Cam: proud of you.
I stare at the screen longer than I should.
Down the hall, Pops coughs. Once. Then again.
I push myself up, grab my crutches, and move toward the sound without thinking.
Because some things matter more than speed.
And maybe this isn’t the end.
Just the part where I learn how to stand again.
4
SLOANE
The mirror fogs the second I open the shower door.
Steam clings to the bathroom, thick and heavy, softening the edges of everything. The world feels quieter here, muted by warmth and white tile and the steady drip of water from the faucet I forgot to turn all the way off.
I stand there longer than I should, towel wrapped tight around my body, listening.
Nothing is wrong.
If nothing is wrong, then I don’t have to stop moving forward. I don’t have to ask questions I don’t want the answers to.
I wipe a circle clear in the mirror with my palm and meet my own gaze.
Hair slicked back.
Face bare.
Eyes steady.
Good.
If I look put together, I feel put together. That’s how this works. Always has.
I get dressed on autopilot—leggings, sports bra, team hoodie. I tug everything into place with practiced efficiency, the movements so familiar I barely have to think about them.
Basketball doesn’t ask questions.
It doesn’t care if I slept badly or if the house feels quieter than it should or if the wrong person is back under our roof.
It just asks me to show up.
And I can always do that.
Jade and Blakely are already in the locker room when I get there.
Jade sits cross-legged on the bench, her dark brown hair trapped neatly in a braid, retaping her ankle with slow, deliberate movements, each strip placed carefully, methodically. She’s always been like that—precise, thoughtful, steady in a way that makes you feel calmer just being near her.
Blakely, on the other hand, is sprawled across the bench like gravity doesn’t apply to her, shoes kicked off, socked feet propped up as she scrolls through her phone. Her blonde hair is in the craziest messy bun I’ve ever seen, and that just about sums up her personality.
“You’re late,” Blakely says without looking up.
I glance at the clock on the wall. “I’m two minutes early.”
