Lindy: Okay… but can we talk about how hot Steel Saints are?? And that next time I visit, you need to let me meet the band.
I groan and drop my head back against the couch. Another text comes in immediately.
Lindy: Like, I knew the lead singer was hot, but Vegas Rafe??? Illegal.
I laugh despite myself, the sound coming out rougher than I intend.
Me: You’re grounded.
Lindy: Worth it.
Three dots appear.
Lindy: They’re everywhere right now. Josie’s convinced she’s going to marry the drummer.
I type, delete, type again.
Me: Dream big.
I lock my phone and set it aside, palms pressing into my thighs. Jealousy is a useless emotion. I’ve always believed that. It doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t make you better. Instead, it just sits there, hot and unproductive, eating at the edges of whatever it touches. And I have no right to it.
I’m married to him, and no one knows. And I’m the one hiding. The contradiction makes my chest ache.
I check the time. It’s not late, especially for Vegas. I could call him. I don’t. Instead, I text.
Me: Saw the photos. You look happy.
It takes a minute before the reply comes through.
Rafe: It was a good show. Crowd was wild.
I stare at the screen, waiting to see if he offers more.
Rafe: Miss you.
That does it. I close my eyes and let the ache settle fully this time. “I miss you too,” I murmur aloud, even before I type it.
Me: Miss you too.
We don’t say more. We don’t need to. The space between the messages says enough.
I lie back on the couch and stare at the ceiling, the room dim and quiet around me. Somewhere in Vegas, Rafe is being seen. Somewhere in LA, I’m learning how to disappear just enough to survive. I wonder how long that balance can hold before it tips. Not because I don’t love him, but because love, it turns out, isn’t always the loudest thing in the room.
6
The season changes everything.I’m not even exaggerating.
Summer League was an audition with bright lights and low consequences. Preseason was quieter, sharper, full of judgment that didn’t need to announce itself. The regular season is something else entirely. It’s loud and relentless, with travel days that blur into game days and arenas packed with people who already have opinions about you before you take your warm-up shots.
There are no do-overs now.
I’m not in the starting five, but I am in the rotation. That matters. It means I get called off the bench with the expectation that I will do something useful, not just fill minutes. It means the staff trusts me enough to put me in during real stretches of real games, when the score is tight and the crowd is on edge. It means I can’t disappear when I’m tired, because tired is the default now.
I have good nights. I also have quiet nights where my stat line doesn’t look like much, but the film does. Those nights matter more, as they’re the ones that make the coaches nod at me during practice, or an assistant coach pulls me aside and tells me I’m in the right spots. Those are the nights the veterans stoptreating me like a rookie who might not be here next month and start treating me like a teammate.
It’s slow progress, but it is progress. I can feel my name gaining weight, a little at a time. I can also feel the pressure building behind it.
It starts with small things. A fan calling out to me at the grocery store. A photo snapped from across a parking lot. A headline that uses my name like the reader should already know it. Nothing explosive, nothing that makes me panic, but enough to remind me that visibility is not a switch you can turn on and off. It’s something that keeps turning itself up.
