”

“I don’t have to live it exactly to know it hurts,” Paige said gently. “I see you, Az. I see how much this is crushing you. And I want to be there.”

Azzi scoffed. “No, Paige. You don’t see me. You see the version of me that still texts you back. That still lets you hold her. That version isn’t here right now. She’s gone. I don’t know if she’s coming back.”

Paige swallowed hard. “That version of you wasn’t the only one I fell in love with.”

Azzi turned her back to her. “You don’t get it,” she muttered, voice bitter. “You’ve always been golden. Paige Bueckers. The chosen one. The miracle kid. Even when you got hurt, people waited for you like you were the second coming. I got hurt and all I heard was, ‘Here we go again with another broken hype story.’”

Paige’s heart pounded. “That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is!” Azzi turned around, eyes wet, voice cracking. “I came here to be great, Paige. To finally prove I wasn’t just talk. And this—” she gestured at her booted foot with disgust, “—this ruins everything. Again. I’m tired of starting over. I’m tired of being the girl with potential who never stays healthy long enough to prove anything.”

“And you think pushing everyone away will help that?” Paige said, louder now. “You think making yourself go through this alone will make it hurt less?”

Azzi’s voice shook. “I need space.”

“No,” Paige said, stepping forward. “You think you do, but what you’re really doing is building walls so high no one can even breathe near you. You’re hurting, Azzi—I see that—but you are not the only one who feels this.”

Azzi flinched at that.

“I’m here, and I’m hurting too,” Paige continued. “Because every time you tell me to go, it’s like you’re carving out a piece of us. And I don’t want to lose you, Azzi. I don’t want to lose what we have.”

Azzi stared at her, silent, tears sliding down her cheeks.

“And you won’t talk to me. You won’t let me in. I’m not here to fix it or take away the pain—I can’t . But I’m not walking away just because things are hard.”

Azzi whispered, “Maybe you should.”

Paige blinked like she’d been slapped.

“I’m not who I was before this. I’m not… enough right now.”

“You are,” Paige said, voice fierce now. “You are always enough. Hurt or healthy. Playing or sidelined. Angry or shut down. You are still the person I love.”

Azzi was crying openly now, tears streaming down her face, breathing ragged.

“I’m fighting for this,” Paige whispered. “For you. For us. Even when you don’t feel like there’s anything worth fighting for.”

Azzi’s lip quivered. “I didn’t ask you to.”

“No,” Paige said, stepping even closer, her voice barely a breath, “but I love you. So I’m doing it anyway.”

Azzi stood there trembling—face streaked with tears, fists clenched like she was still trying to hold something in. But her breath hitched, and then another sharp inhale followed. And then she just… broke.

Her knees buckled, and Paige moved fast, catching her before she hit the ground. Azzi sank to her, into her, sobbing into Paige’s chest like something inside her had snapped.

“I don’t know who I am without this,” she choked out. “Basketball is the only thing I’ve ever been good at. It’s the only thing people see when they look at me.”

Paige didn’t speak—she just wrapped her arms tighter around Azzi, grounding her.

“I’m scared.” Azzi’s voice was muffled against her shoulder. “I’m so fucking scared. What if this foot never heals right? What if I don’t come back the same? What if this is it for me?”

Paige pulled back just enough to cradle Azzi’s face in her hands. “Azzi, listen to me. You are not just basketball. You are not your injury. You are not your stats, or your minutes, or how many threes you hit in practice. You are you . And you’re everything.”

Azzi looked at her like she didn’t believe it. Like she wanted to, but couldn’t reach the part of herself that remembered how.

“I don’t know how to be anything else,” she whispered. “When I’m not playing… I feel invisible. Like I’m not even worth looking at.”

Paige’s heart shattered. “You’re worth everything to me,” she said. “Not because of what you do on the court. But because of who you are. You’re kind and fierce and loyal and brilliant. You light up the room even when you don’t say a word. And yeah, I fell in love with the way you play. But that’s not why I love you.”

Azzi shook her head, voice cracking. “I just… I don’t want to lose everything.”

“You won’t,” Paige said softly. “But you have to let people love you—even when you don’t feel like you deserve it. Even when you’re not at your strongest.”

Azzi’s body sagged against hers again, this time not in collapse, but in surrender. She let herself be held. Let Paige stroke her hair. Let her breathe for her when she couldn’t remember how to do it on her own.

For a while, there was just the sound of her breathing slowing and Paige’s quiet whisper: “I’ve got you. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Azzi's breathing slowed, but her grip on Paige's hoodie was still tight, like letting go might make everything fall apart again.

They stayed like that on the floor for a while, wrapped up in each other, the room dim and still. Eventually, Azzi’s voice came again—quiet, raw.

“I know I push you away,” she said. “I know it’s not fair. I just… when I get like this, it feels safer to be alone. Like I can fall apart without anyone watching.”

Paige rested her chin gently on top of Azzi’s head. “But I want to be with you even when you fall apart. I don’t need the perfect version of you. I need you .”

Azzi pulled back slightly, her eyes tired and red. “I was supposed to be better than this. UConn… it was supposed to be the start of everything. Not—this.”

“I get that,” Paige said softly. “You’ve worked your whole life for this. And I know it doesn’t feel fair. But one injury doesn’t erase who you are or what you’re capable of.”

Azzi bit her lip hard enough it looked like it might bleed. “It’s not just that.”

Paige waited, giving her space.

Azzi’s voice dropped. “I’ve spent so much of my life being told I was ‘next.’ The next big thing. The future. People had expectations, you know? And I believed them. I needed to believe them. And now I sit here, and I don’t feel like the future of anything. I feel stuck. Like I peaked before I even got started.”

There was a silence, heavy and aching.

Paige reached out, brushing her thumb over Azzi’s cheek, gently. “That pressure you feel? I’ve felt it too. And I know it eats at you. But you haven’t peaked, Azzi. You’re still becoming. You’re allowed to not have everything figured out right now.”

Azzi looked away, her eyes glinting in the low light. “What if I’m not good enough when I come back?”

Paige’s answer was immediate. “Then we’ll deal with that together. But I believe in you, Azzi. Not just because I love you. But because you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever known. Even when you don’t feel like it.”

Azzi’s jaw trembled. “I’m just tired of pretending I’m okay. I’m tired of being ‘the strong one.’ I don’t want to have to fight so hard just to be okay.”

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” Paige said. “Not ever.”

Azzi leaned back against her, curling into the warmth of her arms like she was finally letting herself rest.

For a while, neither of them said anything.

Then, in a whisper so faint Paige almost missed it, Azzi said, “I’m scared that if I’m not a star, I’m nothing.”

Paige felt her own tears start to gather. She tightened her hold on Azzi. 

“You are so much more than basketball. Than your stats. Than your body. You’re Azzi. And that’s more than enough.”

Paige pauses before speaking again, “I need you to really hear me right now.”

Azzi opened her eyes slowly, the weight of everything she’d been carrying still resting heavy in her gaze.

“You are more than a basketball player,” Paige said. “I know it feels like the world only cares about your shot percentage or your highlight reels or what number you’re ranked. But I see you. All of you.”

Azzi didn’t speak. Her throat moved like she was trying to swallow back more emotion.

“I see how much you care about people,” Paige continued. “How you light up when you're with kids at a clinic or when you're helping someone on the team who’s having a rough day. I see how hard you work—not just because you’re trying to be the best, but because you love the game. That heart? That drive? That’s not going anywhere.”

Azzi blinked, slow and vulnerable.

“You’re smart,” Paige said. “You’re thoughtful. You ask questions no one else thinks to ask. You make people feel safe without even realizing it. You remember the tiniest details about people, like how I always pick the red Starbursts out of the bag first or that my mom cries during Frozen 2 even though she won’t admit it.”

That made the smallest ghost of a smile flicker at the corner of Azzi’s mouth.

“You’re hilarious, Az,” Paige went on, softer now. “And not just when you’re roasting me. You have this dry little humor that catches people off guard. You make me laugh on days I don’t think I can.”

She exhaled slowly. “And you’re strong. Not just because you fight through injuries or push yourself in the gym. But because you keep showing up, even when you’re scared. Even when you’re hurting.”

Azzi’s lip trembled, her walls visibly cracking open.

“Being a great basketball player is just one part of you,” Paige said. “And yeah, it’s amazing to watch you do what you do. But that’s not why I love you.”

Azzi whispered, “Why do you?”

Paige’s voice was almost a whisper. “Because you let me see the real you. The one who’s scared sometimes. The one who loves hard. The one who doubts, who hopes, who fights. You’re enough exactly as you are—even when you’re sidelined, even when you’re hurting. You don’t have to earn love through performance. You are love.”

Azzi covered her face with one hand, tears slipping through again. Paige pulled her closer to her chest and kissed her temple.

“You’re just healing. And I’m going to be here for all of it. Not because you need me to be. But because I want to be,” she pulls away Azzi’s hands, moving to look into her eyes.

“You just have to let me in,” Paige says softly. 

Chapter Text

“They said it might not work the first time, you know that, babe,” Azzi said softly, her voice calm but searching, her eyes warm and steady as she looked up at Paige pacing the bathroom floor.

Paige stopped for a second, running both hands through her hair, her smile flickering — gentle, but fierce, almost defiant. “Yeah, but they don’t know you, Az. You’re… you’re a damn miracle. You always have been. Strongest person I know.” Her voice caught slightly at the end, full of awe and something rawer just beneath — the quiet desperation of someone who’s dared to hope again after learning how much it can hurt.

Her eyes drifted to the small phone resting on the counter beside Azzi. “Has it been five minutes yet?”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, the sound brushing the edge of nervous. “We set a timer, remember?”

“I know, I just—” Paige exhaled hard, walking over to her, almost instinctively drawn in, like her body knew what her heart needed. She slid between Azzi’s legs where she sat perched on the counter and rested her forehead against hers.

Her hand came up to cradle Azzi’s face, thumb brushing along her cheek with a reverence that made Azzi’s breath catch.

“We might be having a baby,” Paige whispered, almost like she was afraid the words might disappear if she said them too loud.

Azzi blinked, her eyes glassy but steady. “A baby,” she echoed, the word trembling between them — fragile, sacred. It didn’t feel real, and yet it felt like everything.

Then the alarm went off.

A soft, steady chime.

They both froze, the hum of the bathroom light the only other sound in the room now. Paige felt her heart slam into her ribs as Azzi reached for the test, her hand shaking ever so slightly. She held it, turned away, not yet looking.

“Ready?” she breathed, barely louder than a thought.

Paige nodded, unable to find her voice.

“One… two… three.”

Azzi turned it.

Her breath hitched. “It’s—”

She looked again, hands clamped tight around the test. “It’s positive.”

Time seemed to stop.

Paige just stared, unmoving. Her eyes locked on Azzi’s, and then the test, and then back again. “It’s… It’s positive ?”

Azzi laughed, choked and wild, her face crumpling with joy and disbelief all at once. “We’re having a baby, P.”

For a split second Paige didn’t move. And then something in her broke open. She grabbed Azzi and lifted her off the counter in one swift motion, burying her face in her shoulder as she spun them both around in a whirl of trembling relief.

“We’re having a baby,” Paige gasped, laughing through her tears, gripping Azzi like she never wanted to let go. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”

She was crying now — full, breathless sobs against Azzi’s neck — joy tangled in fear, tangled in memory. It had been three years since the last time. Since the time that ended in heartbreak before they’d even had a chance to believe it was real.

Azzi wrapped her arms tighter around her, grounding her. “Hey. We’re okay,” she whispered, fingers curling into the fabric of Paige’s shirt. “This time is different. I can feel it.”

Paige nodded against her shoulder, still trembling. “I just— I didn’t let myself think it would happen. Not yet. Not this soon.”

Azzi pulled back just enough to wipe Paige’s cheek with the pad of her thumb. “But it did.”

They both looked down at the test again, as if to make sure it was still real.

Paige let out a shaky breath, then suddenly froze again. “Wait—shit.”

Azzi blinked. “What?”

“We need… oh god, Azzi, we need everything ,” Paige said, eyes going wide. “Crib. Car seat. Bottles. Baby-proofing. I don’t know how to baby-proof. Do babies even sleep? When do they start talking? Do we need to buy, like, one of those wipe warmers? I need to Google—”

Azzi burst out laughing through her tears, pulling Paige back in before she could fully spiral. “Babe. Babe . Breathe.”

“I am breathing!” Paige insisted, eyes wild now with the flood of logistics overtaking her awe. “Barely!”

“We have time,” Azzi said gently, a smile tugging at her lips as she cupped Paige’s face again. “Right now, all we need to do is feel this. Just this.”

Paige’s body sagged slightly into her. “Okay. Okay. Just this.”

They sank to the bathroom floor together, tangled up, knees to chest and arms looped around one another, the test resting beside them like a quiet promise. Paige buried her face in Azzi’s shoulder and breathed her in.

Azzi kissed the top of her head. “I’m so happy.”

Paige lifted her face, cheeks flushed and wet. “Me too. So scared. But so happy.”

Azzi smiled through the shimmer of her own tears. “We’re going to be okay. All three of us.”

A beat of silence.

Then Paige grinned. “Technically… four. We have Donor 52 to thank.”

Azzi snorted through her tears. “Right. Shoutout to the anonymous genetics.”

They both laughed, still crying, still tangled up in each other on the cold bathroom tile.

“Do you think we should tell someone?” Paige whispered after a moment, her voice small and breathless with wonder.

“Not yet,” Azzi said, her fingers threading into Paige’s hair. “Let’s just stay here a while. Just us. I want to remember this forever.”

Paige nodded, resting her head back on Azzi’s chest, their breathing slowly syncing. “I want to see you as a mom.”

Azzi smiled, tightening her hold. “And I want to see you.”

Paige whispered, “I’m going to need you.”

“Always,” Azzi promised, steady and sure.

The bathroom faded away — the world quiet and slow — until it was just the two of them, wrapped around the heartbeat of a brand new beginning.

The gym buzzed with the usual rhythm — bouncing balls, sharp whistles, shoes squeaking on hardwood — but something was off.

Paige was different today.

She moved with her signature precision, her passes crisp, her footwork sharp. But her eyes? They were glued to Azzi. Always a step behind, always within arm’s reach. When Azzi went up for a layup, Paige was already there to catch her if she stumbled — which, of course, she didn’t.

Azzi noticed.

She felt the eyes before she turned. Felt the gentle tug of attention like a tether, every movement shadowed, softened, watched . And when Paige angled her body in front of her during a scrimmage, blocking a little too aggressively, Azzi let out a soft, breathy laugh.

“Paige,” she murmured as they jogged down the court together, “I’m pregnant, not made of glass.”

Paige didn’t look at her. “You took a charge last week that nearly knocked your soul out of your body.”

“I flopped , and you know it,” Azzi teased, bumping her shoulder gently into Paige’s. “You’re hovering.”

“I’m protecting ,” Paige muttered back, her eyes already scanning for the next play — or maybe the next potential hazard.

From across the court, Nyara caught the shift immediately, nudging Seehia with her elbow. “Look at Paige,” she whispered, grinning. “She’s glued to Azzi like a mom at her kid’s first sleepover.”

Seehia raised an eyebrow, eyes following Paige as she subtly redirected a screen that would’ve sent Azzi barreling into traffic. “It’s kind of sweet,” she said, “but also… kind of terrifying.”

“Protective Paige is intense ,” Nyara agreed.

During a water break, Sabrina wandered over, her towel slung around her neck, watching Paige with a bemused expression.

“Hey,” she said carefully. “Everything okay? You’ve been on Azzi like white on rice. And not the regular kind — the sticky, cling-to-your-fork type.”

Paige froze for half a second, jaw tightening before she forced a casual shrug. “What? I can’t keep tabs on my wife now?”

Sabrina tilted her head. “Sure you can. It’s just… usually your tabs don’t look like Secret Service surveillance.”

Before Paige could answer, Azzi slid in beside her, casually wiping her brow with the edge of her jersey.

“She’s just in a mood,” Azzi said smoothly, flashing her a bright, easy smile. “Let her have her moment.”

Sabrina raised her brows, clearly not convinced, but chose to let it go with a laugh. “Alright, alright. But if she starts body-checking us mid-practice, I’m calling HR.”

As she walked away, Paige muttered under her breath, “I would never body-check her.”

Azzi grinned. “Only because she’s got thirty pounds on you and a mean elbow.”

Paige gave her a look, but it was helpless — completely smitten. “I just want to keep you safe. Both of you .”

Azzi softened, her voice low. “I am safe. Because you’re here.”

They exchanged a quick look — one beat too long for anyone not in on the secret — and then jogged back onto the court, still side by side.

Paige didn’t say another word. But she stayed close. Always close. Because now she wasn’t just watching out for Azzi.

She was watching out for both of them.

The waiting room was quiet — hushed voices, the rustle of magazines, the soft beep of a monitor in the distance. But inside Paige, everything was loud.

Her heart thundered.

She reached for Azzi’s hand, her fingers trembling despite how tightly she tried to hold herself together. Azzi’s hand was warm, grounding, her thumb brushing softly over Paige’s knuckles in a steady rhythm.

“Ready?” Azzi whispered. Her voice was soft but steady, like the eye of a storm.

Paige nodded, the lump in her throat almost too big to swallow. “Ready to see our baby,” she whispered back, and the words sounded fragile — like a hope too precious to speak out loud.

Their names were called.

They rose together, fingers still intertwined, and followed the nurse down the hallway. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, sterile and cold, but to Paige it felt like crossing into something sacred — the edge of a new beginning.

Behind the curtain, Azzi changed into the thin gown, her breath quick but quiet. Paige stood outside, grounding herself with both hands pressed to her chest, trying to breathe. When Azzi called her in, she crossed the threshold like she was stepping into church.

Azzi lay back on the exam table, one hand instinctively drifting to her belly. Paige moved to her side and took her other hand, lacing their fingers together with a quiet urgency.

The door creaked open, and the ultrasound technician entered with a soft smile.

“Hi, you two. Ready to take a look?”

Paige nodded, but her voice was gone. Azzi gave a small, brave smile and a whispered, “Yes.”

The machine hummed to life. The tech asked her to take a deep breath before she began. Paige squeezed her hand gently.

Then came the silence — the kind that stretches too long. The doctor moved the probe slowly, her eyes trained on the screen. Paige’s heart was pounding so hard she could barely breathe.

Just shadows at first. Gray and black shapes flickering across the screen. And then—

“There it is,” the tech murmured, smiling gently. “That’s the gestational sac. It looks right on track. Just over five weeks.”

Paige’s breath caught, tears immediately welling in her eyes. She blinked fast, but they slipped free anyway.

Azzi exhaled, a sound like a prayer. “We’re really doing this.”

Paige bent down and kissed Azzi’s forehead, lips trembling. “Our baby,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “You’re really pregnant.”

Azzi turned her head to look at her, her eyes shining. “I was so scared.”

Paige nodded, letting the words come through the tears. “Me too. But… we’re here. It’s real.”

Their fingers remained laced, unmoving, clinging to each other like a lifeline.

The tech gave them a moment, then gently added, “Let’s schedule you to come back in about two weeks — you’re still early, but if all goes well, we will have a better idea of how along you are and see how baby is doing.”

Azzi nodded, her hand pressing lightly over her belly. Paige could only stare at the screen, still trying to take it all in.

“Would you like me to print out the images so you can take them with you?” 

Azzi nods again, responding for the both of them, Paige still stuck, eyes frozen on the screen.

In the stillness of the exam room, with the soft buzz of the monitor and the light fading through the blinds, it felt like time paused — just long enough for them to breathe.

Later that night, after Azzi went to bed, Paige prayed. Letting her fears and insecurities reveal themselves. 

“God,” she breathed, her voice already thick, “I don’t even know what to say. I feel… like I’m standing at the edge of something I can’t see the end of. Like I’m about to fall, but in a good way. Like flying.”

A pause. She swallowed.

“I saw our baby today. A little blob so far. I saw Azzi holding it all together like she always does, like she’s made for this, and I just—” Her voice broke. “I’m scared. And I’m so, so grateful. I’ve never loved anything like this. I’ve never felt this kind of joy and terror in the same breath.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks. She didn’t wipe them away.

“Please,” she whispered, head bowed low, hands pressed together. “Keep them safe. Both of them. I’ll do everything I can, but I know I can’t control it all. So I’m asking you to help me be strong enough to hold Azzi when she’s tired. Brave enough to face the days that will test us. And soft enough to love them without fear.”

Silence wrapped around her like a blanket.

She let herself sit in it — that sacred stillness — until the storm inside her eased.

The days after the appointment moved like honey — slow, golden, sticky with hope and dread.

At first, Paige tried to distract herself. She cleaned the house obsessively, reorganized drawers that didn’t need organizing, and started bookmarking baby items even though they’d promised not to shop until after the heartbeat.

But underneath it all, a current of anxiety ran wild. She couldn’t sit still for long. Couldn’t sleep through the night. Every time Azzi sighed too heavily or touched her stomach without thinking, Paige’s eyes would snap to her, like she was trying to memorize her breath.

Azzi noticed. Of course she did.

She didn’t say much, but her hands lingered longer when they touched. Her hugs lasted a few seconds more. And every night, she pulled Paige into bed early and held her close, whispering calm into her until Paige finally, finally slept.

One night, Paige woke up at 3 a.m. and found herself alone in bed. Her chest seized until she heard the soft hum of the fridge.

She padded into the kitchen to find Azzi sitting cross-legged on the floor, eating a piece of toast, sleepy-eyed but peaceful.

“Hey,” Paige said softly, like she was afraid to startle her.

Azzi looked up, smiling. “Couldn’t sleep. I was starving.”

Paige sat beside her without a word, pulling her knees to her chest.

After a few moments of quiet, Azzi glanced sideways. “You okay?”

Paige’s voice cracked. “I’m trying so hard not to be terrified all the time.”

Azzi set her toast down. “I know.”

Paige buried her face in her hands. “What if something happens again? What if—”

“Hey.” Azzi turned and pulled Paige into her lap, arms wrapped firmly around her shoulders. “Look at me.”

Paige blinked up at her, eyes shining with unshed tears.

“I’m pregnant,” Azzi said calmly. “You saw it. We saw it. It’s not nothing, Paige. It’s already something.”

Paige laughed softly through her tears. “You’re so calm.”

Azzi smiled, brushing a thumb over Paige’s cheek. “I’m not. Not really. But I have to be. Because if I start spinning out, who’s gonna pull you back down?”

Paige rested her forehead against Azzi’s collarbone. “I just love you so much. And I want this so much.”

“I know,” Azzi whispered. “Me too.”

But that calm didn’t hold everywhere. Especially not on the court.

Paige was always protective. Everyone knew that. But lately, she was hovering . And Azzi, for all her patience, was starting to feel it.

In practice, Azzi ran her drills like she always did — sharp, quick, focused. She moved a little more carefully, sure, but she wasn’t about to baby herself. It was still her body. Still her game. And the moment she slowed down too much, it felt like she was giving up control of it all — and Azzi couldn’t stand that feeling.

But Paige noticed everything. A stutter step. A hand pressed to her back. A longer-than-usual water break.

During one scrimmage, Azzi took a light bump driving to the basket — nothing hard, nothing unusual. But Paige immediately blew the play dead, walking across the court.

“Sub out,” Paige barked. “Now.”

Azzi turned, face flushed. “Paige, I’m fine. ”

“You’re being reckless.”

Azzi spun around, sweat still shining on her forehead. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not playing through contact right now—”

“You don’t get to decide that!”

“Azzi,” Paige said, lower this time, stepping close. “Please. For me.”

Azzi froze.

The gym quieted around them — players half-paused in their drills, coaches pretending not to watch too closely.

Azzi’s breath hitched. She blinked hard. “That’s not fair,” she whispered. “You can’t ask me that.”

“I just want to keep you safe.”

“I’m already safe,” Azzi said, her voice trembling. “You’re the only one making me feel like I’m not.” Then she turned and walked off the court.

Paige sighs, eyes closed, mad at herself. “Azzi,” she calls after her. 

Azzi just shakes her head and keeps walking. 

“Azzi!” Paige begins to follow her wife, eventually breaking out into a run. She throws open the locker room door, chasing after the girl.

“You don’t get to ask me that Paige!” she whirls, eyes blazing, breathing heavy. "You’ve been breathing down my neck all practice. You think I don’t feel you watching every step I take?”

“Because I’m scared!” Paige’s voice cracked, rising. “You’re five weeks pregnant and still taking charges like nothing’s changed!”

Azzi’s hands froze on her jersey. Her voice dropped, sharper now. “So what? I’m supposed to stop playing?”

“I’m saying be careful.”

“No,” Azzi barked. “You’re saying stop. You’re saying sit on the sidelines and watch my team while my body turns into a science experiment!”

Paige’s fists clenched at her sides. “Azzi, please. Just—please. For me. ”

Azzi recoiled like she’d been slapped. Her face twisted in disbelief, then cracked. “That’s not fair,” she whispered, tears rising. “You don’t get to ask that.”

The air stilled between them — a fragile thread pulled tight.

Then the door creaked open.

Sandy stepped into the tense space, eyes moving between them. “Is everything okay in here?”

Paige stiffened, caught mid-emotion. She couldn’t speak.

Azzi’s arms folded tightly across her chest, voice brittle and trembling. “She’s freaking out because I’m pregnant.”

Sandy’s face went still. “You’re pregnant?”

“Yes,” Azzi said sharply, wiping a tear from her cheek. “And I’m still early, and I’m exhausted, and we’re trying not to make it a thing yet, but she’s—” She threw a hand in Paige’s direction. “She’s watching my every move like I’m gonna break, and I can’t even breathe.”

Paige looked devastated. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, voice soft and uneven.

Sandy’s expression softened as she looked between the two of them again. “Is this… a good thing?”

Neither answered right away.

But then Paige blinked hard and nodded. “It is.”

Azzi exhaled shakily. “It really is.”

Sandy gave them a small, quiet smile. “Okay. That’s what matters.”

She took a beat before continuing gently, “Take the rest of the day off. Come in tomorrow morning, the three of us. We’ll make a plan — something that lets Azzi stay involved, and gives Paige room to breathe. You’re not in this alone, okay?”

They both nodded. She gave them one more look and stepped out, closing the door softly behind her.

The silence that followed was heavier than before.

Azzi sat down slowly on the bench, hands shaking as she pressed her palms to her face.

Paige stood frozen for a few long seconds… then quietly crossed the room and knelt in front of her.

“Az,” she said, gently.

Azzi shook her head, voice hoarse. “Don’t. Just—don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Paige murmured. “I shouldn’t have said it like that.”

Azzi dropped her hands, looking at her through tear-filled eyes. “I get that you’re scared. But I’m scared too. And the only thing I can control right now is still being me. If I give that up, I’ll spiral. So please… don’t take that from me.”

Paige swallowed hard. “I wasn’t trying to. I just…” Her voice broke. “Every time you take a hit or land hard, I can’t breathe.”

Azzi’s voice cracked. “And when you look at me like I’m already broken, it makes me feel like I might be.”

That shattered Paige. Her face crumpled, and she reached out without hesitation, pulling Azzi into her arms.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, rocking her gently. “I just love you so much. And this baby—”

“I know,” Azzi breathed, curling against her. “Me too.”

They stayed like that on the locker room bench, tangled in each other, hearts beating a little slower now. The fight still lingered, but underneath it, something truer had taken root — not just fear, not just love, but the quiet reminder that this was theirs. And they’d find a way through it. Together.

Later that night, after Azzi had gone to bed, Paige grabbed the ultrasound picture she kept on her nightstand, got on her knees and prayed. 

She didn’t speak right away. Her chest was tight. She felt frayed at the edges, like holding too much all at once.

And then she whispered, “God… I need your help.” Her voice was so quiet it was almost part of the silence. “I know Azzi’s strong. I know she’s fierce and brave and so much tougher than I could ever be. And I love that about her. I fell in love with that fire.” She swallowed. “But now I’m so scared of it burning her.”

She looked down at her hands. They were shaking again. “I want to protect her, and I don’t know how to do that without smothering her. I want to keep her safe, but I can’t wrap her in bubble wrap. And I don’t want to make her feel small or fragile when she’s never been either of those things.” Her eyes welled again.

“So please… help me let her be who she is. Even when I’m scared. Even when my instincts scream at me to pull her back. Help me trust her strength. Help me carry the fear without letting it spill onto her.”

A pause. She let out a slow breath. “And God… just stay close to her. When she’s on the court. When she’s landing hard or driving through contact or doing what she loves. Watch over her. Watch over both of them. I’ll do my best. But I’m asking You to meet me in the places where I can’t reach.”

Her voice cracked. “I need to believe she’ll be okay. That we’ll all be okay.”

Silence again, thick but not empty.

Paige sat there a while longer, grounded by the floor beneath her, held by something she couldn’t name.

The next morning, the locker room felt quieter than usual.

Paige arrived early, restless and bleary-eyed, pacing the hallway outside Sandy’s office. She’d barely slept — every moment from the night before had looped in her head on repeat. The fight. The look on Azzi’s face. The way her voice cracked.

When Azzi finally arrived, she moved slower than usual. Her hair was pulled back in a loose bun, her face bare. There were no earbuds in, no focused game face. Just Azzi — tired, real, and raw.

They didn’t speak at first. Paige reached for her hand, and this time, Azzi let her take it.

Sandy opened the office door a moment later. “Hey. Come in.”

They sat on the worn leather couch across from her desk — Paige closest to the edge, Azzi tucked beside her, arms crossed tightly.

Sandy folded her hands on the desk, gentle but firm. “First, I just want to say… I’m honored you trusted me with this. I know it’s early, and it’s a big deal.”

Azzi nodded quietly, eyes on the floor.

Sandy continued. “Second, I don’t think either of you should feel ashamed or overwhelmed by what happened yesterday. Emotions are high — this is your life. You’re allowed to have moments like that.”

Paige gave a faint, grateful smile. Azzi didn’t move.

“But,” Sandy said, her voice softer now, “we do need to figure out how to move forward in a way that protects you, Azzi, and lets you feel like yourself.”

Azzi looked up slowly. “I’m not ready to stop playing. I know my limits, and I can scale back. But if I stop completely…” She shook her head. “I’ll start feeling like I’m disappearing.”

Sandy nodded. “Okay. That’s fair. I’m not a doctor, but I’m also not going to pretend athletes aren’t human beings with complicated lives. So let’s talk through what makes sense for the next few weeks.”

She pulled out a notepad. “We'll let the trainers and medical team know today, so they are aware of what is going on. No contact drills, for starters. Light conditioning, shooting, ball-handling — things that let you stay in rhythm. No scrimmages. Modified practices. You call the shots if anything feels off. You feel dizzy, nauseous, even just off — you stop.”

Azzi nodded slowly, her jaw tight.

Paige shifted beside her. “And I won’t hover. I’ll try.”

Sandy smiled knowingly. “That part might take some practice.”

They all laughed softly — a needed crack in the tension.

Sandy’s tone gentled again. “I can tell how much you love each other. That’s obvious. So let’s work with it, not against it.”

Azzi finally leaned into Paige, her shoulder resting against her wife’s.

“I’m still scared,” Paige admitted. “Every day.”

“I know,” Sandy said. “But you’re not alone. Not here. We’ll be as private and careful as you need. And if you ever want to adjust the plan, we will. It’s yours.”

Azzi blinked quickly, overcome. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Sandy nodded once more, then stood. “Go get some breakfast. Take the morning slow. I’ll see you both at the afternoon session.”

As they stood to leave, Azzi caught Paige’s hand again and squeezed it — not because she needed grounding, but because she was offering it.

For the first time in days, Paige exhaled fully.

They walked out together, not entirely steady, but stronger. They had a plan now. They had each other. And somehow, that was enough to keep moving forward.

Two weeks later, they found themselves back in the quiet clinic room, the air thick with anticipation and unspoken hope.

Paige’s fingers nervously entwined with Azzi’s, their shared lifeline in the silence. Slowly, Paige reached down, one hand sliding gently over Azzi’s belly, warm and soft beneath her palm, while her other hand held Azzi’s tightly.

The ultrasound tech moved the probe carefully along her stomach, eyes focused on the screen as shadows and shapes took form. Then she glanced up at them, a soft smile on her lips.

“Would you like me to try and hear the heartbeat?” she asked quietly.

Paige and Azzi both froze, breath caught somewhere between excitement and fear. Azzi’s voice broke the stillness, barely above a whisper. “There’s a heartbeat already?”

The tech paused. “We can try and see if it’s there, but since it’s only seven weeks, we might not be able to hear it.”

“If we can hear it, we want to hear it,” Paige says, voice breaking at the end. 

A few seconds passed — then that steady, rapid thump filled the room, a rhythmic pulse vibrating softly through the speaker.

Paige’s breath hitched; tears welled up in her eyes. Warm, happy tears that spilled over as she squeezed Azzi’s hand. Azzi blinked quickly, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes too, her smile shaky but radiant.

The tech smiled warmly. “It’s very strong. It’s normal for it to beat so fast this early on.”

Azzi’s voice caught as she glanced down at Paige’s hand on her belly. “Can I… can I record it? I want to keep this.”

Paige nodded, her own voice trembling. “Of course.”

The tech handed her the phone gently, and Azzi held it close to the speaker, her thumb hovering over the record button before pressing it down.

They stayed like that for a few more beats, the sound filling the small room and anchoring their joy in the moment.

Paige leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Azzi’s temple, voice thick with emotion. “It’s real.”

Azzi nodded, eyes shimmering. “Our baby.” They held each other close, breaths mingling, hearts swelling in quiet awe.

For a moment, the whole world outside fell away — leaving just their steady breaths and the tiny heartbeat that promised everything.

They left the clinic quietly, the soft buzz of fluorescent lights replaced by the hum of the city outside. The cool air hit their skin as they walked to the car, fingers still intertwined. Another sonogram to add to their fridge's growing collection.

Paige slid into the driver’s seat, and Azzi settled beside her, the weight of the day pressing softly between them — equal parts awe, nervousness, and hope.

As they drove, Paige’s hand moved almost instinctively, shifting from her usual resting place on Azzi’s thigh to gently rest the curve of her growing bump.

Azzi glanced over, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Can we stop and get food? I’m starving.”

Paige laughed, eyes brightening. “Anything for my favorite person growing my second favorite person.” 

At the drive-thru, Azzi happily dug into a small order of French fries, crunching away with a carefree joy that made Paige’s heart swell.

Between bites, Azzi wiped her hands and looked out the window. “I think… we should tell our parents soon.”

Paige’s smile softened, a tender seriousness settling over her. “Yeah. Soon. They deserve to know.”

Azzi reached over, squeezing Paige’s hand gently. “They’ll be so happy. Just like us.”

Paige nodded, feeling the warmth of that promise — of family, love, and everything waiting ahead.

Azzi’s parents, Tim and Katie, sat on the couch in Paige and Azzi’s living room, chatting about the Liberty’s upcoming schedule. The late afternoon sunlight filtered in through the windows, casting a soft, golden haze over the room. Paige and Azzi sat across from them — Paige unusually fidgety, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, trying not to let her nerves show.

“Alright,” Azzi said, glancing sideways at Paige. “We actually have a little surprise for you.”

Tim raised a brow, intrigued. Katie smiled warmly, leaning forward. “What’s going on?”

Paige reached down beside her and picked up the small white box she’d hidden behind the coffee table. Her fingers trembled slightly as she handed it to Katie.

“It’s… something we found, and we thought of you,” Paige said, her voice tight with emotion already creeping up her throat.

Katie and Tim exchanged a curious glance, then Katie lifted the lid. Nestled inside was a tiny, pristine white onesie with the New York Liberty logo printed across the front — the same logo that had become a daily part of both their daughters’ lives.

Katie blinked. Then blinked again.

Tim leaned in, his brow furrowing as he read the logo, then saw the small tag labeled “0–3 months.” His eyes widened.

Katie’s hand flew to her mouth. She looked up at Paige and Azzi, eyes already glistening. “Wait… is this…?”

Paige opened her mouth to say something — anything — but the words dissolved into a sob as she nodded, shoulders shaking slightly as the tears spilled over.

Azzi reached for her hand and squeezed it, smiling through her own watery eyes. “Yeah,” she said softly. “We’re pregnant.”

Katie gasped again, a tear slipping down her cheek as she practically launched herself across the room to embrace them both. “Oh my god. Oh my god. You’re pregnant?!”

Tim stood frozen for a moment, holding the onesie in his large hands as if it were made of gold. Then he let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “You two. You two! Are you serious?”

Azzi nodded, grinning now through her tears. “Eight weeks.”

Tim finally moved, wrapping his arms around all three of them. “This is the best news we’ve ever gotten.”

Katie was laughing now, a soft, giddy sound. “I knew something was going on — Paige has been glowing in that slightly terrified way.”

Paige sniffled, laughing despite herself. “I’ve been trying to keep it together. It’s been… a lot. But it’s real. We heard the heartbeat yesterday.”

Katie clutched her heart. “You heard it?”

Azzi nodded, turning to Paige with soft eyes. “The tech asked if we wanted to try. And there it was. Fast and strong.”

Tim sat back down, his voice quieter now, reverent. “That’s our grandchild in there. A whole new person.”

Katie reached for Azzi’s hands again. “You’re going to be an amazing mom. Both of you are. And we’re going to be right here, every step of the way.”

The little onesie lay across Katie’s lap now, a symbol of everything beginning. Laughter mixed with tears, and the room filled with a joy so full it felt like it might overflow — love layered on love, generation to generation.

Paige gently pressed her forehead to Azzi’s, their hands intertwined, hearts wide open.

Later that evening, after the house had quieted and Azzi’s parents had left to go home with the onesie still clutched in Katie’s arms like treasure, Paige sat curled on the couch next to Azzi. Her fingers tapped nervously on her phone screen as she waited for the FaceTime to connect. 

She sent her entire family — Mom, Dad, Drew, Ryan and Lauren — a message asking if they could all FaceTime.

Her dad picked up first.

“Hey, honey!” Bob said, his smile wide, face slightly off-center like always when he answered video calls. “What’s up?”

A second later, Ryan appeared too, joining from his apartment across town.

“Yo,” Ryan said, grinning. “Did you win the lottery or something? You never call us both at the same time. And with all of us.”

Lauren and Amy joined together, before Drew got added to the call as well. 

Azzi leaned in from beside Paige, her cheek brushing Paige’s shoulder. Paige glanced at her, eyes gleaming.

“Kind of,” Paige said, lips twitching into a crooked smile. “You ready?”

Her dad blinked. “Ready for what?”

Paige flipped the camera.

For a moment, all they could see was the grainy black-and-white image on the screen — the ultrasound photo, balanced between Paige’s fingers, the date and time stamped in the corner, the small curve of the gestational sac clearly visible.

There was silence.

Then her dad’s voice, choked and shaky: “Is that—”

"NO WAY-"

"Oh my god!"

“Surprise,” Paige said, her voice catching. “We’re having a baby.”

Drew let out a stunned laugh. “ What?! Are you serious?! Paige, are you kidding me right now?!”

Paige turned the camera back around, and she was beaming now, full of emotion she couldn’t hold back anymore. “We’re eight weeks along. We heard the heartbeat yesterday.”

“Oh my god,” Bob whispered, sitting back in his chair, eyes glossy behind his glasses. “I can’t believe this. You’re going to be a mom.”

"Oh honey," Amy stuttered, beginning to get emotional.

Azzi waved from behind Paige, and Ryan let out another loud whoop. “This is crazy. That baby’s gonna have the most competitive moms on Earth. I already feel bad for them.”

They all laughed through the tears and the disbelief, and then Paige’s dad said softly, “I’m so proud of you, Paigey. You and Azzi… you’re going to be amazing parents.”

The call stretched into the evening — laughter, questions, jokes about baby names, and plans to visit, before people began to trickle away. When they finally all hung up, Paige stayed on the couch in stunned silence, Azzi’s hand resting gently on her stomach.

“Did that just happen?” Paige asked.

Azzi smiled. “Yeah. It’s real now.”

Paige rested her head on Azzi’s shoulder, exhaling deeply, her fingers still gently brushing the spot where new life grew. For the first time in weeks, the fear didn’t outweigh the joy.

The media room still buzzed with the aftermath of a hard practice. The air was thick with sweat, laughter, and the low hum of music playing from someone’s speaker tucked into the corner. Some players stretched on the floor, others leaned against walls sipping electrolyte drinks or tossing towels at each other. Paige sat perched on a bench beside Azzi, hands clenched in her lap, trying to play it cool. Her knee was bouncing relentlessly.

“Stop that,” Azzi murmured under her breath with a half-smile, placing a hand on Paige’s knee to still it.

“I can’t help it,” Paige whispered back. “I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

Azzi chuckled. “That’s supposed to be my job.”

Paige shot her a look, but it softened immediately. They shared a moment, forehead to forehead, quiet and full.

Sandy clapped her hands once, drawing everyone’s attention. “Alright! Good work today, everyone. Some really sharp energy out there.”

A chorus of tired whoops and weak fist pumps answered her.

“But before we go,” Sandy continued, the corner of her mouth twitching up into a knowing smile, “we have one more announcement.”

She stepped aside.

Immediately, heads turned. People straightened up, others raised an eyebrow, confusion clear on faces. 

There was silence, and then chaos erupted.

Water bottles hit the floor. Someone dropped a shoe. Seehia and Kennedy were already halfway into a group hug while Kayla filmed the chaos with her phone.

“You’re serious?!” Sabrina laughed, tugging Azzi into her arms. “Oh my God. This is real?!”

Azzi nodded, wiping her eyes. “Yeah. We’re twelve weeks.”

Jaylyn’s jaw dropped. “Twelve?! You’ve been hooping pregnant?! ”

“Not full contact,” Paige shot back quickly.

“I thought you were just being dramatic,” Nyara joked, grinning as she wrapped Paige in a bear hug. “But it’s for a baby ? That’s valid.”

Someone yelled from the back, “We’re gonna have a team baby!”

Chaos again.

Later that evening, after the post-practice adrenaline had worn off and the quiet of home had settled around them, Paige and Azzi curled up on the couch in matching sweats. The lights were dim, a soft movie playing in the background — neither of them really watching, just basking in the stillness.

Azzi rested her head on Paige’s chest, one hand tucked beneath her sweatshirt where it warmed her belly. Paige absentmindedly ran fingers through her hair, her phone abandoned on the coffee table, notifications piling up.

But then Paige’s phone buzzed. Once. Twice. Then rapid-fire after that.

She frowned and reached for it. “Uh… why do I have 32 new texts in 30 seconds?”

Azzi stirred, grabbing her own phone from the arm of the couch. “Me too. What the—”

Both screens lit up at once with the same banner:

Group Chat: “Pazzi Baby Watch 👶🏽💙💗🏀”
Jaylyn added: Sabrina, Nyara, Leonie, Kayla, Seehia, Coach Sandy, Ellie (mascot), and 6 others

Azzi snorted so hard she almost dropped her phone. “No way. No way.”

Messages were already flooding in:

Jaylyn: Let the games BEGIN 🍼✨

Sabrina: Already bought tiny Crocs. Not kidding.

Nyara: We’re taking name suggestions, right?

Leonie: Do we get to vote on nursery themes??

Kayla: Can I teach the baby German?? Just say yes.

Seehia: Someone PLEASE design tiny Liberty jerseys. I will Venmo you instantly.

Ellie (mascot): 🤫💚 this baby is under contract for halftime dance routines starting 2029.

Sabrina: Also… I'm calling dibs on Auntie Night Shift. I'm elite with 3am bottles.

Paige burst out laughing, nearly falling backward on the couch. “They’re unhinged.”

Azzi wiped tears from her eyes, wheezing. “They added the mascot, Paige. We’re not safe.”

More messages kept rolling in:

Jaylyn: Also we’re planning the shower. Don’t worry. You two just show up. We got this.

Sabrina: And we're doing a bracket. Boy vs girl. This is March Madness: Baby Edition.

Leonie: “Team Blue” or “Team Pink” merch drop incoming.

Nyara: Who’s in charge of onesies? Someone step up.

Paige looked over at Azzi, who was shaking her head but grinning so hard her face hurt. “We’ve created monsters.”

Azzi leaned into her, chuckling. “I love them.”

“I do too,” Paige murmured. “They’re already loving this baby so loud.”

They stared at the screen together as more messages poured in — memes, baby animal GIFs, wild name suggestions, photos of booties and bibs and mini basketballs.

Then, a final message pinged in from Sandy:

Coach Sandy: Just remember… your teammates might be loud, but your family is louder. We’ve got you, every step. Sleep well, mamas.

Azzi teared up instantly.

Paige reached over and took her hand.

And in that moment — wrapped in each other, surrounded by chaos and love — they knew they weren’t doing this alone.

The morning the podcast dropped, Paige and Azzi were already awake.

They hadn’t slept much the night before — nerves, mostly. Not fear, exactly, but anticipation. The kind that wraps around your chest and holds you still.

Azzi sat on the edge of their bed, wearing one of Paige’s oversized sweatshirts and leggings that were starting to feel snug around her belly. She absently rubbed her hand over the curve there. Four months. Four months of knowing, of adjusting, of loving this tiny little mystery more every day.

The Liberty’s media team had scheduled the episode for 7 a.m. sharp.

At 7:01, Paige’s phone lit up.

Then hers did.

Then both started buzzing non-stop.

The episode was titled: “Fudd Around and Find Out: More Than Just Teammates” — a nod to their relationship, but also to the life growing quietly, now loudly, between them.

Azzi pulled the podcast up and hit play, just for a moment, listening to their own voices echo out into the morning air.

She paused it, her throat tight. "This is really happening, huh?"

Paige leaned in, hand slipping to rest on her belly. “Yeah. It really is.”

By noon, the internet was on fire.

Social media was flooded — teammates reposting clips, friends and family commenting hearts and crying emojis, even WNBA legends chiming in with congratulations. News outlets picked it up within the hour. Their Instagram post with the ultrasound, the Liberty onesie, and their intertwined hands had over two million likes by midday.

At their practice facility, people were still trying to pretend things were normal — but now the bump was undeniable.

Azzi had been sitting out of games for a few weeks, listed as “inactive for personal reasons,” but the speculation had already started. She was still present at practices, helping with scouting, rebounding, reviewing film — refusing to sit still — but now?

Now, people knew.

She walked into the gym in a black Liberty hoodie that clung a little tighter at the waist than she remembered. Heads turned. Whispers. Then smiles.

When she walked past Leonie and Jaylyn, they didn’t say anything at first — just smiled wide and held out their arms. Azzi groaned but walked into the hug anyway.

“She’s real,” Jaylyn whispered, grinning. “The bump is real.”

“It’s been real. You’ve seen me get sick enough times to know that,” she responded rolling her eyes.

Leonie made a face and Jayln poked the belly.

“Don’t touch it,” Azzi warned, smirking. “I’m serious.”

Jaylyn held her hands up like she was innocent. “Hey, I’ve got boundaries.”

Leonie just chuckled. “You say that now.”

Sabrina walked by a moment later with a protein bar in her mouth and shot Azzi a look. “Twelve people have asked me if you’re showing yet. Should I tell them you’ve entered your glowing era?”

“I’m not glowing,” Azzi muttered, swatting her away with her hand. “I’m sweating and cranky and I want fries.”

Paige, coming up behind her, looped an arm around her waist and kissed the top of her head. “Then we’re getting fries.”

“See?” Azzi pointed at her. “That’s why I’m keeping her.”

Azzi sat cross-legged at the end of the bench, her Liberty hoodie pulled over her bump. She’d been out of games for weeks now—everyone knew, of course, after the podcast went live that morning—but it still felt strange not lacing up next to her teammates for practice. Practice was winding down, and the gym buzzed quietly in the background. 

She opened her phone and tapped into Instagram. Just to peek.

The clip of the podcast had gone viral. The caption read: “We’re pregnant — and we’re ready to talk about it.” Paige and Azzi had filmed it at Azzi’s studio, curled on the couch, hands tangled together as they told their story—soft, honest, a little teary.

Azzi hadn’t planned to look at the comments, but the sheer volume of love tugged her in.

“Crying. Crying. Crying. This is the most beautiful thing.”

“Azzi and Paige are literally rewriting what it means to have it all. Love, family, careers.”

“I’m 14 and queer and seeing them makes me believe I can have a life like that too.”

Her throat tightened at that one. She smiled, cheeks warming. A video someone posted of a reaction montage from fans, sobbing into hoodies or grinning in front of laptops. One girl had stitched it with: “This is my Roman Empire.”

Azzi laughed under her breath. She didn’t realize how much it would hit her until she saw it for herself—the way people embraced them. The joy.

But then she scrolled a little more.

The quote tweets were louder.

Meaner.

“This is gross. No kid should have two moms.”

“Imagine thinking THIS is a family.”

“Y’all acting like this is some beautiful love story when it’s just selfish and weird.”

“WNBA really turning into a daycare for lesbians now huh?”

“Figures. One of them gets pregnant mid-season. Priorities, right?”

Azzi froze.

She blinked, but the words stayed.

Suddenly, the comments blurred together. Every cruel line clinging like static in her chest.

Her eyes burned, and she set her phone down fast, hands trembling slightly. She stood up from the bench, wiping at her eyes before anything could fall, and walked calmly toward the bathroom like it was nothing.

Just a bathroom trip. No big deal.

Only Paige noticed. 

She’d been walking off the court with a towel slung around her shoulders when she caught the tightness in Azzi’s posture. The way her hands were clenched. The speed in her steps.

Paige dropped the towel and followed, quiet but firm.

The locker room was mostly empty when she slipped in, the heavy door clicking behind her.

She found Azzi standing at the mirror, gripping the edge of the sink, her head down.

“Az.”

Azzi sniffled and turned her head just slightly. “I’m fine.”

Paige’s heart broke a little. “You’re not.” Azzi didn’t respond. Just shook her head and tried to steady her breath.

Paige walked over slowly and wrapped her arms around her from behind, resting her hands over the small rise of her belly. “What happened?”

Azzi’s voice cracked. “I knew there’d be backlash. I knew it. But seeing it…”

Paige’s grip tightened protectively. “What did they say?”

Azzi’s shoulders tensed. “That we’re disgusting. That it’s wrong for a kid to have two moms. That I’m ruining the season. That the WNBA is a joke now.” She couldn’t keep going. Her voice wobbled. Her chin trembled. She turned her face into Paige’s shoulder, hiding the tears now spilling freely.

“They don’t know you,” Paige whispered. “They don’t know anything about how much love is waiting for this baby. Or how strong you are. Or how much you’ve already given to this team.”

Azzi let out a small, broken sound and pressed tighter into her. “I don’t want our baby to grow up in a world like that.”

“They won’t grow up in that world,” Paige said firmly. “They’ll grow up in ours. One we build around love. Around family. Around truth.”

Paige turned Azzi gently in her arms, brushing the tears from her face with both hands. “You’re not alone. You never have been.”

Azzi nodded slowly, then buried her face in Paige’s neck. “I just wanted to share something happy.”

“It was happy,” Paige said. “It is. And all that hate? It’s just noise. And we don’t raise our kid in noise—we raise them in music.”

That got the smallest smile out of Azzi. “You sound like a Hallmark card.”

“I’ll take it,” Paige whispered, kissing her forehead.

The next practice, Paige was calm on the surface, but beneath the routine—beneath the warmups and drills—there was an undercurrent of tension. 

Paige was sharp. Too sharp. Every cut, every pass, every shot was laced with something tighter than focus. Something clenched. Azzi clocked it from the sideline.

She wasn’t cleared for contact practice, so she stood off to the side, holding a ball loosely in her hands while talking with the assistant trainer. Her oversized warmup hoodie draped over the growing swell of her belly, one hand absently resting over it as she nodded along.

Then she froze.

The ball dropped from her hands and hit the floor with a dull thud, rolling away unnoticed.

Her other hand flew to her stomach.

A sudden, undeniable flutter. A push. Then another.

She gasped, eyes going wide as she gripped the curve of her belly. “Oh my God,” she whispered, her knees softening beneath her.

Across the court, Paige had just finished a shooting drill. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the ball drop — saw Azzi’s body tense, her hands move instinctively to her stomach.

Something in her snapped into focus. She crossed the court without a word, quick steps becoming a jog, heart pounding louder than the noise of bouncing balls and sneakers on hardwood.

“Azzi?” she asked, breath catching. “Hey—hey, are you okay?”

Azzi looked up, stunned and glowing, eyes filled with something between tears and awe.

“Give me your hands,” she whispered.

“What?” Paige frowned, alarm flaring.

Azzi grabbed Paige’s wrists gently and guided her palms to the center of her belly.

“Just—right here,” she breathed.

And then Paige felt it. A soft, undeniable kick.

She went still. Her eyes flew to Azzi’s, lips parting, the world narrowing to just this moment, this small, impossible hello.

“That was—?” Paige whispered.

Azzi nodded, tears slipping free now. “Yeah.” Another kick. Paige gasped softly, a hand flying to her mouth, overwhelmed.

“She’s saying hi,” Azzi said, her voice thick with emotion. “Or he. Or they. I don’t care. Just—they’re here. Really here.”

Paige’s hands stayed right there, fingers splayed wide. She dropped her forehead gently to Azzi’s and let out a quiet, shaking laugh.

“I love them,” she whispered. “I love you.”

Azzi kissed her cheek, hand cupping the back of Paige’s neck. “I know.” They stood there, wrapped in something sacred, as the gym spun on around them.

Their next game fell six days after announcing their pregnancy, one day after their baby kicked for the first time.

Paige, usually excited and ecstatic for games, sat silently. The ride to Barclays was quiet—too quiet.

Azzi sat in the passenger seat, one hand resting on the curve of her belly beneath her oversized hoodie, humming softly to the music playing low from the speakers. But Paige hadn’t spoken since they left the house. Her jaw was tight. Fingers clenched the steering wheel like she was holding something back.

Azzi could feel the tension in the car like static.

She glanced over. “Okay. You need to tell me what’s going on.”

Paige didn’t look at her. Just kept her eyes on the road. Azzi waited. Nothing.

She tried again, softer this time. “Is this about the articles? This anger you have?”

Silence. Then Paige let out a harsh breath through her nose, like she’d been punched in the stomach. “Yes.” Her voice cracked like a dam. “Yeah, Azzi. It’s about the articles. It’s about how they’re talking about you.” 

Azzi blinked, her stomach twisting—not from fear, but from knowing. Paige hadn’t said anything all day, hadn’t brought up the headlines or the comments circulating in sports media. But Azzi had seen them. She just hadn’t wanted to feed the fire.

Paige wasn’t as good at pretending.

“They’re acting like you’re some washed-up, broken version of yourself,” Paige continued, voice shaking now. “Like your body is public property and they get to decide what’s acceptable. As if carrying our child makes you less of an athlete. Less of a person.”

Azzi stayed quiet.

“I read one that said you’d probably never get your ‘game body’ back,” Paige snapped, bitterness dripping from her voice. “That maybe you’ll be ‘useful again someday.’ Like you’re some fucking machine instead of a human being.”

She finally glanced over, eyes bright with anger. “And I swear to God, Azzi, I wanted to show up at that guy’s office and throw his laptop out a window.”

Azzi reached over and gently placed a hand on Paige’s forearm. “Paige…”

“No,” Paige said, her voice rising. “You’re the strongest, most disciplined, most beautiful person I know, and they’re acting like your body is a problem now just because it’s doing something amazing. It makes me sick.”

She blinked hard, her voice fracturing at the edges now. “And it’s worse now, Azzi. Worse—because I felt them. Our baby. I felt them kick, and it changed everything. They’re not just talking about you anymore. They’re talking about both of you. About us.”

She wiped at her face with the heel of her hand, frustrated. “They're speaking about your body like its broken. And I just felt our child moving inside you for the first time. There is nothing broken about that. Nothing anyone gets to judge. It's sacred."

Azzi’s throat tightened. “Paige…”

“I hate them,” Paige muttered, wiping angrily at her face. “And I hate that I can’t protect you from all of it. That they’re trying to reduce you to this… this projected failure just because you’re pregnant.”

Azzi was quiet for a long moment.

Then she said softly, “You’re allowed to be angry.”

Paige’s breath hitched. “I just don’t know how you’re handling this as gracefully as you are.”

Azzi looked out the window, watching the city pass by. “Because if I let their words define me, I lose twice. Once to their ignorance, and again to my own fear.”

Paige glanced at her, something like awe softening her anger. “That’s not fair. You shouldn’t have to carry it that way.”

Azzi gave a half-smile. “I’m not. Not alone. I have you.”

Paige pulled the car into the underground arena lot, parked, and turned to her fully. Her hand found Azzi’s and held it tight.

She leaned over the console, one hand reaching for Azzi’s belly, the other landing on Azzi’s jaw. “I love you both so much. I will protect you both until the day I die.” 

“I know you will. I love that about you,” Azzi responds softly, grabbing Paige’s hand and kissing the back of it. 

Paige nodded slowly, admiring Azzi’s strength, but inside, her anger still churned fiercely. Stepping out of the car, Paige clenched her jaw and tightened her grip on Azzi’s hand. It wasn’t fair. Not a single word of those cruel articles should be tolerated, especially about Azzi’s body—and yet here they were.

After dropping of bags, and changing into game-day gear, Paige takes to the floor while Azzi sits on one of the padded seats arround the court. 

Paige moved with a fierce intensity, each dribble and sprint sharp and controlled. She was laser-focused, muscles taut, eyes blazing — the kind of intensity that made teammates both admire and feel a little in awe. Sabrina, watching from the sidelines, caught Azzi’s eye and slid over quietly during warmups.

“Hey,” Sabrina whispered, lowering her voice. “What’s going on with Paige? She’s on fire — but not the usual kind.”

Azzi forced a small smile, shrugging lightly. “Someone said something about the pregnancy, my body. You know how Paige gets… mother bear mode.”

Sabrina’s eyes darkened with quiet fury. “It’s not fair. It’s not right for anyone to say that about you.”

Azzi nodded slowly, her smile soft but firm. “I know. But Paige… she feels it more. She’s protective like that.” She glanced over at Paige, who was still moving with that fierce focus on the court, and a warm fondness flickered in her eyes.

“She’s incredible,” Azzi said quietly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her play like this before.”

Sabrina smiled, squeezing Azzi’s shoulder gently. “You both are. And anyone who can’t see that… Well, that’s their problem.”

The game started like a fire alarm — loud, sudden, unavoidable.

Paige played like she was chasing ghosts. She drove to the basket with no regard for her body, hunted steals like a predator. Her shots were clean, devastating, relentless.

The commentators noticed immediately.

“Bueckers is in a different gear tonight — there’s something personal behind this.”
“She’s playing angry. But it’s working.”

On the bench, Azzi sat with her hands folded over her stomach, calm as ever. She clapped when Paige made a shot. Smiled when the crowd erupted.

But she never looked surprised.

She knew this fire wasn’t about basketball.

At halftime, Paige marched into the locker room like she hadn’t exhaled since tip-off.

Azzi followed her, catching up in the corner while the team huddled.

“Paige.”

She turned, chest still heaving.

“You don’t have to do this.”

Paige stared at her. “Do what?”

“Carry it. Be mad for me. I’m really okay.”

“You shouldn’t have to be okay,” Paige said, voice tight. “You shouldn’t have to let people tear you apart because they think it comes with the job.”

“I’m not letting them,” Azzi said simply. “I’m just not giving them power.”

“But I heard what they said. I read it. Like your body belongs to the league, or to fans. Like you’re something they get to analyze.” She paused. “Like being pregnant made you public property.”

Azzi’s face softened. “It’s not new, Paige.”

“It’s disgusting.”

Azzi nodded. “Yeah. It is.”

Paige’s hands curled into fists. “I can’t just let it go.”

“I know,” Azzi whispered. She stepped closer and cupped Paige’s face. “So go play your heart out. But don’t lose yourself in the anger.”

Paige didn’t answer. She just turned and walked back onto the court.

The second half was surgical.

Paige torched defenders. Stripped the ball from hands before players knew they’d lost it. She moved like a woman on a mission — not for stats, not for wins, but for vengeance.

Azzi stayed calm on the sideline. She stood to cheer, smiled when Paige stole the spotlight — but she also rubbed her belly slowly, grounding herself. Grounding Paige , in some invisible, stubborn way.

After the game, in the media room, Paige sat at the microphone like she had a score to settle.

Her Liberty jersey was soaked through with sweat, her blonde hair still damp, sneakers untied but not removed. She hadn’t even sat all the way back in her chair — like she couldn’t quite relax. Not yet. Not until she got this out. Her eyes were sharp and unblinking, jaw set, fists clenched on the table in front of her.

The Liberty had just won by twenty. Paige had dropped a career-high. But this wasn’t about basketball.

A reporter raised a hand.

“Paige, you were clearly playing with a lot of emotion tonight. Was that personal?”

She looked straight at him. No hesitation.

“Yeah. It was.”

Her voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t have to be.

“I saw some things this morning,” she said, gaze flicking from the reporter to the cameras lining the back of the room. “Headlines. Commentary. Snide little quotes slipped between fake analysis. About Azzi. About her body.”

Her lip curled, voice tightening like a wire pulled taut.

“She’s not here right now — and I’m glad she’s not. Because if she were, she’d tell me not to say anything. She’d try to protect everyone from what I’m about to say, including you.”

She leaned forward, elbows on the table, fire behind her eyes.

“But I’m not staying quiet.”

A slow exhale. Then:

“As her teammate — and yeah, I’m saying that first, because I’m here representing this team right now — it is beyond disrespectful to see her body picked apart like it’s public property. Since when is it okay to analyze a pregnant athlete’s body like it’s a liability? Since when do we measure an elite woman’s worth in pounds and projections the second she announces she’s creating life?”

She shook her head, a short, bitter laugh leaving her mouth.

“As her wife — the woman she is literally growing a child with — I don’t have the luxury of shrugging this off. I don’t have the patience. Because while you’re sitting behind a keyboard or a mic wondering if she’ll ever ‘get her body back’ — she’s over here building something stronger than anything you’ll ever understand.”

Her voice cracked with intensity, and for a second she stopped, trying to breathe through it. Then she looked up again — straight down the barrel of the main camera.

"You want to know how personal that is? I felt our baby move inside her for the first time this week. Do you know what that's like? To press your hand to the woman you love and feel your child kick for the first time? It's—" her voice caught, a tremble in her throat "—it's one of the most sacred things I've ever experienced. And the same day that happened, I had to read people picking her apart like she's broken. Like she's less than."

Paige takes a deep breath before continuing. No one even considering interrupting her. “She’s still coming to practices. She’s still working with coaches. She’s still lifting, still moving, still showing up. All while managing morning sickness, body changes, emotional exhaustion, and the same damn expectations we put on everyone else. She is pushing through it like the warrior she is.”

Paige’s hands flattened on the table, but her fingers were trembling.

“And somehow… instead of celebrating that, or even just respecting that, people feel entitled to reduce her to her weight. Her image. Her ‘value’ as a player. Like she’s a headline. Like she’s a risk. Like she’s something to be dissected.”

Her voice sharpened again, cut with pure fury.

“She’s not an object. She’s not your storyline. She’s not here to fit your outdated narratives about what an athlete — or a woman — is supposed to be. She’s a person. She’s a mother. She’s a world-class professional. And she is doing something unbelievably brave after everything we’ve been through. And you try to shame her for it?”

Paige shook her head again, jaw clenched. Her voice lowered.

“You don’t get to sit on the sidelines of her life and judge the shape of her body while she’s out here carrying a literal life — while grieving the one we lost before this. You don’t get to call yourself a journalist when your idea of analysis is fatphobic drivel dressed up like concern.”

She looked up slowly, her eyes wet but fierce.

“What you’re doing — it’s not just cruel. It’s dangerous. Because it tells every girl watching that they can be the best in the world… and still be shamed the second their body doesn’t look the way someone else thinks it should. And if we let that go unchecked? Then we’ve failed. As media. As fans. As a league.”

A long pause. Paige’s shoulders rose and fell with one deep breath.

“You want a quote?” she said, voice flat now. “Here’s your quote. Azzi Fudd is a better athlete pregnant than most people are on their best day. And if you can’t see that — maybe the problem isn’t her body. Maybe the problem is your eyes.”

She pushed back from the microphone, jaw tight, spine straight.

“And that’s all I’ve got.”

Before anyone could speak, Sandy leaned into the microphone beside Paige.

Her voice was calm, steady — the kind that didn’t need to raise to command a room.

“I’m going to echo what Paige said,” she began, eyes sweeping across the press row. “And I want to make this clear — we’re not going to tolerate that kind of coverage. Not of Azzi. Not of any woman in this league. Especially not a woman doing something as extraordinary, as powerful, as growing a child while still showing up for her teammates, day in and day out.”

She let that land before continuing.

“Azzi’s pregnancy is not a storyline for speculation. It’s not a problem to be analyzed. It’s her life. Her decision. Her strength. And it’s something we support without hesitation.”

Her expression didn’t waver.

“If you’re going to write about her — about any of our players — ask yourself what story you’re really telling. And who you’re telling it for.”

Silence fell heavy over the room. Chairs didn’t creak. No one shuffled their papers.

No one asked Paige another question.

If anyone had doubts about the pregnancy — or about how far Paige would go to protect Azzi — she buried them in that silence.

Chapter Text

The gym echoed with the sharp squeak of sneakers and the low hum of coaches barking instructions. The sound of bouncing balls filled the air like a drumline, constant and rhythmic. Paige wiped sweat from her forehead and glanced across the court just in time to catch Azzi grinning at her from the opposite wing.

Azzi nodded once, then flicked her wrist, sinking a three as effortlessly as breathing.

“Okayyy, Fudd!” Paige called, loud enough for half the gym to hear. “Guess you’re finally warming up.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow as she jogged back down the court. “I’ve been warm. You just noticed.”

Paige rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips gave her away. The teasing came easy now. It had been like this all week—playful, constant, familiar. The kind of familiarity that didn’t come from just a few days at camp. It had been building for months.

Ever since Buenos Aires.

They’d bonded fast, teammates who understood each other on the court like they’d been playing together for years. Off the court, they’d grown close in quieter moments—late bus rides through Argentina, sharing snacks and music in hotel rooms, whispered stories and dreams and who they wanted to be when all of this—basketball, pressure, USA across their chest—started to matter even more.

That tournament had planted the seed. This camp was watering it. 

The two of them rotated through drill after drill, sometimes guarding each other, sometimes working in tandem. They never stopped talking—trash talk, encouragement, running jokes only the two of them seemed to get.

When Paige hit a slick behind-the-back move into a soft floater, Azzi whistled low. “Alright, Bueckers. I see you.”

“I know,” Paige called back, chest rising and falling with exertion. “Try to keep up.”

Their coaches loved it—their chemistry, their fire. Everyone did.

After practice, they walked back to the hotel together, muscles sore, sweat drying on their skin, gear bags slung over their shoulders. The sun hung low, casting a soft gold across the parking lot. They moved easily in sync, like they always had.

“You still hungry?” Azzi asked. “Wanna hit the hotel snacks before they’re gone?”

“Only if you promise not to hoard all the Oreos this time.”

“No promises,” Azzi grinned, nudging her shoulder against Paige’s.

Inside the room—two double beds, scattered sneakers, and the faint scent of Gatorade powder—Azzi flopped onto her mattress while Paige sat at the edge of hers. The TV was on, muted, playing something neither of them were really watching. The quiet between them wasn’t uncomfortable. It never was.

But Paige’s chest was tight. Her hands were fidgeting.

They’d been sharing this room all week. Laughing under the covers, talking about everything and nothing. Paige had memorized the curve of Azzi’s smile, the way she wrinkled her nose when she was concentrating, the soft rasp of her voice when she was half-asleep.

She didn’t know when it happened exactly. Maybe in Buenos Aires. Maybe on the bus that one night when Azzi had rested her head on Paige’s shoulder and Paige hadn’t moved for an hour. But she knew now. Knew it with a clarity that made her breath hitch every time Azzi looked at her like this.

She could feel her heart pounding in her chest like it was trying to tell her something before her mouth could.

She’d been running from this feeling for a long time. At first, it was just a kind of confusion—how her stomach would twist in a different way when she looked at girls, how something fluttered in her chest when a teammate tucked a strand of hair behind her ear or wrapped her up in a hug that lingered a second too long. She hadn’t known what it was. Or maybe she had, and just didn’t want to name it.

It had taken her months—maybe years—to get here. To admit it to herself. That she liked girls.

Not just admired them. Not just looked up to them. But felt something.

And it was terrifying.

Because she had grown up in a world where that wasn’t something you talked about. Where faith and fear often got tangled together. Where the church said things like “love the sinner, hate the sin,” and people nodded along like that was enough. Like that was kindness.

But it didn’t feel kind. Not when she sat in pews on Sundays and tried to swallow the lump in her throat while the pastor spoke about purity and the narrow path. Not when she begged God silently, again and again, Please don’t let this be real. Please let it go away.

And yet… it never went away.

Because it was real. And it was hers.

She still believed in God. She still prayed. But it had taken her a long time to understand that maybe she wasn’t wrong. Maybe this part of her wasn’t broken. Maybe love wasn’t something to be ashamed of.

Still, saying it out loud felt impossible.

Until now.

Until Azzi.

Paige glanced across the room at her—Azzi in her oversized hoodie, knees tucked up, bathed in the soft light of her phone screen. Paige felt something twist in her chest. It was more than a crush. It was comfort. Safety. The way she felt seen without having to explain herself. The way Azzi always made her laugh, always made her feel like she belonged—even when she wasn’t sure she did.

Maybe she wouldn’t understand. Maybe this would ruin everything.

But maybe… maybe it wouldn’t.

Paige was on her back, staring at the ceiling, earbuds in but not playing anything. She’d been holding her breath for what felt like hours. Her right leg bounced rhythmically, heel tapping against the sheets.

Azzi looked over without lifting her head. “You okay?”

Paige froze for a second. “What?”

“You’re doing the leg thing.”

Paige swallowed. “What leg thing?”

Azzi raised her eyebrows. “The thinking-too-hard, spiraling-internal-panic leg bounce.”

Paige forced a laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

“You’re an open book when you’re tired.”

There was a pause. The air between them shifted. Azzi’s voice was soft, careful now. “You don’t have to tell me. But… do you want to?”

Paige sat up slowly, pressing her palms into the edge of the mattress. Her throat felt thick. She stared down at her knees.

“Yeah. I do.”

Azzi didn’t move, but Paige could feel her attention turn, the room growing more still. Safe, somehow. Paige’s fingers twisted together in her lap. Her chest was tight in that familiar, unbearable way — the feeling of carrying something too big, too close to the heart.

“I’ve been trying to find the right time, and I don’t think there is one. So I’m just gonna say it, and you don’t have to say anything until I finish, okay?”

Azzi gave a small nod. “Okay.”

Paige took a breath. Then another. Her voice, when it came, was quiet. Raw.

“I like girls.”

The words hung in the air, sudden and sharp. She felt her heartbeat in her throat. “Like… more than just friends. Not all girls,” she added quickly, fumbling. “But some. Enough that I… know. Enough that I’ve been trying to push it away for years and I can’t anymore.”

Azzi didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Paige stared straight ahead.

“I didn’t want to believe it at first,” she went on, eyes blurring a little. “Because I’m religious. And where I come from, people don’t really talk about this. Or when they do, it’s in a way that makes you feel like you’re wrong. Like something’s broken inside you. I thought it was something I had to fix. Or pray away. But it’s still here. I’m still… me. And this is part of that.”

Silence settled over the room like a blanket, thick and charged. Paige’s breath hitched. “I’ve never told anyone before,” she said. “Not really.”

Then, slowly, quietly, the bed dipped beside her. Azzi had moved, sitting down next to Paige without a word. She didn’t reach out at first. Just sat there, shoulder barely brushing hers.

Then, softly, “Hey.”

Paige looked up, blinking away the burning in her eyes.

“I’m so glad you told me.”

Paige stared at her, the panic still pulsing beneath her ribs.

“You’re… not weirded out?”

Azzi gave her a look—gentle, steady. “No. Not even a little. You’re still you. And I still—” She shook her head with a small laugh. “I still think you’re the best person I’ve ever met.”

Paige let out a breath that trembled on the way out. Something in her cracked open at that — the kindness, the acceptance, the way Azzi didn’t even flinch.

“I thought I’d lose you.”

“You’re not going to lose me.”

Paige laughed, but it was all breath. “You don’t know how scared I’ve been.”

“I can guess,” Azzi said, bumping their shoulders gently. “But I’m really proud of you. For saying it. For being honest. That’s brave, Paige.”

Paige looked at her then — really looked — and in that second, she felt something she hadn’t let herself feel before: hope. Not just relief, but hope.

Maybe she wasn’t alone. Maybe she could be all of herself, even here, even now. But she wasn’t done yet.

There was one more truth inside her, heavier than the rest.

And it was Azzi.

“Az,” she whispered, her voice tight. “There’s one more thing I need to say.”

Azzi looked over, the softness still there, still open. She tilted her head slightly, curious.

Paige stared at her hands. Her voice was shaking, but she didn’t stop. “When I said I like girls… I didn’t just mean that in general. I meant—” she hesitated, choking a little. “I meant I like you. ”

Azzi blinked. The words hit like a slap. Her face changed instantly.

“You what?”

Paige swallowed. “I like you. Not just as my friend. More than that.”

Azzi pulled back, her whole body flinching. “No. Wait. Paige—what? Are you serious right now?”

“I didn’t mean to make things weird—” Paige said quickly, the words rushing out. “I just—I’ve liked you for a while, and I didn’t want to hide it anymore—”

Azzi stood up so fast the bed bounced. “Oh my God, Paige—what the hell?”

Paige stared at her, stunned. “I’m sorry,” she said, voice small. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“Why would you even tell me that?” Azzi’s voice cracked, rising in pitch. “Like—why would you say that to me? I thought we were just close!”

“We are close,” Paige said. Her throat felt like it was closing. “That’s why I told you.”

Azzi stepped back, hands in her hair now, pacing in a little circle near the foot of the bed. “I don’t even know what to say right now. I don’t—this is too much.”

“I didn’t expect anything from you,” Paige said, voice breaking. “I just needed to be honest—”

“Well, you shouldn’t have said anything!” Azzi snapped, eyes wide, voice shaky. “This changes everything, Paige! Everything’s gonna be weird now!”

Paige flinched. Azzi saw the way her words hit. Her mouth opened like she wanted to take it back, but nothing came out.

“Why now?” Azzi asked suddenly, her voice quieter but still tight. “Why would you tell me now ?”

Paige looked up at her, heart pounding. “Because… you didn’t freak out when I told you I liked girls. You were okay with it. You said I wouldn’t lose you.”

Azzi shook her head, arms folded tightly across her chest. “That’s different.”

Paige blinked. “How?”

Azzi’s jaw clenched. “Because this isn’t just about you liking girls. It’s about you liking me .”

Paige’s face crumpled at that, all the breath leaving her lungs in a rush. She had no words. Nothing left to say that would make it okay.

Azzi didn’t reply. She just stood there, arms crossed, looking like she wanted to crawl out of her skin.

“I’m sorry,” Paige whispered. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Azzi didn’t reply. She just stood there, arms crossed, looking like she wanted to crawl out of her skin.

And that was worse than anything. Worse than yelling. Worse than silence.

Paige stood up slowly. Her chest hurt. Her face was hot. Her hands were shaking and she didn’t want Azzi to see.

“I’ll go,” she said, almost too quiet to hear. “You don’t have to deal with me.”

Azzi didn’t stop her. Didn’t say anything.

Paige turned, opened the door, and walked out of the room before she could completely fall apart.

She didn’t know where she was going. She just knew she couldn’t stay. Not after that.

Not after her.

She got to the end of the hallway before leaning against, and then sinking to the floor.

“Paige?” The voice was low and familiar, gentle in the dark.

Paige froze, her hands still clutching her knees, her face blotchy and hot. She tried to suck in a breath and wipe at her cheeks quickly, but it was too late. She looked up, and Aliyah Boston was already crouching down in front of her.

Aliyah’s expression softened immediately. “Hey,” she said quietly. “What happened?”

Paige shook her head, unable to speak. Her throat was raw and tight, and the second she opened her mouth, another sob clawed its way out.

Aliyah didn’t flinch. She didn’t rush. She just nodded once, slow and steady, and then gently held out a hand.

“C’mon,” she said. “Let’s get you outta the hallway.”

Paige hesitated, shame crawling up the back of her neck, but Aliyah didn’t let her sink. She stood up and waited — no pressure, no judgment — until Paige finally took her hand. The contact nearly made her cry all over again.

Aliyah didn’t say anything else. She just walked beside Paige, steady and calm, down the hall and into her own room, using her key to unlock the door. 

Inside, it was quiet and dim — the glow of a phone charger on the nightstand, the faint smell of peppermint lotion in the air.

Aliyah motioned toward the bed. “Sit.”

Paige sat. Her hands were still shaking. Her heart wouldn’t slow down. But the room was warmer than the hallway. And Aliyah was there.

Aliyah knelt in front of her again, eye-level. “You want water?”

Paige nodded. Barely. Aliyah grabbed a bottle from her suitcase and twisted the cap off before handing it over. Paige took it with both hands. She didn’t drink it. Just held it. Like it might help ground her.

They sat there for a long beat, the only sound the low hum of the air conditioning. Aliyah didn’t ask. She just waited.

And maybe that’s why Paige finally spoke.

“I told someone I liked them,” she said, voice so hoarse it barely registered. “And she freaked out.”

Aliyah’s eyes softened. She didn’t interrupt.

“I thought it’d be okay,” Paige said, her voice cracking. “She’s my best friend. I thought— I don’t know. I thought she might feel the same. Or at least not... not look at me like that.”

Aliyah sat down beside her. Not too close. Just close enough.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said gently.

“I did,” Paige whispered. “I ruined everything.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“She was scared. Like I made her uncomfortable just by—just by being honest. She couldn’t even look at me.”

Aliyah was quiet for a second. Then: “That doesn’t mean you ruined anything. It just means she wasn’t ready to hear it.”

Paige sniffed, her throat still aching. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Maybe,” Aliyah said. “But maybe you needed to.”

Paige let her head fall into her hands. “I liked her so much.”

Aliyah’s voice was low and sure. “I know.”

“I feel so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.”

“I feel... gross,” Paige said, barely audible. “Like I scared her. Like I crossed some line I didn’t mean to.”

Aliyah leaned forward slightly. “Paige, you didn’t do anything wrong by feeling something. And you didn’t do anything wrong by saying it.”

“But she looked at me like I wasn’t safe anymore,” Paige whispered. “Like I messed everything up just by feeling the way I feel.”

Aliyah didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she reached out and gently, slowly, placed her hand over Paige’s. Her palm was warm and solid.

“You didn’t mess anything up,” she said. “You were brave. Even when it didn’t go how you wanted. That matters.”

Paige didn’t answer. Her shoulders were trembling again, and the tears were coming back, slow and helpless. But this time, she didn’t hide her face.

Aliyah just sat there beside her, steady and quiet, holding her hand while she cried.

Letting her fall apart in peace.

After the door clicked shut, Azzi just stood there, staring at it like it might open again. Like Paige might come back. Like she hadn’t just walked out with tears in her eyes.

Her heart was racing.

She sat down hard on the edge of the bed, her hands still shaking. The room felt different now. Cold. Hollow. The silence was louder than the TV still playing in the background — a commercial she didn’t recognize, voices that didn’t matter.

Paige was gone.

And Azzi had let her go.

She pressed her palms into her thighs, trying to steady herself, but her mind was spiraling. The way Paige had looked at her — open and vulnerable, like she was handing Azzi a piece of her heart — it wouldn’t leave her. That soft, shaking voice:
“I like you.”

Azzi had panicked.

There was no other word for it. She hadn’t been ready, hadn’t expected it, hadn’t known what to do. One second they were joking about practice and flopping onto the bed like always, and the next—

The next moment, Paige was looking at her like she meant it. Like all those late nights and shoulder brushes and long glances weren’t just friendship.

Azzi brought her hands to her face, covering her eyes, her forehead burning. She didn’t mean to hurt her. God, that wasn’t what she’d wanted.

She just didn’t know how to handle it. Didn’t know what to say. Paige had caught her completely off guard, and the only thing Azzi could think was This changes everything.

Because it did. Because it was Paige.

Paige, who she’d grown so close to after Buenos Aires — who’d made her laugh every day, who’d stayed up with her pn the phone to talk about life and family and dreams. Who knew her. Who got under her skin in a way no one else did.

And Azzi had looked at her and said: “Why would you even tell me that?”

The words echoed back, bitter and sharp.

She hadn’t meant it like that. Not really. But she’d been scared — of what it meant, of what Paige might expect, of what it might say about her. She didn’t even know how she felt. She just knew it was too much, too fast, and she didn’t have the language or the courage to hold it the way Paige had asked her to.

So she’d dropped it. Dropped her. 

Azzi lay back on the bed, covering her eyes with the crook of her arm.

And in the quiet, guilt started blooming in her chest. A deep, aching guilt that Paige — sweet, brave Paige — had trusted her with something so big… and Azzi had pushed her away.

Not because she didn’t care.

But because maybe… Maybe she cared too much.

Her mind was a tangle — thoughts racing, twisting, colliding.

Why did Paige have to say that?

Why did it have to be me?

She’d always thought their friendship was simple. Solid. Safe.

Late-night talks. Shared jokes. Sideline cheers. That kind of closeness you only get when you’ve been through everything together.

But now, everything felt different.

Paige’s words echoed in her mind — I like you.

Not as a friend. Not just as a teammate.

Me.

Azzi’s chest tightened. It was like the air had shifted in the room, thick and electric, and she couldn’t breathe the same way anymore.

She had spent so long building this friendship, leaning on it, trusting it. And suddenly, it wasn’t enough. Or maybe it was too much.

She didn’t know what she was feeling. Confusion? Fear? Excitement? All of it tangled up and impossible to sort through.

Paige was brave. So brave. To say what she said. To risk everything for something uncertain. But Azzi? She felt lost.

Like she was standing at a crossroads, staring at two paths: one that led back to the safe, easy friendship they had, and one that stretched into the unknown.

And the scariest part was that neither felt right anymore.

Because now, even when Paige wasn’t around, Azzi found herself watching for her. Wondering what she was doing, hoping she was okay. And when she thought about Paige, her heart would beat faster.

Not just because Paige was her best friend — but because maybe, just maybe, she wanted more too.

But admitting that meant everything would change. Could their friendship survive that?

Azzi didn’t know. All she knew was that she was scared. Scared of losing Paige, scared of what it meant if she didn’t.

Her eyes refused to close, even hours after Paige’s exit. Her mind replayed Paige’s words, her voice, the look on her face. The way her shoulders had trembled as she left.

She kept staring at the door — half expecting Paige to walk back in, to say something, anything, to undo the night’s sharp edges.

Minutes stretched to hours. Azzi’s fingers clenched into fists, knuckles white.

Please come back, she thought over and over.

But the door stayed closed. Her eyelids fluttered; she fought the exhaustion, biting her lip, willing herself to stay awake, to be ready if Paige returned.

Morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and pale as Azzi blinked awake, the room still quiet.

She sat up and glanced at the door. It hadn’t opened. Paige wasn’t back.

Her chest tightened again, the ache fresh and raw. Azzi swallowed hard, wishing she could turn back time — wishing she had said the right thing, done the right thing.

So she waited.

7:05 a.m.

7:10 a.m.

7:15 a.m. — the time everyone was supposed to be at breakfast.

Her fingers drummed nervously on the blanket. She’d told herself she wouldn’t leave until Paige came back, until they could talk — really talk. But the knot in her stomach tightened with every passing second, telling her she couldn’t stay there forever.

With a reluctant sigh, Azzi grabbed her bag and slipped on her shoes, her heart pounding in her ears.

Downstairs, the breakfast room buzzed with the quiet clatter of plates, the murmur of teammates chatting, and the soft shuffle of servers moving between tables. Azzi’s eyes immediately searched for Paige’s familiar face, but it was nowhere to be found.

“Where’s Paige?” someone asked, glancing toward Azzi with a tentative smile.

Before Azzi could answer, Aliyah, sitting nearby, caught the question and replied softly, “Paige needed to grab something from her room. She’ll be down soon.”

Azzi nodded, grateful for Aliyah’s calm presence but feeling the ache of Paige’s absence deepen.

Minutes slipped by. Then, Paige appeared in the doorway.

She wore fresh clothes — a soft sweatshirt and jeans — but the look in her eyes was unmistakable. Dark circles underlined them like shadows, and her movements were quiet, cautious, almost withdrawn.

She didn’t head toward Azzi. Instead, Paige walked past her and sat down next to Aliyah, her shoulders hunched slightly, as if trying to make herself smaller.

Azzi’s throat tightened. Paige’s distance stung more than any words could have.

Azzi wanted to reach out, to close the gap with a smile or a gentle question. But the heaviness in Paige’s gaze stopped her.

She noticed the subtle tremble in Paige’s hands as she picked up her coffee mug, the way she stared down at the table rather than making eye contact.

The warmth they’d shared yesterday — the jokes, the laughter, the easy closeness — felt like a fragile thing now, trembling on the edge of breaking.

Azzi swallowed hard, trying to steady herself. The silence between them was loud, but she held onto a fragile hope: that this morning was just another step, however painful, toward healing.

Amidst the noise of practice, Azzi felt like she was moving through a thick fog.

Her eyes kept drifting toward Paige, even when she tried not to look. Paige was across the court, her movements precise but distant, deliberately avoiding any direct eye contact with Azzi.

Azzi stole quick, nervous glances at her friend—at the slight downward tilt of her head, the tight line of her lips, the way her shoulders seemed a little more closed off than usual. Paige wasn’t angry; Azzi could tell that much. But there was something heavier — shame, maybe, or hurt — written in every small gesture.

Each time Azzi’s gaze met Paige’s, Paige looked away almost instantly, as if trying to disappear from sight.

It felt like the unspoken distance between them was stretching farther than the physical space on the court.

Azzi’s heart twisted every time Paige avoided her eyes. The teasing and laughter that used to bounce between them like light had vanished, replaced by this heavy quiet. There was no blame in Paige’s posture — only a painful kind of withdrawal, like she was trying to protect herself from the weight of what Paige’s confession had opened up.

Azzi wondered if Paige was ashamed — ashamed of how she’d reacted, or maybe of what Paige had said, or maybe even ashamed of herself for feeling so thrown off.

The thought made Azzi ache. She wanted to reach out, to say something to bridge the gap, but every time she moved closer, Paige subtly shifted away. Not in anger, but like she was carrying something too fragile to share yet.

Azzi’s fingers tightened around the basketball, her knuckles whitening.

The drills blurred together as Azzi’s mind replayed Paige’s words from the night before, the way they’d shattered everything comfortable between them.

When they finally took a break, Azzi lingered near the water cooler, watching Paige from the corner of her eye. Paige was quiet, sipping her water with a careful calm that didn’t reach her eyes.

Azzi’s throat tightened, and she looked away quickly, unable to meet the hurt she saw mirrored back at her. The rest of practice passed like that — two friends, so close yet impossibly far apart.

When the final whistle blew, signaling the end of practice, they packed up and left the gym together, the silence between them heavier than the weight of their bags.

Azzi glanced over one last time. Paige’s gaze stayed fixed ahead.

And Azzi realized that neither of them was ready to face what had changed — not yet.

Instead of retreating to their room after practice, Paige shadowed Aliyah’s movements, a quiet anchor beside her throughout the day. Whether walking down crowded hotel corridors or sitting quietly in the common areas, Paige stayed close — not speaking much, but clearly drawing strength from Aliyah’s calm steadiness.

The rest of the team noticed. There were stolen glances and subtle nudges exchanged, but no one said anything aloud. It was as if everyone instinctively knew this was a fragile moment — one that couldn’t be forced or rushed.

Azzi watched from a distance, heart twisting every time she saw Paige. The way Paige leaned into Aliyah’s presence felt like a silent plea for comfort — or maybe protection — and Azzi felt the ache of being shut out more deeply than words could say.

She felt a confusing storm inside: hurt that Paige had pulled away, frustration at not knowing how to reach her, and the desperate hope that if she could just find the right words, maybe they could break through this wall between them.

Azzi paced the lobby area, her eyes flickering to Paige every time she thought Paige wasn’t looking. But Paige always looked away — never toward her, never meeting her gaze.

The hours passed slowly, each moment a reminder of the distance growing wider between them.

Azzi’s chest tightened with a longing so fierce it felt like it might break her open. She wanted to call out to Paige, to say how much she cared, how scared she was of losing what they had.

But the words stayed locked inside, swallowed by fear of pushing Paige further away.

The day wore on, and Paige never returned to their shared room.

Azzi sat alone that night, the empty space beside her a sharp reminder that sometimes the hardest part of loving someone is watching them slip away — even when they’re right in front of you.

The lights in Aliyah’s hotel room were dim, casting long shadows across the carpet. The murmur of the TV in the background played on low volume — more for distraction than anything either of them was watching. Paige sat curled against the far edge of the bed, knees hugged tightly to her chest, her face turned away.

Aliyah stayed quiet nearby, giving Paige room to breathe. She knew the signs — the stiffness in Paige’s shoulders, the way her fingers dug into the sleeves of her hoodie, her jaw clenched like she was holding something in so tightly it might split her apart.

It had been hours since practice. Hours since Paige had come back to the room that was now her safe haven, courtesy of Aliyah — without a word, just her practice bag slung over her shoulder and her eyes red at the edges.

Aliyah had offered her space. But now, it was clear Paige was falling apart.

Paige’s voice cracked the silence. “I’m such an idiot.”

Aliyah looked over, her expression calm, steady. “You’re not.”

“I am,” Paige said, sharper this time. “I ruined it. I ruined one of the best things I’ve ever had.”

Tears welled in her eyes again, hot and relentless. She dropped her head into her hands, her breath hitching as she tried to hold it in, but the pain kept coming in waves.

“I should’ve just kept it to myself. I should’ve just… I don’t know. Just been normal.”

Her voice broke completely on that last word, and she pulled the hoodie over her face, as if hiding could make her disappear from what she’d done.

“She was my best friend, Liyah,” Paige whispered. “And now she can’t even look at me.”

Aliyah slid off her bed and sat beside her, their shoulders touching.

“I keep thinking about how we used to laugh at night. How we’d watch dumb Youtube videos or eat candy before lights out. She used to look at me like I mattered,” Paige said. Her voice was a fragile mix of anger and grief. “Now she looks at me like I’m… like I broke something she didn’t want me to touch. Or she doesn’t look at me at all.”

She wiped at her face again, frustrated at the tears that wouldn’t stop. “I should’ve known better. She’s not like me. I should’ve just shut up. I didn’t even tell her because I thought she’d like me back — I just… I couldn’t keep it in anymore. And now I feel so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” Aliyah said gently. “You were honest.”

Paige shook her head hard. “And honesty ruined everything.”

Aliyah leaned in, her voice calm but firm. “This is a lot. That doesn’t mean it’s ruined forever.”

Paige looked at her, her eyes rimmed red and shining. “But what if it is? What if I broke the only thing that felt safe?”

Aliyah exhaled softly and wrapped an arm around her. Paige didn’t resist. She folded into the embrace like she was falling — like she didn’t have the strength to hold herself up anymore.

“I miss her already,” she whispered into Aliyah’s shoulder. “And she’s not even gone. She’s just… different now.”

Aliyah didn’t say anything to that. There wasn’t anything to fix. There was only this — the ache of love that had gone unanswered, the crushing weight of vulnerability, and the silence of a room too small to carry everything Paige was feeling.

So Aliyah did the only thing she could: she stayed beside her, a steady hand on Paige’s back, holding space for all the hurt Paige couldn’t say out loud.

And Paige cried. Quiet, aching sobs that soaked into the fabric of her sleeve, into the quiet comfort of someone who wouldn't walk away.

The next morning, the hallway carpet muffled Paige’s footsteps as she approached the room she had barely been in the last two days.

Her hand hovered over the keycard. Her fingers shook. Part of her hoped Azzi wouldn’t be there — that she’d be at breakfast, like always, sitting with the team, laughing with her quiet, perfect calm.

But the other part of her... wanted to see her. Just once. Just to know if the girl she missed was still in there somewhere.

She slid the keycard through. The lock clicked.

The door opened.

And her heart dropped. Azzi was there.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, her back straight, already dressed for the day in her warm-ups. Her hair was still damp from the shower. She looked like she was waiting.

Their eyes met across the room. And for a moment, neither of them moved.

Paige stood in the doorway, frozen. Her gym bag hung from her shoulder, heavy with the weight of clothes and everything she hadn’t said. She couldn’t even breathe right. Everything inside her twisted up at once — hope and regret and longing and shame all battling inside her chest.

Azzi didn’t say a word.

Paige swallowed, her voice caught somewhere between defense and apology. “You don’t have to worry,” she said. “I’m just grabbing my stuff.”

Azzi still didn’t move. Her eyes flicked toward Paige’s bag, then back up, but her face gave nothing away. It was unreadable. Like she’d practiced being stone.

Paige took a breath. She stepped inside. “I’m rooming with Aliyah. For the last two days of camp.”

Silence. Not even a nod.

Paige knelt at her side of the room, trying to keep her hands busy — folding the sweatshirt that had been crumpled by her pillow, stuffing socks into a side pocket. Her chest was burning. Her throat ached from holding back.

The quiet between them stretched until it suffocated. Finally, she stood again. Her voice, when it came, was soft — but not gentle.

“You’re not even gonna say anything?”

Azzi blinked, her lips parting, but nothing came out.

Paige stared at her. “Not a single word.”

Nothing. Paige’s heart broke in her chest. Not like a clean snap. No, this was slow — like fabric tearing stitch by stitch, like she could feel every inch of herself unraveling.

She shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her. “God. I didn’t even ask for anything.”

Azzi flinched.

“I didn’t ask you to like me back,” Paige went on, her voice rising. “I didn’t even want to say anything. I just— I just wanted to be honest. I thought you were the one person who’d understand.”

Azzi looked at her, eyes wide, jaw tight — but still, she didn’t speak.

Paige’s voice cracked. “You were my best friend.” A pause. A silence so deep it made Paige dizzy.

“I thought maybe we could still be friends,” she whispered. “Even if it was weird. Even if it took time. But now you won’t even look at me the same. Like I’m broken. Like I’m disgusting.”

Azzi opened her mouth again — but again, nothing came. Not a single word to stop the bleeding.

Tears spilled freely now, Paige no longer bothering to wipe them away. She nodded slowly, stepping back toward the door, her voice so quiet it barely made it out of her mouth.

“Okay,” she said. “Message received.”

She didn’t wait for a response. She didn’t give Azzi another look.

She just left. And the door closed behind her like the end of something she didn’t know how to name.

Azzi didn’t move for a long time.

The door had shut minutes ago, and the silence had settled thick and suffocating around her like fog. But she sat there, her eyes still locked on the space where Paige had just been — still half-expecting her to walk back in, to say something cutting or cruel or angry.

She hadn’t.

Paige had only looked hurt. Devastated, even. But never angry. And that was what made Azzi’s stomach churn the most.

She hadn’t just lost a friend — she’d broken someone’s heart. Someone she cared about more than anyone else on this team. Someone she trusted more than most people in her life.

She pressed her fingers into her temples, squeezing her eyes shut.

“I like you.”

Paige’s voice, soft and trembling, kept replaying in her head. Those three words had turned Azzi’s world sideways. Not because she thought it was wrong. Not because she didn’t think Paige should have said them.

But because something inside her had lit up when she heard them. A spark she didn’t want. Didn’t know what to do with.

It had scared her. Completely. Utterly.

Because deep down, buried under all the quiet mornings and late-night jokes and shared music and shoulder touches, there had always been a part of Azzi that felt something too — something she didn’t have language for.

And Paige’s confession forced it all into the light.

So Azzi had panicked. Her body had gone still. Her throat had locked. All she could think was: What does this mean? What does this change? What does this make me?

She hadn’t had an answer.

So she said nothing. And now Paige was gone. Bags packed. Her bed empty. Her side of the room already half-cleared out like it had never belonged to her.

Azzi rubbed her chest, trying to ease the aching knot that had formed there. But it didn’t help.

“I thought maybe we could still be friends.”

That line had gutted her.

Because she wanted that. More than anything. She didn’t want to lose Paige. Didn’t want to be the reason Paige stopped laughing, stopped talking, stopped sitting close like she always had.

But what if Paige had been right? What if her silence was the answer?

She thought she had time to figure this out — all the strange feelings she never spoke aloud, all the times she felt too much for Paige but didn’t name it.

But Paige had already done the brave thing. Paige had named it. And Azzi had let fear make her quiet.

Her hands curled into fists on her lap. She looked around the room — the hoodie Paige had left behind, the faint scent of her lotion still hanging in the air, the half-folded blanket on her bed — all reminders of a friendship that had felt unbreakable just days ago.

Now? Now, Azzi didn’t know if she could ever get it back.

But for the first time, she admitted something to herself — something quiet and terrifying:

She had liked the way Paige looked at her.

She had noticed every time Paige reached for her hand, every time she smiled like Azzi was the only person in the room. And maybe it hadn’t felt wrong.

Maybe it had felt... right.

And that was what scared her the most. Because maybe Paige wasn’t the only one who had crossed a line.

Maybe Azzi had been there too — she’d just never realized it until it was too late.

She leaned forward slowly, her elbows digging into her knees, hands laced tightly together like she was praying.

But she wasn’t praying. She was remembering.

Every moment, every look, every laugh that lasted a little too long. The nights when Paige would throw a rolled-up sock at her from across the room just to get her attention. The way Paige always saved the seat next to her without asking. The way her eyes crinkled when she smiled on the phone. The way her voice got softer whenever she said Azzi’s name.

All of it.

And it wasn’t nothing. Azzi had told herself it was just friendship. A close one. One of those once-in-a-lifetime friendships, maybe. The kind that made you feel full.

But it wasn’t just that. She could see it now — all the signs, lit up like warnings she hadn’t wanted to read.

Like the way her heart always fluttered when Paige tucked her hair behind her ear without thinking.

Or how Azzi felt nervous and giddy when Paige changed into her warmups in their hotel room, how she’d look away but still look.

Or the disappointment she felt when Paige laughed a little too hard at someone else’s joke.

It hadn’t just been one-sided. Not completely.

Azzi’s chest heaved with the weight of it, her throat tight as she finally admitted it — not out loud, not yet, but in the most dangerous place: to herself.

She’d liked Paige too. She liked Paige.

The kind of liking she didn’t have language for — not growing up, not in her family, not with the way people talked around these things. But that’s what it had been. That warm, buzzing closeness. That constant pull.

And she had crushed it. She’d crushed it with silence.

Azzi wiped at her eyes roughly, not even realizing she was crying until the tears smeared across her palm.

“I liked her,” she whispered to the empty room. Her voice cracked, breaking open something she couldn’t close again.

She wanted to go back. To stop herself from freezing. To grab Paige’s wrist that night and say me too even if her voice shook. To hold onto her instead of letting her walk out.

But she hadn’t. She’d watched her go.

And now all she could do was sit in the wreckage of something she didn’t even know she wanted until it was already gone.

Azzi tilted her head back and stared at the ceiling like it might give her answers.

It didn’t. All it gave her was space to feel everything she’d buried for too long — and the sharp, bitter truth that Paige hadn’t ruined anything.

She had.

And the worst part was, she didn’t know if she could fix it.

The gym was too loud during their practice session that day. Squeaking sneakers. Whistles. The thud of the ball on hardwood. Coaches barking instructions.

But for Azzi, it all felt muted. Like she was underwater, going through the motions with cement in her shoes.

She couldn’t focus. Not on the drills, not on the plays, not even on the feedback being shouted at her.

She missed rotations she normally nailed. Her passes were sloppy, off-rhythm. Every shot clanged off the rim. Her teammates started giving her cautious glances, and one of the assistant coaches pulled her aside at one point, asking if she was okay.

She lied. Said she didn’t sleep well.

But the truth was — Paige hadn’t looked at her once.

Not during warmups, not during drills, not even during water breaks. Not even by accident.

Azzi could feel her on the court like gravity — the way she moved, the sound of her voice — and yet Paige might as well have been a ghost. A hollow outline of herself.

Her hair was in a messy bun, tied too hastily. Her eyes had that glassy sheen that only came after crying too much and sleeping too little. Her movements were tight, cautious, as if she didn’t trust her body anymore. She barely spoke.

And the few times she did, it was clipped. Mechanical. Paige played like someone holding her breath underwater.

And Azzi hated it.

Because she knew this wasn’t just about a bad night of sleep, or a sore ankle, or exhaustion. It was her. All of this — the distance, the silence, the unraveling — Azzi had caused it.

And the guilt gnawed at her with every missed shot, every bounce pass that hit someone’s knee, every time she glanced over in Paige’s direction only to see the way Paige refused to meet her gaze.

During a transition drill, they ended up on the court at the same time, not guarding each other, but close. Azzi looked up once — instinctively — only to see Paige wipe at her eyes.

She wasn’t crying. Not yet.

But it was close. Too close.

And Azzi felt something inside her crack.

Because she remembered Paige’s voice from yesterday.

"I thought maybe we could still be friends.”
“Okay. Message received.”

She'd said it with her heart in her hands. And Azzi had done nothing but let it fall.

Now Paige was breaking in front of everyone, quietly, and no one seemed to notice except her. And still, Azzi didn’t know what to do.

The next two days felt like a slow unraveling.

Paige barely spoke outside of drills. When she did, her voice was flat — stripped of the quick wit and soft warmth that used to draw everyone in without even trying. She moved through classes like she wasn’t really there, always sitting in the back, hood up, scribbling notes with her head down. At lunch, she picked at her food and stared through people like they weren’t speaking English.

Azzi watched her from a distance.

She noticed how Paige’s fingers shook slightly when she reached for her water bottle. How she’d flinch when someone clapped her too hard on the back. How her eyes lingered on the locker door next to hers — Azzi’s locker — and then snapped away like it burned to look at.

They didn’t speak. Not once.

It wasn’t for lack of opportunity. They crossed paths in the hallway. Sat three feet apart in film review. Warmed up on opposite ends of the court. But Azzi couldn’t move. Couldn’t find the words.

Because Paige looked like she was fading. And Azzi wasn’t sure if it was better to say something too soon… or stay silent and watch her break.

And she was breaking. Azzi could see it in the smallest things — the way Paige had stopped braiding her hair back before practice, leaving it in a loose, tangled mess. How her hands fumbled on the ball like it didn’t quite fit in her grip anymore. The way she’d disappear into the far corner of the gym after practice, sitting with her knees drawn to her chest like she was trying to fold herself into something smaller.

Azzi wanted to go to her. Ached to.

But something in her still hesitated. She needed time — time to sort through the chaos inside her. To figure out if the feelings Paige had laid bare were things she could reach for, or just things that scared her too much to touch.

The silence between them became a third person in the room — suffocating and heavy. It pressed on Azzi’s chest every night when she tried to sleep and found herself staring at the ceiling, replaying the way Paige had looked at her that day.

“I thought maybe we could still be friends.”
“Okay. Message received.”

And now Paige didn’t even look at her.

The next morning, Azzi arrived to practice early. The gym was mostly empty. Paige was already there, sitting cross-legged by the sideline with her headphones in, staring at the far wall like she didn’t even see it. Her eyes were puffy again.

Azzi stood frozen just inside the door.

She should say something. She needed to say something.

But before she could take a single step forward, Coach called her name from behind — and the moment slipped away like water through her hands.

On the second to last day of camp, Paige didn’t go straight back to the room after team dinner. 

Instead, she found herself walking aimlessly around the hotel, her hoodie pulled up despite the heat. Her body ached in that familiar, dull way — the kind that came after too many drills, too many hours pretending like she was okay.

She ended up sitting on the cold concrete steps outside the hotel, hidden off the side of the hotel  — similar as how she was feeling right now — legs pulled to her chest, forehead resting on her knees. The lights behind her buzzed faintly. Somewhere nearby, a car passed by, playing music out the windows, distant and muffled.

She didn’t know how long she sat like that before she heard footsteps. Slow. Hesitant. Then a voice, soft and familiar.

“Paige?”

It was Aliyah.

Paige didn’t lift her head.

Aliyah didn’t say anything for a moment. Just sat down beside her, quiet. Respectful. Like she knew not to crowd her but wasn’t going anywhere either.

Paige’s shoulders started to shake before she could stop them. The kind of tremble that started in your bones and rose up like a wave you couldn’t hold back. Her voice came out small and hoarse.

“I messed everything up,” she whispered.

Aliyah looked over, frowning. “Paige…”

“I told her,” Paige said, still not looking up. “I told her how I felt and she looked at me like I was disgusting. Like I ruined something she didn’t even know we had.”

Her breath hitched, and the tears came fast. Hot and unstoppable.

“I thought I was doing the brave thing,” she choked out. “Saying it out loud. Telling the truth. I thought that’s what you were supposed to do. But I just— I broke it. I broke us."

Aliyah placed a hand gently on Paige’s back, her voice low. “You didn’t break anything by telling the truth.”

Paige finally looked up, eyes red and swollen. “She won’t even look at me, ‘Liyah. She hasn’t said a single word to me in two days. Not even in practice. And I deserve it.”

“No,” Aliyah said, more firmly now. “You don’t.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Paige whispered. “I should’ve just kept it to myself. Buried it like always. At least then I wouldn’t be this—this mess. At least then she’d still talk to me. Look at me like she used to.”

Aliyah shook her head. “No. Don’t do that. Don’t turn this into something ugly. What you feel—what you said —that was real. That was you being honest. And if she didn’t know how to handle it? That’s not on you.”

Paige let out a broken, bitter laugh. “But what if it’s too late now? What if I made her hate me?”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Aliyah said softly. “She’s scared. Maybe confused. But I’ve seen the way she looks at you, Paige. She doesn’t hate you.”

Paige buried her face in her hands again, sobs coming harder now. “I just wanted it to feel okay. Just once. To be who I am and not feel ashamed. And now… now I feel worse than before.”

Aliyah leaned over and wrapped both arms around her. Paige didn’t resist. She just let herself fall into the hug, clutching the front of Aliyah’s sweatshirt like it was the only thing keeping her from shattering completely.

“I’m here,” Aliyah whispered. “No matter what. You’re not alone.”

And Paige held on like that — held on like maybe if someone stayed close enough, the grief wouldn’t swallow her whole.

The last full day there, Paige moved through the motions again. Head down. No words. Physically there but not mentally. 

Practice finally ended, but the air inside the gym was still thick with tension and sweat.

Players gathered their gear, voices echoing off the high ceilings. Most were already headed out the door, chatting and laughing, easing into the relief of the evening.

Paige didn’t move.

She stood near the three-point line, her shoulders slumped, eyes fixed on the cracked floor beneath her sneakers. Her hands gripped the basketball so tightly the veins on her wrists stood out.

Aliyah, walking by with her own bag slung over her shoulder, noticed Paige’s stillness and slowed down.

“You okay?” Aliyah asked softly, stepping closer.

Paige’s head lifted slightly, but her eyes stayed distant. “I just… need to be alone for a bit,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. The words trembled on the edge, heavy with something unspoken.

Aliyah gave her a long look — the kind that said, I’m here if you need me, without pushing.

“I get it,” she said finally. “If you change your mind, I’m right outside.”

Paige nodded faintly, a ghost of a thanks, before Aliyah turned and left.

Azzi was by the wall half-hidden, heart pounding so loud she thought Paige might hear it. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but the quiet desperation in Paige’s voice stopped her feet. She stayed hidden, breath shallow, as the scene unfolded.

Paige bent down and picked up the basketball, fingers curling around its worn leather. She bounced it once — slow, deliberate — then took a few measured steps toward the free throw line.

She squared her shoulders and shot. The ball hit the rim with a sharp clang and bounced off, rolling away. Paige jogged after it, face tightening.

She came back, lining up again. Another shot. Another miss.

Her shots grew more erratic, less controlled. Her usual smooth rhythm was gone. Her breaths came quick and uneven, chest rising and falling with tension. Then her hands trembled visibly as she dribbled, frustration building like a storm.

Her next shot soared wildly off the backboard. A guttural scream ripped from her throat — raw, unguarded — echoing through the empty gym.

She threw the ball down with a force that made it bounce hard against the floor, spinning off to the side. The sound cracked sharply in the quiet, like a breaking heart.

Paige sank to her knees, hands clutching at the hardwood as tears spilled over, uncontrolled and unashamed. Her whole body shook with sobs, shoulders wracked with the kind of pain that wasn’t just physical but deep inside, a hurt that left her raw and exposed.

Azzi pressed her hand over her mouth to stop the hitch in her own throat. She felt tears burn behind her eyes. Watching Paige unravel like this, so alone and broken, was unbearable. Every tear Paige shed was a shard twisting in Azzi’s chest.

She hadn’t just hurt a teammate. She had shattered the one person she cared about most. Before she even realized what she was doing, she was moving. Her footsteps echoed softly against the polished gym floor, each step trembling with the fear of what she might find.

Paige’s head snapped up, eyes swollen and red, streaks of tears still fresh on her cheeks. Her breath hitched like she couldn’t catch it, like it had been trapped under everything she hadn’t said for weeks that had finally bubbled over. Her face was blotchy, lips trembling, hands clenched at her sides like she was trying to hold herself together with just her fingers.

“Please,” she whispered, voice splintering. “Just… let me be.”

Azzi froze in the, her shoes still half-off, her arms stiff at her sides like she’d forgotten how to move. Her chest rose in shallow breaths. Her eyes darted across Paige’s face — the pain there, the betrayal, the absolute wreckage.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Paige said quickly, voice sharp and broken all at once. “I already know. I messed it up. I said the wrong thing. I’m the one who ruined it.”

Her voice cracked, and she turned away, ashamed of her own shaking.

“I hate myself for it,” she whispered. “For not being able to keep it buried. For opening my mouth and letting it all out, like it wouldn’t destroy everything.”

She rubbed at her face with the back of her sleeve, angry at the tears but powerless to stop them. “I was scared, Azzi. I’ve been scared. For so long. Of who I am. Of what it means to feel the way I do. And you—” she choked on the words, “you were the only person who made it feel okay. The only one.”

Her hands clenched tighter. “I thought maybe if I was honest with you, maybe I wouldn’t feel so broken anymore. But now I feel worse.”

Paige’s shoulders hunched in on themselves, like she was trying to disappear.

“I messed up the best thing I’ve ever had. And now I can’t even look at you without hearing how disgusted you sounded. Like I ruined you just by telling the truth.”

The tears came again — angry and ashamed and exhausted.

“I want to go back. I want to take it all back so I can pretend you still look at me the way you used to. Like I was safe. Like I mattered.”

Her voice fell to a whisper, barely there. “But now everything’s ruined. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Just please, leave me alone. Please.”

She looked up — eyes glassy and hollow — and Azzi’s chest cracked open at the sight.

Then Azzi stepped forward. Slowly. Like every inch of space she closed between them mattered.

“I’ve been scared too,” Azzi said, voice trembling. “Scared out of my mind.”

Paige didn’t move.

“I didn’t know what I was feeling,” Azzi continued, eyes stinging. “Not at first. I told myself it was just how close we were. That it was normal to want to be near you all the time. That it made sense I missed you the second you walked away. But it wasn’t just friendship, not really.”

She shook her head, her voice breaking. “I didn’t have the words. I didn’t even let myself think it. Because if I did … then everything changed. And that terrified me.”

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to keep talking. “When you told me you liked girls, I wanted to be okay. I was okay. But when you said you liked me —” her breath hitched. “It felt like someone yanked the floor out from under me. I panicked. I didn’t know how to deal with that kind of truth,” she paused. Then she whispered "That I felt the same way." 

Paige’s eyes searched Azzi’s face now, full of something sharp and aching. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “You expect me to believe that? That you felt all of this… and just didn’t say anything?”

She took a step back like the pain had a shape now. “How could you keep me in the dark like that? After what I said to you? After what I risked ?”

Her fists trembled at her sides. “You left me feeling so stupid. So alone . Like I imagined all of it. Like I made up something out of nothing.”

Her voice cracked on the next words, raw and breathless. “I thought I was the only one who felt this. Like I’d broken something precious. Like I was too much.”

Azzi’s face crumpled. “I know. I know, and I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t know how to believe you,” Paige said. “Not yet. You shut me out. You looked at me like I was wrong.”

Azzi stepped closer, her hands trembling. “I was scared. And I still am. But I swear, Paige, I never stopped caring about you. I just didn’t know how to handle it — how to handle me .”

She hesitated, then held her hand out, not quite touching Paige, but close enough that the space between them pulsed with everything unsaid. “I’m not running away anymore,” Azzi whispered. “I want to make this right. Even if it takes time. Even if all I can do right now is just… be here.”

Her eyes were wet now too, bright with everything she didn’t know how to fix. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. Not tonight. But I don’t want to lose you, Paige. Not like this.”

Chapter Text

The late afternoon sun filtered through the windshield as they pulled away from the clinic parking lot after another check up with the doctor to see how the pregnancy was going, Azzi reclined slightly in the passenger seat, one hand resting on her bump — now unmistakably visible beneath her sweatshirt.

Five months.

It still didn’t feel real some days, even after hearing the heartbeat again during their appointment, even after the gentle nudges she’d started to feel from the inside.

Paige had been quiet since they left the clinic, fingers drumming on the steering wheel, eyes fixed forward with purpose.

“You okay?” Azzi asked, glancing over, curious. “You’ve got that look. Like you’re trying not to blurt something out.”

Paige gave a crooked little smile. “Maybe.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes. “You’re plotting something.”

“Not plotting,” Paige said, trying and failing to sound casual. “Just… making a stop. One quick errand.”

“You’re not about to surprise me with another crate of baby books, are you?” Azzi teased, amused.

“No baby books,” Paige promised with a laugh. “I swear. Just trust me.”

A few minutes later, Paige pulled into the lot of a sleek car dealership, and Azzi sat up straighter in her seat, blinking.

“Wait, why are we here?”

Paige rubbed the back of her neck, sheepish. “Okay, so… I may have called someone. There’s a guy waiting for us.”

Azzi turned to her, bemused. “Paige.”

Paige glanced over at her with an apologetic smile. “I just thought maybe it’s time we start thinking about something a little… bigger. You know. Safer. Roomier.”

“For what?” Azzi asked, even though the answer was already settling in her chest.

Paige gestured vaguely, as if it should be obvious. “Car seat. Stroller. Diaper bag. Snacks. You, me, a baby, maybe a stuffed animal or twelve... I don’t know, just—us. As a family. I thought maybe… we could look at SUVs.”

Azzi stared at her, touched and a little overwhelmed. She let out a soft laugh. “You want us to get a mom car.”

“I want us to get our mom car,” Paige corrected gently. “I know it’s early — well, maybe not that early. I mean, you’re five months now, and the bump is bumpin’—”

Azzi laughed, shaking her head.

“—and I just want to be ready,” Paige continued. “I want to be able to look at something and know that it’s for the life we’re building. Like… it’s really happening. And we’re doing it. Together.”

Azzi reached across the console and took Paige’s hand, her expression soft, full of affection. “You’re such a dork.”

“A very prepared dork,” Paige said proudly.

Azzi smiled, emotion catching in her chest. “Yeah. And the love of my life. Let’s go see this SUV.”

“Yeah?” Paige lit up.

“Yeah,” Azzi nodded, lifting their joined hands and kissing Paige’s knuckles. “Let’s go pick out our mom car.”

As they approached the dealership entrance, the glass doors slid open with a quiet swoosh. A sharply dressed man stepped out to greet them, already smiling.

“Paige!” he called warmly. “Right on time.”

Paige lifted a hand in a casual wave. “Hey, Eric.”

Azzi’s brows lifted as she glanced sideways. “Oh, we’re on a first-name basis?”

Eric extended a hand to Azzi. “You must be Azzi. It’s really nice to meet you — and congratulations, by the way.”

Azzi shook his hand slowly, shooting a look at Paige. “Thank you... I think I’m about to find out what I’m being congratulated for.”

Eric chuckled. “We’ve got everything lined up. The three models you asked about came in fresh this week, all cleaned, gassed, and ready to go.”

Azzi stopped walking.

“Wait.” She turned to Paige, incredulous. “You already picked out cars?”

Paige scratched the back of her neck, sheepish. “I might’ve done a little research.”

“A little?”

Paige grinned, caught. “Okay, a lot. I wanted to be efficient. I read all the reviews, checked crash ratings, compared interior space. These three are the best in class — top-tier safety, smooth handling, all the tech. I figured if we’re gonna spend a lot of time in this car with our kid… it should be the best.”

Azzi stared at her for a second, her hand instinctively resting on the gentle curve of her stomach. Her heart felt full — and maybe just a little bit overwhelmed again. “You’re so lucky you’re cute.”

Eric laughed. “She did her homework, I’ll give her that.”

He led them across the showroom floor and out to the side lot, where three stunning vehicles gleamed in the sunlight.

“This,” Eric said, gesturing to the first, “is the new Range Rover. Loaded with safety features, panoramic sunroof, reclining back seats. Quiet as anything. Honestly, it’s luxury meets baby prep.”

Azzi’s eyes widened as she peeked inside. “Oh wow.”

“Next,” he continued, “Lincoln Navigator. Bigger than the Rover, but still a smooth ride. Top-of-the-line tech. Heated second-row seats, just in case your future toddler ever gets chilly.”

Paige looked over at Azzi and mouthed, Chilly toddlers, like it was a real concern.

Azzi shook her head, grinning.

“And last but not least,” Eric said, stepping over to the third, “Audi Q7. Sleekest of the bunch, great mileage, incredible safety record. Plus—super intuitive to drive.”

Azzi let out a quiet laugh, emotion stirring again as she watched Paige glow with excitement — like this wasn’t just about cars, but about the life they were building, mile by mile.

As the test drives wrapped and they handed the keys back, the afternoon sun filtered warm through the windows of the dealership lounge. Eric disappeared momentarily to give them space.

Paige bounced lightly on her heels, trying to play it cool but failing miserably. “So…” she asked, glancing sideways. “What’d you think?”

Azzi shrugged, hands resting just under her five-month bump. “They’re all nice. Smooth rides, lots of space. Heated seats… I mean, who doesn’t love that?”

Paige tilted her head. “But?”

Azzi smirked. “But I saw the way you looked at the Audi.”

Paige tried to downplay it. “What? No. I mean, yeah, it’s sleek, and the tech is clean, and the safety specs are amazing, but I liked all of them—”

“Paige,” Azzi cut in, deadpan. “You were practically cuddling the steering wheel.”

Caught, Paige let out a breath. “Okay. Fine. I love it.”

Azzi rolled her eyes fondly. “Then get it. You’ve clearly already emotionally bonded with it.”

Paige blinked. “Wait—really?”

“Yeah,” Azzi said, still grinning. “It makes you happy. And if I’m going to be the waddling woman trying to buckle our baby into the backseat in five months, might as well do it in something nice.”

Paige lit up, practically bouncing again.

“But,” Azzi added, holding up a finger. “We’re talking about this at home.”

Paige froze. “Oh?”

“In the loving way,” Azzi clarified, laughing as she nudged her shoulder. “Because you planned a whole car operation without even mentioning it to me.”

Paige gave her a sheepish look. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“It was,” Azzi said, kissing her cheek. “And a very cute one. But you better believe I’m going to tease you about it forever.”

Paige laughed and looped her arm around Azzi’s waist as they started walking toward the exit.

“Okay, but hear me out,” Paige said, voice dropping into her soft, flirty register. “You, pulling up to the Liberty facility in your sleek new mom car, bump out, hoodie on, messy bun... you’re gonna be the hottest mom on the planet.”

Azzi groaned, cheeks heating up as she tried to hide her smile. “You’re so embarrassing.”

“Dead serious,” Paige said. “You in that Audi? MILF energy through the roof.”

Azzi shook her head, laughing as she squeezed Paige’s hand. “You need to stop.”

“I’ll never stop,” Paige whispered, clearly enjoying herself.

Azzi leaned into her. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“And you’re lucky you’re literally glowing right now,” Paige said, looking at her like she’d hung the moon. “God, I love you.”

Azzi’s smile softened. 

They walked out together, hand in hand, the sun warming their backs as Paige held the door open and said, “Next stop: car seat aisle.”

Azzi rolled her eyes again. “We’ll talk about that at home too.”

Two days later, the glossy black Audi Q7 rolled into the Liberty parking lot, sunlight glinting off the hood like it had something to prove. Paige parked cleanly near the back entrance of the building, as close to the door as possible so Azzi didn’t have a walk long, turned off the engine, then immediately hopped out of the driver’s seat.

Azzi was already unbuckling, but Paige jogged around the front of the car and opened her door anyway.

“I can still open doors, you know,” Azzi said, amused as she raised an eyebrow.

“I opened doors for you before we were even dating,” Paige said, offering a hand like it was sacred. “You best believe I’m going to do it when you are my wife carrying our child.”

Her bump was undeniable now, and Paige moved like she was ready to cushion her every step.

As soon as Azzi stepped out of the car, a few teammates trickling into the facility stopped in their tracks.

Sabrina raised her eyebrows. “Okayyy, what is this ride?”

Azzi smirked and gestured at the SUV behind her. “Paige’s new mom-mobile.”

That was all it took. Sabrina squinted, hands on her hips. “A luxury mom-mobile, clearly.”

“Is that leather? Heated seats? Don’t tell me it has massage settings,” Seehia added, peering through the window.

“Oh, it does,” Azzi said casually, stretching her back with a little dramatic sigh. “And let me tell you — it’s glorious.”

Nyara shook her head, grinning. “Paige out here building a five-star baby hotel on wheels.”

“You think there’s a fridge in the back?” Leonie asked. “Snacks organized by trimester?”

“I feel like there’s emergency electrolytes and fuzzy socks in the glove box,” Leonie added.

“And one of those suction cup sunshades that says ‘baby on board,’” Sabrina chimed in.

Azzi, fully leaning into the bit now, nodded. “Probably in the trunk with the mobile bottle warmer and ten backup pacifiers.”

Paige groaned. “Okay, wow. I get it.”

Sabrina pointed a finger at her. “You don’t just get it, Paige. You started it.”

“I just wanted her to be comfortable and safe!” Paige protested, hands up, clearly flustered but also smiling despite herself.

Jaylyn grinned. “You bought a whole car for comfort. That’s love, but it’s also next-level mom energy.”

“She’s nesting already,” Seehia whispered like it was a scientific observation.

“And wait—how long were you looking at these cars?” Sabrina asked, crossing her arms. “Because I know you don’t just walk in and pick an Audi without a spreadsheet.”

“I knew it,” Nyara said, snapping her fingers. “She had a color-coded comparison chart.”

“I didn’t—okay, maybe just a little—” Paige started, and everyone howled again.

“I just know Paige has backup snacks and a mini first aid kit in the glove box,” Sabrina said, swinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Oh, and a baby playlist already made,” Seehia added. “Nothing but lullabies and WNBA highlights on loop.”

“I’m telling you,” Nyara chimed in, “she’s gonna show up with a stroller that has rims.”

“She probably already Googled ‘cool mom diaper bags,’” Leonie said with a straight face.

“I did not,” Paige cut in, but her voice cracked a little, and the whole team erupted.

“Oh my God, she did!” Sabrina howled. “You’re so gone. She’s in it deep.”

“I mean, you saw her at media,” Kennedy pointed out. “That wasn’t just wife energy, that was full mom-on-a-mission.”

“Mother bear mode,” Leonie nodded solemnly. “Ruthless.”

“I stand by it,” Paige said, trying to look composed. “I love her. I love our baby. I want them safe and spoiled. Sue me.”

Azzi just shook her head, biting her lip to hide her smile.

“She really said ‘new season, new car, new personality,’” Sabrina added, clapping Paige on the back. “Can’t wait for her to roll up with the custom ‘PAZZI’ license plate.”

“Oh don’t give her ideas,” Azzi said, laughing as she dropped her water bottle into her locker.

Paige shrugged, eyes twinkling. “It’s not a bad idea…”

“You’re ridiculous,” Azzi said softly, leaning into her just a little.

“And you’re gonna be the hottest mom to ever step out of a luxury SUV,” Paige whispered back.

“You’re lucky I love you,” Azzi’s eyes shone with love.

“I really am.” If her voice sounded a little emotional, Azzi didn’t mention it.

The nursery conversation had seemed light at first. Color palettes, accent walls, minimalist mobiles. Azzi even pulled up some photos she liked — soft, neutral spaces with floating bookshelves and woven textures. But the closer they got to actually doing it — picking a paint color, rearranging furniture, clearing space — the more Azzi pulled back.

She brushed it off at first. Said she was tired. Said she’d think about it tomorrow.

But tomorrow came and went and it was six months into their pregnancy.

Now it was two hours since they’d planned to look at samples again, and Paige couldn’t find Azzi in the house anywhere. The car was still in the garage. The TV was off. The bathroom lights were dark.

A quiet unease started to settle in Paige’s chest.

Then, as she walked past the nursery room headed towards their bedroom — thinking Azzi might be laying down — she saw the softest movement inside.

She stepped through the doorway and stopped.

Azzi was sitting in the rocking chair. That rocking chair.

The first one Paige had built three years ago. The one that had sat in the corner of the once nursery and then empty room — untouched — ever since they lost the baby.

Azzi wasn’t moving, just slowly rocking, her hands resting protectively over her belly. Her eyes were red. Her cheeks wet.

Paige’s heart cracked.

“Hey,” she said gently, stepping in and kneeling in front of her. “Hey, baby…”

Azzi looked down, trying to wipe her tears with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “Sorry,” she whispered, voice tight. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Paige reached up, cupping her face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Azzi blinked a few times, breathing hard like she was trying to push it all back down. “Because I am happy. So happy. About this baby. About everything. But every time we talk about decorating or planning, I just… I feel like I’m pretending the first one didn’t happen.”

She looked down at her belly, her voice trembling. “I remember us talking about paint colors back then. And what crib we were going to get. And I just — I never thought I’d be able to do this again. And now that we are doing it, it feels wrong that I’m not thinking about them all the time. I feel like I’m… brushing over them.”

Paige pulled Azzi up, before scooting in behind her to sit on the chair. She then pulled Azzi into her lap wrapping both arms around her waist and resting her head against her shoulder. She held her like she was anchoring them both.

“You’re not brushing over them,” Paige whispered. “You carry them with you. In the necklace you wear every day. In everything. This baby… this room… it’s not replacing anything. It’s just more love. It’s always been love.”

Azzi broke then, really cried, and Paige just held her, rocking them both now in that same old chair.

Paige stayed curled around Azzi, the old rocking chair creaking softly beneath them. She brushed her hand slowly over Azzi’s belly, fingers tracing gentle arcs like she was trying to comfort both of them at once.

After a while, she shifted just enough to look up at Azzi’s face. “How long have you been feeling like this?” Paige asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Azzi hesitated. Her eyes were puffy, but she wasn’t crying anymore — just tired. Like she’d been holding something in for too long. “A while,” she admitted. “Since the second trimester started, I think. When we hit the point we didn’t get to last time.”

Paige nodded softly, heart tightening. She remembered that too — the quiet fear that had settled in just beneath their joy. The constant second-guessing. The memories neither of them said out loud.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Azzi let out a shaky breath, gaze fixed on the baby blanket folded neatly on the edge of the crib box they hadn’t opened yet.

“I didn’t know how. You’ve been so excited. And you’ve done everything — the appointments, the food, the vitamins, the car, the questions I didn’t even know to ask. And I kept thinking… maybe if I just focused on the joy, I wouldn’t feel the rest.”

Her voice cracked. “But it didn’t go away. Every time we make progress, I get scared I’m jinxing something. And I know that’s not logical. I know that. But I kept thinking if I said it out loud, maybe it would make you scared too.”

Paige’s eyes filled with tears. She reached up and brushed her thumb along Azzi’s cheek. “I’ve been scared,” Paige said softly. “Every day. From the moment we found out. But you never have to carry that alone. Not then. Not now.”

Azzi looked down at her, her expression broken open. “You were so strong when we lost them,” she whispered. “I didn’t want to be the one who cracked first.”

Paige swallowed hard. “Az, I cracked every day. I just… didn’t want you to see it. I thought you needed me to be strong.”

They both went quiet. That silence was its own kind of ache — the realization that they’d both been protecting each other so fiercely they’d forgotten they could fall apart together.

Then Azzi shifted, cupping the back of Paige’s neck and resting her forehead against hers. “I miss them,” she said quietly. “Even now. Especially now.”

“I do too,” Paige whispered back. “So much.”

They stayed like that for a long time. Crying, holding, breathing. Letting the weight of what they’d carried rise between them and settle in the space where it could finally be shared.

Eventually, Paige rubbed Azzi’s back and said, “We can decorate the nursery together. Or we can hire someone. Or we can leave it empty until you’re ready. There’s no right way to do this.”

Azzi nodded. “I think… I want help. I think I want to let someone else take care of it. But I want to be there for the last touches. I want to see it all come together.”

Paige smiled, small and soft. “Deal.” Azzi leaned back, her head resting against the curve of the chair, eyes full of something that looked like grief — but also relief.

The chair rocked quietly beneath them, old wood groaning with the weight of years and memories. And Paige stayed right there with her, hand over their baby, heart open, love wide.

Azzi stood barefoot in the doorway, one hand resting under her belly, the other gripping the doorframe like she needed something to steady her. By now, the room in front of her didn’t look anything like the one they had started three years ago. It was brighter. Softer. Full of light and air. Pale yellow walls glowed with warmth, kissed by sunlight filtering through gauzy white curtains that danced slightly with the breeze from an open window.

The accent wall behind the crib was a delicate, leafy wallpaper — soft greens on cream, the vines curling upward like they were reaching. The crib itself was a pale wood, simple and sturdy. A small mobile of clouds and stars hung above it, gently spinning. There was a plush chair in the corner, next to a round side table holding a lamp shaped like a bunny. A small bookshelf stood beneath the window, half-stocked already — children’s books, a few plush toys, and a framed photo of them in UConn jerseys, smiling wide and young.

Azzi didn’t step inside. Not yet. She just took it all in, wide-eyed and quiet. “I can’t believe we actually let someone else do this,” she said softly.

Behind her, Paige approached slowly and slid her arms around Azzi’s waist, hands resting just beneath her belly, to try and take the weight she had been carrying for seven months now. She pressed a kiss to her shoulder, then leaned her chin there.

“Technically,” Paige said, “I hired them. You just finally let me.”

Azzi gave a soft huff of a laugh, her hand covering Paige’s. “You wore me down.”

“You were falling asleep trying to pick crib colors,” Paige murmured. “I didn’t want you stressing about furniture while making a human. I love you, but I’ve seen you try to assemble a dresser at two a.m. That was a cry for help.”

Azzi let her head fall back onto Paige’s shoulder, laughing through her nose. “Okay, okay. You were right. You’re always right.”

Paige grinned. “That’s going on the record, right?”

Azzi turned her head slightly and kissed Paige’s cheek, letting her hand trace lazy circles over Paige’s fingers. “It’s beautiful, P. You really did this.”

“We did,” Paige said gently. “I just... gave you a little nudge.” The quiet settled again. Not heavy this time — just full. Full of something warm and golden and fragile, but also strong. Like a new kind of gravity between them.

Azzi finally stepped forward, slowly walking into the room. Her fingers brushed along the edge of the crib, and she looked around with wide eyes, taking it all in. “It feels like hope in here,” she said.

Paige, still behind her, leaned against the doorway. “It feels like home.”

Azzi’s voice caught. “I didn’t think I’d ever be able to feel this again. Not like this.” Paige’s heart squeezed. She crossed the room, wrapping her arms around Azzi again — one hand on her belly, the other across her chest.

“I know,” Paige whispered. “Me neither. But here we are.”

Azzi turned in her arms, pressing her forehead to Paige’s. Her eyes were wet, but her mouth held a soft smile. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Paige asked, brushing a tear off Azzi’s cheek with her thumb.

“For pushing. For taking care of us when I couldn’t. For seeing this through when I didn’t know how to let go.”

Paige kissed her forehead, then her nose. “You don’t have to let go. I didn’t want us to forget any of it — not what we lost. I just... wanted to make room for what’s coming.”

Azzi nodded, her throat tight. “It’s still hard, sometimes.”

“I know,” Paige said. “Me too.”

They stood like that, in the middle of the room they built — holding the weight of what came before, and the fragile, incredible joy of what was coming next.

The rocking chair sat in the corner, the same one Paige built three years ago with splinters in her hands and silent hope in her chest. It had been sanded smooth again, painted a creamy white, and reupholstered with pale green cushions. A new blanket was draped over the back — one Azzi’s mom had crocheted last month. The history remained, but it didn’t hurt to look at anymore.

Azzi looked around once more, her hands tracing over the furniture, the sunlight brushing her cheek.

“I can’t believe a person is going to live in here,” she whispered, wonder in her voice. “A whole little person.”

Paige smiled. “Who’s probably going to scream at three a.m., poop everywhere, and then look up at you like you hung the moon.”

Azzi laughed through a tear. “I hope they have your eyebrows.”

“I hope they have your patience,” Paige said.

Azzi turned, wrapping her arms around Paige’s neck. “You’re going to be such a good mom.”

“So are you,” Paige said, voice thick.

“Does this mean we can finally go pick out a stroller?” Paige asks, hopeful. Azzi had been putting it off, considering options and different models - similar to how Paige had been about cars. 

She rolls her eyes and smiles, “Yes,” and when Paige wraps her in a huge hug, kissing her face aggressively, all she can do is laugh.

The baby store felt like a different world.

Everything was soft. Soft lights, soft colors, soft music — even the shelves were lined in plush. Azzi blinked at the wave of pastel and earth tones, hand resting gently on her belly as Paige wheeled a cart in behind her.

Paige was trying to play it cool, pulling out her phone. “Alright. We’re here for a stroller and a car seat. That’s it.”

Azzi raised her eyebrows. “Sure.”

“I mean it,” Paige added. “In and out. This is our third time here this week. We’re literally running out of stuff to buy.”

Azzi smiled faintly. “Babe, you said the same thing at Trader Joe’s and walked out with three flavors of cookies and a pineapple corer.”

“That was a strategic miscalculation,” Paige said solemnly.

They didn’t even make it past the front display.

Azzi gravitated toward a rack of baby clothes in soft, natural fabrics — all in sage green, oatmeal, mustard yellow, and pale gray. Her fingers brushed over a waffle-knit sleeper with tiny wooden buttons. “Look at this,” she whispered. “It’s so soft.”

Paige peeked over. “Cart.”

Azzi held up a muslin onesie with a scattered print of suns and clouds. “Too cute?”

“Cart.”

“And this tiny corduroy jacket—”

“Cart. You’re on a roll.”

Meanwhile, Paige had found her way to a wall of stuffed animals — forest-themed, neutral-toned, and arranged like a plush menagerie. She picked up a velvety gray bunny with long floppy ears and an embroidered nose, gently squeezing it between her palms.

“Az,” she said, eyes wide. “Feel this bunny. Just… feel it.”

Azzi walked over and touched it. Her expression shifted. “Okay, that is illegal levels of soft.”

Paige dropped it into the cart like it was treasure. “We’re getting the bunny. No arguments.”

Then she added a caramel-colored sloth with sleepy eyes. And then a fuzzy alpaca in a cream scarf. “This one looks like me in the mornings,” she said, holding it up.

Azzi shook her head, laughing. “We need to stay focused.”

“You’re the one holding four bodysuits and a cloud-patterned swaddle,” Paige pointed out.

They made their way to the stroller section, eventually landing on a matte forest green travel system with black leatherette handles and air-free rubber tires. Paige gave it an approving nod. “This one says, ‘I’m cool, but I care about safety ratings.’”

Azzi gave it a test push. “Smooth ride. Good storage. Very ‘future WNBA parent on the move.’”

Paige tested the folding mechanism. “Boom. Done. Pro-mom status unlocked.”

For the car seat, they went with a highly rated model in slate gray with a soft beige insert. “Gender neutral,” Azzi noted. “And doesn’t look like a spaceship.”

They also found a baby blanket in a calming mix of soft yellows and muted greens with a subtle rainbow stitch pattern at the edges, and Paige threw in a nightlight shaped like a sleeping fox. “For ambiance,” she said, very seriously.

Azzi paused at a display of wooden toys — rattles, stacking rings, and teething beads in warm, neutral tones. She held up a natural wood teether shaped like a basketball and smiled at Paige. “Too on the nose?”

“Perfect,” Paige said. “Cart.”

By the time they reached the checkout, the cart was full. Paige was wheeling it like it held precious cargo — which, in a way, it did. There were no bright pinks or blues, no themes announcing boy or girl. Just soft, thoughtful colors and textures. A nursery waiting to welcome whoever their baby turned out to be.

Azzi leaned against her, tired but glowing. “So much for ‘just two things.’”

“Listen.” Paige bumped her shoulder. “You’re nesting. I’m spiraling. Together, we’re unstoppable.”

Azzi shook her head fondly. “You’re such a dork.”

“And you’re gonna be the hottest mom alive.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but her smile was all softness. “You already said that when we got the car.”

“And I’ll say it again when I put together this stroller,” Paige declared.

At the checkout counter, as the cashier scanned the items, Azzi slipped her hand into Paige’s and gave it a squeeze.

“I love doing this with you,” she said quietly.

Paige looked over at her, eyes bright. “Me too.”

The house was quiet when Paige stepped through the door, suitcase wheels thunking softly over the entryway rug. It smelled faintly like lavender and lemon — and something else she couldn’t quite place, like plastic packaging and new fabric.

“Az?” she called softly, setting her bag down and locking the door behind her.

No answer.

She dropped her keys in the bowl by the door and moved into the living room — and there she was.

Azzi, curled up on the couch in a soft waffle-knit blanket, sound asleep. Her hand was resting on the side of her round belly, her breathing deep and even. She looked peaceful, cheeks warm and pink, hair a little mussed like she’d passed out mid-project.

And around her… chaos.

Boxes. Open instruction manuals. Empty plastic packaging. Bubble wrap. A tiny drill and half a dozen L-brackets. Baby locks on the cabinet handles. Foam corner protectors stuck onto every sharp edge within five feet. Outlet covers half-installed, a baby gate leaning half-assembled against the hallway wall.

Paige blinked. “What in the—”

She stepped closer and found Azzi’s phone resting on her chest, screen dark. A half-finished protein smoothie sat on the coffee table, and beside it, a list titled Baby Safety Phase One — color-coded and neatly checked off in places, chaotic scribbles in others.

Paige grinned and knelt beside the couch, brushing a loose curl away from Azzi’s cheek.

“You really went for it, huh?”

Azzi stirred just slightly, eyes fluttering open, voice groggy. “Paige?”

“Hey, baby.” Paige leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I’m back.”

Azzi blinked a few times, adjusting. “What time is it?”

“Just past seven. We landed early. You okay?”

Azzi sat up slowly, grimacing slightly as she stretched. “Yeah. Just… got tired.”

They had decided that for Azzi’s safety — and the baby’s — as well as for everyone’s sanity, Azzi would no longer travel with the team for away games. No one was happy with the situation but it made the most sense and was the smartest option. 

So Azzi had taken to spending the time Paige was away by doing things around their house. This time, Azzi focused on baby-proofing.

Paige glanced around the room again, incredulous. “Did you baby-proof the entire house while I was gone?”

Azzi gave a sheepish nod. “I got a little carried away. I wasn’t about to finish though, the house is too big to do in just three days.”

“A little?”

“I couldn’t sleep the first night, so I started organizing stuff. Then I watched, like, four videos about furniture tipping hazards and it just… spiraled.”

Paige looked at her, the pile of gear, and the crumpled instructions, and softened. “You were nesting without me,” she teased gently, sitting beside her on the couch.

“I wasn’t trying to,” Azzi said, rubbing her belly with one hand. “It just felt like… I needed to do something. Like the house wasn’t safe enough yet. I know it’s early, but…”

“No, I get it,” Paige said softly, wrapping an arm around her. “I missed you like crazy.”

Azzi leaned into her, nose pressing against Paige’s neck. “I missed you too. The baby missed you.”

Paige smiled. “How’d you know?”

“Because they wouldn’t stop kicking every night around 2am. Like they were mad at me for you being gone.”

Paige laughed. “Well, I’m here now. You should’ve told me you were doing all this. I would’ve helped.”

“I know,” Azzi said, voice quieter now. “I just… wanted to surprise you. And also maybe distract myself from how much I hate sleeping without you.”

Paige kissed her temple. “You’re the most ridiculously sweet, slightly unhinged pregnant woman I’ve ever met.”

Azzi smirked. “You love it.”

“I really do.” They sat in the soft light of the living room, Paige’s fingers idly rubbing gentle circles on Azzi’s belly. The baby kicked once, firm and solid.

“See?” Azzi murmured. “Mad you were gone.”

“I’ll make it up to both of you,” Paige said, hand stilling over the movement. “Starting with finishing the other half of this baby-proofing mess.”

Azzi groaned and leaned her head on Paige’s shoulder. “Good. Because that baby gate is from hell.”

Paige helped Azzi gently to her feet, steadying her as she wobbled slightly. “Come on, babe. You need to get some rest. I’ve got this baby-proofing takeover.”

Azzi gave a tired smile, leaning into Paige’s support as they headed up the stairs to their bedroom. “Promise you’ll be gentle with the instructions? Those manuals look like hieroglyphics.”

Paige laughed softly. “Don’t worry. I’ll figure it out.”

Azzi’s eyes sparkled with a playful glint as she tugged Paige back by the wrist. “Okay, but… before you go, how about a little cuddle? Just for a bit. You know, as a thank you for taking over my construction project?”

Paige raised an eyebrow but melted instantly, sliding onto the bed beside Azzi. They curled up together, Azzi resting her head against Paige’s chest as Paige’s arms wrapped protectively around her.

“Deal,” Paige murmured, pressing a kiss to Azzi’s temple.

They stayed like that, quiet and warm, until Azzi’s eyes fluttered shut.

Azzi woke slowly the next day, the soft glow of morning filtering through the curtains. The house felt unusually quiet—no familiar weight of Paige beside her, no steady rhythm of her breathing.

She stretched and yawned, then froze, hearing it: a loud, persistent drill buzzing through the walls, echoing through the house. Curious, she shuffled out of bed in her slippers and padded toward the noise, rubbing her growing belly. “What on earth…?”

Rounding the landing, she found Paige down below, fully decked out in a neon yellow safety vest, ear protection headphones, and safety goggles perched on her forehead. In her hands was a power drill, humming like a miniature jet engine.

Around Paige, the living room looked like a baby-proofing war zone. Half-assembled safety gates lined the stairways. Foam corner guards lay scattered on the floor. Brightly colored outlet covers littered a small table, and bubble wrap peeked out from behind the couch.

Paige glanced up and caught Azzi staring. She grinned sheepishly, wielding the drill like a power tool pro. “I might have, uh… gone a little overboard.”

Azzi laughed, slowly making her way down the stairs. “A little? Paige, you’re building a baby fortress here, not a living room.”

Paige set down the drill with a victorious smile. “Hey, if I’m gonna protect our little one, I’m going all in. No way I’m taking any chances.”

Azzi reached out and took Paige’s hand. “I love that you care so much. It’s honestly adorable.”

Paige squeezed her hand back. “You’re the one who convinced me to be a mom. I’m just trying to be the hottest and safest mom ever.”

Azzi smirked, teasing, “And now you have the hottest mom-mobile and a baby-proofed fortress. What’s next? Matching mom-and-baby gym gear?”

Paige laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Don’t tempt me.”

Azzi shook her head, smiling warmly, then asked, “Are you sure you don’t want me to help at all?”

Paige gave a playful shrug. “Nah, this is my domain. You just rest up. Consider this my way of showing love.”

“You do know this house has to look presentable if we have people visiting, right?” Azzi asked with a laugh.

Paige waved her hand, “I got it, don’t worry.” 

Azzi rolled her eyes and made her way into the kitchen, both her and baby hungry.

Three days later, the front door swung open to a small crowd of Liberty teammates, arms full of bags, notebooks, and snacks for the baby shower planning meeting. Sabrina was the first to step in—then stopped dead in her tracks.

“Okay… wow,” she breathed. “Is this a house or a BuyBuy Baby warehouse?”

Nyara followed her in, eyes wide. “Y’all could start a store with all this stuff.”

“Why are there foam corner guards on every surface?” Kennedy asked, nudging one gently with the toe of her sneaker.

“And are those outlet covers on the floor outlets?” Nyara added, her voice halfway between amused and concerned.

Paige popped her head out from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. “I’m just trying to protect my child!”

“I told you she’s gone overboard,” Azzi said with a small laugh, coming into view, gesturing to the bubble-wrapped corners of their coffee table. “I swear she’s going to baby-proof the plants next.”

Paige grinned, unapologetic. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Before we get started… Can we please finally see the nursery?” Kennedy asked, with puppy dog eyes. The rest of the girls nodded. No one had seen it in person yet, only pictures in their group chat, so everyone was quite excited to see it in real time.

Azzi nodding, excitedly. “You guys are going to love it. It’s become my favorite room in the house.”

Paige pretends to be shocked, but they both know the room is Paige’s favorite too.

As Azzi started her slow climb up the stairs, the group quieted for a beat, watching her.

“Wait—are you even supposed to be doing stairs?” Kennedy asked hesitantly.

Azzi stopped mid-step and turned to give her a glare so sharp it could slice drywall.

Behind her, Paige winced. “Oof. That’s a touchy subject.”

“Yeah, because someone tried to tell me not to go up and down stairs in my own house,” Azzi said pointedly, pausing at the landing. “I’m pregnant. Not an invalid.”

Sabrina snorted. “Damn, okay! Remind me never to say that again.”

“I’m just saying,” Paige muttered under her breath, half to the team, half to herself, “I offered to carry her every time she needed to go upstairs and suddenly I’m ‘doing too much.’”

“You are doing too much,” Azzi called from above.

“But you still married me,” Paige said with a smug smile.

“Poor thing never stood a chance,” Sabrina whispered dramatically, and the girls giggled as they followed Azzi upstairs.

Once on the second floor, Azzi opened the nursery door, revealing the finished room. The soft glow of pale yellow walls and sage green accents gave the space a warm, inviting air. Wooden bookshelves lined one wall, half-filled with children’s stories, plush toys, and board books. The crib sat beneath a hanging mobile of tiny felt clouds and stars. A soft, neutral rug covered the hardwood floor. There were baskets with tiny rolled-up blankets, labeled bins of newborn clothes, and shelves with supplies neatly arranged.

“Whoa,” Sabrina said, stepping inside. “Okay, this is… this is really cute.”

Kennedy ran her fingers along the edge of the changing table. “This is like, Pinterest-level nursery goals.”

Azzi smiled as she leaned lightly against the doorframe. “We caved and hired someone. Paige finally convinced me.”

“You were nesting like a madwoman,” Paige reminded her. “You were organizing diapers by absorbency rating.”

“And you were looking up military-grade baby monitors,” Azzi countered, making everyone laugh.

“But seriously,” Nyara said, softer now, “this room feels like… happiness.”

Azzi blinked a few times and nodded. “Yeah. It really does.”

Paige glanced over at her, eyes soft. “We wanted it to feel like light. Like possibility.”

Sabrina flopped down in the rocking chair. “Well, congrats. Because it feels like love in here.”

They all basked in the glow of the room until Azzi shifted, tired and sore on her feet. 

Paige clocked it immediately. “Why don’t we go back downstairs and we can talk about what you guys are wanting to do for the baby shower?” 

Azzi found her gaze and smiled appreciatively. As everyone filed out, Azzi gave Paige a quick kiss, portraying her thanks. 

Thank you for seeing me. For taking care of me. I love you.

Paige got water while everyone found seats in the kitchen, pushing Azzi to a chair so she can rest with a soft smile.

Sabrina cracked open a notebook. “Alright, baby shower planning time,” she said, clicking a pen like she meant business. 

“We really appreciate you guys doing this. It’s so kind of you,” Azzi said, as Paige sits down next to her, reaching for her hand.

“Of course!” someone responded, “We want to throw the best baby shower ever for you guys and your little one.”

“We were thinking something smaller, not super huge,” Paige said, half-pleading.

“Right,” Azzi added. “We just want something small. Low-key. Chill.”

Sabrina nodded solemnly. “Of course. Intimate. Warm. Classy.”

Kennedy raised her hand. “What’s the budget?”

“There is no budget,” Sabrina said without missing a beat. “This is for the baby.”

Nyara was already typing furiously on her phone. “Do we want an animal theme? Forest creatures? Safari? What about celestial—stars, moons, you know, like cosmic baby vibes?”

“Can we get one of those balloon arches?” Kennedy asked. “I saw this place that makes them look like clouds.”

Paige blinked. “What happened to chill?”

“We’re just brainstorming,” Sabrina said sweetly, though her pen was flying over the page. “How do we feel about a catered brunch? I know a woman who does mini waffles with edible flowers—”

“Oh my God,” Azzi groaned, hiding her face in Paige’s shoulder. “We’ve lost control already.”

“You never had control,” Kennedy said with a grin.

“I vote mimosa bar,” Nyara added, earning a chorus of “Yes!” from the group.

“Non-alcoholic!” Paige cut in, already panicking. “Azzi can’t drink.”

“Duh,” Sabrina said. “We’ll make mocktails. But they’ll look real cute. Fresh fruit. Pretty straws. We’ll do sparkling cider in champagne glasses.”

Azzi gave Paige a tired but amused look. “We’re not going to stop them, are we?”

Paige sighed. “Not a chance.”

Sabrina flipped to a new page. “Okay, now games. But not the boring ones. I saw this TikTok where people had to guess baby food flavors blindfolded—”

“And one where you melt chocolate in diapers and people have to guess what kind it is,” Kennedy offered.

“Ew,” Paige said flatly.

“I mean, we could have a competition where people have to assemble a stroller as fast as possible,” Nyara suggested. “Winner gets a prize.”

“I like that one,” Azzi said, hand protectively on her bump. “And none of that clothespin ‘don’t say baby’ stuff. That one stresses me out.”

“Agreed,” Paige said. “Also—can we not hang up weird decorations with diapers and onesies everywhere? Like, I don’t want the place to look like a laundromat exploded.”

“Fine, we’ll be tasteful,” Sabrina said. “But I am getting those cookies shaped like rattles and bottles. And baby animals.”

“And the guest list?” Nyara asked. “Whole team? Coaching staff? Family?”

“So, for the guest list—obviously we want family from both Paige and Azzi’s sides. Parents, siblings, cousins, all the people who’ve been cheering them on.”

Kennedy nodded. “Definitely the whole Liberty team, plus past WNBA teammates. And Paige’s old UConn crew — those friendships run deep.”

Sabrina chimed in, “Yeah, and Azzi’s college friends too. They’ve been through so much together.”

Azzi smiled softly, a little overwhelmed but grateful. “That sounds really nice. I want everyone who’s been part of our journey to celebrate with us.”

Paige squeezed her hand. “It’s going to be full of love — and a lot of familiar faces.”

“And spoiled,” Sabrina added, smiling too.

They watched as the team continued plotting, arguing over colors and favors and if a bounce house was technically over the top. The nursery behind them was still and quiet, a haven of peace. But this—this chaos, this joy, this overwhelming force of community—was its own kind of beautiful.

Azzi leaned her head against Paige’s shoulder.

“We don’t stand a chance, do we?”

“Not even a little,” Paige said, slipping an arm around her waist. “But maybe that’s okay.”

Sabrina glanced at Azzi, who was gently cradling her bump, and asked, “So, when are we thinking the baby shower will happen?”

Azzi smiled, her fingers tracing slow circles on her belly. “We told our friends and family it’ll be the last weekend of next month.”

There was a brief silence, then Sabrina’s eyes shot open wide. “Wait—that’s only a month away! Are we seriously ready for this?”

Nyara leaned back in her chair, grinning. “Looks like we’re about to pull an all-nighter or two.”

Kennedy nudged Sabrina with a smirk. “You love that kind of chaos. Admit it.”

Azzi laughed softly, her breath catching a little as she shifted carefully in her chair. “Yeah, and heads up—I’ll be eight months along by then. I probably won’t be much help with decorating or setting up.”

Sabrina, always calm but warm, raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Then that means the rest of us are going to have to step up — and make sure everything’s perfect for you both.”

Paige reached out and squeezed Azzi’s hand. “Don’t worry, babe. We’ve got this covered. But, fair warning—I’m not letting you climb any ladders or haul boxes. You rest, I’ll handle the heavy lifting.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her affection. “Good. Because I intend to be queen of the couch.”

The room burst into laughter. Nyara raised her water bottle in a mock toast. “To the queen and her loyal subjects!”

Paige chuckled, then glanced over the scattered plans and ideas. “Alright, so here’s what I’m thinking — we divvy up tasks. Someone’s on invitations, someone else manages food, decorations... and who’s in charge of music?”

Sabrina immediately raised her hand. “That’s me. I’m already compiling a playlist.”

Nyara nodded. “I’ll tackle food — maybe a few healthy options mixed with some indulgences?”

Kennedy chimed in, “I can help with decorations. We can do a gender-neutral theme, but make it really warm and inviting.”

Azzi smiled at all the energy in the room, grateful for the team’s enthusiasm but also quietly relieved she wouldn’t have to handle it all herself.

Paige pulled Azzi close and whispered, “See? You don’t have to carry the weight alone.”

Azzi rested her head on Paige’s shoulder. “I know. I’m so lucky.”

Sabrina's voice brought everyone’s attention back. “This is going to be a celebration full of love. Let’s make sure it feels that way—from every detail to every smile.”

The team nodded, energized and ready to turn their excitement into action — even if the countdown was tighter than they’d hoped.

Azzi is sitting on their couch, Paige wrapped around her like a blanket, incredibly thankful for a rare weekend off. No practices, no games, no coaches. 

The house was quiet except for the soft hum of the TV as they lay together. Paige rubbing Azzi’s belly, speaking to it. The soft curve beneath her palm felt warm and alive, a precious reminder of everything they were about to face. Her voice was low, almost a whisper, but full of fierce love and hope.

Azzi shifted on the couch, a sudden flutter turning into a strong, unmistakable kick from inside her belly. She gasped softly, hand instinctively resting over the spot where the little life inside was stirring fiercely.

Paige, sitting beside her, noticed immediately. Her eyes softened as she reached out and cradled Azzi’s bump with both hands, feeling the movement beneath her fingers. She leaned in close, her voice gentle but full of fierce love. “Hey there, little one,” Paige whispered, brushing her lips softly against Azzi’s belly. “I know you’re excited, but can you please go easy on Mama for just a bit longer? She’s doing such a good job of taking care of you, maybe rest a bit okay?”

Azzi smiled weakly, resting her head against Paige’s shoulder for a moment, but then the kicks turned more insistent. Her breath hitched.

“I’ve gotta go to the bathroom again,” she said, voice trembling slightly.

Paige nodded quickly, standing up to steady Azzi. “Alright, let’s get you there—slow and steady. I’ve got you.”

She watches Azzi waddle to the bathroom before sitting back down on the couch, feeling so incredibly grateful for her wife and the life they are living, building, together. 

“Paige?”

The tone in Azzi’s voice was sharp. High-pitched. Not normal. Paige was on her feet in a second. “Az?”

There was a pause, and then Azzi’s voice came again — louder. “Paige!”

Paige rushed down the hall and skidded to a stop at the bathroom doorway.

Azzi stood frozen in place, her eyes wide, panic blooming across her face. “Something’s wrong.” Paige’s eyes dropped to the floor — then to Azzi’s legs, where a small puddle had already started to spread.

“I think my water just broke,” Azzi whispered.

Azzi’s breath hitched, her eyes wide with rising fear. “It’s too early,” she gasped, voice trembling. “Only seven and a half months... What if—what if the baby comes now?”

Her chest tightened and she started to hyperventilate, small, panicked gasps turning into quick, shallow breaths. Her hands shook as she gripped the edge of the sink, struggling to steady herself. Paige, calm as a still lake, knelt beside her. Her whole demeanor was the opposite of the tense, fiery energy she’d had all pregnancy — now she was steady, grounded, utterly unshakeable.

Paige’s voice was steady, a calm anchor in the storm. “I’m going to grab you some fresh clothes—something comfortable. Then we’ll get you to the hospital, where the doctors can take care of you and the baby.”

Azzi’s breath hitched, panic still swirling in her chest. “Please don’t leave me,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I’m scared.”

Paige leaned closer, her forehead resting lightly against Azzi’s temple. “I know, baby. I’m scared too. Let me get you some dry clothes, okay? I don’t want you to be wet in the car or while we wait.”

Azzi’s fingers curled weakly around Paige’s wrist. “I’ll be right back,” she kisses Azzi’s forehead.  Paige runs faster than she has ever run before. Hearing Azzi’s cries completely breaks her heart but she grabs the first thing she can find before darting back.

She moved with practiced gentleness, helping Azzi peel off the damp clothes and slide into the fresh, soft outfit she’d grabbed—loose sweatpants and a cozy sweatshirt, the kind that felt like a warm hug. Azzi’s hands trembled slightly, but Paige’s steady presence was a balm, quiet and unshakable. 

Once Azzi was dressed, Paige took her arm, steadying her as they stood. They moved slowly, every step measured, the weight of the moment heavy but held together by the fierce thread of their love and determination.

Paige opened the door to the garage and led Azzi to the passenger side, helping her scoot in as gently as possible. She settled into the driver’s seat, her hands gripping the steering wheel firmly but gently. Azzi sat beside her, fingers clenched tight in her lap, her breath coming in short, panicked bursts.

“This wasn’t part of the plan. It’s too early,” Azzi whispered, voice trembling. “Seven and a half months… The doctors said… what if the baby’s not ready? What if—”

“Hey,” Paige interrupted softly, reaching over to brush a stray lock of hair behind Azzi’s ear. “Look at me. We’re going to the hospital where they’re ready for this. The doctors and nurses know exactly what to do. I know you wanted a home birth, I know this wasn’t what you planned, but baby this is the safest option for you and the baby right now. ”

Azzi’s eyes welled up again, and she swallowed hard. “I just… I don’t want to lose the baby. I’m scared, Paige.”

Paige’s jaw tightened, the fierce protectiveness flaring up inside her. “I know, baby. I’m scared too. But you’re not alone. I’m right here. We’re in this together.”

She squeezed Azzi’s hand, then shifted gears smoothly and started pulling away from the driveway. Azzi’s breathing hitched again, and Paige took a deep breath, trying to steady both of them.

“Breathe with me, okay?” Paige said, voice low and steady. “In… and out. Slow. We’re going to get through this.” Azzi nodded, trying to match Paige’s rhythm.

The city lights blurred past as Paige drove, her focus unwavering, eyes flicking between the road and Azzi. She fumbled for her phone, thumb hovering uncertainly over her recent calls. She didn’t even know who was the last person she’d called. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she tapped the name that popped up—Sabrina.

The line clicked, connecting to the car, and Sabrina’s cheerful voice came through, completely unaware of the chaos unfolding. “Hey! What’s up? Everything good?” her voice bright — until Azzi’s cries cut through the line.

Azzi sobbed in the passenger seat, her breaths coming fast and shallow, eyes wide with panic.
“It’s too early... Paige, it’s too early,” she cried, her hands clenched tightly around her belly. “Something’s wrong, I can feel it—”

Paige reached across the console, keeping one hand firm on the wheel and the other gripping Azzi’s trembling fingers. “Breathe, baby. In through your nose, out through your mouth—come on, you’ve got this,” she said, voice low and calm, even though her heart was racing.

On the phone, Sabrina was no longer calm. “Wait—what? Paige, what do you mean too early? Are you close to the hospital? Is she—do I need to—”

“I need you to call Aaliyah,” Paige interrupted, her voice clipped with urgency. “She’ll call our parents. Tell them it’s happening—now.”

Azzi let out another sharp cry, her voice cracked with fear. “Paige, I can’t—please—”

“I’m right here,” Paige whispered, squeezing Azzi’s hand tighter. “You’re not doing this alone.”

Sabrina’s voice stuttered through the speaker. “Okay—okay, I’ll call Aaliyah. Just keep me—”

But Paige’s voice cut in one last time, “We’re going into the tunnel—if I lose you, just tell them—”

And then the line went dead.

Static. Silence.

The car sped forward into the dark, Azzi still crying beside her, and Paige gripping the wheel like her entire world depended on it.

Because it did.

Chapter Text

The ER doors yawned open with a hiss, swallowing them into blinding light and noise. Paige barely had the car in park before two nurses were there, one pulling Azzi into a wheelchair, the other firing questions she couldn’t quite process.

“How far along?”

“Thirty… thirty-two weeks,” Paige answered, jogging to keep up.

“When did the water break?”

“Twenty minutes ago.”

“Any bleeding? Fever? Dizziness?”

Azzi blinked, trying to focus on the woman’s face, but the bright lights burned at the edges of her vision. “No… I—”

They were already moving again, the smell of antiseptic and something faintly metallic closing in. The wheels of the chair clicked over the floor seams in quick jolts.

“It’s too soon,” Azzi whispered, her voice cracking on the last word.

Paige was suddenly there at her side, bending down until their eyes met. “I know, baby. I know. Just breathe with me.” Her hand found Azzi’s and squeezed hard — maybe too hard, but neither let go.

A curtain swished closed behind them. Machines beeped in staggered rhythms. Somewhere to her left, someone’s radio crackled. A nurse slid a blood pressure cuff onto Azzi’s arm before she could even shrug out of her jacket. Another was already fitting two wide straps around her belly.

“You’ll hear the baby’s heart now,” someone said, but it was more sound than words to Azzi until a rapid, steady thump filled the small space. Paige’s head whipped toward the monitor, eyes wide, and then she looked back at Azzi.

“That’s them,” Paige said, her voice breaking just a little. “That’s our baby.”

Azzi tried to smile but her lips trembled. She looked past Paige to the doctor who had just stepped in, clipboard in hand. “Am I— is the baby—?”

“We’re going to take care of both of you,” the doctor said, her tone calm and warm. She was already speaking to the nurses. “Active labor. NICU team on standby. We’re moving up to L&D.”

A nurse leaned over Azzi, speaking slowly amidst all the chaos, “We’re moving you upstairs to Labor and Delivery — your baby’s looking strong on the monitor, but we want you somewhere we can watch you more closely.”

Strong. The word slipped into Azzi’s head and stuck there, a fragile buoy in a current she couldn’t control. Her hands were still clammy, knuckles white where they gripped Paige’s.

Paige walked beside her as they wheeled her into an elevator, the beeping of the fetal monitor filling the small, metal space. Paige tried to focus on it — the steady gallop of their baby’s heartbeat — instead of the unanswered questions swirling around them.

When the doors opened again, the air felt cooler. They turned into a bright, sterile hallway lined with closed doors until one opened ahead of them.

“Room 417. Let’s get her settled.”

The nurses moved quickly, transferring Azzi from the wheelchair to a hospital bed. The thin mattress crinkled under her as they adjusted the monitor straps and checked her IV line. Paige hovered close, a constant shadow, her hand never straying far from Azzi’s arm or hair.

“I need to know what’s happening,” Paige said finally, her voice taut. “Is she—are they—okay?”

Azzi lowered herself gingerly onto the narrow hospital bed, the thin blanket feeling cool and scratchy against her damp skin. The muscles in her legs trembled slightly from the tension, but she pulled the blanket up over her sweatpants anyway, seeking some small comfort in the fragile cocoon.

A doctor in pale blue scrubs stepped closer to the bed, her voice calm but purposeful. “You’re experiencing something called preterm premature rupture of membranes,” she explained, glancing between Azzi and Paige. “It means your water has broken before thirty-seven weeks — and in your case, about seven and a half months along.”

Paige’s stomach tightened at the words, a cold rush running through her chest, but she kept her eyes on Azzi, willing herself to stay steady. She could be scared later — right now, she had to be the anchor.

“It can happen for a number of reasons,” the doctor continued, “infections, past complications, sometimes high stress… but often, there’s no clear cause. It just… happens.” Her tone softened as she added, “What matters now is that we monitor you and the baby closely.”

Azzi swallowed hard, her jaw working like she was trying to form a question but couldn’t quite get the words out. Her fingers curled tightly into the edge of the blanket, knuckles pale, the tension in her shoulders betraying what her voice couldn’t.

Paige slid her hand over hers, gently prying Azzi’s grip from the blanket and threading their fingers together. She rubbed her thumb slowly across her wife’s palm — a small, steady motion meant to say I’m here, I’m not letting go .

“We’ll be checking for signs of infection, tracking contractions, and watching the baby’s heart rate,” the doctor said. “If labor progresses, our NICU team is ready to step in immediately to give your baby the best possible care.”

Azzi’s eyes were shiny now, her breathing shallow. Paige reached up and brushed a damp curl back from her temple, letting her fingertips rest for a second on her cheek.

“Hey,” Paige murmured, leaning close so only Azzi could hear. “You’re not alone in this. We’ve got the best people right here, and I’m not leaving you. Not for a second.”

The sterile white room seemed to shrink until it was just the two of them, the steady gallop of the baby’s heartbeat from the monitor cutting through the quiet. Paige kept her hand anchored on Azzi’s, feeling every small tremor, and stayed right there — calm for both of them, even as her own fear sat heavy in her chest.

The doctor glanced up from looking at the monitor again. “Baby’s heart rate is solid. Contractions don’t seem to have started yet.  We’ll keep you both here and monitor closely — sometimes labor moves fast, sometimes it takes hours. And because it’s so premature, we just want to be prepared. Right now, our goal is a safe delivery.

She gave them both a small, reassuring nod before stepping out, the door clicking softly shut behind her. The room felt instantly quieter — no more voices, just the faint hum of machines and the steady beeping of the monitor.

Azzi stared at the ceiling for a moment, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. When she finally looked over at Paige, her eyes were wide, glassy, and full of questions she didn’t seem able to ask.

“What if something’s wrong?” she whispered, her voice thin. “The baby’s not supposed to be here yet, Paige… what if—”

Paige didn’t let her finish. She shifted closer on the chair beside the bed until their knees touched, then reached up to cradle the side of Azzi’s face. “Look at me,” she said gently. Azzi’s eyes met hers, and Paige’s voice stayed soft but sure. “They’re still in there, and they’re strong. You’re strong. And we’ve got a whole team outside that door ready for anything.”

Azzi blinked quickly, a tear slipping free despite her effort to hold it back. Paige caught it with her thumb before it could fall to the pillow. “I’m scared,” Azzi admitted, the words cracking as she said them.

“I know,” Paige murmured. “Me too. But we’re going to take it one minute at a time. And every single minute, I’ll be right here. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Azzi’s shoulders eased just slightly, the tension loosening under Paige’s steady gaze. Paige leaned forward until their foreheads touched, breathing with her, slow and steady, matching the rhythm of the monitor’s beep.

She looked toward Paige with a fragile vulnerability that made Paige’s chest tighten. “Do you think… our parents know yet?” The question was quiet, tentative — as if saying it aloud might make the situation more real. 

Paige shifted to the bedside table and began rummaging through the scattered pamphlets and hospital forms. Her fingers brushed the smooth surface of the plastic chair beside the bed, searching for her phone. But it was nowhere to be found. A sudden spike of anxiety hit her — the phone was her lifeline, the link to their world beyond these four walls.

“I don’t see my phone anywhere,” Paige said softly, voice tight with worry. Her eyes scanned the room again, moving to the edge of the bed, under the chair, behind the small side table.

Then, near the foot of the bed, she spotted it — a corner of black peeking out from under a crumpled hospital brochure. Her fingers closed around it with a small, relieved sigh. “Got it.”

Azzi exhaled slowly, but the tight coil of unease didn’t loosen. She brought her hands to her lap, twisting the soft fabric of her sweatpants in restless knots.

“I didn’t bring a bag,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper, brittle with fear. “No clothes, no diapers, no baby stuff… I hadn’t packed anything yet. I thought we had more time.”

Paige’s heart clenched. She sat down beside Azzi on the bed, reaching out to gently tuck a damp curl behind her ear. “It’s okay,” she said quietly, voice soft but steady. “We’ll handle what’s in front of us first. Everything else — we’ll figure it out.”

But Azzi’s eyes were haunted, wide with worry. “What if it happens faster? What if we need things right now? What if…” Her voice faltered, the weight of the unknown pressing down.

Paige squeezed Azzi’s hand, trying to calm her. “Azi, it’s okay. We can have someone go get stuff if we need anything.” 

Azzi nods, accepting that answer as her mind tries to wrap it’s head around the fact that this was still even happening.

Paige unlocked her phone and immediately saw the flood of messages from their families.

“We're on our away. Anything you need, just say.”
“We’re all here for you, every step.”
“Sending all our love and strength. You’ve got this.”

“You’re parents are on their way, they called my family," the relief was clear in Paige’s voice, and Azzi’s face.

But then, somewhere between one monitor beep and the next, Azzi’s breathing changed. It quickened, shallow and uneven, her shoulders rising and falling too fast. Paige felt it immediately — the tension creeping back into her body, the way her fingers tightened against her hoodie.

Paige’s eyes flicked over, a flicker of worry crossing her face. She reached out to take Azzi’s hand, but Azzi pulled away, pressing it flat against her belly instead, like a shield.

“Az?” Paige’s voice was soft, almost hesitant, sensing the shift before Azzi even said a word.

“It’s too soon,” Azzi whispered, voice barely steady, breath catching in her throat. “I’m not ready. What if something goes wrong? What if the baby—” Her voice broke off as a sudden wave of dizziness made her blink rapidly, her chest tightening painfully.

Her breaths came quick and shallow, like she was gasping for air through water. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, irregular beat that she couldn’t slow. The monitor beside her answered with a sharp, accelerating beep-beep-beep — the baby’s heartbeat racing faster than before.

Azzi’s eyes widened in panic. “Paige, why is it—? What’s happening? Are they—?” She tried to sit up, but the IV line tugged sharply at her arm, and the tight straps across her belly pulled taut, pinching her skin.

Paige’s heart lurched. She moved immediately, her hands steady and sure as she placed one gently on Azzi’s shoulder to keep her from moving too fast, the other reaching for Azzi’s trembling hand.

“Hey. Hey, look at me,” Paige said softly but firmly, drawing Azzi’s gaze. Her own eyes were wide and clear, a steady anchor in the swirling chaos inside Azzi’s mind.

“Breathe with me. In… slow and deep.” Paige took a long breath, exaggerating the movement so Azzi could follow. “Hold it… now out. Let it go.”

Azzi tried to match her, but her breaths were still short and ragged. Her chest rose and fell too quickly, barely drawing in enough air to keep the panic at bay.

Paige didn’t rush her. She slid around so they were face-to-face, her hands reaching for both of Azzi's, cradling her like she was the most fragile thing in the world.

“Feel my breath,” Paige whispered, pressing their foreheads together so Azzi could feel the slow rhythm of her chest rising and falling. “One… two… three… Just like this.”

Azzi’s breath started to even out, just barely, as she clung to Paige’s warmth, the softness of her voice threading through the storm inside her head.

The monitor beeped again — slower now, less frantic, echoing the steady thump-thump of the baby’s heartbeat settling back into rhythm. Azzi’s fingers, which had clenched Paige’s hoodie like a lifeline, slowly relaxed their grip, but didn’t let go.

Tears spilled down Azzi’s cheeks, hot and sudden. “I hate feeling this scared,” she murmured, her voice raw and vulnerable. 

Paige tilted her chin up, brushing away the tears with the pad of her thumb. “You’re allowed to be scared. This is hard. But you’re not alone. I’m right here.” 

Azzi exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and let her body sink against Paige’s. The beeping of the monitor — steady and strong now — was a quiet promise that, for this moment, they were okay.

They stayed like that for a long while, the hospital sounds fading into a distant backdrop — muffled footsteps in the hallway, the occasional hiss of the IV pump, the rhythmic pulse of the fetal monitor. Every so often, Paige would glance at the screen, searching for reassurance in the steady blip of their daughter’s heartbeat.

Azzi’s fingers curled into the fabric of Paige’s hoodie as she sits next to her in the small hospital bed, grounding herself in the familiar feel of it. Neither of them spoke much; there wasn’t anything to say that could make time move faster.

Paige pressed a kiss into Azzi’s hair, her lips lingering there as she whispered, “They’re hanging in there. You both are.”

Azzi breathed in slowly, exhaling through her nose, focusing on the rise and fall of Paige’s chest against her back. Her mind kept flickering between fear and hope — fear of what could go wrong, hope that their little girl would keep fighting just a little longer.

Minutes blurred together, stitched by the soft sound of their breathing and the hum of machines. Paige kept one hand resting over Azzi’s, thumb brushing slow circles over her knuckles, like she could will her calm through touch alone.

Every so often, a nurse would step in to check the monitors, offering a quick, polite smile before slipping back out, leaving them in their little bubble. They were waiting — for answers, for time to pass, for their baby to tell them she was ready.

She opened the Liberty group chat — normally full of gifs, trash talk, and post-game selfies — and took a deep breath before typing.

Paige: Hey guys. We’re at the hospital. Azzi’s water broke early. Baby’s heartbeat is good right now.

The typing bubbles popped up instantly.

“ WHAT?! Paige that’s way too early. Is she okay?? Is the baby okay??”
“ Oh my god. Do you need us there?”
“ How early is early? Like how many weeks??”
“ P, breathe. Tell us what’s going on.”
“ Okay. What do you need right now? Clothes? Snacks?”

Paige swallowed, thumbs moving fast.

“ She’s 7½ months. They said it’s called preterm premature rupture of membranes. Basically her water broke way earlier than it should. Sometimes it just happens, no real reason. Biggest risks are infection and that the baby’s lungs aren’t fully ready yet.”

The responses came flooding in.

“ Oh my god. That’s so scary.”
“ But you said the heartbeat’s good?”

Paige paused before responding,
“ Yeah. Baby’s stable right now. They’re monitoring constantly. NICU is ready if needed.”

“Do you want me to bring you a bag? You probably didn’t have time to pack.”
“I can be there in twenty minutes if you want someone in the waiting room.”

Paige set her phone down on the bed and shifted closer to Azzi, her arm curving protectively around her. She pressed a lingering kiss to the top of her wife’s head, breathing her in — shampoo and the faint, sterile scent of the hospital room.

Her other hand found Azzi’s belly, warm beneath the thin blanket. She began rubbing slow circles, her thumb tracing the rise and fall of each breath.

“Hey, little one,” Paige murmured softly, her voice thick with emotion. “You already have so many aunties who can’t wait to meet you.” She smiled faintly, thinking of their second family. “They’re all already in love with you.”

Azzi let out a trembling laugh, leaning into her touch, and Paige kept her hand there, grounding them both in the steady rhythm of life moving beneath her palm.

The smile lingered for just a second before her face shifted — a flicker of discomfort crossing her features. She shifted under the blanket, one hand moving instinctively to her belly.

“You okay?” Paige asked quickly, scanning her expression.

Azzi drew in a breath, holding it for a moment before letting it out slowly. “I… I think that was a contraction,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Paige’s hand tightened protectively over her stomach. “Alright. We’ll keep track,” she said, forcing her tone to stay calm even as her pulse spiked.

Azzi gave a small, shaky smile and squeezed Paige’s hand. “That one was pretty small,” she said softly, trying to keep her voice steady. “Maybe just the start.”

Paige nodded, brushing a stray curl off Azzi’s damp forehead. “You doing okay?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Azzi answered, shifting slightly on the bed. “Not really painful yet. Just… noticeable.”

They settled into a fragile calm again, the minutes stretching out. About twenty minutes later, another contraction rippled through — a bit stronger, but still manageable. Azzi breathed through it, lips pressed tight, her grip tightening on the blanket.

Paige stayed close, rubbing soothing circles on her back and whispering encouragement. “You’re doing so well,” she said, voice thick with love. “I’m right here. We’re in this together.”

As the minutes ticked by, the contractions began to come more frequently, Azzi decided she wanted to be on her feet . What started as small ones now rolled in stronger, their edges sharper and harder to ignore. Azzi’s breath grew a little more ragged each time, and her hands tightened around the thin hospital blanket as she leaned over the bed.

“Here comes another,” she whispered, her voice catching slightly. She instinctively leaned forward, bracing herself against the bed’s edge.

Paige moved beside her without hesitation, sliding a steady hand down Azzi’s back, rubbing slow, firm circles that never wavered. “You’re incredible,” Paige murmured, voice thick with emotion. “Just breathe through it. I’ve got you.”

Azzi closed her eyes, willing the pain to pass, but the next contraction hit faster than the last. The room seemed to shrink around them — bright lights, distant voices — but Paige’s presence was a solid anchor.

“You’re not alone,” Paige whispered, brushing damp strands of hair from Azzi’s face and pressing a gentle kiss to her temple.

Though the pain deepened, Azzi’s expression was resolute. “I’m okay,” she said between breaths, “just… harder now.”

Paige nodded, eyes shining with awe and love. “We’ll get through this — together.”

The contractions now came in relentless waves, each one crashing harder than the last, yet Azzi faced them with a raw, unyielding strength that stole Paige’s breath away.

Azzi’s sports bra clung to her damp skin, sweat soaking through the fabric, and the hospital gown barely hanging onto her body. She didn’t want it touching her, it felt too restrictive. This was her body, her fight, and she wanted to hold onto what felt familiar.

Paige sat quietly beside her, the chair pulled close enough that she could reach out without hesitation. But words felt too clumsy, too small. Instead, she let herself watch, drinking in every detail — the way Azzi’s jaw tightened, the slight tremble of her hands as they gripped the bed frame, the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathed through the pain. 

Her heart swelled with a fierce tenderness, so full it was almost painful. She was awash in love for this woman who was so brave, so fierce, who was carrying not just a baby but the weight of every unknown that had come with this early labor.

When Azzi stood, leaning into the bed for support, Paige was there instantly, her hands sliding around Azzi’s waist, feeling the taut muscles beneath her fingers. She wanted to say everything — how strong she was, how much she loved her, how proud she was — but the words tangled in her throat.

Instead, she settled for soft whispers in Azzi’s ear, gentle reminders that she was not alone. “You’re incredible. You’re doing so well.”

Azzi’s eyes fluttered closed, sweat dampening her curls, a few strands clinging to her flushed skin. Paige lifted a towel and brushed the dampness from her forehead and cheeks, the lightest touch in the world.

Every detail etched itself into Paige’s heart — the salty scent of sweat and effort, the sound of Azzi’s breath catching and steadying, the fierce determination in her wife’s expression despite the fear lurking just beneath.

The plans they had made, the timelines they had hoped for, all unraveling and reshaping in this small hospital room — yet Azzi met it all with a strength Paige hadn’t fully understood before.

Tears pricked Paige’s eyes, but she blinked them back, leaning close to press a tender kiss to the crown of Azzi’s head.

Paige never left her side, hands tracing soothing circles across Azzi’s back, murmuring gentle encouragements that barely registered beyond the fog of pain.

The soft click of the door caught their attention. A calm voice followed with a polite knock, followed by the doctor slowly opening the door.

“Hi, Azzi. Mind if I check how things are progressing?”

Azzi blinked slowly, nodding despite the tight knot of tension in her belly. Another contraction was building, slow and deep, and she braced herself against the bedframe.

Paige squeezed her hand reassuringly, a quiet reminder: you’re not alone.

The doctor moved first to the monitor, eyes scanning the lines and numbers with practiced focus. The baby’s heartbeat pulsed steady and strong, a reassuring thump-thump-thump that filled the quiet room.

“Your baby’s heartbeat is strong,” She said, voice calm but warm, lifting the screen slightly so Azzi and Paige could see the steady rhythm. “That’s an excellent sign.”

Azzi’s breath hitched, tension easing just a fraction. The rhythmic beeping felt like a lifeline, a steady anchor amid the swirling storm of uncertainty.

“How are you feeling?” the doctor asked gently, turning her attention to Azzi.

“Tired,” Azzi admitted, voice rough but determined. “It’s… intense.”

“That’s to be expected,” She said softly. “I’m going to check how far along you are now, alright? Just a quick exam.”

Paige scooted closer, her fingers brushing Azzi’s thigh in a grounding touch.

Azzi nodded, biting back a groan as a contraction tightened her muscles. The doctor’s touch was professional but gentle as she carefully examined Azzi’s progress.

Paige whispered close to Azzi’s ear, “You’re doing so well, love. Just keep breathing.”

After a few tense moments, the doctor looked up, eyes meeting theirs with steady reassurance.

“You’re at about six centimeters dilated. The baby’s is holding strong, and you’re progressing nicely. We’ll keep a close watch, but everything looks good so far.”

Azzi let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, a small tremor of relief coursing through her. Paige’s smile was soft but fierce, shining through the exhaustion and pain.

“I’m right here,” Paige whispered, voice thick with love and awe. “Every single step.”

A soft vibration buzzed from Paige’s phone, breaking the quiet hush that had settled over the hospital room like a fragile veil. She glanced down, the screen lighting up with a message from Azzi’s parents.

“Just got here. Some teammates are in the waiting room too — all sending their love and ready to support however you need.”

Paige’s eyes flicked up to Azzi, who sat silently on the edge of the hospital bed, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap her knuckles were white. Her eyes were distant, clouded with the weight of everything—fear, exhaustion, uncertainty.

She leaned over to kiss Azzi’s forehead. “Your parents just got here. They said there are teammates in the waiting room if you want to see them.”

Azzi’s voice was barely above a whisper as she finally spoke. “I think… I just want to see my parents right now. Just them.”

Paige’s chest tightened with understanding and tenderness. “That’s completely okay,” she said gently, her voice warm and steady. “We’ll take this one step at a time. Whatever you need.”

The door opened quietly a few minutes later and Azzi’s mom stepped in first. Her face was etched with worry, but when her eyes landed on Azzi, they softened immediately, shimmering with unshed tears. Without hesitation, she crossed the room in a few hurried steps and wrapped Azzi in a fierce, trembling embrace.

Azzi’s defenses broke. The tears she’d been holding back spilled freely now, rolling down her cheeks as her whole body shook with the weight of relief and fear. Her mother held her like she was the most precious thing in the world, whispering soft words of comfort that only a mother’s voice can carry. “It’s going to be okay, sweetheart. I’m right here. We’re all right here.”

Behind them, the door opened again, and Azzi’s dad came in. His eyes, heavy with quiet strength, locked onto Azzi. He moved slowly to her bedside, kneeling so he could reach her easily. His rough hand found hers, fingers curling protectively around her trembling ones.

“Hey baby, you’re doing amazing” he said softly, his voice low and steady, thick with love and unwavering support. “Every step. We’re so proud of you..”

Paige swallowed the lump in her throat as she slid quietly into the chair beside the bed. She kept her hand close to Azzi’s, but gave space to the fragile reunion unfolding between parents and daughter. The room felt small, full of raw, unspoken love — a sanctuary amid the chaos of the day.

Azzi’s mother slowly pulled back from the embrace, brushing a damp curl away from her daughter’s forehead. Her eyes searched Azzi’s face, soft with concern.

“Do you need anything while you wait? Anything at all?” she asked gently, voice steady but filled with motherly worry.

Azzi tried to answer but found her throat tight, words caught somewhere between the panic and the exhaustion. She just shook her head, unable to speak.

Paige, sitting close by, gave a small, grateful smile. “No, thank you. We’re okay for now,” she said softly, squeezing Azzi’s hand reassuringly.

Azzi’s father gave her hand one last gentle squeeze and looked up at Paige. “We’re just down the hall if you need us. Anytime.”

With one more look full of love and quiet strength, they stepped out, leaving a fragile calm in their wake.

Outside the door, in the waiting room, Azzi’s teammates sat together quietly, the soft murmur of their concern and prayers filling the space. Their presence was a steady, unseen thread of support that wove through the hospital halls — a reminder that Azzi and Paige were surrounded by love from every corner of their lives.

Hours had slipped by, but the contractions showed no mercy. Each one rolled in like a thunderclap — longer, deeper, sharper than the last. Azzi stood by the side of the bed, leaning heavily into the cool metal frame for support. Her whole body tensed with every wave of pain, muscles coiled tight beneath damp, glistening skin. Sweat slicked her forehead and upper back, curls clinging in wet tendrils to her flushed cheeks.

Her breaths came in ragged bursts, shallow and uneven, as if she were trying to catch a breath that kept slipping just out of reach. She bit down on her lower lip, jaw clenched, determined to face it all without breaking.

Paige was right there—steady, unflinching. Her hands moved in slow, deliberate circles over Azzi’s back, tracing the rigid muscles, pressing firm yet gentle enough to soothe. Paige felt every tremor beneath her palms, every tiny shudder that ran through Azzi’s frame as she fought the pain. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, a mix of awe and helplessness flooding her.

Carefully, Paige reached for a cool, wet towel from the bedside table. She lifted it with reverence, as if offering a small relief from the storm raging inside Azzi’s body, and draped it softly over her wife’s burning shoulders.

The sudden chill made Azzi gasp softly, a sharp intake of breath that caught in her throat. She leaned her head slightly toward Paige, who pressed a tender kiss to the damp curls at her temple, her lips warm against Azzi’s slick skin.

“You’re incredible,” Paige whispered, voice thick with unspoken love and fierce pride. “I’m right here. You’re doing amazing love.”

Azzi’s eyes squeezed shut, and she pressed her forehead against the end of the bed, trying to anchor herself in the moment. The pain surged again, relentless and roaring, and Paige’s hands tightened just a little on her back, grounding them both in the fierce, fragile space between suffering and strength.

In that quiet room, surrounded by the soft hum of machines and the steady rhythm of Azzi’s breath, Paige’s heart swelled with a love so vast it seemed to hold them both safe from the storm.

But the steady beep of the heart monitor suddenly shifted—becoming sharp, rapid, and insistent, echoing loudly in the small hospital room. The sudden change made Azzi’s chest tighten painfully. She glanced at Paige, eyes wide with fear, whispering, “What’s wrong?”

Before Paige could respond, the door swung open swiftly. A nurse entered with a brisk urgency, her face serious as she scanned the monitor, then glanced at Azzi.

Azzi’s legs wobbled, and she slowly sank to the edge of the bed, Paige immediately steadying her, slipping an arm around her waist. “Azzi, what’s wrong?” Paige pressed gently, voice trembling with concern.

The nurse’s expression was tight; she didn’t answer right away, fingers flying over the monitor’s controls. Then her brow furrowed deeper as she focused on the screen. “The baby’s heart rate... it’s slowing down,” she said in a low voice, thick with urgency.

Azzi’s breath hitched sharply; panic surged through her veins. Paige felt her own heart leap, eyes fixed on Azzi’s pale face, which was now almost translucent. Sweat beaded at Azzi’s temples, and her legs shook beneath her. She gripped the bed, struggling to stay upright.

Suddenly, the door burst open again. The doctor entered quickly, clipboard tucked under her arm, her gaze darting immediately to the monitor, then to Azzi.

“Hi Azzi,” she said with calm authority. “We’re seeing signs of fetal distress. The baby’s heart rate is dropping dangerously. We need to prepare for delivery immediately. How are you feeling?”

Azzi tried to speak, but a lump clogged her throat. Paige squeezed her hand, whispering, “Almost there baby.”

Without hesitation, nurses and technicians flooded the room, setting up IV lines, wheeling in equipment, voices quick and efficient. The hum of machines and hurried footsteps filled the air, a chaotic storm around the couple.

Azzi tried to stand but her legs gave way. Paige caught her firmly, holding her close. “Breathe with me,” Paige urged softly, guiding Azzi’s ragged breaths in time with her own, grounding her amid the chaos.

The doctor checked the monitors and the IV, her voice steady but urgent. “We’ll do everything we can.”

Pain crashed over Azzi in relentless waves, each contraction sharper, deeper. Her body trembled, fear and exhaustion mingling, but Paige’s touch was a lifeline—steady, strong, and filled with fierce love.

The urgency in the room pulsed like electricity. A nurse’s voice rose above the bustle, calm but commanding. “Azzi, we’re going to get ready for delivery. We need you ready to push very soon.”

Azzi’s wide eyes filled with tears, panic spilling over. Her hands trembled as she clutched the edge of the bed, her voice barely a whisper. “No… this wasn’t supposed to happen. It’s way too early. I’m not ready for this.”

Paige shifted closer, dropping to her knees beside Azzi with a soft breath. Her hands gently reached for Azzi’s shaking arms, pulling her in a steadying embrace. She brushed a tear from Azzi’s cheek with the pad of her thumb, her voice low and tender, “I know, baby. I know it’s not what we planned. None of this is.”

“It’s happening now,” Paige whispered, voice thick with fierce love and determination. “No matter what, the doctors are right here, the nurses, the NICU team—they’re ready for everything. We’re not alone in this, babe. We’re going to get through it. Together.”

Azzi’s tears streamed freely, her body trembling. “I’m scared, Paige,” she sobbed, voice breaking.

Paige leaned in close, pressing her forehead gently against Azzi’s temple. “I’m scared too. But I’m right here, every step of the way. You’re the strongest person I know.” 

The room buzzed with movement—nurses checking monitors, adjusting IV lines, setting up delivery equipment. The clinical noises mixed with the raw emotion in the air, a stark contrast to the quiet strength between Azzi and Paige. 

Paige helped Azzi lower herself back onto the bed, supporting her trembling frame as the contractions hammered harder. Their fingers intertwined tightly, a lifeline in the swirling storm of uncertainty.

“Azzi, when you feel the urge, push with everything you have. We’re here to guide you.”

Azzi swallowed down the fear that clawed at her throat and drew a shaky, deep breath. Paige’s eyes met hers—filled with fierce love and unshakable faith.

“We’ve got this,” Paige whispered fiercely, voice a vow. “You’re so strong. I love you.”

Azzi squeezed Paige’s hand, the strength in that touch grounding her as the room prepared for what was coming—every heartbeat echoing the fight and love that filled the space between them.

Azzi’s body coiled tight with the surge of another contraction, every muscle straining against the fierce pressure building inside her. Her hands gripped Paige’s tightly, knuckles white, fingers trembling with the effort. No sound escaped her lips—not a scream, not a cry—but the pain was written clearly in every line of her face. Her eyes squeezed shut, brows knit together in a fierce grimace, sweat slicking her forehead and dampening the strands of hair clinging to her skin.

Paige stayed at her side, just by her head, a quiet presence amid the storm. With gentle, practiced movements, she brushed the damp, dark strands of Azzi’s hair away from her flushed face, tucking them softly behind her ear. Her fingertips lingered on Azzi’s temple, tracing slow, soothing circles that spoke of unwavering love and calm reassurance.

“You’re doing so amazingly well,” Paige whispered, her voice low and thick with emotion. “I’m right here with you. You’re so strong, Azzi. Everything is going to be alright.”

Azzi’s lips parted slightly, drawing in a shaky breath between the waves of pain. Her chest rose and fell unevenly, her whole body taut with the effort. Though no cry came, the fierce determination in her expression was undeniable—she was fighting, pushing through every terrifying moment.

Paige’s other hand cupped Azzi’s cheek, her thumb brushing away the mix of sweat and tears that ran down her skin. “So brave, baby,” Paige murmured, voice breaking with love. “I’m here. Almost there baby.”

The flurry of hospital sounds — the beeping monitors, the quiet commands between nurses, the shuffling of footsteps — all blurred into the background. The room shrank to just these two, locked in a moment of fierce vulnerability and strength.

With a deep, ragged breath, Azzi summoned every ounce of power left within her. Her body tensed again, her brow furrowed deeper, her mouth set in a determined line. She pushed, hard and steady, and Paige’s gaze held hers, a silent vow in the depths of her eyes: You are not alone.

The doctor’s voice was steady but urgent, slicing through the roar of pain and fear. “One more big push, Azzi. You’re almost there.”

Azzi nodded, a faint tremor running through her body as she summoned every ounce of energy left. Her breath hitched, her face scrunched with determination as she pushed harder than she ever had before. Paige’s free hand slid up to cup Azzi’s cheek, her thumb gently wiping away the sweat and tears mingling on her skin.

“You’re doing so incredible,” Paige whispered, her voice breaking with emotion. “I’m right here. Just one more.”

“I’m going to guide baby out okay, the head is out.” 

Azzi’s muscles clenched, her breath caught in her throat, and then—the silence. No cry.

Azzi’s eyes snapped open, wide with fear. “What’s wrong?” she whispered, voice cracking.

Paige’s voice was barely steadier, the raw panic seeping in. “What’s going on?”

One of the nurse’s faces was focused, her tone careful but reassuring. “They’re trying to get air into the baby’s lungs. It’s taking a moment.”

Time stretched unbearably. The soft sounds of medical equipment, hushed commands, and quick footsteps filled the air, but to Azzi and Paige it felt like the world had frozen.

Then—a sharp, piercing cry.

The tension shattered instantly, replaced by a flood of tears from both Azzi and Paige. Paige wiped her eyes quickly, her voice trembling as she whispered, “It’s okay, everything is okay. You did amazing.”

The nurse wrapped the tiny newborn carefully in a soft, warm blanket and gently placed her on Azzi’s bare chest.

Azzi’s breath hitched as the warmth of their baby settled against her, tiny fingers curling instinctively around Azzi’s skin. The face was still flushed and scrunched from the struggle, but the life in her breath was unmistakable.

“It's a girl,” the nurse said softly, a smile breaking through the tension.

Azzi’s tears spilled freely as she traced a gentle finger along the delicate curve of their daughter’s cheek, overwhelmed by the sheer reality of the moment. Paige wrapped her arms tightly around Azzi, resting her head against her wife’s, both of them crying, letting the wave of relief and love wash over them.

Their daughter’s small chest rose and fell in steady, life-affirming breaths, the beginning of their new family — fragile, fierce, and filled with hope.

Azzi’s tears ran freely as she kissed the baby’s forehead, and Paige gently cradled the little one’s head, her voice barely above a whisper. “Welcome, baby girl.”

The room was quiet now, the bustle of nurses and doctors having faded away to give Azzi and Paige a precious moment of stillness. The soft hum of the machines and the muted glow of the bedside lamp filled the space, cocooning them in a fragile, peaceful bubble.

Everyone had quietly left, giving the mothers time to be alone with their new baby — to soak in the reality of this tiny life, to catch their breath after the whirlwind of what had just happened.

Paige shifted closer on the edge of the bed, careful not to break the fragile calm. One of Azzi’s hands found hers, fingers intertwining in a gentle, grounding squeeze. The weight of everything they’d faced seemed to pause here, in this soft silence — a sacred pause to just be together.

The soft warmth of their daughter rested against Azzi’s chest, tiny and perfect despite everything she’d already endured. Azzi’s fingers curled gently around the delicate curve of their baby’s back, feeling the slow, steady rise and fall of each breath beneath her skin.

Paige sat close, her arm wrapped tightly around Azzi’s shoulders, her cheek pressed softly against her wife’s damp hair. Her eyes were shining—bright with tears she wasn’t ashamed to let fall.

“I’m so proud of you,” Paige whispered, voice thick with emotion. “You are incredible. You fought so hard for her.”

Azzi’s lips trembled into a small smile, exhausted but filled with a fierce love she hadn’t known was possible. She met Paige’s gaze, seeing all the awe, gratitude, and deep love reflected there.

Azzi’s hand trembled slightly as she brushed a gentle finger over the baby’s wispy hair, marveling at how fragile and perfect she was. Despite the smallness, every breath the baby took was steady — a fierce little life that had already defied so much.

Paige’s arms wrapped gently around Azzi, holding her close as Azzi cradled their tiny daughter against her chest. The baby’s fragile warmth pressed softly into Azzi’s skin, every small breath a quiet, powerful reminder of the journey they’d been through.

Paige’s voice was low and tender, trembling with emotion as she whispered to the baby, “You’re a fighter, just like your mama.”

Azzi looked up, meeting Paige’s gaze through tired, tear-bright eyes. A small, shaky smile curved her lips, the fierce love between them filling the space like a quiet flame.

Their daughter’s tiny fingers curled weakly around Azzi’s collarbone, a silent grip full of life and hope.

“You’ve already shown how strong you are,” Paige continued, her fingers threading through Azzi’s damp hair as she held them both close. “We’re here. We’re not going anywhere.”

Azzi’s breath caught, a mix of exhaustion and overwhelming love, and she pressed a soft kiss to the top of their daughter’s head. Her voice broke the quiet, barely more than a whisper. “Paige... I want you to hold her.”

Paige’s breath caught in her throat as Azzi’s hands carefully passed their daughter into her arms. The moment the baby settled against Paige’s skin, a rush of love and wonder crashed through her. The baby’s tiny chest rose and fell with each breath, delicate and precious, and Paige’s tears began to fall — hot, unrelenting, as the weight of the moment overwhelmed her.

She closed her eyes, pressing the baby closer, feeling the soft sighs and the faint warmth of their daughter’s skin. Her heart swelled with a love so immense it threatened to shatter her.

Azzi reached out with a trembling hand, her fingers brushing softly over Paige’s cheek, wiping away the tears that streamed down like rivers. Azzi’s own tears traced silent paths down her face as she whispered, voice thick with emotion, “She’s here, Paige. Our little fighter.”

Paige opened her eyes, meeting Azzi’s gaze — a storm of exhaustion, relief, and boundless love reflected back at her. “I love you,” Paige whispered, voice cracking. “I love her so much already. It’s like... my heart’s going to burst.”

Azzi leaned in, their foreheads touching, breaths mingling in the quiet space between them. “We’re a family,” Azzi breathed. “All of us. Together.”

The steady rhythm of their daughter’s breathing was a quiet song beneath the soft beeping of the machines nearby. The hospital room, sterile and bright moments ago, now felt wrapped in warmth and tenderness — a sanctuary built of skin and heartbeats and whispered promises.

Paige tightened her arms instinctively, holding their daughter like the most precious treasure, while Azzi’s hand found hers, fingers weaving together with a gentle squeeze — a silent vow of strength and unity. The baby’s skin was impossibly soft, a whisper against Paige’s collarbone, and every tiny flutter of her fingers felt like a spark of life radiating warmth straight to Paige’s soul. Her breathing was shallow, as if simply holding this fragile little being demanded all the air in the room.

In that moment, the world outside ceased to exist. There was only the fragile warmth of their baby, the fierce love between them, and the unshakable promise that they would face whatever came next — together, as one.

Azzi shifted slightly to press her forehead against Paige’s, their breaths mingling in the quiet space between them. Azzi’s eyes were glassy, bright with tears that shimmered as they caught the soft hospital light. “I can’t believe she’s finally here,” Azzi murmured, voice thick and trembling. “I was so scared... but she’s here.”

Paige reached up, brushing damp strands of hair back from Azzi’s face, her fingers lingering where a tear had traced a gentle line down her cheek. “You were amazing,” Paige whispered. “Both of you. This little miracle... she’s everything.”

The baby stirred softly, a faint whimper escaping her lips before settling back into sleep. Paige let out a shaky breath, her heart swelling with a fierce protectiveness and gratitude. She thought of every moment that had led to this—the fear, the waiting, the hope—and it all condensed into this perfect, fragile life nestled against her chest.

Azzi’s hand found Paige’s again, their fingers intertwining tightly. “I love you,” Azzi said, voice raw but steady. “And I love her so much already.”

The soft hum of the machines and the quiet rhythm of their breathing filled the room. Paige’s phone buzzed once, then twice, a gentle but insistent vibration that broke through the cocoon of stillness.

She hesitated a moment, not wanting to disturb the fragile peace, then reached slowly toward the small device on the bedside table. Her fingers trembled as she unlocked the screen, her eyes scanning the stream of messages flooding in from Azzi’s teammates and friends.

“How is Azzi? Are you guys okay?”
“We’re all so worried, Paige.”
“Can I come see you? Is there anything we can do?”
“Please keep us updated. Sending so much love.”

The messages blurred together, a bittersweet reminder that the world outside this quiet room was holding its breath, waiting for news they didn’t yet have.

Paige swallowed hard, the weight of their concern pressing down on her chest. She looked over at Azzi, who lay with their daughter nestled close, exhaustion softening the lines of worry on her face. Azzi’s eyelids fluttered open, meeting Paige’s gaze with a tired but tender smile.

“They’re waiting for us,” Paige whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “They don’t know about the baby, or that she’s here… that we have a daughter .”

Azzi reached up, her hand brushing gently against Paige’s cheek. “Go tell them,” she said softly. “Let them share this with us. I want them to know. You should go.”

Paige nodded, heart swelling with love and gratitude, and carefully shifted their daughter in Azzi’s arms, making sure she was warm and comfortable. She pressed a soft kiss to Azzi’s forehead, then rose from the bed, feeling the weight of the moment settle around her like a cloak.

Paige stepped into the waiting room, her heart thudding so hard it felt like it might burst through her chest. The space, once filled with tense whispers and nervous pacing, fell silent as every pair of eyes turned to her. Teammates, Azzi’s parents, and close friends gathered, faces etched with worry, their breaths held tight in anticipation.

Paige’s fingers trembled slightly, searching for the words to carry the weight of the moment. Taking a steadying breath, she met the expectant gazes and finally spoke, voice soft but steady, trembling with the rawness of hope and relief.

“She’s here. It’s a girl,” her voice cracking on the last word, happy tears falling down her face.

For a heartbeat, the room was suspended in stunned silence, as if time itself held its breath. Then the tension shattered like glass — cheers erupted, tears spilled freely, and laughter burst forth in a cascade of overwhelming joy.

Teammates surged forward, pulling Paige into tight embraces, their voices thick with emotion. “She did it,” one whispered fiercely, “Azzi is amazing.”

Azzi’s mother moved with surprising grace, her eyes shimmering as she stepped forward to wrap Paige in a warm, trembling hug. “You both were so strong,” she said softly, voice thick with pride and love. Azzi’s father came next, placing a steady hand on Paige’s shoulder, his gaze full of quiet gratitude and fierce protectiveness.

Paige blinked rapidly, tears streaming down her cheeks, her voice catching as she continued, “Azzi’s doing really well. She’s good. The baby is small, she needs to stay in the NICU for a little while so they can watch her lungs and give her oxygen. But… other than that, everything looks good.”

The words felt both like a relief and a promise — a fragile hope wrapped in the reality of what lay ahead. Around her, the room filled with supportive chatter, gentle touches, and shared smiles.

“She’s a little fighter.”

Chapter Text

The late-afternoon light spilled through the gym windows, catching in the fine dust that hung above the court. A pickup game was in full swing — no coaches, no crowds, just the echo of ball against hardwood and the constant low thrum of sneakers squeaking through plays.

Paige was in her element, grinning as she threaded a bounce pass to KK for a layup. KK whooped, jogging backward on defense. Nika trash-talking like the scoreboard mattered, and a couple of guys from the men’s team were holding their own but clearly enjoying the competition.

It was the kind of run where every pass felt easy, every shot within reach. Paige felt light — the good kind of light — the one where her legs were fresh, her handle was sharp, and the game was just the game.

The ball swung to her at the top of the key. She cut past her defender, pushing the pace. KK sprinted ahead and Paige took off up the court.

Her left foot hit the floor just a half-inch wrong.

It was instant. A white-hot bolt shot through her knee. Her leg buckled, and she was down before she even registered falling.

The ball bounced away. Conversations stopped mid-word. The sound of sneakers skidding to a halt filled the gym, followed by a silence so heavy it made the air feel colder.

Paige clutched her knee, her breath coming in short, panicked bursts. She knew that pain. She didn’t want to name it, didn’t want to think about it, but it was already there, sharp and certain in the back of her mind.

Her first instinct was to get up. She pushed her palms against the floor, trying to force her leg under her, but the second she put weight on it, her knee screamed and her vision tunneled.

“Whoa, whoa—hey, stay down,” Nika was there in a heartbeat, crouching beside her. Her hand hovered over Paige’s shoulder like she wanted to help but didn’t know if touching would make it worse.

Paige’s palms pressed into the floor, the cool varnished wood slick with a faint sheen of sweat. She gritted her teeth, muscles tightening as she tried to push herself upright.

The moment her left leg shifted, a sharp, electric pain shot up from her knee, stealing her breath. Her stomach turned, but she forced herself through it, refusing to stay down in front of everyone.

“Easy, easy,” Nika’s voice came from just above her, already crouched with one knee on the hardwood. Her hand hovered, ready to grab but afraid to hurt.

KK’s sneakers squeaked as she closed the gap from the far end of the court, eyes darting from Paige’s knee to her face. “Come on, we’ll get you up,” she said, sliding her hands under Paige’s arm like this was just a stumble, not something worse.

Paige forced a grin, quick and practiced. “I’m good, I’m good. Just—tweaked it.”

Her voice was casual, but her hands were gripping both of them harder than she meant to. She tried putting weight on her left leg. The second her foot touched the ground, her knee gave way, folding under her like wet cardboard.

Pain roared through her, hot and relentless, and her grin crumbled. The sound that escaped her was small — half gasp, half groan — and it made KK’s face go tight.

“Paige,” Nika said softly, the word heavy with warning.

Paige shook her head, still holding onto both of them like she could force her body to cooperate. “I’m fine,” she repeated, but the tremor in her voice gave her away.

Her knee throbbed with every heartbeat, swelling under her warmup shorts, and she could already feel it locking up. She didn’t need a diagnosis to know.

KK glanced at Nika over the top of Paige’s head — quick, grim, and full of the truth neither of them wanted to say out loud.

Paige’s eyes stayed on the floor, jaw tight. “It’s… it’s bad,” she admitted finally, the words tasting like metal in her mouth.

The noise in the gym died all at once — no ball bouncing, no sneakers squeaking — just the sound of her uneven breathing and the faint hum of the overhead lights.

Luckily, it was only four o’clock. The gym still had a hum of activity somewhere in the background — a ball bouncing faintly in the far court, a door closing in the weight room — and that meant there would almost definitely be a trainer or two still around.

“Come on, we’ve got you,” Nika said, her voice lower now, almost steady enough to sound normal. She slid her arm firmly under Paige’s, tucking herself close so Paige wouldn’t have to carry her own weight.

KK mirrored her on the other side. “One step at a time,” she said, though her own jaw was set tight.

They started down the hall, a slow, awkward shuffle. The moment her foot touched the floor, pain flared white-hot through Paige’s knee, radiating up her thigh and down into her calf. Every step felt like her leg might just give out completely. She kept her eyes fixed on the path ahead, refusing to meet either of their worried glances.

Her teeth dug into her bottom lip. Whether she was holding back tears or a scream, even she didn’t know — all she knew was the bitter taste of blood starting to pool on her tongue. Her free hand curled into a fist so tightly her nails bit into her palm.

The hallway to the trainers’ room had never felt this long. The bright overhead lights made the white cinderblock walls look almost too clean, the kind of sterile that made her skin crawl. The faint smell of disinfectant and athletic tape stung her nose. Each squeak of their sneakers on the floor sounded impossibly loud.

By the time KK pushed the door open, Paige’s knee was throbbing in rhythm with her heartbeat and she had a different kind of sweat rolling down her face..

The trainers’ room was warm, the air thick with the scent of menthol cream and fresh tape. A fan hummed in the corner. Jenna, one of the athletic trainers, sat at the desk jotting notes on a clipboard. She looked up at the sound of the door — and her face shifted instantly.

Her eyes darted to Paige’s leg, then to her expression. Her pen froze mid-word. The color drained from her face.

“Oh no…” Jenna’s voice was quiet, but it carried. She stood so quickly her chair rolled back into the wall.

“She stepped wrong,” KK said before Paige could speak, her words clipped.

Jenna didn’t waste time with more questions. She moved to the treatment table, patting the padded surface. “Up here, now.”

Paige shook her head, trying to sound firm but coming off more breathless. “I can do it.”

“Not today, P,” Nika murmured, her grip tightening around Paige’s waist.

The three of them worked together to get her onto the table. Even sitting down sent a shock of pain through her knee, forcing her to bite her lip again until she tasted that same sharp tang of blood.

Jenna crouched in front of her, resting her hands lightly on Paige’s shin at first, like she was introducing herself to the injury before doing anything else. “Walk me through it,” she said, voice calm but clipped, the kind that meant she was already cataloging possibilities.

Paige kept her eyes fixed on a faint scuff mark on the far wall, like if she stared hard enough it would pull her out of the moment. “I was pushing up the court, planted wrong, and it… went.”

Jenna nodded once, a short, efficient motion, and pushed the hem of Paige’s shorts up a few inches. Her fingers hovered for a second before touching the swollen joint, feeling the heat radiating from it. The skin around her knee was already taut, puffed, and glossy in a way that made Paige’s stomach twist.

“Okay,” Jenna said evenly. “I’m going to check a few things. Tell me if anything hurts.”

Paige’s hands curled into the edge of the treatment table, gripping the vinyl so hard it creaked. She told herself she wouldn’t flinch, wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her pain.

Jenna lifted her lower leg slowly, bending the knee a few degrees. The motion sent a white-hot spike from the center of her knee outward, sharp enough that her vision pulsed for a second. Her teeth found her bottom lip again, biting down until she felt that metallic tang flood her mouth.

“Any pain?” Jenna asked, her eyes still on the joint.

“No,” Paige said, her voice flat, betraying nothing except for the tightness at the edges.

Jenna didn’t push, just hummed in acknowledgment and rotated the knee gently, testing the way it moved. A dull, pulling sensation tugged deep inside, followed by a jolt that made Paige’s calves twitch. She forced her shoulders to stay still, breathing through her nose like she was fine.

KK had her arms crossed behind Jenna, jaw set hard enough to make the muscles in her cheek stand out. Nika leaned against the counter, her hands braced behind her, eyes following every tiny adjustment Jenna made. Neither of them spoke.

The air felt thick, heavy with the same thought they were all avoiding. The same thought Paige had been shoving down since the second she hit the floor.

ACL.

Three letters she didn’t want in her mouth, didn’t want in the room, didn’t want anywhere near her season.

Jenna’s thumbs pressed just above and below the kneecap, applying a slow, deliberate force in opposite directions. Paige felt it immediately — the subtle shift, the looseness that shouldn’t be there. She swallowed so hard it hurt, the sound loud in her own ears.

“You okay?” Nika asked softly, her voice breaking the silence but not the tension.

Paige gave a quick nod — too quick, too rehearsed — and went back to staring at the scuff mark. She wasn’t sure if she was convincing Nika or herself.

Jenna eased her leg down onto the table, her hands lingering for a beat before she stepped back. Her face stayed neutral, but Paige could read the tiny drop in her shoulders, the way her eyes softened for just a second.

“Alright,” Jenna said, her tone steady in a way that made Paige’s stomach knot. “Let’s get some ice on this and go from there.”

She didn’t ask what Paige felt. Didn’t guess. Didn’t need to. That quiet certainty in her voice was worse than a diagnosis.

Jenna turned toward the cabinet, pulling a crinkling plastic bag from the stack and holding it under the ice machine. The cubes rattled down in a clattering rush — too loud, too sharp — the sound bouncing off the sterile tile walls and settling in the hollow pit of Paige’s chest.

She wrapped the bag in a thin white towel, then crouched and laid it gently across Paige’s knee. The cold bit in instantly, skin tightening, goosebumps racing up her thigh. But the deep ache — the one that felt like something twisting inside the joint — didn’t fade. If anything, it pulsed harder, spreading out in jagged waves.

“Stay here. I’m going to grab something from the office,” Jenna said, her voice clipped but calm, already moving toward the door. She didn’t meet Paige’s eyes on the way out, and that made something twist in her chest even harder.

The latch clicked shut, sealing them inside the too-bright, too-small room.

Paige shifted on the padded table, trying to find a position that didn’t set her knee on fire. Every time she moved, it felt like the joint caught on itself, sending a sick heat spiraling upward. She tried to control her breathing — in, two, three… out, two, three — like maybe she could trick her face into looking fine. She couldn’t.

KK was leaning against the wall, her arms crossed so tightly her knuckles had gone bone white. Her jaw flexed every so often, like she was biting back words. Nika stood by the counter, fingers drumming soundlessly against the laminate, her gaze locked on Paige as if she could read the pain straight from her eyes.

Paige tilted her head back against the wall, forcing a casual tone. “I’m fine.” It came out like a lie trying too hard.

KK’s lips twitched like she wanted to smirk, but it didn’t land. “You’re fine, huh?”

“Yeah,” Paige said, shrugging — a mistake. The motion shifted her weight just enough to send another hot shock through her leg, the kind that made her toes curl against her sneakers.

“Paige,” Nika said quietly, voice cutting through the air. “You’re literally biting your lip hard enough to bleed.”

Paige blinked, tasting copper, warm and metallic, on her tongue. She muttered something under her breath and pressed the towel harder to her knee, wishing the cold could numb her face along with everything else.

“You don’t know that it’s—” Nika started, then stopped. The unspoken word — ACL — hovered in the air like smoke no one dared wave away.

KK looked off toward the far wall. Nika’s eyes softened, but she didn’t push.

Paige stared at the slow drip of condensation sliding off the ice bag, leaving tiny dark circles on the vinyl beneath her leg. The ache wasn’t going anywhere. It was settling in, digging roots.

The door opened again. Jenna stepped back inside, clipboard in hand, her face professional but not unreadable. Paige caught the way her eyes flicked — quick, deliberate — to the swelling, the way her jaw tensed before she spoke.

“We need to get this checked out,” Jenna said. “MRI, maybe some other scans. Just to see exactly what’s going on.”

Paige’s chest felt tight, breath catching before she could answer. “Today,” she said finally, quicker than she meant to, like she could outrun whatever was coming if she just moved fast enough.

“I’ll drive,” KK said immediately, already stepping closer.

Nika hesitated, then asked softly, “Do you want us to text Azzi?”

Paige’s head snapped up. “No.” Sharper than intended.

The two exchanged a look — concern in Nika’s, something steadier in KK’s. KK nodded slowly. “Alright. If you change your mind…”

KK moved to her bag and pulled out an oversized gray hoodie, the one Paige had seen her wear on long travel days. She slipped it gently over Paige’s arms, careful not to jostle her leg. The fabric smelled faintly of laundry detergent and the lingering musk of the gym — familiar, almost comforting, but not enough to ease the knot twisting tighter in Paige’s stomach.

She focused on the small things — the texture of the seam under her fingers, the way the hood bunched against the back of her neck — because they were easier to hold onto than the swelling under the ice.

Nika crouched and tied Paige’s sneakers, her fingers quick but careful. When she looked up, there was something like frustration tangled with worry in her eyes. “You know she’s going to be pissed, right?” she murmured.

“I don’t want her to worry until we know what it is,” Paige said, forcing the words out evenly.

“She’s already worrying,” Nika said under her breath, but didn’t push further.

KK stepped in, voice low and certain. “We’ve got your back, P.”

Paige nodded, swallowing hard.

The walk to the parking lot was slow, the late-afternoon sun stretching their shadows across the asphalt. Her knee buckled once, just for a second, but enough to send a flash of panic through her. KK’s hand was instantly at her elbow, steadying her. Paige hated how much she leaned into it.

They passed two kids shooting hoops by the fence. Paige kept her eyes on the ground, praying they didn’t notice the way she limped.

When they reached KK’s silver sedan, KK opened the rear passenger door. “Back seat’s better — you can keep your leg straight.”

Paige eased herself down carefully, the leather cool under her palms. The instant she settled, her knee throbbed in protest, bright and insistent.

Nika glanced at her through the rearview mirror once they were in. “Almost there,” she said, like it was a promise.

Paige didn’t answer. She fixed her gaze on the horizon outside the window, jaw tight, bracing herself for whatever the scans would say.

The hospital lobby smelled faintly of antiseptic and something stale, like coffee left too long in a pot. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, cold and flat, washing everything in a pale yellow that made the walls look sick.

KK stayed close to her side as they walked in, a quiet shadow. Nika handled the check-in, sliding her ID across the counter and rattling off the details like she’d done this before. Paige stayed silent, one hand clamped around the ice pack, the other gripping the sleeve of her hoodie.

The woman at the desk gave her the kind of glance people gave injured athletes — quick, assessing, a little pity buried underneath. Paige hated it. She forced her shoulders back, like posture could make her look less broken.

Her knee ached with every step, but she didn’t limp — not if she could help it. She told herself she was walking evenly, though each stride on her left leg was shorter, careful. She knew KK noticed. KK noticed everything.

They followed a nurse down a hallway that seemed longer than the court itself. Every step sent a deep, twisting throb through her leg, a sensation like something was pulling at the inside of her knee. She kept her jaw tight, only letting out slow, measured breaths.

The nurse opened a door to a small exam room and grabbed a folded pile of pale blue fabric from a shelf outside, with a white hospital bag. “We’ll need you to change into these before the scan,” she said gently, setting the scrubs on the counter. “They’re loose, so they won’t pull on your knee. You can leave your underwear on.”

Paige gave a small nod, trying to make it look casual, but the thought of moving her leg more than a few inches made her stomach turn. The nurse added, “I’ll give you a few minutes,” and slipped out, the latch clicking shut.

KK moved first, picking up the pants and shaking them out. The fabric was thin, papery-soft, with that faint sterile smell of hospital laundry. “Alright,” she said quietly. “Let’s go slow.”

“I can do it myself,” Paige muttered, tugging half-heartedly at the hem of her shorts.

“You can’t,” Nika said from her chair, already moving to crouch in front of her. Her voice was calm, but there was no room for argument in it.

Paige didn’t fight them — not out loud, anyway. She kept her eyes on the far wall, jaw tight, as KK guided the pants over her uninjured right leg first. That part was fine. Easy.

The left leg was different. Even lifting her heel an inch off the table made the muscles in her thigh tremble. KK crouched lower, holding the fabric wide while Nika slid it carefully over the shoe.

The moment the soft cotton brushed her swollen knee, Paige sucked in a sharp breath through her nose. She clamped her mouth shut, cheeks hollowing, trying not to let the sound out.

“Okay, wait—” KK froze instantly, her hands hovering.

“It’s fine,” Paige said through her teeth. Her voice was flat, clipped. “Just do it.”

Nika’s brows pulled together, but she didn’t argue. She eased the pants higher, inch by inch, working around the stiffness. The motion was careful, deliberate — like threading a needle with her eyes closed.

Every shift of the fabric felt magnified. The lightest tug sent a ripple of pain up her leg, hot and deep, like a wire being pulled too tight inside the joint. Paige’s fingers curled around the table’s edge until her knuckles went white.

By the time the waistband was sitting just above her hips, her shoulders had gone rigid. Her eyes were locked on the corner of the room, unblinking, as if sheer focus could keep her from reacting. Her vision blurred anyway.

The first tear slid down without her noticing. Then another. She wasn’t sobbing — no sound at all, just quiet, steady tracks on her cheeks.

KK and Nika didn’t say anything about it. They kept moving like they hadn’t seen, their hands gentle but efficient. When they were done, KK adjusted the waistband so the drawstring wouldn’t press into her stomach, smoothing the fabric down automatically.

Nika stood slowly, straightening up. Her expression was tight, almost frustrated, like she hated that this was the only help she could give.

Paige swiped her sleeve across her face in one quick motion, like she could erase the evidence. “I’m good,” she said, even though her voice cracked just enough to betray her.

The room felt smaller after that. They were all pretending it hadn’t happened, but the air was thick with the truth.

The room stayed quiet after the scrubs were finally on, like they were all pretending nothing had happened. Paige kept her eyes low, one hand on the ice pack, the other smoothing the thin fabric over her thigh in a restless, repetitive motion.

A soft knock preceded the nurse’s return. “Ready to take you back for the MRI,” she said, wheeling in a chair. 

Paige wanted to say she could walk, but even shifting toward the seat made her knee flare in protest. She lowered herself into it carefully, her leg stretched out straight, the cotton of the scrub pants whispering against the vinyl seat.

The ride down the hallway was smooth, but each tiny bump in the floor sent a dull shock into her knee. She kept her face neutral, counting ceiling tiles as they passed — thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six — anything to keep her focus away from the heat swelling under the ice.

The MRI room was colder, the air dry and faintly metallic, like breathing through a coin. The machine loomed in the center, a wide tunnel lit by harsh white lights, humming quietly even when idle.

“Alright,” the tech said, pulling on gloves with a snap, “we’ll have you lie on your back, keep your leg straight, and stay as still as you can.” Her voice had that practiced brightness, the kind you use with nervous patients.

Paige eased onto the narrow table, her shoulders pressed against the hard plastic surface. Straightening her leg the last inch sent a white-hot streak through her knee, sharp enough to make her toes curl inside her sneakers. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted iron, willing her face not to change. Her hands stayed fisted at her sides, knuckles pressing into the table.

The table began to glide forward, the hum of the motor filling her ears until it became all she could hear. Inside the tunnel, the sound deepened into a steady, percussive rhythm — a low, mechanical heartbeat. Beneath it, her own pulse thudded in her ears, in her throat, in the joint that felt too big for her skin.

She closed her eyes. Thought about Azzi. Thought about what words she would use, what tone she’d need to make it sound okay even if it wasn’t.

She did not think about those three letters.

Back in the exam room KK sat in the chair Nika had pulled close to the table earlier, elbows braced on her knees, staring at a scuff mark on the floor. The overhead light hummed faintly, the only sound besides the occasional muffled voice from the hallway.

Nika leaned against the counter, arms crossed tight. Her leg bounced restlessly against the cabinet door. “We should just text her,” she said finally, her tone clipped.

KK didn’t look up. “She told us not to.”

Nika’s eyes narrowed. “She’s going to find out anyway. And if it’s bad news…” She shook her head once, sharply. “Better it come from us than through some trainer or, God forbid, Twitter.”

KK blew out a slow breath, straightening slightly. “You know how she is. She needs control over how it comes out.”

“This isn’t about control,” Nika said, voice tightening. “It’s about her having someone she loves in the loop before she’s blindsided with something like this.”

KK tilted her head, finally meeting her gaze. “And what if it’s not something like this?”

Nika’s arms folded tighter, like she was trying to hold something in. “You really believe that?”

KK’s jaw worked, but she didn’t answer. She glanced toward the door like she could see Paige through it.

Nika’s voice softened, losing some of its edge. “If it were me, I’d want her here. I’d want her in the room when I found out.”

KK didn’t speak, but her hand closed into a fist against her knee, knuckles pale. She kept her eyes down this time.

For a long moment, neither moved. The quiet pressed in on them, carrying the weight of what they weren’t saying — that maybe they both wanted to tell Azzi, and maybe they were both afraid of what would happen if they did.

The door swung open with a muted click, and the nurse guided the wheelchair back into the exam room. The bright hallway behind them made the room feel even dimmer than before.

Paige sat slouched in the chair, her posture a quiet unraveling. The oversized hoodie hung off her frame like it didn’t belong to her, the sleeves swallowing her hands. Her hair was slightly tangled from the headrest in the MRI tube, and there was a faint crease across her cheek where it had pressed against the padding.

KK stood immediately, stepping forward to clear the way. “Careful,” she murmured, more to the nurse than to Paige, but her eyes never left her.

When they helped her stand, Paige moved like someone twice her age — slow, deliberate, guarding every inch of her left leg. She didn’t wince exactly, but her face tightened, and her jaw set in that stubborn line they both knew too well.

She lowered herself onto the exam table with her good leg doing most of the work. Once seated, she adjusted her injured knee with both hands, thumbs pressing lightly into the fabric of the scrubs like she could make the swelling recede if she just found the right spot. Her gaze stayed locked on the floor tiles, her breathing steady but shallow.

Neither KK nor Nika spoke at first. The room had that strange stillness that comes when everyone knows something’s wrong but no one wants to name it yet.

Finally, Nika shifted, shoving her hands into her pockets. “Do you want us to text Azzi now?” she asked softly.

Paige’s head lifted a fraction. For a heartbeat, she looked like she might argue — her lips parted, breath catching, eyes flicking toward the door as if she could dodge the question. But then her gaze fell to her knee again, and whatever defiance had been there seemed to dissolve.

Her shoulders sagged, just barely, but enough for KK to notice. The fight had drained out of her. She swallowed once, hard, and gave a small nod.

“Yeah,” she said, almost a whisper. The word didn’t shake, but it felt worn thin, like something that had been held too tightly for too long.

KK stepped closer, her hand resting lightly between Paige’s shoulder blades, the warmth steady against the cold tension in her body. Nika studied her for a moment longer, eyes tracing the hollowed set of her expression — the way she blinked slowly, like she was trying to keep her mind from spiraling too far ahead.

Nika pulled out her phone, her fingers moving fast but precise, each tap loud in the hush of the room.

Paige didn’t look up. She stared at the tile between her sneakers, tracing the faint scuff marks with her eyes like they were the only thing keeping her anchored. Her left hand curled loosely around the edge of the table, not gripping hard — just holding on.

Nika’s thumbs moved fast, each tap sharp in the stillness of the exam room. She didn’t look up from the screen, but her jaw was tight, and she kept pausing like she was second-guessing every word.

Paige stayed slouched forward on the edge of the table, the too-loose scrubs pooling around her knees. The fabric bunched awkwardly at the injured one, pulling slightly where the swelling pushed against it. Her hands were limp in her lap until the ache spiked — then she’d squeeze the fabric just enough to leave faint creases before forcing her grip to relax again.

Nika stopped typing, reread her message, and hit send.

Hey. Don’t freak out, but you should know Paige hurt her knee at the gym today. We’re at the hospital getting scans.

The “read” receipt flashed almost instantly. The reply came so fast it felt like Azzi had been waiting with her phone in her hand.

What happened? How bad? Put her on the phone.

Nika’s head lifted, her eyes landing on Paige. She didn’t have to ask to know the answer. Paige’s shoulders were rigid under the hoodie, her gaze fixed low, mouth pressed into a thin, colorless line.

Nika typed again, fingers deliberate now.

I don’t think she can talk yet. She’s…processing. We’ll let you know as soon as the doctor comes in.

Another reply came before Nika could lock her phone.

I’m coming.

Nika’s eyes flicked to KK. “She says she’s coming,” she murmured, her voice barely above the hum of the overhead lights.

KK’s gaze darted to Paige. She didn’t say anything at first — just pressed her palm a little firmer between Paige’s shoulder blades, a steadying weight. “Good,” she breathed, so soft it was almost swallowed by the air.

They didn’t tell Paige immediately. Not to hide it from her — but because she looked like she was holding her body together by willpower alone.

Her head was bowed just enough that her hair fell forward, shielding most of her face. Every few seconds, her heel would twitch against the footrest of the exam table, the only outward sign of how restless her pain was making her.

KK crouched down slightly to meet her line of sight, but Paige kept her eyes on the tile. The scuff marks there had her full attention, like tracing them with her gaze was the only thing keeping her thoughts from spiraling.

“She’ll want to be here,” KK said quietly.

Paige’s throat bobbed with a swallow. She didn’t nod. Didn’t shake her head. Just sat there, jaw tightening, one hand curling slowly into a fist over the swell of her knee.

Nika slid her phone back into her pocket, but her eyes stayed on Paige for another long moment, reading every tiny shift in her posture. She and KK didn’t need to speak to agree on the same thing — Azzi needed to be here, whether Paige realized it yet or not.

The air in the room felt heavier now. Not tense in the way it had been earlier, but weighted, like the three of them were waiting for something inevitable to walk through that door.

The door eased open without a knock fifteen minutes later.

Paige didn’t bother looking up at first — she thought it was a nurse, maybe someone here to prep her for whatever came next. But the air shifted in a way she couldn’t explain. The room felt smaller, warmer, charged.

She looked up.

Azzi stood framed in the doorway, hair pulled back in a messy knot, hoodie thrown over a T-shirt, her bag hanging off one shoulder. She wasn’t out of breath, but there was something in the way her chest rose and fell that said she’d gotten here as fast as humanly possible.

Her eyes went straight to Paige. Didn’t scan the room. Didn’t check on Nika or KK. Just locked on her and didn’t let go.

The distance between them closed in slow, deliberate steps. Azzi stopped in front of her, close enough for Paige to see the way her brows pulled together, the faint crease between them.

“You didn’t call me,” Azzi said, voice low and steady, but not sharp. More like she was naming the truth so they could move past it.

Paige’s lips parted, but nothing came out. She looked down, away, but Azzi moved in just enough that Paige couldn’t hide.

A warm hand slid under her chin, tilting her face back up. Azzi’s thumb traced lightly along her jaw, steady, grounding. “Look at me.”

Paige did — and that was all it took.

The tears she’d been holding back since the gym broke free, hot and unrelenting. They slid over her cheeks in quick succession, faster than she could blink them away. She didn’t make a sound, but the sheer weight of them said everything.

Azzi’s hand stayed on her face, thumb sweeping gently at the edges of the tears but never trying to stop them completely. She stepped closer until her knees pressed against the table, her other hand bracing against Paige’s uninjured thigh like she was anchoring her there.

Paige leaned forward without thinking, her forehead finding Azzi’s shoulder. The soft cotton of the hoodie was instantly damp under her cheek, but Azzi didn’t move away.

She wrapped an arm around Paige’s back, her palm splayed between her shoulder blades, firm enough to keep her steady but gentle enough not to make her feel trapped. Paige’s hands stayed in her lap, but her weight tipped fully into Azzi, all the tension in her body pouring out through the steady fall of tears.

Azzi didn’t shush her, didn’t tell her it was okay — she just stayed still, breathing slow and even, letting Paige match her rhythm.

KK and Nika kept their eyes down, giving them the space without leaving the room. The only sounds were the faint hum of the fluorescent lights and the near-silent catch in Paige’s breathing.

When her tears finally slowed, Paige stayed where she was, still leaning into Azzi like the ground under her feet might give way if she pulled back too soon.

Azzi’s hand never left her back. “I’ve got you,” she murmured, the first words since Paige broke, holding her in the silence.

Soon after the door opened again — this time with a soft knock that still made Paige flinch. The doctor stepped inside, clipboard tucked under one arm, a manila envelope in her hand. Her expression was calm, but it wasn’t the blank mask of someone delivering good news. There was too much care in the way she closed the door behind her, too much softness in her voice when she said, “Hi, Paige.”

Azzi’s arm around Paige tightened almost imperceptibly, her thumb rubbing once against the side of Paige’s shoulder like she was trying to ground her. Paige didn’t lift her head from where it rested against Azzi’s hoodie, but her eyes tracked the doctor’s movements — each step, each pause, like she was bracing for an impact she couldn’t dodge.

Nika shifted on her feet, the rubber soles of her sneakers squeaking faintly against the floor. KK sat forward on the chair, elbows on her knees, the vinyl groaning under the shift in her weight.

The doctor’s gaze flicked from Paige to the others. She didn’t waste words. “The MRI shows a complete tear of the anterior cruciate ligament — the ACL,” she said, tone gentle but unflinching. “There’s also a mild sprain to the MCL, but the ACL is the main concern.”

The words landed like a body blow. Paige’s fingers bunched in the soft cotton of Azzi’s hoodie, knuckles whitening. The ache in her knee seemed to sharpen in response, pulsing with each beat of her heart.

“How long?” Nika’s voice was tight, clipped, like she was holding herself together by keeping it all business.

“Six to twelve months recovery from surgery is standard,” she said. “Sometimes faster with exceptional rehab, but with a complete tear… it’s unlikely to be much shorter.”

KK swore under her breath — a sharp, quiet exhale that cut through the stillness.

Azzi didn’t curse. She didn’t flinch. She just pulled Paige closer, pressing her side into Paige’s like she could shield her from the words themselves. “What’s next?” she asked, her voice low but steady — the voice she used when she needed the exact truth.

“You’ll need to see an orthopedic surgeon,” the doctor paused before continuing. “We’ll get the referral sent today. Surgery can’t happen until the swelling goes down, but we can start planning immediately.”

Paige’s vision blurred. This time she didn’t fight it. The tears came steady and silent, soaking into the dark fabric of Azzi’s hoodie. She didn’t bother to hide the trembling in her hands anymore — not from Azzi, not from Nika, not from KK.

Nika leaned forward, speaking with quiet authority. “She’s not moving around any more than absolutely necessary. We’ll get her home, keep her iced, keep her off it until the surgeon takes over.”

“That’s smart. I’ll have the nurse bring in the paperwork. Take your time leaving.”

When the door clicked shut, the silence that settled over the room felt heavier than the words had.

Azzi shifted, turning just enough to try and catch Paige’s eyes. “P,” she said softly, not pushing but not letting her hide. “You still with me?”

Paige didn’t speak. Her answer came as a slow, jerky nod against Azzi’s shoulder.

KK’s voice was unusually gentle. “We’ve got you. Every step.”

Nika added quietly, almost like a promise, “You’re not doing this alone, twin. Not for one second.”

Paige’s throat burned, but no words came. She didn’t need to force them. They all already knew exactly how bad it hurt — and how much she needed them right now.

A light knock on the door broke the stillness, and a nurse stepped inside, carrying a pair of aluminum crutches. They gleamed under the harsh overhead light, the faint click of their rubber tips against the tile echoing in the quiet room.

“These will help take some pressure off that knee,” the nurse said gently, setting them against the wall near Paige. Her tone was professional, but her eyes held the same quiet sympathy Paige had been catching from everyone since she arrived.

Paige stared at them for a moment, her jaw tight. The crutches weren’t just equipment — they were an announcement, confirmation that this wasn’t going away with ice and tape.

Azzi moved first, sliding them closer. “Here,” she murmured, adjusting the height so they’d fit. Paige didn’t argue, but her fingers hesitated before curling around the cool metal.

When she stood, the weight shift sent a sharp bolt of pain up her leg. Her grip tightened on the crutches, knuckles white, but her face stayed blank — no wince, no sound, just that steady, stubborn silence.

The nurse gave her a quick rundown of how to position them, but Paige knew all of that, so she tuned her out. Only nodding when she was done.

KK gathered Paige’s hoodie and bag, slinging them over her shoulder, while Nika stepped to her side, ready to catch her if the crutches wobbled. Azzi stayed close enough that her shoulder brushed Paige’s with every slow movement toward the door.

The hallway felt longer than it should have, each step deliberate, the faint squeak of crutch tips marking the seconds between them. The elevator ride was quiet, heavy with the low hum of machinery and the sound of Paige’s shallow breathing.

“Which car do you want to go to?” Nika asked softly, careful not to startle her. “KK’s or… with Azzi?”

Paige’s eyes flicked toward Azzi, and she gave the smallest, almost imperceptible nod. It was enough. Azzi stepped closer, her presence calm and steady, and KK and Nika adjusted to help guide Paige toward Azzi’s car.

Each step was measured, slow, deliberate. Paige leaned lightly on Azzi, her fingers brushing against her arm for balance. The crutches clattered faintly against the asphalt with every step, but Paige didn’t speak, didn’t complain — just let herself be guided.

Nika’s hand brushed lightly against Paige’s shoulder. “I’ll come with you,” she said softly. “Azzi can sit in the back, I can drive just in case…” Her voice trailed off, faltering mid-sentence. She cleared her throat, trying again, but it died in her throat like she couldn’t quite find the words.

Azzi opened the door for her, kneeling slightly so Paige could maneuver her leg into the seat without twisting it. Paige sank down with a soft sigh, the weight of the day pressing her forward. She leaned immediately against Azzi who slid in the backseat next to her, her head resting lightly on her shoulder.

The car fell into a quiet rhythm as they drove. Nika opened her mouth, then closed it again, exhaling softly. “I… I just…” she started, her words breaking. Every attempt to speak seemed to catch on the lump in her throat. She gave up after a few tries, settling into silence.

Paige didn’t move, didn’t speak, letting the silence stretch around them. The only sounds were the faint hum of the engine, the occasional click of the crutches, and the soft, steady breathing of Azzi beside her.

Azzi didn’t push, didn’t try to fill the silence with words. She let Paige rest against her, hand resting lightly on her back, steadying her. Her thumb brushed small, absent-minded circles along the fabric of Paige’s hoodie, a quiet reassurance.

Nika stole a glance at the two of them in the reviewview mirror, both of their eyes closed. She wanted to say something comforting, something that would make it better, but nothing felt right. So she stayed quiet, letting Azzi hold Paige and keeping her presence close, a silent shield in the back seat.

Paige leaned a little further into Azzi, shoulders slumping, tears threatening to spill again but remaining locked behind her closed lips. For the first time since the injury, she allowed herself to be entirely supported, physically and emotionally, even if only in the quiet intimacy of the car ride home.

The drive felt longer than it really was. By the time they pulled into the lot outside Paige and Nika’s apartment, the sun had slipped low, the air cooling into that gray-blue dusk that made everything look softer but somehow heavier.

Azzi parked close to the entrance, cutting the engine without a word. She glanced at Paige before moving, reading her in the way only she could — the slight tremor in her hands on the crutches, the rigid set of her shoulders, the blank stillness in her expression that didn’t fool her for a second.

“I’ve got you,” Azzi murmured.

Nika climbed out first, circling around to open Paige’s door. The crutches scraped faintly against the pavement as she set them beside her, one hand on the top bar to keep them steady. Azzi eased Paige out, slow and careful, her arm firm around her waist.

Paige moved stiffly, each step deliberate, her injured leg barely grazing the ground. The rhythm of her crutches on the sidewalk was uneven, the rubber tips tapping once, then twice, then pausing when she had to stop to breathe through the ache. She didn’t complain. She didn’t make a sound.

Nika walked slightly ahead, holding the building door open. The hallway was quiet, their footsteps muffled against the worn carpet. Azzi stayed close, her body angled protectively between Paige and the wall, ready to catch her if she stumbled.

When they reached the apartment door, Nika unlocked it quickly, stepping aside so Azzi could guide Paige in. The familiar space felt almost foreign — too neat, too normal compared to the heavy, raw thing they’d carried in from the hospital.

Azzi helped her to the couch, easing her down slowly so her leg could stretch out along the cushions. She adjusted the pillow under Paige’s knee without asking, then sat beside her, one arm draped loosely around her shoulders. Paige leaned into it, head tipping toward Azzi’s chest, eyes still distant.

“I’m gonna get you some water,” Azzi murmured, crouching just enough to brush her fingers through Paige’s hair, tucking a stray strand behind her ear. No reaction. Not even a flicker in her eyes.

Azzi stood, glancing toward Nika, a quick silent look that said stay with her . Nika shifted from where she’d been leaning against the arm of the couch, dropping into the chair across from Paige, but she didn’t speak.

The kitchen light hummed faintly when Azzi stepped in. She grabbed a glass from the cabinet, the cool smoothness steadying her hands, and pressed it under the filter. The low rush of water seemed loud in the still apartment.

A moment later, Nika’s footsteps padded in, slow and hesitant. She leaned a shoulder against the counter beside Azzi, keeping her voice barely above a whisper. “She’s scaring me, Az. She hasn’t said one word since the doctor told us. Not one.”

Azzi’s grip on the glass tightened. She set it on the counter with a soft clink , but not before the water inside rippled. “She’s… she’s in shock,” she said quietly, her tone even but stretched thin. “I’ve seen her hurt before, Nika. I’ve never seen her like this.”

Nika’s eyes darted toward the living room, as if she could see Paige through the wall. “Do you think it’s hit her yet? That she’s… done for the season?”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She just stood there, hands braced on the counter, jaw working. Finally, she whispered, “It’s hit her. That’s why she’s so quiet. If she talks right now, she’ll fall apart, and she’s not ready for that.”

Nika exhaled sharply, rubbing her thumb over her palm. “She doesn’t have to fall apart alone. She’s my best friend. She could—”

“She’s not alone,” Azzi cut in softly but firmly, her gaze locked on the doorway. “She just… needs to sit with it for a while. I’ll stay with her. You’ve already done so much for her today.”

Nika’s lips pressed into a thin line, her voice barely more than breath. “Just don’t let her push you away. She’s gonna try. You know she is.”

Azzi’s fingers closed around the glass again, her knuckles pale. “She can try,” she murmured, her voice steady but heavy with resolve. “I’m not leaving.”

They returned to the living room together. Paige hadn’t moved — the blanket was still drawn up to her waist, her hands resting limply in her lap. When Azzi lowered herself back onto the couch, Paige blinked up at her. It was a small movement, but enough for Azzi to see the redness swelling around her eyes, the faint shimmer of unshed tears.

Azzi offered the water. Paige took it with both hands, not meeting her gaze, and sipped without a word. Azzi stayed close, shoulder pressed to hers, feeling the faint tremor in Paige’s body even through the blanket.

Nika sat across from them, watching but not speaking, her arms crossed tight — the kind of posture that held back too many things at once.

Paige set the glass down on the coffee table, her hands retreating back under the blanket. She didn’t lean away this time when Azzi’s arm slipped around her shoulders, and when Azzi drew her closer, Paige went without resistance, letting her head rest against Azzi’s collarbone.

Azzi didn’t say anything — just held her, steady and quiet.

Paige didn’t protest as Azzi guided her to the bedroom, laid out a loose pair of shorts and helped her put them on, or when she helped Paige settle into bed, and eased her injured leg onto a stack of pillows. Azzi dimmed the light, climbed in beside her, and wrapped an arm carefully around her shoulders, mindful of every shift and angle.

The quiet was different now — not sharp like earlier, but slow, sinking. Paige stared at the ceiling, her face unreadable in the low light.

Azzi waited, expecting the inevitable break — the trembling breath, the rush of tears, the admission of how bad it hurt, how scared she was. But Paige didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. Her breathing stayed steady. Too steady.

Azzi traced gentle circles against her side with her thumb. “P… what’s going on in your head right now?” she asked softly, almost afraid the question might scare Paige further inward.

Paige’s lips parted slightly, but no words came at first. The silence stretched just long enough for Azzi to think she might not answer at all. Then, barely above a whisper, Paige said, “…I don’t know.”

Azzi’s chest ached. She pulled her closer, resting her chin lightly against Paige’s hair. She didn’t ask anything else. She didn’t need to. She just held her, steady and quiet, letting the weight of the day settle between them.

Azzi lay there, unmoving, listening. Listening to the quiet click of the campus outside, the soft rustle of sheets as Paige shifted slightly, and the faint sound of her own heartbeat thudding against the back of Paige’s skull.

She had thought she’d be the one comforting Paige all day, protecting her, holding her together. But now that the rush of the hospital, the drive, the initial shock had passed, Azzi realized she was unraveling too. The tension she’d kept coiled all day was seeping out, a dull ache that settled in her chest and throat.

She whispered Paige’s name softly, almost like a prayer, tracing tiny circles against her back. “You’re okay,” she said, even though both of them knew she wasn’t. She felt the weight of helplessness — that crushing awareness that she couldn’t erase the pain or the fear, could only be here, witness and shield.

Her eyes burned as the tears she had held back all day threatened to spill. But she stayed still, letting herself feel it quietly, letting it mix with relief that Paige was finally letting go, even just in sleep. She tightened her arm a little, careful not to hurt her, and pressed a kiss to the top of her hair.

Time stretched. Outside, the city carried on, indifferent to the small tragedies of a single apartment. Azzi stayed awake, holding Paige, letting her silently cry herself to sleep, letting herself silently cry too.

Morning crept in slowly, pale light spilling through the blinds. Azzi was already awake, propped up on one elbow, watching Paige’s still, unreadable face. The brace looked even bulkier in the daylight, a stark reminder that this wasn’t just a bad dream they’d wake up from.

Paige blinked against the light, her voice low and rough. “You have class.”

Azzi shook her head immediately. “I can skip—”

“Go,” Paige interrupted, her tone clipped, like she didn’t want room for debate.

Across the room, Nika appeared in the doorway with a mug of coffee, still in her sweats, hair messy from sleeping on the couch. She glanced between the two of them, hesitation in her posture.

“I can stay,” Nika offered quietly.

Paige looked at her, and for the first time since the hospital, she almost smiled — but it was thin, fleeting. “You both… go. I’m fine.”

Azzi frowned, clearly unconvinced, but Paige turned her head toward the window, effectively ending the conversation. After a beat, Azzi sighed and leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss into her hair.

“We won’t be gone long,” she said softly.

Paige just nodded.

The apartment felt cavernous. Too quiet. She could hear the hum of the fridge, the faint creak of heating pipes, her own breathing. She stared at the ceiling, trying to will herself blank.

But the quiet wasn’t peaceful — it was suffocating. Her thoughts swarmed in the stillness.

ACL.
Months out.
Season over.
You should’ve been more careful.
You’re letting everyone down.

She squeezed her eyes shut, but it didn’t help. The thoughts just kept coming, faster now, sharper.

What if you don’t come back?
What if you’re never the same?
What if basketball isn’t yours anymore?

Her pulse was racing. She needed to move. Needed to do something before she came apart completely.

The gym. Geno would be there. He’d… he’d know what to say.

She shoved the blankets off and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The brace made her movements awkward, every step a reminder of what she’d lost overnight. She reached for the hoodie draped over the chair, but stopped — she couldn’t go out in the same clothes she’d worn to the hospital. She needed to change.

It should’ve been simple. But the moment she reached for a pair of loose sweats, her hands wouldn’t cooperate. Every shift of her leg sent sparks of pain through her knee. Tugging the fabric over the brace was slow, clumsy, humiliating. She kept telling herself to breathe, but her chest only got tighter.

By the time she managed to get them on, her whole body felt hot, shaky, brittle. She sat heavily on the edge of the bed, hands hanging limp in her lap.

Her mind wouldn’t stop.

You can’t even put on pants.
You can’t even take care of yourself.
How are you supposed to fight back from this?

Her vision blurred. She blinked hard, but the tears just kept coming, slipping down her cheeks faster now. She tried to wipe them away, but her hands were trembling.

The dam she’d been holding back since yesterday — since the fall, the hospital, Azzi’s arms around her — finally shattered.

Her shoulders folded forward, her elbows pressing into her thighs as sobs shook through her. Not loud, but deep, wrenching — the kind you couldn’t take back once they started. Her breath came in sharp, broken pulls, and she pressed her hands to her face like she could hide from herself.

There was no one here to see her, no one to hold her together. Just her, the silence, and the truth that she was scared in a way she had never been before.

She stayed like that for a long time, letting it all hit her. Letting it undo her.

Eventually, the tears slowed, leaving her raw and wrung out. She wiped her face with the sleeve of her hoodie, drew a shaky breath, and told herself to move.

Crutches under her arms, she pushed out of the apartment. The hallway felt longer than it ever had. Each swing forward was a jolt — her arms straining, her knee throbbing with every accidental shift of weight. She kept her head down, ignoring the curious glances from a couple of students who passed.

By the time she stepped outside, the cold air cut straight through her. She pulled her hood up, more for the comfort of being hidden than the warmth. The gym wasn’t far, but it felt like a mile. Every crack in the sidewalk, every uneven patch made her grit her teeth. She kept moving, slow and steady, swallowing down the urge to turn around and go home.

By the time she reached the double doors of the practice facility, her arms ached nearly as much as her knee. The smell hit her immediately — the faint rubber and polish of the court, the sharpness of fresh tape — and something in her chest clenched.

She made her way down the hall, the echo of her crutches bouncing off the walls, and stopped at the familiar doorway.

Geno was at his desk, reading something on his laptop. He looked up at the sound, his brow furrowing instantly.

“Paige.” His voice was softer than she expected. She didn’t say anything. Just stood there, leaning on the crutches, feeling like if she opened her mouth, everything inside her might spill out again.

It took her a few seconds before she could push the words out. “It’s… my ACL,” she said quietly.

His expression didn’t change much, but something in his shoulders sank. “How bad?”

“Complete tear,” she murmured.

He let out a long breath, leaning back in his chair. “Damn.”

She stayed still, waiting for him to fill the silence.

“You’re shutting down,” he said finally. His tone wasn’t sharp — just steady, certain.

Her head lifted slightly, but she didn’t meet his eyes.

“I’ve seen this before,” he went on, leaning forward now. “You get hurt, you get scared, and you start pulling everything in. You think if you don’t let anyone see how bad it is, you’ll be fine. But you won’t be.”

She blinked, jaw tightening.

“You’ve got people — Nika, KK, Azzi, Ice, all of us — who would carry you if they could. Let them help. That’s not weakness, Paige. That’s the only way you get through something like this.”

Paige’s hands shifted on the crutch grips, her knuckles pale.

“I’m not gonna sugarcoat it,” Geno said, his voice low. “This is going to be hell. Rehab, setbacks, days you’ll wonder if it’s worth it. But I know you. I know how much fight you’ve got in you. You can do this.”

Her chest felt tight, but she gave the smallest nod.

“Don’t disappear on me,” he added. “And don’t disappear on them. Let them see you — even when you hate how you look, even when you feel like you’ve got nothing to give.”

She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she just nodded again, a fraction deeper this time.

“Good,” he said, sitting back. “Now go home. Rest. And let someone else carry your damn bag for once.”

It almost — almost — tugged a small smile out of her.

The next three days before the surgery passed in a strange kind of blur.

Azzi hovered at her side as much as her schedule would allow, but even she didn’t know what to do. “P…want some breakfast?” she would ask softly, or, “I can grab your meds,” leaning down to brush a stray hair back from Paige’s face. Paige’s only answer was a tiny nod or a look that seemed to say, leave me alone , yet wasn’t harsh enough to push her away.

Nika tried to fill the gaps, quietly offering to run errands, fetch water, or just sit with her. “We can watch something, twin,” she’d say. “Anything.” But every suggestion landed on Paige like a stone in water — sinking silently, no ripple of response. Nika’s voice would trail off mid-sentence, unsure, worried, watching her best friend shrink inward. She wanted to say more, to push Paige to speak, but every time she tried, Paige’s blank stare stopped the words.

KK, too, showed up when she could. She brought coffee, snacks, little notes tucked into Paige’s hoodie. But when she tried to joke, the humor fell flat; Paige’s eyes followed her with the faintest glimmer of acknowledgment, but no lift in her expression. KK’s own shoulders sagged slightly each time she left, worry hiding behind a practiced mask of calm.

Ice, Aaliyah, Caroline, so many others tried to reach her, like she was there physically, but not mentally.

Paige’s mind was a storm she couldn’t control. Every thought circled back to her knee, to the MRI results, to the surgery looming ahead. Every tiny movement reminded her of what she’d lost — the stability, the power, the trust in her own body. And yet, she refused to cry in front of them. 

Not because she didn’t want to, but because she didn’t know how to. Her emotions had been shoved into the quietest corner of herself, and now even her closest friends and Azzi couldn’t reach them.

At night, Azzi stayed over, gently holding Paige around the brace. She expected tears, expected trembling, expected the release Paige had denied for days. But Paige stayed still, staring at the ceiling, silent, unyielding. Azzi whispered softly, “You can let it out, you know,” but Paige only blinked at the ceiling, her lips pressed together. Azzi’s fingers flexed through Paige’s hair, her worry burning in her chest — she wanted so badly to pull the walls down, to hear her voice, to see her let go.

Surgery morning arrived with cold light spilling into the apartment. Paige moved slowly on her crutches, shoulders stiff, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the floor. Azzi and Nika were there, silent but attentive, guiding her through the hall, their hands lightly brushing her arms, ready to catch her if she faltered.

Inside, the nurse handed her the hospital gown. Paige took it wordlessly, hands trembling slightly. Changing was awkward, painful; she hissed softly at the sharp twinges in her knee, but said nothing. Nika hovered, trying to help without making her feel infantilized. “Careful,” she whispered. “Slow, just slow.” Azzi’s hand pressed briefly to Paige’s back, steadying her. Paige’s shoulders shook slightly as Azzi helped her change, hiding the quiet tears that threatened to fall.

Her friends exchanged worried glances. Nika bit her lip; KK’s jaw tightened; Azzi’s chest ached with helplessness. They wanted to carry her through it, to take her pain into themselves, but all they could do was be there, silent witnesses to her struggle.

When the nurse came to wheel her to the OR, Paige let herself lean on Azzi for the first time that morning. Azzi pressed her forehead to Paige’s, murmuring, “I’ll be right here. I won’t leave.” Paige closed her eyes, letting herself rest on her girlfriend’s strength for a moment, the weight of the past few days pressing against her in silence.

The next thing Paige knew, the bright white of the operating room was gone, replaced by the muted beeps and hushed voices of the recovery area. Her head felt heavy, her throat raw, and her knee was wrapped and braced in a bulky cage of padding and straps.

Azzi was the first thing she saw — sitting at her side, posture tense, eyes locked on her face like she’d been holding her breath for hours.

“Hey,” Azzi whispered, leaning forward slightly. “You’re out. Everything went fine.”

Paige swallowed, nodded once. Her eyes drifted past Azzi to where Nika stood with KK just behind her. Both of them offered tentative smiles.

“You good, P?” Nika asked softly.

Paige gave the smallest shrug. It wasn’t yes, but it wasn’t no either. And she didn’t elaborate.

KK tried again. “You in pain? I can get the nurse.”

“Fine,” Paige mumbled, her voice dry and thin. It was the first word she’d spoken since they wheeled her away.

The nurse came in with instructions, explaining pain management and movement restrictions, but Paige barely looked at her. She stared at the blanket covering her legs, her face unreadable. Azzi answered the questions for her. Nika and KK nodded along, committing everything to memory.

When it was time to transfer her to a wheelchair, she waved off help at first, but the moment she tried to shift her weight, her face tightened. Azzi stepped in without a word, guiding her gently. Paige didn’t resist, but she didn’t meet her eyes either.

The car ride home was quiet. KK drove, with Nika in the front. Azzi sat in the back with Paige, keeping her arm loosely around her shoulders so she wouldn’t bump her knee. Paige leaned against her, but it felt more like necessity than comfort — like she was trying not to fall apart rather than reaching for connection.

“You need anything when we get in?” Azzi asked softly. Paige shook her head.

Back at the apartment, they got her settled on the couch. Nika fetched water, KK grabbed pillows, Azzi helped her ease her leg into a comfortable position.

But once they were done, Paige’s eyes drifted to the TV without turning it on. She wasn’t looking for entertainment — she just needed something to look at that wasn’t them.

Azzi sat on the arm of the couch, leaning slightly toward her. “You can talk to me, you know.”

Paige’s lips pressed into a line. She nodded like she understood, but didn’t speak.

After a while, KK excused herself to give them space. Nika lingered until Azzi gave her a small shake of the head, silently telling her she’d handle it.

When they were alone, Azzi tried one more time, her voice low, almost pleading. “Don’t shut me out, Paige.”

Paige’s eyes flicked to hers for the briefest moment, and something in them cracked — not enough to let the words through, but enough to show Azzi the ache was still there, raw and unspoken.

And then Paige looked away again, silent as ever. She barely blinked. Even when her eyes burned, she just stared upward, letting the ache settle behind them until it bled into her skull.

Her knee throbbed, wrapped and braced in thick layers of medical foam, but that wasn’t the pain she cared about. That pain she understood — ice, meds, time. The other pain, the one curling tight in her chest, was different. It had no plan. No timeline. No fix.

She felt like something had been ripped out of her. Basketball wasn’t just the game she played; it was the thing that kept her breathing, the thing that made her feel alive. And now… she wasn’t sure she’d ever get it back. She could already hear the voices, the doubt — maybe she won’t be the same, maybe she’s peaked, maybe she’s done.

Paige squeezed her eyes shut, but it didn’t stop the flood of thoughts. She replayed every game, every cut, every pivot, every landing. She could see the injury over and over again — her leg giving way, the sound in her knee, the way the floor rushed up at her. It looped endlessly until she wanted to rip it out of her head.

Her throat tightened, a deep, ugly fear settling in her gut. What if I can’t come back? What if I’m not me anymore? The thought hit her so hard she curled slightly into herself, like she could protect what little was left.

She thought of Azzi — of her quiet, steady presence, of the way she’d been looking at her these last few days. Paige knew that look: worry mixed with helplessness. She hated it. Hated making her feel that way. Hated needing her this much.

She thought of her teammates — of their silence, the way most of them hovered without knowing what to do. She was pushing them away, and she knew it, but the thought of letting them in felt impossible. She had nothing to give them. She didn’t even have herself.

Her chest rose and fell in shallow bursts. Tears slid down her cheeks, but she didn’t bother wiping them. She didn’t want to cry — didn’t want to give the injury that much — but she couldn’t stop.

The apartment was too quiet. Every tick of the clock made her feel more trapped. She wanted to scream, to punch a wall, to make a noise loud enough to drown out the voice in her head telling her it was over. But she couldn’t. The weight pressing down on her was too much.

Paige felt herself sinking, and for the first time in her life, she didn’t try to fight it. She just let it happen. She let herself slide deeper into the dark, into the silence, into the heavy, airless place where she could pretend nothing existed — not the court, not her team, not the future.

Just the quiet. Just the hurt.

And somewhere deep down, she knew she was right on the edge of falling too far to climb back out. 

A few days after the surgery, Azzi found herself standing in the apartment doorway, crutches leaning against the wall, coffee in her hands, and a knot tightening in her stomach. Paige was on the couch, knee propped on pillows, brace still clinging heavily to her leg. Her face was blank, eyes fixed somewhere past the window as if she could will herself somewhere else entirely.

Azzi stepped forward quietly, not wanting to startle her, but every instinct screamed at her that she needed to act. “Hey,” she said softly, perching on the edge of the couch beside her.

Paige didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t respond.

Azzi’s hand hovered over Paige’s, unsure if she should reach or wait. She finally let it rest lightly on her arm. The warmth didn’t draw a reaction — not a flinch, not a sigh. Just stillness.

“I brought coffee,” Azzi said, voice low, careful, like talking too loud might shatter something fragile. “Nik’s in class… I just… thought I’d check on you.”

Paige blinked once. That was all. One tiny, mechanical blink that said nothing.

Azzi’s heart clenched. She leaned in gently and pressed a soft kiss to Paige’s forehead, just above the brow, careful not to startle her.

And then something shifted. Slowly, hesitantly, Paige leaned into her. Not fully, not confidently, but enough. Enough that Azzi could feel the slight weight, the warmth of her body pressing against hers.

Azzi wrapped her arm around Paige, holding her the best she could with the brace and pillows in the way. She whispered, “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Paige didn’t speak. She didn’t move beyond that lean. But it was the first time she hadn’t been a robot, the first sign of life in days — fragile, tremulous, but unmistakable. She let herself feel that small tether, allowed herself to be held.

She rested her cheek against the top of Paige’s head, inhaling the faint scent of hospital soap and laundry detergent, and for the first time in a long while, she felt a tiny thread of hope. Paige was still here, somewhere beneath the silence, and she wasn’t completely alone.

By the end of the first week post surgery, Azzi had moved into Paige and Nika’s apartment in a quiet, unassuming way, slipping her belongings into corners and drawers without fanfare. She was everywhere they were, but not in a way that forced attention — a constant presence, a shadow of calm in the storm that had become Paige’s world. She made coffee in the mornings, tidied up the living room, and left notes with water or snacks near Paige’s chair, careful not to crowd her.

Paige, meanwhile, remained silent. Her eyes were distant, staring through walls as though she were somewhere else entirely. Her leg, still braced, jutted out stiffly on the couch, and her hands rested limply in her lap. She barely spoke, barely moved, and Azzi felt the weight of it pressing into her chest like a tangible thing. Nika hovered in and out, cheerfully trying to reach Paige, but even her bright energy couldn’t pierce the gray cloud surrounding her friend.

Earlier in the day, Azzi noticed Paige pause mid-motion, a photo frame clutched loosely in her hands. It was a team picture, taken before the injury, when Paige had been light and laughing and untouchable. Her lips quivered, her eyes glossy. And then, silently, a tear traced a path down her cheek. One. Two. Then more, each one a quiet testimony to the storm she had been holding back.

Azzi’s breath hitched. She crouched slightly beside Paige, careful not to make a sound, letting the moment stretch, giving her the space to feel. Paige’s hands shook, clutching the frame as though it were both a lifeline and a reminder of everything she feared she had lost. Her shoulders heaved imperceptibly. She was letting herself crack — ever so slightly — and Azzi could feel the tension in the air, thick with all the words Paige wasn’t saying.

Slowly, Azzi leaned forward, brushing a thumb along the tear trailing down Paige’s cheek. Her other hand found Paige’s, squeezing gently, grounding her. She pressed a soft kiss to Paige’s temple, then another to the curve of her cheek, tracing the line of tears as if trying to soothe not just the tears, but the anguish behind them.

Paige flinched at first, but then allowed herself to lean in, letting Azzi hold her. She rested her head on Azzi’s shoulder, small shivers running through her body. Her jaw, so often tight with restraint, softened slightly. She wasn’t speaking, but her body told the story — the silent surrender to grief, to fear, to the pain that had been bottled inside her for days.

Azzi whispered, almost against her own lips, “You don’t have to hold it in. Not with me. Not anymore.” Her hands cupped Paige’s face, fingers threading through damp strands of hair, anchoring her to the moment, to the room, to someone who wouldn’t let her fall.

Paige remained quiet, but the rigidity that had marked her every movement began to ebb. Her shudders were soft, irregular, like waves breaking on a distant shore. Azzi held her anyway, letting the tears fall freely now, letting them mark the first cracks in the walls Paige had built around herself.

The apartment felt heavier than usual that evening, filled with the soft chatter and occasional laughter of the basketball girls - Ice, KK, Caroline, Aaliyah, Dorka, Inêz, Jana - basically the entire team minus a few that couldn’t make it to the very last minute unofficial but sort of official hangout. Azzi had talked to a few teammates and brought up how it might help Paige to see them, and within a few hours, almost the entire team had shown up for her.

Paige sat quietly on the couch, her leg propped up on a pillow, hands folded neatly in her lap. She was there, physically present, nodding at the right moments, offering the kind of polite, tight-lipped smiles that masked how far away she truly was.

The girls noticed, of course. They tried little jokes, gentle teasing, and shared stories, hoping to draw her out, but Paige remained still. When someone caught her eye and she smiled, it was brief, controlled — a shadow of her usual brightness.

Then, as a lull fell over the room, Paige’s gaze flicked toward Azzi. Her eyes softened for a fraction of a second before sliding toward her bedroom door. The signal was subtle but unmistakable: she wanted to be alone for the night.

Azzi rose immediately, moving with quiet attentiveness. “Okay, if that’s what you want,” she said softly, crouching to take her hand. The basketball girls murmured goodnight, their voices heavy with concern, lingering in the doorway instead of leaving.

In the bedroom, Azzi helped Paige ease out of her day clothes and into something softer, something easier on her still-braced leg. She adjusted pillows, tucked the blanket around Paige carefully, and brushed a strand of hair back from her damp forehead. Paige didn’t speak, didn’t protest — she just leaned into the ritual, letting Azzi care for her.

Before leaving the room, Azzi bent down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Paige’s temple, then her lips brushed the top of her head. “Goodnight, my love,” she whispered. Paige’s hand twitched slightly in response, a tiny, nearly imperceptible acknowledgment, but it was enough. Azzi stood, giving her a final glance of reassurance before stepping back into the living room.

The girls watched Azzi re-enter the room, their faces tight with worry. Ice spoke, voice barely above a whisper. “She’s… she’s really struggling, isn’t she?”

Nika, sitting stiffly on the couch, nodded, her jaw tight. “Yeah. And it’s breaking us to see her like this. She’s… she’s not herself at all.”

Dorka added, “I mean… she’s here, but it’s like she’s not really here. It’s terrifying.”

Inside the bedroom, Paige lay on her back, staring at the shadows stretching across the ceiling. The muffled voices from the living room filtered through the door, low murmurs, but they felt far away, almost unreal. She wanted to join them, to feel that warmth and normalcy again, but every attempt was blocked by the weight pressing on her chest.

Her knee throbbed, a constant reminder that her body had betrayed her. But worse than the pain in her leg was the ache in her heart. Basketball had been more than a game; it had been her life, her purpose, her identity. And now, lying here, she felt that identity shatter with every passing hour. The idea that she might never return to the court, never run or jump the way she used to, made her stomach twist in a knot so tight it hurt to breathe.

She thought about her teammates, her friends, the expectations she had set for herself — the ones that had always fueled her drive. What would they think if she couldn’t come back? What would she think of herself? The thought of being nothing without basketball clawed at her insides, and she felt herself sinking further into despair.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, hot and silent, and she clutched the blanket tighter, as if holding herself physically could somehow hold her together mentally. She wanted to scream, to beg for someone to tell her it would be okay, but the words wouldn’t come. She didn’t have them, not really. She felt hollow, like the core of her had been ripped out, leaving only the shell of the person everyone expected her to be.

She thought of her future — potentially more surgeries, the long rehabilitation, the possibility that she might never reclaim what she had lost. Her chest tightened, and the fear became suffocating — the fear that without basketball, she was nothing, that she’d lost the thing that made her whole.

She curled slightly to her side, hugging the blanket, and tried to imagine the old Paige, the one who ran, jumped, and laughed without restraint. But the image blurred, replaced by a raw, hollow version of herself. The fear, the pain, the hopelessness swelled inside her, and for the first time since the injury, she felt completely, terrifyingly lost.

Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to her conversation with Geno. His voice still rang in her head: Don’t shut down, lean on those around you. It’s going to be hard, but I know you can do this.

She had nodded then, because it was easier than speaking. But now, in the quiet, with the shadows pressing in and her chest aching from holding back sobs, she let herself confront the truth. For the first time, she actually wondered if she wanted to do this at all — if she wanted to fight her way back, or if it would be easier to let go entirely.

The thought scared her almost as much as the injury itself.

And still, she stayed silent.

The next morning, the air outside was sharp and cold, the kind that bit through your clothes. Paige sat in the passenger seat of Azzi’s car, hood up, hands buried in her sweatshirt pocket. She hadn’t said much since they left the apartment, just the occasional nod when Azzi asked if she was warm enough or if she wanted the music on.

Azzi didn’t push. She just kept her eyes on the road, glancing at Paige every so often, trying to read her expression under the shadow of her hood.

The physical therapy room attached to the gym smelled faintly of antiseptic and coffee, with the quiet hum of treadmills and low voices drifting from the main room. Paige signed in mechanically, not looking up from the clipboard until the therapist — a tall woman with kind eyes named Kara — called her over.

Azzi followed a step behind, holding Paige’s bag. She told herself she was here to carry things and offer support, but really, she just needed to be close enough to see how Paige was holding up.

The session started slow — ankle pumps, gentle stretches — but Azzi could already see the way Paige’s jaw tightened. Kara talked to her in a calm, encouraging tone, explaining each movement, but Azzi could see the tremor in Paige’s hands when she gripped the edge of the table.

Then came the more active exercises — weight shifts, quad sets, small leg lifts with the brace still on. Paige followed every instruction to the letter, her focus razor-sharp, like she was trying to will herself into healing faster. But with that determination came flashes of pain Azzi hadn’t seen before — not during the injury, not even after surgery. Her lips would press into a thin line, her breathing would hitch just slightly before she forced it steady again.

It was the kind of pain you couldn’t fake your way out of.

Azzi’s stomach twisted. She kept her hands clenched in her lap, fighting the urge to step in, to tell Paige she didn’t have to push so hard. But she knew Paige wouldn’t stop. She’d keep going until she physically couldn’t anymore.

When Kara gave her a break, Paige sat with her head bent, breathing slowly, sweat gathering along her hairline. Azzi crouched in front of her, gently resting a hand on her knee — the uninjured one — and waited until Paige met her eyes.

“You’re doing amazing,” Azzi said quietly.

Paige didn’t answer, just gave the faintest nod before leaning forward, elbows on her thighs, eyes closed.

And in that moment, Azzi could see it all — the grit, the fight, but also the raw pain that Paige was trying so hard to bury under her determination.

It broke her heart, but it also made her more certain than ever that she wasn’t going anywhere.

By the time they stepped out of the physical therapy building, Paige’s legs felt like lead, every movement a reminder of just how much she had pushed them. The brace on her knee kept it stable, but it did nothing to dull the stabbing pain shooting through her muscles and tendons. Her hands gripped the crutches so tightly her knuckles were almost white, and her breathing was shallow and uneven.

Azzi stayed at her side, walking on her left, silently matching her pace. Every few steps, Paige’s foot would slip slightly, or her knee would wobble, and Azzi’s hand would instinctively move to steady her. Paige’s jaw tightened; she hated needing help, hated the weight of her own body leaning on someone else. But the exhaustion was relentless, the pain unyielding, and something inside her, a quiet surrender, made her lean a fraction closer to Azzi.

“You’re okay,” Azzi murmured, voice soft, steady, not asking for anything, not demanding a response. “I’ve got you.”

Paige’s lips pressed into a thin line. She wanted to protest, to push away, to show that she could handle this. But her shoulders shook slightly, betraying her internal struggle. Her eyes met Azzi’s, and in that gaze, there was no shame, no judgment—just unwavering presence. It was more than Paige could meet, and she felt herself lean more heavily, almost instinctively, letting Azzi bear the weight she had been trying to hide.

Each step back to the car was slow, painful. Paige’s breathing hitched every time her brace pressed into a tender spot, every time the crutches dug into her palms. She wanted to tell Azzi she was fine, that she could manage, but the words caught in her throat. Her body was betraying her, and she had no armor left to protect her heart.

The apartment was quiet, the kind of quiet that presses against your chest. Paige’s crutches scraped against the hardwood floor with each painful step, her breaths shallow, uneven. Azzi stayed close, one hand lightly pressing to her lower back, steadying her, offering support Paige wouldn’t ask for but desperately needed. Paige’s jaw was tight, her lips pressed together, eyes fixed on the floor as if it could somehow make the pain disappear.

A few days later, Azzi finally made it back to the apartment after an extra long practice. Classes had kept her busy, and she hadn’t been able to accompany Paige to physical therapy. She unlocked the door quietly, hoping not to startle her, and froze for a moment in the living room.

Paige was on the floor, her brace strapped tight, sweat soaking the fabric of her shirt and running down her forehead. Her cheeks were flushed, her breathing shallow and rapid, each exhale sharp and ragged. Azzi could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands trembled slightly as she moved through her exercises. She was repeating the same motions over and over, mechanical but fierce, her determination masking how thoroughly she was wearing herself down.

Azzi’s chest tightened at the sight. She took a cautious step closer. Paige didn’t glance up, didn’t acknowledge her presence. Her focus was absolute, almost frightening in its intensity. Every movement of her leg was deliberate but strained, each repetition a tiny battle against her own exhaustion.

This is too much, Azzi thought, a pit forming in her stomach. Sweat dripped into Paige’s eyes, and she blinked rapidly to clear it, but didn’t stop. Her hair stuck to her damp face, and the red flush creeping across her neck and chest made her look like she’d been running for hours.

Azzi wanted to speak, to tell her to slow down, to rest—but something in her held her back. Paige had always been fiercely independent, and Azzi knew that interrupting her now might only push her further into herself.

She settled on the couch, watching quietly. Paige’s breathing grew more uneven, shallow gasps punctuating the silence of the apartment. Her jaw was tight, her brow furrowed, but still, she didn’t give herself a break. The determination in her eyes was unmistakable—but so was the strain, the fatigue, the silent desperation in every movement.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Paige collapsed back against the wall, out of breath, face red.

“You’re doing too much,” Azzi said softly, almost under her breath, but there was a sharp edge to her worry. Paige didn’t respond. Every motion trembled with exhaustion—physical and emotional—and Azzi’s heart ached watching it. She moved to the floor to be closer to Paige, needing to physically feel her, to prove she was still there.

“Paige…” Azzi whispered, brushing damp hair from her forehead, the first tears she could see tracking silently down her cheeks. “You can’t just… push yourself like this. You’re going to work yourself to death if you keep going like this.”

Azzi’s arms tightened around her, careful not to hurt her, careful to let her lean in without words. She whispered again, soft but firm: “You don’t have to do this alone. I’m right here. Always.”

Paige’s eyes didn’t leave the floor. Her hands gripped her sleeve tightly, knuckles white. Her lips quivered, but no sound came out. The silence between them was loud with everything unsaid: the fear, the grief, the anger at her own body, the guilt for feeling broken. Azzi’s chest ached, torn between wanting to hold Paige closer and needing her to finally speak, to let her in. She hated seeing her like this—so strong on the outside, so shattered inside—and hated even more that Paige wouldn’t let her help in the way she desperately wanted to.

She pressed her forehead to Azzi’s shoulder, silent finally, shuddering in the way someone does when all the walls they’ve built crumble at once. Tiny, trembling sobs shook her body, silent but piercing. Azzi held her tighter, letting her lean into the grief she’d been bottling for days. Her own eyes stung, watching Paige—the girl she loved, the player who could do anything—struggle with a pain that no one could fix with words or hands.

Paige’s body sagged completely against her, giving in to the momentary surrender, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she wasn’t holding anything back. She wasn’t the stoic, determined Paige who never let anyone see her cracks. She was just…Paige. Raw, vulnerable, and aching, and Azzi was there, letting her be that, holding her while the storm raged quietly between them.

Azzi noticed every subtle detail—the trembling in her fingers, the tightness in her jaw, the small quivers that ran through her with each breath. She wanted to reach further, to pull Paige into talking, into leaning on her emotionally, but Paige’s silence was stubborn, unyielding. Every word seemed trapped behind a wall Paige wasn’t ready to tear down.

Azzi stayed with her for a long moment, feeling the quiet storm Paige was trying to hide. It was the first time in days she’d seen Paige lean on her like this, yet it was tempered by that same distance that made Azzi ache—Paige was present, fragile, but still keeping her inner struggle to herself.

Finally, Azzi eased back slightly, brushing her lips against Paige’s temple one last time before letting her rest. Paige didn’t move, didn’t speak, just allowed herself a brief, silent reprieve.

Azzi’s heart ached as she watched her, knowing Paige’s fight had only just begun, and that the quiet walls she’d built around herself weren’t coming down anytime soon.

Later that night, Paige stood in her bedroom doorway, crutching her way to the bathroom when she heard muffled voices coming from the kitchen. Her heart tightened instantly—Paige’s name carried through the small apartment.

“…she’s really not talking, not letting anyone in,” Nika’s voice said, low and tense. “I don’t know how much longer she can keep this up.”

Azzi’s own voice softened, almost a whisper. “I know. I just… I hate seeing her like this. She’s so quiet, so… withdrawn. I feel like she’s hurting more than she lets anyone see.”

Paige froze mid-step, crutches leaning against the wall, her stomach knotting. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but the words hit her like a punch—words she didn’t want anyone to speak aloud. Her chest tightened, and a cold panic swirled in her stomach.

She wanted to move, to speak, to say it was fine, that she could handle it—but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she stepped back silently, letting her body become small, compact, nearly invisible. 

Her mind raced: If they see me breaking, they’ll worry. I can’t let them worry. I’ll just… pretend. Pretend I’m fine.

It was a decision made in a moment of fear, but the effect was immediate. Her walls, already tall and rigid, rose higher. She didn’t respond to Azzi when she came to Paige’s room a few minutes later, didn’t glance at Nika when she peeked in the door. She forced a tight, controlled smile when she felt eyes on her, one that didn’t reach her eyes.

Azzi noticed the shift instantly—the slight stiffening of her shoulders, the tense line of her jaw, the way her hands flexed in her lap. “Paige…?” she said softly, but Paige looked away. Her silence was louder than any protest, a solid barrier that Azzi couldn’t breach.

Azzi’s worry deepened, her fingers twitching at her side. She wanted to say something—anything—but knew that pressing now would only push Paige further inside herself. She sighed quietly, casting a glance at Nika, who mirrored the same concern, and both of them fell silent, their conversation evaporating into the tension filling the room.

Paige, meanwhile, laid rigidly in bed, pretending calm. But inside, she was in turmoil: guilt for making them worry, frustration at her own helplessness, fear of being a burden. She hugged herself tightly, her breath catching as she silently whispered to no one, I’m fine. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.

Yet she wasn’t fine. And Azzi, seeing the faint tremble of her hands, knew it.

Over the next day and a half, Azzi’s unease grew quietly but steadily. At first, she tried to convince herself she was overthinking—Paige was doing her exercises, even pushing herself hard, and she hadn’t complained. But the little things piled up, gnawing at Azzi’s gut.

She noticed the way Paige moved through the apartment now, stiff and deliberate, as if every step required calculation. Even at dinner, she picked at her food, her fork tracing circles in the plate rather than eating. When Azzi reached across the table to touch her hand, Paige flinched slightly, retreating into herself again. It was a subtle withdrawal, almost imperceptible at first—but to Azzi, it screamed.

By the second day, Azzi’s worry became sharp and unavoidable. She realized Paige had fallen back into the same shell she’d built the moment she first learned the full extent of her injury. The quiet, the emotional walls, the careful effort to appear “fine”—it was all there again, just like before.

Azzi sat in the living room, watching Paige do her stretches silently, sweat beading her brow, her face red and tense. The determination was there, but Azzi could see the cost: the strain, the exhaustion, the stubborn refusal to let anyone in. She felt a pang of helplessness, mixed with fear. She’s back to the beginning. And if she keeps going like this… I don’t know if she’ll be able to pull herself out again.

After basketball practice later that night, Nika and KK stood on the court as everyone else filed out, both feeling a sense of hopeless dread. Nika bit her lip. “I don’t know how to reach her anymore. She’s… she’s so quiet. Even when we try to get her to talk, she just shuts down. She doesn’t want to bother anyone… but it’s like she’s punishing herself.”

KK’s hands tightened around the ball. “We can’t just let her do this. We need to… do something. Anything. She can’t keep going like this, not with the PT, not with the surgery, not with… everything. She’s slipping, Nik. She’s really slipping.”

Nika nodded, a lump forming in her throat. “I hate seeing her like this. And Azzi… I know Azzi’s trying, but Paige is so… closed off. She’s not letting anyone in. And I don’t think she even realizes how much she’s hurting herself, emotionally and physically.”

KK dribbled one last time, letting the ball roll to a stop. “We need a plan. We can’t just wait for her to decide to open up. She’s not going to do that on her own.”

Nika decided to text Azzi and ask if the three of them could talk. She didn’t need to preface it by saying the topic was Paige; it was obvious. They met at the corner of the gym, away from the lingering sounds of practices taking place. Nika and KK looked tense, eyes flicking toward the doorway as if Paige might appear any second.

“We’re really worried,” Nika said quietly, her hands fidgeting with the strap of her bag. “Paige… she’s shutting down again. She’s not eating right, barely moving around the apartment, barely sleeping. And every time we try to talk to her… she just clams up.”

KK nodded, her voice low but sharp with concern. “It’s like she’s trying to pretend everything’s fine, but it’s not. She’s isolating herself, Azzi. We don’t know what to do anymore.”

Azzi’s jaw tightened. Her chest felt heavy, tight—an ache she couldn’t push away. “I’ve seen it,” she said softly. “I know she’s not okay. And it… it hurts. Seeing her like this, and not being able to get through to her—it’s like there’s this wall between us, and I can’t reach her.”

Nika exchanged a worried glance with KK. “We know. That’s why we’re telling you. We can’t reach her either. But you… you’re her anchor. You’re the one she listens to when no one else can get through.”

Azzi swallowed, her throat tight. “I know. I just… it’s hard. I want to hold her, tell her it’s okay, that she doesn’t have to do this alone. But she won’t let me in. She just… shuts me out. And it’s killing me to watch her go through this alone, even for a second.”

Nika put a hand on Azzi’s shoulder, firm and grounding. “She’s struggling, but she’s lucky to have you. You’ve always been her safe place, Azzi. Don’t give up. She needs you now more than ever.”

Azzi nodded, determination hardening in her chest, but her eyes glistened with the edges of tears she refused to let fall. “I won’t give up. I can’t. I’ll talk to her. I’ll be patient, even if she pushes me away. I just… I need her to know that she doesn’t have to carry this alone anymore.”

For a long moment, the three of them stood there, the noise of the gym fading into the background. Azzi’s mind was already racing through how she would approach Paige—what words, what gestures, what silent presence could start to break through the walls Paige had built around herself. And in the pit of her stomach, she felt that deep, desperate ache of wanting to reach Paige, even if Paige refused to reach back.

The next day, Azzi came in from class and practice ready to finally confront Paige, her backpack heavy on one shoulder, and immediately the living room caught her eye. She was there, on the floor, mat under her knees, crutches pushed aside. Her hair was plastered to her damp forehead, sweat streaking down the sides of her face. Her cheeks were flushed deep red, and every muscle in her legs and core trembled with the effort of her exercises. Each repetition was deliberate but painful, and her breathing was shallow and uneven.

Azzi froze for a moment, heart clenching. She had seen Paige struggle before, but never like this—this mix of determination, exhaustion, and unspoken frustration that radiated from her in waves.

“Paige,” Azzi said softly, stepping closer, trying to keep her voice calm, “how long have you been doing this? You’re pushing yourself too hard. You need to—”

Paige’s head snapped up, eyes blazing, her chest heaving. Her lips pressed into a thin line as if to hold back more than just words. “I’m fine,” she said, voice sharp, tight. “I’ve got this. I don’t need you telling me what to do.”

Azzi’s chest ached. She knelt a few feet away, letting Paige see her but giving her space. “I know you’re strong,” she said gently, “I know you want to get back out there, but this… I can see the way it’s hurting you.You’re destroying yourself.”

Paige’s fingers dug into the mat, nails pressing into the rubber as her muscles shook uncontrollably. “I can handle it,” she whispered, then bit her lip, swallowing down the rest. “I don’t need anyone worrying about me. I need to do this.”

“Don’t… Don't you want me to get better? So I can play again?” Paige’s voice was strained, almost breaking, but sharp with defensiveness.

Azzi’s face fell, her eyes glossy with tears she was holding back. “Yes… yes, I do,” she said softly, voice trembling. “But that’s not the point.”

Paige’s heart tightened painfully. Her mind twisted Azzi’s words into a cruel reflection of her own fears. She doesn’t care about me. She just wants me back to the way I was before. That’s all.

Azzi stepped closer, and her voice shook with frustration and heartbreak. “Paige… it’s so hard to see you wearing yourself down like this, pushing yourself past everything, shutting everyone out. I can’t… it hurts me to watch you do this to yourself.”

Paige’s lips quivered, and her tears finally spilled over, running down her red, sweaty face. She pressed her shaking hands against her chest, clutching the brace like it could hold her together. “If it’s so hard… then leave,” she whispered, voice barely audible but trembling with anger, despair, and exhaustion. “I don’t… I don’t want to hurt you.”

Azzi’s frustration broke through, her own tears spilling freely. “I’m tired of being shut out. I’m tired of watching you do this to yourself!” Her voice was sharp, raw, and choked with emotion. “I’m trying to help you, but you won’t let me in!”

Paige flinched at the intensity of Azzi’s words, her own pain mingling with guilt. She curled in on herself, hot tears streaking her face, trembling violently. “Then… leave,” she repeated, voice rising, voice breaking, desperation and fear bleeding into every word. “Then why are you here?”

“You told me when I hurt my foot that I wasn’t just basketball, and I’m telling you that now. Because you’re not . We’ve been trying to tell you that,” Azzi’s voice was barely more than a strangled whisper, yet it cut through the room like a blade. “But I can’t… I can’t watch you slowly kill yourself, Paige.” Her hands trembled, tears spilling down her cheeks as she stepped back. “I love you too much to stand by and watch this happen.”

Paige didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her chest was tight, every breath sharp and heavy, and the words Azzi had said lodged painfully in her mind. She didn’t argue. She didn’t even try. She just watched Azzi leave, the click of the door echoing in the empty apartment like a verdict. 

When the silence settled, Paige collapsed onto the exercise mat, her body shaking, sweat still glistening on her skin. She covered her face with her hands, finally letting the tears flow. The room felt impossibly quiet, her breathing loud in her own ears. 

I’m broken. Completely broken. The thought hit her like a hammer, over and over, echoing through her mind until it became almost unbearable. This isn’t just an injury. This is me. All of me. Gone.

Her hands clutched at her arms, nails digging into skin, trying to anchor herself in reality. But the harder she tried to hold on, the more slippery everything became. Azzi… she just wants the old me. She doesn’t really want me like this. She wants me perfect, whole, unbroken. She doesn’t want the me who can barely even stand without crutches.

The image of Azzi’s face—the concern, the frustration, the exhaustion from caring—flashed in her mind. And with it came the sharpest sting of all: I’m pushing her away. I’m hurting her. I can’t even protect her from me…

Her chest tightened, tears streaming freely now, falling down the side of her face onto the mat beneath her. Why bother trying? she thought. Everything I loved is slipping through my fingers. Basketball… my body… my future… Azzi… everyone who cares… I can’t hold any of it together.

The floor beneath her felt impossibly hard, yet she pressed against it as if it were the only thing grounding her. I’m failing at everything. I can’t even talk. I can’t even cry right. I’m… nothing.

Her mind raced with every “what if,” every imagined failure, every imagined disappointment. What if I never walk right again? What if I can’t play? What if I never feel normal again? The questions were endless, spinning around her like a cyclone, and each one tore a little more of her apart. 

She tried to squeeze her eyes shut, to block out her thoughts, but they only screamed louder. I can’t do this. I can’t be like this. I’m done. I don’t want to be this person. I don’t even recognize myself.

Her hands covered her face, pressing into her hair as she tried to smother the sobs that wracked her body. No one can fix me. I can’t fix me. I can’t… I can’t…

Hours—or maybe minutes—passed, she didn’t know. Her thoughts kept churning, dark and relentless, dragging her deeper. Each breath felt heavy, like pulling air through water. And yet, beneath the despair, a tiny, fragile part of her clung to a single memory: Geno’s words. You can do this. I know you can.

Even as the despair gripped her, that small echo lingered, a faint thread in the darkness, almost too small to notice. And somewhere deep down, buried beneath the hopelessness, Paige allowed herself the tiniest, trembling question: Do I… want to?

The next morning, Paige was already in the physical therapy room, face set in that rigid, determined mask she’d been wearing for days. She was in her own head so she didn’t hear the loud stomps getting closer. 

Nika’s frustration was bubbling hotter with each step. Azzi told her earlier this morning about her and Paige’s yelling match the night before. She said they both needed space but Nika knew that space was the exact opposite of what Paige needed.

She needed someone to force her to wake up, to realize that she’s not alone, but she really will be if she keeps pushing everyone away. Nika took it upon herself to give Paige this news. She had spent weeks watching Paige slip back into her old, silent patterns—ignoring pain, shutting everyone out, pretending everything was fine. But now, she had reached her breaking point. Nika wasn’t going to wait for disaster to strike.

The door to the physical therapy room was slightly ajar. She peeked in—and paused.

Paige was alone. Sweat soaked her hair, droplets trickling down her temples. Her face was flushed a deep, angry red, breaths sharp and uneven. Her leg trembled violently as she pushed through another set of exercises, repetition after repetition, her body trembling but refusing to stop. The room smelled faintly of disinfectant and effort, but mostly it smelled like the raw, unguarded strain of someone fighting too hard against reality.

Nika’s stomach clenched. This wasn’t determination—this was desperation.

Then, it happened. Paige attempted a jump, just a small hop to finish a set—and the world tilted. Her knee buckled violently beneath her. She crashed to the floor with a sharp thud, arms flailing, and let out a strangled gasp of pain.

“Oh my god!” Nika shouted, sprinting across the room. Her heart raced as she reached her, panic roaring in her chest.

Paige’s head snapped up, eyes wide with shock, almost as if she hadn’t realized Nika had entered. “What… are you babysitting me now?” Her voice was small, tight with defensiveness.

That was all it took for Nika’s anger to snap loose. “Paige,” Nika said, her voice raw with emotion. She grabbed her arms, shaking with frustration, fear, and anger. “You need to stop this. The silence, the pushing people away. Do you think I’m just going to watch you destroy yourself like this?”

Paige’s lips trembled, and for a fleeting second, Nika saw the raw, unfiltered fear behind her stubborn mask. Paige looked away, chin pressed to her chest, trying to disappear into herself.

“You’re hurting yourself,” Nika continued, voice cracking. “Do you hear me? You’re pushing yourself past every limit, past the pain, and for what? To prove you’re fine? To everyone? You’re not fine, Paige. Not like this. Not alone . And I— I won’t let you do this to yourself!”

Paige swallowed hard, but no words came. The silence between them stretched, thick and suffocating, filled only by the sound of her shallow, ragged breathing. Nika’s chest ached, a sharp, physical pain, seeing her best friend—someone so brilliant, so strong—at war with herself and refusing help.

“I’m not letting you do this alone, twin,” Nika whispered, her voice trembling. “You don’t have to push through this by yourself. Not now. Not ever. You’re not supposed to.”

For a long moment, Paige said nothing. Her lips pressed tight, but her body trembled. Her shoulders slumped against Nika as if finally admitting defeat, letting her exhaustion, fear, and grief press against the one person who cared enough to intervene.

“I’m… I’m fine,” Paige whispered at last, voice barely audible, fragile.

“You’re not fine!” Nika’s shout cracked through the room, her hands tightening around Paige’s arms. “And pretending you are isn’t helping anyone! It’s hurting you—hurting everyone who loves you! You can’t do this by yourself. You’re not supposed to!”

Paige’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, but for the first time in days, she didn’t fight it. She didn’t argue, didn’t roll her eyes, didn’t throw up a sarcastic joke like a wall between them. She just sat there, shoulders hunched and trembling, letting the mask she’d held together with sheer will finally crack. The weight of her silence pressed against Nika’s steady presence like a dam threatening to break.

Nika’s chest ached, a hot, sharp pain that made it hard to breathe. She wanted to yell again, to shake her best friend until the stubbornness fell away—but the moment she looked at her face, flushed from exertion, lips pale and trembling, all of that anger was swallowed by fear. Paige’s breaths came shallow and uneven, the kind of breathing that came from more than just exhaustion—it came from fighting too hard, too long, and too alone.

She crouched beside her, hands gripping Paige’s trembling arms. Her palms felt the thin layer of sweat clinging to her skin, the way her muscles quivered under her touch. For days, Nika had watched Paige push herself past the line, refusing help, ignoring the worry in everyone’s eyes. And now—seeing her collapsed on the PT floor—Nika felt something snap inside her, panic rising fast and unrelenting.

“Do you even hear me?” Nika’s voice cracked, the sharp edge of it breaking under the weight of emotion. “You’re hurting yourself, Paige. You’re… you’re destroying yourself, and you won’t even talk to us about it.”

Paige pressed her lips together hard, jaw flexing. She gave the smallest shake of her head and tried to pull away, but the effort was weak, her body too spent to hide what her pride wanted to conceal—she was done. Empty. Out of defenses.

Nika’s voice dropped, but it was no less fierce. “I’m done pretending that everything’s okay. I’m done sitting by while you silently spiral and act like this is nothing. Do you have any idea how worried everyone is? KK… Azzi… me… we walk on eggshells because we’re scared you’ll shut us out completely. But I can’t anymore. I won’t sit here and watch you kill yourself for basketball, or because you think you have to be perfect.”

Paige’s chest rose and fell too quickly, her ribcage shuddering with each breath. The tears came faster now, streaking hot and unchecked down her face. She couldn’t speak. Her throat felt locked, like every word was trapped behind a wall she couldn’t find a way through.

Nika leaned in until their foreheads almost touched. “You think you’re doing this alone? You think this silence is protecting anyone? It’s not. It’s hurting all of us because we love you. And seeing you like this—like this —” Her voice broke, eyes shining. “I can’t. I won’t watch you keep punishing yourself without letting anyone in.”

Paige’s eyes flickered, rapid blinks failing to keep the tears from spilling. She wanted to twist away, to crack a joke, to say something biting and final that would end this conversation—but the raw truth in Nika’s tone pressed down too hard, making her chest feel tight and small.

“I’m… I’m not fine,” she finally whispered, the words rasping like sandpaper in her throat.

Nika’s exhale was jagged, relief and heartbreak tangled together as she sat completely on the floor now. “ Finally . That’s all I’ve been waiting for, Paige. You don’t have to carry this alone. You can’t . Not now. Not ever. We’re not going to just sit back and let you destroy yourself because you think you can handle it all in silence. Do you hear me?”

Paige’s lips trembled, her shoulders shaking like a building in the middle of a slow collapse. She didn’t answer, but she didn’t move away either. She leaned into Nika’s steady hands, a tiny, almost invisible shift that was enough to say maybe—just maybe—she didn’t have to be alone in this fight.

Nika’s grip didn’t falter. “We’re here, Paige. All of us. And I don’t care if you try to push us away, I don’t care if you put on that fake smile and act like you’re fine—I’m not letting you do this alone. You hear me? You cannot do this alone.”

The dam broke. Paige’s face crumpled, silent sobs shaking her entire body. She stayed on the floor, letting herself fall against Nika’s grip, too tired to keep holding everything in.

“I’ve… I’ve been trying so hard to keep it together,” she whispered, her voice splintering on the words. “Every day I try to act like everything’s fine. But it’s not. It’s… it’s all just… empty inside. I can’t… I can’t even remember what it feels like to be me anymore.”

Her voice cracked in the middle of the sentence, each word sounding more like it hurt to say. “I thought… if no one knew… if I could hide it… maybe it would hurt less. But it’s worse, Nik. Every day, I feel… smaller. Like… like I’m disappearing. I can’t even think about basketball without feeling like a failure. I’m… I’m done. I just…” She buried her face in her hands, curling in as though she could vanish into herself.

“Paige.” Nika’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was unshakable—every syllable heavy with fierce love. It had an edge, yes, but the kind born of desperation, not anger. “Stop pretending you’re fine. You’re not fine, and that’s okay. You don’t have to carry all of this alone. We see you. We’re scared for you because we love you, and you’ve been pushing us out, but we’re not leaving.”

Paige’s hands trembled violently in her lap, so badly she dug her nails into the soft cotton of her sweatpants, gripping until her knuckles ached. Her lips parted, her breath stuttered, but her voice didn’t come at first—like the words had to fight their way past a barricade. “I… I didn’t want anyone to know,” she finally managed, her voice cracking mid-sentence. “I didn’t want anyone to see me like this. I didn’t want anyone to be worried… to have to deal with… me.”

The last word came out like it was laced with poison—small, ashamed, and heavy enough to make Nika’s heart lurch.

“You think you’re protecting us by shutting us out,” Nika said, her jaw tightening as frustration and aching tenderness collided. “But you’re not. You’re scaring us. You’re breaking yourself, Paige. And I can’t just—” Her breath caught, her voice wobbling despite her effort to keep it steady. “I can’t just watch you do this to yourself.”

Paige’s gaze stayed locked on the floor, her eyes glassy, unfocused. “I can’t… I can’t stop feeling like I’m failing,” she admitted, each word sounding like it cost her something. “I feel… empty. Worthless. Like I’m nothing if I can’t play. And I… I want to give up on everything. On basketball, on… on life…”

The silence after that word was so heavy it made Nika’s ears ring.

Paige’s shoulders shook violently against her, each tremor sharp, uncontrolled. She didn’t even make a sound at first—just silent, painful sobs, her mouth pressed shut like she wasn’t even allowed to make noise. Then, after several moments, a whisper so small it barely reached Nika: “I’m… I’m so tired.”

Nika froze, her heartbeat hammering in her ears. “Because you’re working your body too hard?” she asked softly, clinging to the hope that was all Paige meant. Her voice wavered anyway.

Paige lifted her head just enough for Nika to see her eyes—red, swollen, almost glassed over. “Not… not just…” She blinked sluggishly, like each second was pulling her deeper under. “I mean, I’m tired of fighting. Tired of trying to hold everything together. Tired of… feeling like I have to be strong all the time. Tired of… everything.” Her voice gave out, and she folded back into Nika’s shoulder, the shuddering in her body growing more violent.

Nika’s stomach dropped, a cold rush flooding her chest. This wasn’t injury fatigue. This wasn’t the grind of recovery. This was something deeper, something darker pulling at Paige from the inside.

“Paige…” she whispered, her throat tight, “it’s okay to feel tired. But you’re not alone. You don’t have to carry this by yourself.”

Paige’s next words were barely audible—so faint that Nika had to hold her breath to catch them. “I don’t… I don’t know if I can keep going. Some days… it feels like… maybe I don’t even… I don’t even want to…” She trailed off, the rest unsaid, but the weight of it slammed into Nika like a punch.

Her breath stuttered, panic prickling along her skin.

“No,” she said instantly, gripping Paige’s shoulders so firmly she could feel bone beneath her palms. “No. You’re not giving up. You’re not letting this darkness win. Not while I’m here. Not while Azzi’s here. We’re not letting you go through this alone. I don’t care how quiet you’ve been, how much you push us away—you’re my best friend, Paige. I see you, and I see how much pain you’re in, and I will not stand here and watch you hurt yourself.”

Paige’s body sagged into her, the fight draining out like water from a cracked glass. Then the sobs came—real sobs this time, raw and ragged, her breath hitching with every inhale. Nika could feel the heat of her tears soaking through her shirt until the dampness chilled against her skin.

“You don’t have to talk,” Nika murmured, brushing a hand against the back of Paige’s head like she could anchor her there. “You don’t have to say another word. Just… let me be here. That’s enough. You’re not alone, Paige. Not ever.”

Paige clung to her like she was afraid Nika might disappear, her fingers curling desperately into the fabric of Nika’s hoodie. And Nika realized, with a bone-deep ache, just how far Paige had drifted into the dark. This wasn’t about a knee or a game. This was about Paige trying to hold onto herself—and losing her grip.

The thought of losing her, even for a moment, made Nika feel like her chest might splinter in two as Nika held her tighter, but her mind was already racing. She could feel Paige’s breathing against her chest—shallow, uneven, like each inhale was an effort—and the thought of stepping away even for a minute made her stomach twist. But she also knew she couldn’t do this alone.

Azzi.

The image of Azzi’s face when she’d told Nika about the fight flashed in her head—how red her eyes had been, how her voice had cracked when she admitted she didn’t know how to reach Paige anymore. And now Nika understood. She understood in her bones. Paige wasn’t just shutting people out—she was locking herself in somewhere deep and dark, and she was getting harder to reach by the day.

“Paige,” Nika murmured, forcing her voice to stay steady even as her heart pounded, “I’m not going anywhere. But I need you to trust me for a second, okay? I want to bring Azzi here.”

Paige’s head jerked slightly against her shoulder, the tiniest recoil, but she didn’t say anything. Nika felt her tense.

“I’m not doing this to gang up on you,” Nika added quickly, “I’m doing this because she loves you. Because she’s scared for you. And because I think… I think you need her right now more than you realize.”

Paige didn’t answer. Her fingers stayed locked in Nika’s hoodie, trembling. Nika wanted to push harder, but one look at Paige’s glassy, red eyes told her she was already hanging by a thread.

“I’ll be right here,” Nika promised, and for the first time in years, she was genuinely afraid that if she let go, Paige might not come back.

She pulled her phone from her pocket with one hand, still keeping her other arm locked around Paige’s shoulders. Her thumb flew over the screen.

Come now. PT room. It’s bad.

The message to Azzi sent instantly, and Nika’s chest felt tight in the seconds after—like she’d just set something in motion she couldn’t take back. She tucked her phone away and kept her arms around Paige, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Hold on for me, P. Just… hold on until she gets here.”

Somewhere deep down, Nika already knew—this wasn’t just about today. This was about keeping Paige tethered to the people who loved her before she drifted too far to find her way back.

The door creaked open, and Azzi’s presence filled the room before she even spoke. She froze, taking in the sight: Paige huddled against Nika, her small frame quivering, shoulders shaking violently, eyes red-rimmed and glossy with tears. Her usually steady hands clutched Nika’s hoodie like it was a lifeline, knuckles pale, trembling with the weight of everything she had been holding in.

“Paige…” Azzi’s voice was low, a tremor running through it, breaking in a way that made Nika’s chest tighten further. She stepped closer, her sneakers silent against the polished floor, moving carefully as if approaching something fragile, wounded, almost breakable.

Paige lifted her head slightly at the sound of Azzi’s voice, just enough for her blue eyes to flicker toward her, wide, vulnerable, shimmering with raw pain and fear. Nika tightened her hold gently, but made room for Azzi to kneel beside them, her presence immediately grounding.

“Hey,” Azzi said softly, voice almost a whisper, rough around the edges with emotion. Her hand hovered for a moment, hesitant, before brushing over Paige’s trembling arm with delicate reassurance. “It’s okay. You’re not alone.”

Paige flinched at first, skin cold and clammy beneath Azzi’s touch, but then melted slightly against Nika, face burying deeper into her shoulder. Her lips trembled as she whispered, barely audible, “I… I don’t want to be a burden…”

“You’re not a burden,” Azzi said firmly, but gentle. Her thumb traced tiny, soothing circles over Paige’s arm, grounding her in the present. “Not ever. You don’t have to pretend with me, or Nika, or anyone who loves you. You just… have to let us be here. That’s all I want.”

Paige’s fingers clenched Nika’s hoodie tighter, quivering as her body shook with the force of suppressed emotion. The room smelled faintly of the faint disinfectant from the PT floor mixed with Nika’s shampoo and the warm, familiar scent of Azzi’s hoodie. Her chest heaved painfully, lungs burning with pent-up grief, but the weight of Azzi’s gaze—steady, unwavering, warm—was like an anchor, holding her in place, letting her tremble without judgment.

Nika whispered beside her, voice thick with emotion, “See? We’re here. Both of us. And we’re not going anywhere. Not until you feel like yourself again. Not until we get through this—together.”

Paige let out a long, broken sob, body sagging as if she’d been standing only by sheer will and was finally allowed to collapse. Her fingers intertwined with Azzi’s in a trembling clasp, the warmth of human touch grounding her, a lifeline she hadn’t realized she’d been craving so desperately.

“You’re safe,” Azzi said, voice barely above a whisper, trembling with her own fear of losing the most important person in her life. “Right here. You’re safe, Paige. I promise. We’re not leaving. Not now, not ever.”

For what felt like an eternity, Paige simply cried into Nika’s shoulder, shoulders convulsing with each sob, her tears soaking through the fabric. Nika’s arms remained firm around her, chest pressed to Paige’s, steadying the storm. Azzi’s hands stayed intertwined with Paige’s, tiny circles of comfort and warmth grounding her in reality, each heartbeat a reminder that she was not alone.

The silence between them was thick, heavy with unspoken words, the faint hum of the fluorescent lights above punctuating the quiet. But it was not empty. It was full—full of love, fear, grief, hope, and an unspoken promise that they would not let her fall alone.

In that stillness, fragile but powerful, a tether formed—a lifeline woven from shared presence, whispered reassurances, and unyielding love. Paige’s trembling gradually softened into quiet shudders, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to cling to it, to let someone else carry even a fraction of her burden.

Nika’s grip on her tightened slightly, Azzi’s warmth pressing gently against her side, and Paige realized, in the way her chest loosened just a fraction, that she didn’t have to fight alone. Not tonight. Not ever.

Paige’s sobs finally began to quiet, leaving behind shaky gasps and a tremor that rattled through her entire body. Her head lifted slightly, resting on Nika’s shoulder, and she blinked through wet lashes, her gaze unfocused, as if trying to make sense of the world again.

“I… I don’t even know where to start,” she whispered, voice hoarse, each word fragile and jagged. Her fingers twitched against Azzi’s hand, hesitant, like she was testing if the connection was real, if they’d actually stay.

Nika brushed a damp strand of hair from Paige’s forehead, pressing her lips to the crown of her head. “Start wherever you need to, even if it’s just one word. You don’t have to fix anything. You don’t have to make sense of it right now. Just… tell us how you feel.”

Paige’s lips trembled. Her chest rose and fell unevenly, like her body was still learning how to breathe normally again. “I… I feel… empty,” she whispered, voice cracking. “All the time. Like I’m… disappearing. Like if I stop trying, if I admit I’m… not okay, I’ll just… vanish.”

Azzi leaned closer, resting her forehead lightly against Paige’s temple. “You’re not disappearing,” she murmured, voice steady, warm. “You’re here. You’re right here. And I see you. We all see you. Every part of you—broken, tired, scared, everything. You don’t have to vanish for us to care.”

Paige shook her head slightly, tears spilling again, though slower now, each one a little release. “But I push everyone away,” she whispered, “I try to… to hide it. I want to be strong… but I can’t. I can’t even hold myself together, and I don’t… I don’t know how to let anyone help without feeling like… like I’m weak.”

“You’re not weak,” Nika said sharply, but gently, gripping Paige’s arms, letting her feel the firmness of her presence. “You’re human. And humans need help. Even the strongest, even the toughest. You letting us in—that doesn’t make you weak. It makes you brave.”

Azzi squeezed Paige’s hand, thumb brushing soothing circles over her knuckles. “We want to help you carry this,” she said softly. “Even if it’s just a little bit at a time. You don’t have to do it alone. You never had to.”

Paige let out a trembling laugh, bitter and small. “I thought… I thought I had to. I thought I could… I had to be perfect. Everyone… everyone expects me to be perfect. Basketball, rehab… life. And I can’t. I can’t keep pretending.”

“You don’t have to,” Nika said firmly, pressing her forehead to Paige’s temple. “None of us expect you to be perfect. We expect you to be you—and the you we love is scared and tired and hurting right now. And that’s okay. That’s real. That’s human.”

Paige’s shoulders shook again, quieter now, each tremor a little lighter than before. Her fingers uncurled slightly from Azzi’s hand, testing the space between them, then pressed back, seeking reassurance. “I… I don’t even know what to do. I feel… lost. I feel… like I’ve been holding my breath for weeks and I can’t anymore.”

Nika whispered, holding her tightly. “Then breathe with us. One breath at a time. Right here. Right now. You’re not alone. You’re not lost. We’re not letting go. You don’t have to figure it all out tonight. You just… exist, and that’s enough.”

Paige closed her eyes, letting herself sink fully into their presence. The quiet warmth of Nika’s body against hers, the steady heartbeat she could feel under Azzi’s hand—it grounded her in the moment, anchoring her in a reality where she didn’t have to fight alone. For the first time in months, the edges of her despair softened just enough for her to breathe, to let the ache be held by someone else.

“I… I think I want help,” she whispered, small and uncertain, but with a fragile flicker of hope threading through the words.

Nika exhaled, relief washing through her chest, and Azzi’s eyes glimmered, soft with emotion. “Then we’ll help,” Nika said. “Step by step. Minute by minute. Together.”

Paige’s lips trembled into a ghost of a smile, tears still streaking her face, but something lighter hovered in her chest, a quiet understanding that she didn’t have to face the darkness alone. Not tonight. Not ever.

Back at Paige and Nika’s apartment, the air was thick with a mixture of exhaustion, relief, and lingering tension. The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast soft golden light across the room, illuminating the familiar clutter of textbooks, water bottles, and workout gear that made the space feel lived-in and safe.

Paige lay against Azzi, her small frame molded into Azzi’s chest. Azzi’s arms were wrapped tightly around her, steadying her trembling body. Every shudder, every quiet whimper, was met with gentle reassurances whispered directly into her hair: “You’re safe. You’re okay. You’re not alone.”

Nika sat at the foot of the bed, knees drawn up, hands loosely clasped over them, eyes fixed on Paige. She had stayed behind, unwilling to leave, but careful not to crowd, wanting to respect the fragile bubble of safety Azzi had created. The rise and fall of Paige’s chest slowly evened out, her face softening as the weight of the day’s confessions and fears bled away, replaced by the delicate vulnerability of sleep.

Paige’s lips twitched in a fleeting, exhausted semblance of a smile. Her hands, which had clenched and trembled all afternoon, lay limply against Azzi’s shirt. The rigid tension in her shoulders had softened entirely, her body gradually surrendering to the quiet, protective cocoon Azzi provided.

Azzi adjusted slightly, resting her cheek against Paige’s hair, careful not to disturb her. “She’s finally resting,” Azzi murmured softly, almost to herself, and glanced toward Nika.

Nika nodded silently, a mixture of relief and lingering worry in her eyes. “Yeah,” she whispered. “It’s like… I can actually see her breathing out all that weight she’s been carrying.” Her voice cracked faintly, and she exhaled slowly, blinking rapidly to hold back tears.

Azzi’s hand shifted slightly to Nika’s shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “We did it,” she said softly. “She let us in. That’s… huge. It doesn’t fix everything, but… it’s a start.”

Nika’s lips pressed together, and she shook her head slightly, overwhelmed with emotion. “I’ve been terrified, Azzi. Seeing her like that… I can’t even put it into words. I didn’t think I’d ever see her this… open with someone. Vulnerable… letting herself break down.”

Azzi nodded, still focused on Paige, who now breathed in long, even rhythms. “I know. But she did. And we’re here. She’s not alone, not anymore. We’ll just… keep being here, keep holding her. She needs that right now.”

Nika’s eyes softened, her tension easing as she watched Paige’s chest rise and fall steadily. “It’s just… seeing her finally rest like this… it’s like she’s shedding all the shit she’s been carrying for months. It’s heartbreaking.”

Azzi exhaled, a quiet, almost reverent sound. “Yeah. And we’ll make sure she never has to face that weight alone again. She doesn’t have to do it by herself, Nik. Not ever.”

They shared a look—heavy with unspoken promises and the shared knowledge of how close they had come to losing her. Then they both turned their attention back to Paige, who, for the first time in what felt like forever, slept with her body slowly, finally, releasing the stress and tension she had carried for so long.

The room was silent but for her soft breathing, the comforting, grounding presence of Azzi’s arms around her, and the quiet, steady vigilance of Nika at the foot of the bed. In that moment, it felt like the world outside had melted away, leaving only safety, love, and the fragile, tentative first step toward healing.

The soft rhythm of Paige’s breathing filled the room, a fragile, grounding cadence that somehow made the apartment feel warmer, safer. Azzi shifted slightly, careful not to wake her, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Paige’s ear. Nika remained at the foot of the bed, legs crossed, hands resting loosely over her knees, eyes never leaving her best friend. The weight of what had just happened—the raw confessions, the tears, the unguarded vulnerability—settled heavily over both of them, leaving a silence that was anything but empty.

Finally, Azzi exhaled softly, her voice a whisper. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this scared in my life,” she admitted, her gaze flicking toward Nika. “Seeing her like that… I couldn’t even imagine if we hadn’t gotten to her in time.”

Nika’s jaw tightened, her hands flexing against her knees. “Me too,” she said quietly. “And the worst part is… she’s been doing this for weeks. Pushing everyone away, hiding it. We were in the dark while she was… drowning.” Her voice caught, but she forced it down, blinking hard. “I can’t let that happen again.”

Azzi nodded, voice steady but low. “That’s why we need a plan. Not like a rigid schedule, but… check-ins, support, someone always there. Someone she trusts. We can’t let her isolate herself again.”

Nika bit her lip, thinking. “Yeah. I can… I can be more intentional. Texting her during the day, checking in after physical therapy, making sure she doesn’t push too hard. But we have to be gentle. She needs to feel like she’s choosing to let us in, not being forced.”

Azzi’s hand gently brushed Paige’s back, grounding herself in the warmth. “Exactly. And I can help at home. Make sure she’s resting, eating, taking breaks. Be there physically so she can’t spiral alone. But Nika… you’re her anchor too. We both are.”

Nika nodded, swallowing hard. “I just… I hate that it got this bad. I should have seen it sooner. I should have pushed harder.” Her voice was thick with regret.

Azzi shook her head gently, still careful not to wake Paige. “No. You were there for her in the ways you could. And now… we move forward. Together. We can’t change the past, but we can be present. That’s what matters.”

A soft exhale escaped Nika as she leaned back slightly, eyes never leaving Paige. “We’ll need to make space for her to speak when she’s ready. And when she’s not ready, we just… hold her. Be patient. Consistent. Remind her that she’s not alone.”

Azzi nodded again. “We’ll create a net. If she slips, we catch her. If she struggles, we carry some of the weight for her. She doesn’t have to be strong all the time.”

Nika’s lips curved into a small, tired smile. “I think… I think that’s exactly what she needs. Love. Patience. Safety. And us. All of us . No matter what.”

Azzi exhaled, brushing a hand gently across Paige’s hair. “She’s going to need time. Some days will be good. Some days… not so much. But as long as we stay steady, she’ll start to trust that she doesn’t have to do this alone. And when she does trust that… she can heal.”

For a long moment, they simply watched Paige sleep, letting the soft, quiet darkness of the room wrap around them. The tension, the fear, the raw intensity of the day began to melt slightly, replaced by resolve. They had been through the storm, and now, in this fragile calm, they could start building the safety net Paige so desperately needed.

Nika finally spoke again, voice barely above a whisper. “We’ve got this. Together. We’ll make sure she knows that. Every day.”

Azzi’s hand rested lightly on Nika’s shoulder, a silent promise. “Every day. No exceptions.”

And there, in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, with Paige finally resting against Azzi’s chest, they sat together, united in quiet vigilance, their hearts heavy but steady, ready to face whatever came next.

Chapter Text

The hospital room was hushed, broken only by the soft beeping of monitors and the occasional rustle of the bassinet sheets. Azzi lay back against her pillows, finally letting herself rest after the whirlwind of labor and delivery. She was sore, every muscle aching, her body heavy with exhaustion—but beneath it all was a glow that Paige had never seen on her face before. Paige stayed close, alert and gentle, holding the newborn against her chest. The baby’s tiny fingers curled around Paige’s thumb, her soft breaths rising and falling like the gentlest tide.

Paige leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to the top of her newborn’s head. Her lips lingered for a moment, soft and reverent, and she whispered, barely above the hum of the machines, “Sienna Elise… you are so loved. We love you so much. You are such a fighter… just like your mommy.”

She pressed another kiss to the baby’s warm, soft hair, feeling Sienna’s tiny body twitch in response, a delicate pulse against her chest. Paige’s heart swelled until it ached, and tears slipped freely down her cheeks. She couldn’t stop thinking about how fragile and perfect their daughter was, how amazing Azzi had been through everything, and how lucky she felt to be here, sharing this moment.

Azzi stirred, her eyelids fluttering open, and Paige—who had been watching her every breath—moved without hesitation. Her heart surged as she slipped from the chair and eased herself onto the hospital bed. She drew Azzi gently into her arms, feeling the softness of her skin, the faint tremor of soreness, the steady rise and fall of her chest. Paige pressed a tender kiss to her temple, careful not to startle her.

“I’m here,” Paige whispered, voice low and tender. “I’m right here.”