“Alexandra.” Mrs. Montgomery stood in the doorway of the Brookline mansion, her eyes scanning me as if she hadn’t quite decided what to make of my unannounced arrival. “I thought you’d be back in Miami by now.”
I shook my head. “We’re on a break. I’ve got a few more days off.”
Briana had scheduled a promotional event midway through the three-month season: a one-on-one tournament with a $200,000 prize. It was tempting—who wouldn’t want that kind of money for a single competition? But I wasn’t exactly the one-on-one type. That was more of a game for a stretch forward, someone with height, length, and handles. Eva’s body type and skillset were actually perfect for it, but she was obviously in no shape to compete.
Mrs. Montgomery hummed in acknowledgment, though there was no trace of enthusiasm in it. “She needs her rest.”
“Of course,” I replied, nodding politely. “I won’t overstay my welcome. I just wanted to drop these off.”
I gestured to the small bouquet of roses in my hand—nothing extravagant, just a little something I’d picked up on the way.They were imperfect, half still in bud, but I figured it was the thought that counted.
Her expression softened slightly, though the skepticism lingered. Another hum escaped her lips, but this time, she stepped aside to let me in.
The house was still, the noise of everyday life muted by Eva’s injury. I climbed the stairs to the second floor with a practiced quiet, stepping carefully down the narrow hall toward the bedroom at the end. The door was cracked just enough to let in a sliver of warm afternoon light.
As I entered, the nostalgia hit me. The walls were covered with the same basketball posters I’d had plastered on the walls of my own room as a kid. Eva’s old trophies, lined up on a shelf near the bedroom’s single window, were relics of a past before the world ever knew her name. But none of it caught my attention for long.
What held me was her.
Eva lay in bed, propped up against a stack of pillows, her leg elevated on even more. She wore a long-sleeved T-shirt and loose cotton shorts. Her braids were twisted into a messy bun that probably looked perfect when she’d put it up that morning. The stillness of her was palpable—exhaustion, discomfort, painkillers—yet when her eyes met mine, they lit up in a way that made the whole room feel warmer.
“Hey,” she murmured. Her voice was soft, laced with that familiar rasp.
“Hey.” I smiled and sat gently on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”
Eva shrugged slowly, and I noticed the slight tension in her jaw as she fought to mask the pain. “I’ve been better.” She paused, her eyes softening as she added, “But I’m glad you’re here.”
My hand found hers, fingers intertwining. She squeezed, weak but meaningful.
“I realized I don’t know your favorite flower,” I admitted, the thought only hitting me now. “I hope roses are okay.”
A slow, soft smile spread across her face. “My favorite flower is whatever you thought to get me.”
Her words warmed me more than I expected, but I didn’t push the sentiment. Instead, I leaned back, settling into the calm that came with just being near her. We talked about small things—the taste of her mom’s cooking, the cringeworthy TV movie she’d started but never finished, the way the ice machine in her room was annoying but somehow effective.
Every so often, her eyes would flutter closed, and I’d reach out—touch her hand, her thigh, the soft curve of her waist—and each time, she’d blink back into the moment, her gaze focusing on me like nothing else existed.
There was a pause, a quiet moment in the conversation, before she broke the silence.
“Veronica’s brokering a deal with a streaming service to record my recovery,” she said.
I frowned, instinctively bristling. “Vultures.”
“Can I turn them down?” Her voice was very small.
“What do you mean? Of course you can.”
“I did this to myself,” she murmured, her gaze a little distant. “I kept telling myself I was doing this for the next little girl—the one who’d come up after me, breaking down walls and barriers. But I forgot about myself in the process.”
“I will fire Veronica myself if you want me to,” I genuinely offered.
Eva looked at me, and though her lips twitched in amusement, there was a tiredness behind her eyes. “Let’s not get crazy.”
After a moment, her voice broke through again. “I have to make a decision about where to rehab my knee.”
I rested my chin on the back of my hand, propping myself up to face her fully. “What are you thinking?”
She hesitated, staring out the window for a moment before turning back at me. “Part of me thinks I should stay in Chicago. Stay with the team, travel with them. Build team chemistry.”
