The crowd erupts as we lead by twenty-one. Plenty of space for me to take the rest of the night off, and after staying up late, taking care of Indy, I couldn’t be more stoked to get pulled from a game.
“There he is!” Ethan shakes the back of my head as we jog back on defense.
“Jesus,” Dom huffs, running by. “You get laid or something? You just hit a triple-double for the second game in a row.”
I laugh, turning around to play some defense, wondering just how accurate that accusation is. I’m relaxed, that’s for goddamn sure.
Coach stands from the bench, edging towards the court and I know the second there’s a dead ball, he’s subbing me out.
“On your left!” Dom shouts and I tighten my defense on Memphis’s point guard.
I get so close to him that when their center tries to set a screen on me, I’m able to slip around his giant body, keeping me one step ahead of my opponent. Their big man rolls off his useless screen, and Dom is quick enough to get in front of him, knocking the ball and disrupting the pass.
I take off the second Dom gets his hand on the ball. Ethan picks it off, and just like that, we’re in transition with a clear lane from me to the hoop. Memphis’s point guard is hot on my trail, but Ethan passes the ball out ahead of me, giving me space to control it and get to the basket.
A quick glance over my shoulder confirms how close he is, so I give myself one dribble before I’m off my feet and putting the ball through the hoop in a self-assured dunk. Nothing too flashy, we are up by twenty-one after all, but just enough to snuff any hope of closing the gap on our lead.
As soon as my fingers grip the rim, I’m coming right back down. Sure, these fans paid for a show, but there’s a fine line between confidently putting the ball away and being a dick to a team now down by twenty-three.
I don’t see it happen.
I don’t see him coming because why would I expect another player not to slow down after I’ve already scored an easy bucket?
Memphis’s point guard barrels underneath me as I’m coming down, swiping my legs, and flipping me in the air. I watch myself falling headfirst into the hardwood, but I keep turning, sheets of color zipping past me, as I hope to God my body finds the right side up.
Somehow, the balls of my feet and my toes hit the ground first. The unprepared smack to the hardwood shoots a burst of sharp pain through my right knee. There’s an unmistakable pain in the joint and the immediate knowledge of what happened provides a deafening ring in my ears, even over the rowdy crowd.
My body is thrust forward, falling to the ground as I grab my knee, the pain shooting through me, my joint instantly throbbing.
And as I see the team doctor sift through a few rows of seats, running towards me, I know in that moment, I’m entirely fucked.
25
INDY
Rolling my suitcase through our private terminal at Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport, I offer a wave to the office staff, ready to get this overnight trip to Columbus under way.
“Hi, Margie.” I lean over the front desk. “I need to get to the plane.” I show her my badge as if she doesn’t know who I am.
“The pilots are out there already.” She clicks the button to unlock the door that leads to the tarmac. “Go ahead.”
“Thank you! Have a great week.”
Taking my suitcase and flight bag, I head outside.
“Oh, Indy!” I hear behind me. “I’m so glad you’re here. I was going to call you.”
Yvonne, the one-woman show that is our HR department, races out of her office to meet me.
“I have some good news,” she says quietly, pulling me away from anyone else who could hear. “Our insurance package was adjusted at the beginning of the year and now they cover—”
“Fertility treatments? Are you serious? How much of it is covered?”
“One-hundred percent.”
“Are you kidding me?”
With a smile tugging on her lips, she shakes her head to tell me no, she’s not kidding in the slightest. “Amazing news, right?”
I bend down and swoop her into a hug. I barely know this woman, only through passing hellos in the hallway, but she’s delivering the best news I’ve received in a long time.
“Oh my God,” I exhale in relief, pulling back to look her in the eye and make sure she’s not lying to me.
“I’m so glad I got to tell you in person.” She pops her shoulders. “That was fun. Have a great trip.”
I heave out a disbelieving laugh. “I will. Thank you!”
In a daze, I make it to the airplane to find our two pilots performing their pre-flight checks. I give them a silent wave, entirely stuck in my head about what just happened.
This can change my entire situation. I don’t have to pinch pennies. I could offer Ryan some rent money.
I could move out.
The somber realization stops me in my tracks.
I hate the idea of leaving that apartment. I knew there would come a time when I would have to move out and Ryan was adamant about me saving for my own place, ever since our first morning together. But the thought of waking up and not having breakfast with him, not finding a coffee cooling down for me in the fridge, and not tossing out the remnants of another bouquet he killed by trying his hardest to make it thrive feels like the worst-case scenario. Not being suffocated with his presence every second I’m at home seems…lonely.
And not in the way I’ve felt loneliness before by simply not having others around, but by being without the one person who makes me feel valued and worthy of the space I’m occupying. That my voice is worth hearing.
Should I tell him about the news? Will he want his apartment back if I do?
Sticking my purse in an overhead bin, I get to work organizing the plane for our trip. Sometime later, the other two girls join and the team staff begins to arrive. I find my way to the front of the plane, my station to work, welcoming the passengers on board.
“Welcome!” I say with a small wave as each person boards the airplane.
The players arrive last, filtering on one by one.
Excitedly, I see Rio’s dark curls bounce with him as he climbs the stairs, carrying his signature boombox at his side. “Hey, Ind,” he says much more solemnly than his typically goofy tone. “Have you talked to him?”
“Talked to who?”
“Ryan.”
Huh? How the hell does Rio know I need to talk to him? He has no idea what happened on the couch the other night.
“How’s he doing?”
“Good, I guess?”
Zanders comes barreling up the stairs behind him as Rio hangs in the front galley with me.
“Ind, I’ve been calling you,” he breathes heavily, as if he sprinted from his car to the airplane.
“My phone is in my purse.” I grab it out, finding countless calls and texts from both Stevie and Zanders. “What’s wrong?”
In that moment, Rio realizes how lost I am about our conversation. He looks to Zanders to fill me in.
“It’s Ryan. He got hurt in his game.”
Time stills as I repeat his words over and over again until they sink in.
“How hurt?”
“He’s at the hospital now. Stevie’s with him. He’s getting an MRI on his knee. They’re worried he tore his ACL.”