My gut said it was her ACL—a non-contact injury, the awkward way she’d gone down—but I wasn’t brave enough to say the words out loud.
The drive continued to be slow and torturous. My knee bounced uncontrollably; the seatbelt pressed too tight across my chest.
“She’s tough,” Briana said, her eyes on the road. “If it’s bad, she’ll fight back from it. She’s a fighter.”
“I know.” My voice cracked anyway.
When we finally reached the emergency bay, Briana swung the car into a spot that probably wasn’t legal. I was out the passenger-side door before she even shifted into park.
Inside the hospital, everything blurred together—fluorescent lights, antiseptic air, the clatter of gurney wheels on linoleum. I practically flung myself onto the nearest nursing station.
“Eva Montgomery.” Every breath felt painful, like my lungs were being squeezed. “Where’d they take her?”
The nurse behind the desk looked us over with curiosity—we were both still in our basketball uniforms from the game. She handed me a clipboard of forms.
“Fill these out,” she told me. “We’ll let you know when you can see her.”
My hand shookas I scrawled Eva’s name, her address in Chicago, and the emergency contacts. Then came the waiting. Hours of it, or what felt like hours. I didn’t even have my phoneto call or text anyone. We’d been in such a rush, I’d left all of my things in my locker.
Briana sat across from me, elbows on her knees. I felt anxious and concerned, but she looked positively sick.
Finally, a doctor came out, a clipboard tucked under one arm.
“She’s stable,” he said. “We’ve done initial scans and x-rays, and there’s no broken bones. But we’ll need to schedule an MRI to confirm the extent of the injury.” His voice was calm and clinical. “You can see her now, and then we’ll get ready to discharge her.”
I closely followed the doctor down the hall, my sneakers squeaking faintly against the linoleum.
Eva was propped up in a hospital bed, a brace swallowing her leg from thigh to ankle. Her eyes flicked toward me as soon as I stepped inside the room.
“Hey,” I whispered. I inched closer until I was leaning against the bed.
Her hand found mine, fingers cold and clammy. Her honey eyes shifted back and forth as if her diagnosis was written on my features. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
My throat threatened to close up. “We won’t know until the MRI.”
The silence that followed was heavier than anything either of us could lift. I brushed sweat-damp hair from her forehead, my heart aching with how fragile she suddenly seemed.
Whatever came next—surgery, rehab, the long months ahead—I knew one thing for certain: everything was about to change.
The ridefrom the hospital was quiet, except for the low hum of Briana’s tires on the Miami streets and the occasional muttered curse when she hit a pothole. I sat in the backseat with Eva, her hospital-issued brace strapped tight over her swollen knee. She didn’t speak, and I didn’t push. I knew she didn’t want anyone’s pity, but I wasn’t going to let her think she needed to endure this alone.
We maneuvered her carefully through the doorway of the housing complex and up the elevator to our apartment on the fourth floor. The trip was slow, every step punctuated by the soft thunk of rubber crutch tips. The brace made her movements awkward, but she fought for control, every step a quiet declaration of pride. Once inside, I helped her settle onto the couch. I adjusted the pillows, one under her knee, another propping up her side so she could lean comfortably. Ice packs were readied, wrapped in kitchen towels so they wouldn’t leak.
Rest. Ice. Compression. Elevation.
Briana hovered by the doorway while I fussed with the last pillow. She cleared her throat. “So, uh, everyone’s next door at Jazz’s, and they’re wondering if they can come over.”
“Who’s everyone?” I asked.
Briana held up a finger. “Just a sec.”
She cracked the door open and slipped outside, one foot in the apartment, one foot in the hallway. A moment later, players began filing inside—our Embers teammates, Briana’s squad, even the coaches. Jazz, not on either roster but my best friend and Eva’s Chicago teammate, brought up the rear.
The apartment’s kitchen and living room combo was too small to comfortably accommodate everyone, but they made it work, some standing shoulder-to-shoulder, others awkwardly standing in the hallway.
“So,” Eva said, breaking the silence before anyone else could, “who won the game?”
Arika spoke for the assembled group. “It got canceled. After … after what happened. The whole slate of tonight’s games was postponed.”
