I swallow hard. “No, no. Absolutely not. This is perfect. Thank you.”
It’s such a small thing. A nothing thing. But it feels like proof that I exist in her world even when I’m not standing right in front of her.
I take a bite. It tastes like comfort, like childhood. Like the kind of meal you eat when you don’t need to impress anyone.
She smiles, leaning back on her hands, watching the water instead of me. Like she knows better than to make a moment feel heavy.
The sun slides closer to the horizon, turning the lake into something molten and unreal. The air cools, brushing against my skin, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m waiting for the next hit.
I don’t remember the last time I did something like this. Just… let the night happen. Let myself land in the next thing without a plan or an escape route.
I’m still piecing myself together; it wasn’t too long ago that I was at the edge of this lake with a sadness too enormous to contain. Tonight is completely different.
Sitting here, with Sadie beside me, it feels like maybe I don’t have to have it all figured out yet. Maybe a piece at a time is enough.
Sadie’s dress rides up a little as she settles in, knees bent, sandwich balanced easily in her hands. It’s unintentional, the kind of thing she doesn’t think twice about.
That’s when I see it.
A pale scar curves along her left knee—clean, deliberate. Not old enough to be forgotten, not new enough to still be angry. The kind of mark that comes from something that stopped everything.
I’ve never seen it before. At the rec center she’s always in leggings, hair pulled back, moving with purpose. This feels like a glimpse of something unguarded.
She catches me looking and follows my gaze down, and smiles, small and knowing.
“ACL,” she explains. “Senior year of college. We were playing in the NCAA championship, the elite eight. I should’ve been sitting out butmy coach had this thing about not resting starters, even if we were up big.”
I look back up at her. “Damn.”
She nods. “Yeah.”
That’s all she says, like it explains everything it needs to.
I glance back at her knee, then up at her face. “You were good,” I remark. It’s not a question.
She lets out a slow breath. “Good enough that the next step was the WNBA.”
Notinit. Close enough to touch. My shoulders slump at the realization—the injury took her out.
She nods. “That was the plan. Training camps. Summer workouts. I loved it. If the timing had been different…” She trails off then shrugs, like she’s made peace with the sentence ending there. “I tried to rehab and come back, but by then the coaches who’d been talking to me were gone. I was damaged goods.” She laughs to herself but it’s sad and a bit faded.
Playing with the edge of the blanket, she continues. “Pro sports move fast. If you miss your window, they don’t wait.”
Something shifts in my chest. Because suddenly it clicks.
Sadie Becker.The way it’s always sounded familiar. Not because of her dad—though that didn’t hurt—but because I’ve heard it before. On game recaps. On lists. Whispered with respect.
She wasthatSadie.
Something tightens in my chest.
Because I know that feeling. The way you obsess and love something. Thinking it will be there for you until you’re ready to walk away. The way it still grabs hold of you, even when it’s not yours anymore.
Maybe that’s why losing my spot with the team hurts the way it does. They took the thing I’ve loved my whole life. And before that? They wanted me to risk it.
I watch Sadie, the easy certainty in the way she saysI loved it, and realize something that catches me off guard. I miss the thing that felt like it was in my control. And for the first time since everything fell apart, I let myself admit how much I still want it back.
The sun dips lower, the lake turning molten and still. I don’t tell her I get it. But for the first time, I realize I don’t only understand her loss—I recognize it.
