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Paige is sprinting down the court.
Sprinting just to stay attached. Sprinting just to survive the possession.
Sweat stings her eyes. Air claws at her throat. And her defensive assignment, Kelsey Mitchell of all people, is in front of her; merciless, electric, impossibly fast. Already a step ahead, already looking back for the touchdown pass they’d gifted the Fever off a missed rebound, already ready to punish them for it.
And Paige can’t let that happen. She can’t.
She has to keep up. Has to stay with her.
There is no room to glance away, no margin for error.
The game is way too close for that.
One costly possession is all it would take for it to shatter.
Close the gap. Close the gap.
Her lungs burn. Her legs scream. Her heart is hammering so violently it almost drowns out the crowd, a relentless drumbeat inside her chest.
The noise, the lights, the pressure-
She’s almost there. Almost there-
Paige can’t afford to look anywhere else.
So she doesn’t.
Almost there. Almost there.-
And then…it isn’t a sound. Not really.
It’s a vacuum.
A sudden whoosh- sharp, violent, final- like the air itself has been ripped out of the building.
Paige feels it in her chest first, a brutal drop, like her body understands before her mind does as a collective gasp tears through College Station.
The vibrant energy smothers instantly, swept beneath crashing waves of distant, warped whistles, echoing like they’re coming from up underwater.
Then everything caves in.
The noise vanishes, ripped away so completely her ears ring with the absence of it.
For half a second, there is nothing.
No crowd, no game, no air.
And then the silence breaks.
Not cheers. Not noise. Not heckles.
Screams.
People are screaming.
Raw. Panicked.
Unadulterated Fear.
Everything everywhere all at once.
Paige is still moving, still trying to stop, still trying to obey the volley of whistles, as the panic morphs into an animal of its own, raw and inhuman, ripping through the air.
She was almost there- almost there-
And now she’s going too fast, momentum carrying her forward, heart racing, adrenaline screaming, until she nearly collides with Kelsey, who already has stopped, already rooted in the moment Paige hasn’t caught up to yet.
Something is wrong.
She lurches to a standstill.
Just under the rim.
Something is very wrong.
The crowd is faceless, a writhing mass she can’t see. The lights are too bright, blinding, washing every expression away. But the fear… the fear… that’s real and she hears the echoes of seats scraping and feet pounding against the stands. Up and up and further away.
Luisa runs past her.
Then Bri.
Hull.
Someone yells move, someone screams go, voices are colliding and breaking apart in panic.
Everyone is running, screaming, fleeing.
But Paige feels oddly distant from it all.
Like she’s watching this from somewhere just outside herself, hands hanging useless at her sides, legs all hollow and disconnected, her heart still pounding but it doesn't feel like hers anymore.
Why is…
And for a fleeting moment, for just a second, Paige thinks… all this over a foul?
Something in the air shifts further, a sickening slip in the chaos, and on instinct she turns half a step to sweep her gaze back over the court.
Just to see what they’ve called, to see if she can argue their case.
The sound system still croaks out the defense chant, distorted, tinny, almost mocking above her and the court tilts into fragments and she sees Dijonai first.
Nai’s platinum blonde hair catches against the lights, but Nai’s on her hands and feet, scrambling back against polished, slick hardwood. Away away why was she trying so hard to get away-
Paige’s brain keeps circling the same useless thought.
Something is wrong.
Her vision’s skitters-
Two of the refs are on top of some hulking mass of a man. Arms locked. Weight thrown down hard. A frantic flurry of movement as one of the Fever’s assistant coaches joins the mass.
Oh… A fan…
They’ve tackled a fan.
They’ve stopped a fan.
A fan made it onto the court that’s why-
But the fear is still spilling over her, jagged and unrelenting.
It should matter. It should terrify her.
It should be the reason, but her eyes skim past it like static.
Her eyes skim past darkness where there shouldn’t be any.
Darkness that is irregular and wrong and catching the light in a way sweat never does.
Darkness that streaks across the hardwood. Smears to look like shadows until they aren’t.
Her eyes skim skitter skip past it and refuse to let her see to understand because… Caitlin.
Because her eyes lock on Caitlin.
Because Caitlin is still moving.
College Park is unraveling.
Screams are tearing through the crowd, feet are pounding in every direction, sounds are ricocheting in the chaos, but Caitlin is moving like she’s somewhere else entirely.
Still dribbling. There in the back court. Impossible to ignore.
Thump. Thump.
The dribbling doesn’t belong here.
Defense. Defense.
It echoes too long, stretches out in the atmosphere like the arena is hollow and endless. Each bounce arriving a beat late, warped and wrong and quiet like Paige shouldn’t be hearing at all, like time itself is lagging.
The ball comes up again. Comes up dark.
A rhythm untouched by everything else.
And Caitlin is moving. Breaking left.
She’s still playing.
College Park is imploding .
Thump. Thump.
And Caitlin is still playing.
Why is she...
The brunette makes it one step. Two. Four.
Cutting for the wing.
Doesn’t make it that far.
Trips.Stumbles. Hits the hardwood.
Thump.
The ball comes back up dark with the dribble.
Not dark… Not dark…
Red.
The ball is coming up red.
That’s not-
That can’t-
A part of her knows that the dark viscous streaks are every bit of what her mind is telling her.
She knows what it looks like.
She’s seen it before, but the knowledge won’t stick.
It slides right off, leaving behind only static and noise and the tinny chant of defense… defense…
Every thought fractures and splinters, useless. Every heartbeat hammers too fast.
And further down the court the brunette’s planting a hand, pushing up. Jaw set, eyes focused, like she’s resetting on offense, like it’s just another play. But she’s trembling. Pale. Paler than Paige has ever seen her.
And when Caitlin finally straightens, standing on legs that barely seem to hold her, the dark plume is spreading across the lower half of her jersey, blooming wider and heavier and- the understanding hits her with brutal clarity.
Thump. Thump.
Blood.
It’s blood.
No. No. Nononono-
This isn’t happening-
Paige’s hands start to shake. Her vision begins to blur at the edges.
A hand is on her shoulder, a voice in her ear, trying to pull her back.
Madi it sounds like.
Telling her they have to leave to go to safety, but Paige can only watch aghast as the ball comes up again. As Caitlin dribbles again, like nothing has changed, like there isn’t blood seeping into her jersey, staining the floor, bubbling at the corners of her mouth, like instinct alone can keep the world from falling apart.
This isn’t fucking happening.
Her movements are slower, uneven in a way Paige hasn’t seen before, but Caitlin doesn't stop.
She adjusts. Compensates. And she’s moving again. Trying for the wing again.
Falling.
Again.
Palming the ground.
Scrambling for the ball.
Again.
Caitlin is hurt.
Badly.
And she’s still trying to play.
It’s wrong.
It’s wrong and Paige is going to be sick.
The metallic copper scent floods her senses, something wet drips onto her forehead, and she’s hot everywhere, and she’s going to be sick.
The arena blurs. The screams blur. The lights burn too bright.
She feels herself being pulled back by Madi.
She feels herself fighting it.
She’s going to be sick.
Thump. Thump.
Caitlin’s on her feet again. The ball is on the floor again.
The red is seeping into her shorts now, making little pirouettes on the floor.
Caitlin’s hurt. Caitlin’s bleeding. Caitlin’s PEs are squelching against the hardwood as she tries again, again for the wing. Even less steady. Throwing up a hand, gesturing for teammates who aren’t there to clear to the other side of the court, still thinking about spacing, about angles, about the next pass, clinging to the game like it’s the only solid thing left.
Stop. Stop. Stop.
This is more than stubbornness. This is more than grit.
This is instinct colliding with shock.
This is crimson sloughing across the court under the blurry lights, smearing with every step Caitlin tries to take, every movement she attempts to force forward and Paige can’t breathe. She wants to scream. She wants to yell those words out loud but her throat rebels against it and she chokes on nothing as Caitlin hits the ground again.
Stop! Stop! Stop!
Caitlin doesn’t.
... … …
The locker room doesn’t feel real.
Paige curls into herself in the cubby of her locker, picking at the flaking crimson remnants on her skin, and feels like she’s sunk halfway through it.
There is no music. No laughter. No angry pacing.
Just the low, hollow hum from the air vents, the scuffing of someone’s shoe against carpet, and weight of everyone sitting with their thoughts, unable to look at them directly, yet forced to carry them anyway
Today’s game, of course, was forfeited.
The next one is canceled.
It’s the only thing Paige really registers as Coach’s voice floats past her into the phantom echo of everything she’s seen.
He says more things. Words without weight. Phrases and platitudes landing without any real meaning. Bouncing off her like the fucking game ball on the court; thump thump; rolling before she can catch them. Things about safety. About counselors. About therapists available tonight, tomorrow, whenever they need.
She nods because everyone else is nodding, but even then her teammates exist in fragments around her.
Arike is staring straight ahead, unblinking, Lyss has her head in her hands, shoulder shaking silently. Madi keeps picking at the tape on her knee, like if she peels it off carefully enough, this whole night will go with it.
Paige can’t look at any of them for too long. Can’t hear Coach. Can barely breathe.
She digs a nail into the crease of her thumb, trying to scrape out crimson she’s not even sure is there anymore, trying not to cry.
Her eyes burn anyway.
Her phone buzzes endlessly beside her. Texts. Missed calls. Group chats exploding.
The vibrations feel like they’re happening inside her bones. Thruming in her chest.
Notifications flash like warning lights. People asking if she’s okay. People asking what happened. People saying they’re praying. She doesn’t pick her phone up. She can’t. She can’t- and she knows she has to answer Azzi. She has to answer her Dad, but she can’t- she doesn’t know how- she doesn’t know what to tell them.
Doesn’t know how to explain the phantom warmth of that ball, slick with blood and sweat, and how it still feels like it burns in her hands.
Her throat tightens and she stares at the floor instead, blinks too much as Coach’s voice distorts again, dips underwater, and fades back in.
Post-game interviews wouldn’t be happening.
A forgone conclusion.
The vultures are probably just waiting outside, she thinks vaguely as other words catch, but don’t stick.
Everything is going to be okay, Coach says.
And that lie feels familiar. Too familiar.
Caitlin hadn’t looked okay.
She hadn’t even looked like she was still fully there when the stretcher did finally come.
Just small.
And pale.
And impossibly fragile in Aliyah’s arms.
She swallows. Again. And Again.
Moves to pick at the more invisible specks in the crease of her palm, presses her nails into it, forces a breath, slow and careful, anything to anchor herself to the now, to stop going back.
But her memory won’t let her reset. Keeps circling the same images anyway. Cruel and unavoidable as it coils around her ribs, tight and unyielding, and she can’t tell if it’s grief or shame or both.
Because she can still feel that fucking ball, hot, sticky, unreal in her hands.
Blood-stained, impossible, and hers because Kelsey had pressed a hand against her back and stepped right into Caitlin’s fragile fantasy, into the shock that had held her suspended, and told Caitlin that the possession was over. That the ball was no longer hers.
Paige had wanted to fight that illusion, had wanted to make Caitlin see and acknowledge the reality of what was happening, but Kelsey… moved softly, calmly, and confirmed the rules in Caitlin’s fragmented mind, when all Paige could do was lie, say promises she had no right to make: It’s going to be okay.
It wasn’t.
Not then. Not ever.
The platitude is ash on her tongue now.
Lies. Lies. Lies.
Lies as she’d been folded up in that shock blanket.
Lies now.
And now…
Paige squeezes her eyes shut, forces another breath.
In. Out. In. Out.
She didn’t volunteer to go with her in the ambulance.
The thought barely even formed as an option. Never even arrived.
She knew how things like that worked. She knew the order of things, the unspoken hierarchy that settled in moments like this. The people who are closest step forward. The ones who have earned that space. The ones who’ve been there. She knew she wasn't high on that list anymore.
Maybe she never really was.
Not after weeks. Months. Years of orbiting instead of colliding.
Someone else moved. Someone else volunteered.
She’s vaguely sure it wasn’t Aliyah. Aliyah had already been guided away, hands held out and useless, by Natasha Howard because she was covered—too covered—in blood.
That image lingers longer than it should as Coach drones on.
The way Aliyah looked stunned, like she didn’t quite understand why they wouldn’t let her stay. The way everyone kept saying it’s okay, it’s going to be okay when nothing was.
Repeating the same lie Paige told her own dying friend.
Fuck.
Her chest aches, like something is pressing outward from the inside, demanding space it doesn’t have.
She grinds her teeth together, presses her tongue hard against the roof of her mouth to stifle down what wants to claw out of her chest. The way she’s learned to do it. The way she’s always done it.
Don’t. Not here.
She feels stupid for it. Selfish. This isn’t her pain. She keeps telling herself that. This isn’t about her. Caitlin is the one in the ambulance. Caitlin is the one who was bleeding, who was hurt, who kept trying to stand.
Who was probably de—
Her jaw trembles despite her best effort to lock it in place and her next breath, it wobbles, betraying her.
Why did she tell her everything was going to be okay?
Coach’s voice eventually stops.
The locker room doesn’t rush to fill the silence. Just settles. Heavy. Pressurized. Like everyone is afraid that if they move too fast something else will happen.
Paige doesn’t move, can’t move even when movement eventually does begin to filter around her.
She can only keep breathing. Keep swallowing. Keep not crying.
She doesn’t look up either. Doesn’t trust herself too.
The room feels like punishment she deserves to sit in.
A hand gently touches her shoulder.
She knows it’s probably one of her teammates. One of her friends.
Paige flinches anyway.
“P.”
It’s Lyss.
Her voice is hoarse, quiet, resigned, stripped raw like she’s cried already and there’s no tears left.
“P, it's time to go home.”
Paige swallows. Again. And again.
She wants to say no.
Wants to say she should stay here. That she doesn’t deserve to leave. That sitting in this locker room with the weight of it all is at least what she owes Caitlin.
But nothing comes out.
NaLyssa doesn’t see the war tearing Paige apart from the inside. Doesn’t see how every breath feels shallow and incomplete. Feels like she’s only getting half the air she needs.
She just keeps her hand there, steady, waiting, until the blonde finally looks up at her.
She immediately regrets it.
Lyss’s eyes are bloodshot. Red rimmed. Her jaw set in a way like she’s holding herself together out of sheer habit.
Lyss blinks down at her.
Exhales.
“Have you answered Azzi yet?”
Paige shakes her head, barely perceptible.
“And your dad?”
Silence.
Lyss nods like she’s expected it. Like she understands more than Paige knows.
That makes it worse somehow.
“Okay, we’re driving you.”
Paige doesn't argue.
Her throat closes like it’s trying to protect something fragile, something that will spill if she lets it.
Lyss picks up Paige’s phone from the bench. Holds it up in front of her face.
“Hey. Just look at it for a second.”
Paige blinks. The screen unlocks.
The red spool of the Breaking News banner slides across the top briefly as Lyss sits next to her and turns the phone slightly away to thumb out a few messages.
To Azzi. Her dad. Drew.
That Paige is with her. That they’re safe. That Paige’ll call later.
Her chin wobbles again and the coil winds tighter until she can no longer see the screen.
And fuck fuck fuck-
Why would she tell Caitlin everything was going to be okay?
Why would she lie like that?
Lyss slips the phone into her pocket.
“Come on,” she says gently, guiding Paige to her feet. “Nai’s getting the car.”
Lyss angles her body as they walk, shielding Paige from lingering eyes, from teammates who don't know what to say, from staff who look at her like she might shatter if they speak too loudly.
Paige lets herself be steered. Her legs feel distant. Heavy.
One step after another until the feeling is too big to be ignored and the careful control she’s been struggling to hold on to begins to slip.
Because leaving here means facing reality means facing a world that’s already moving on without them.
And what is she going to tell Azzi?
What is going to tell her Dad?
What- Whatwhatwhat-
Her shoulders hitch once, then again, small broken movements she can’t control and Lyss realizes this time.
Realizes that they probably aren’t going to make it to the car and ducks into a smaller room off the hallway.
Until it's just them.
And one tear slides down.
Paige blinks it back, swallows hard, shakes her head like she can shake the feeling off.
But another follows. Then another. And another
And then she stops trying.
Silent tears roll freely down her face. Hot, sharp, unrelenting.
She buries her face in her hands and sort of just crumbles.
Lyss catches her on instinct, arms awkward as she clumsily helps Paige to the ground.
Sits down with her like she did in the locker room.
And Lyss has never been good at this. Never been the one that teammates really come too.
And Paige is trying she really is, but she can’t-
“I lied,”
She manages, the words spilling out between gasps.
“I told her… I told her everything was going to be okay.”
Paige fumbles through it, voice shaking, sentences falling apart. Caitlin. The ball. The blood. The way she hadn’t known. The way Paige had known and still hadn’t been able to fix it. How Kelsey had stepped in where Paige froze. How the lie keeps replaying, louder every time.
Lyss listens.
Lyss stays.
Lyss doesn’t say a word.
… … …
They sit there for a long time.
They sit in the quiet until Paige’s crying eases into something thinner, more fragile.
The kind that feels like it might start again if she breathes wrong.
After a while, Lyss eventually does clear her throat.
She doesn’t look at Paige when she speaks.
“You know,”
She starts softly, eyes fixed somewhere past the wall.
She looks older like that. Tired in a way that sleep won’t fix.
“This isn’t the first time Caitlin’s done something like this.”
Paige doesn’t answer. She barely moves.
Lyss swallows.
“When we played together.
A pause.
“On the Fever.”
More of an afterthought than anything, like Paige doesn’t already know.
“She rolled her ankle during one of the scrimmages. Bad,” Lyss says. “Ankle blew up almost immediately bad. Couldn’t put weight on it bad.”
Lyss huffs out a short, humorless laugh.
“She told the trainer it was fine. Wouldn’t let go of the ball. Wouldn’t go to the bench.”
Paige’s mouth trembles.
“Kept saying if she stayed warm, it’d loosen up. Fucking idiot, ankles don’t loosen up.”
There is no real disdain in NaLyssa’s words and Paige lets out a small broken sound that echoes the ghostly mirth of what could have been.
“We argued with her for a full minute.”
Lyss continues.
“Coach. Trainer. Kelz. Didn’t matter. She just kept dribbling, like if she stayed in motion long enough, her body would catch up to what her head wanted.”
Paige closes her eyes.
“In the end, Lexie made some shit up. Said the bathroom was leaking and was going to flood the hardwood, so we all had to clear the floor. Delay of game.”
Her voice cracks slightly.
“That’s the only reason she gave the ball up.”
Paige presses her lips together, a broken sound slipping out of her despite herself.
“That was always her,” Lyss says. “If you talked to her in basketball, she listened. If you didn’t-” She shakes her head. “She just… kept going.”
Paige’s throat burns.
Kelsey told Caitlin the shot clock was out. That the possession was over.
Not you’re hurt.
Not stop.
Just rules. Just structure. Just something that made sense when nothing else did.
If she thinks about it, really thinks about it, after weeks, months, years of orbiting instead of colliding, in flashing moments in High School, College, Team USA Caitlin had always been that way.
And today…
She just didn't see it.
“I kept telling her everything was going to be okay.”
Paige whispers. Her voice sounds small, even to herself.
“Like that meant something.”
Lyss finally turns toward her. Her eyes are glassy again, red-rimmed and exhausted.
“Paige,” she says gently, “You were there.”
Paige shakes her head.
“I lied to her.”
Lyss doesn’t argue. She just nods once.
“Yeah,” she says. “You did.”
That hurts more than comfort would have.
Paige feels the tears well again.
“But you were there and I think that’s all that really matters.”
They sit with that.
The memory isn’t comforting. Not really. It doesn’t soften anything. Or fix anything really.
It just makes Caitlin feel closer and farther away at the same time.
“Do you think…”
Paige's voice cracks immediately.
She swallows, tries again.
“Do you think Caitlin’s gonna be okay?”
The words hang in the air between them, fragile and terrifying.
Paige hates herself for asking.
Hates that she needs the answer and hates even more that the answer might destroy what little of herself she managed to scrape back together.
Lyss doesn’t answer.
Not right away. Not at all.
Paige risks a glance.
Lyss’s face has gone very still, her jaw tight again.
She’s looking away again, eyes fixed somewhere unfocused.
The silence stretches.
Paige feels it in her chest, a slow, crushing weight. She knows why Lyss isn’t answering. Knows it in the same sick, intuitive way she knew something was wrong on the court before anyone said it out loud.
Because it looked bad.
Because it felt bad.
Because neither of them wants to be the one to say something they can’t take back.
Paige’s throat burns.
“I- Nevermind-”
She whispers quickly, like she’s trying to take the question back.
“You don’t have to-”
Lyss still doesn’t speak.
She just shifts slightly closer, shoulder brushing Paige’s, a quiet acknowledgment of what they’re both thinking and refusing to voice.
They sit there in the silence.
The absence of an answer is its own kind of answer.
It hurts worse than words ever could.