it isn't dramatic that's the worst part she doesn't scream or cry or throw anything she just sits across from me at a table in a restaurant that's too nice for the conversation we're about to have, and she says the city's different now, the timing's different now, she doesn't think either of us were built for long distance, not really, not with everything else going on.

i want to remind her that six months ago she said the opposite that she said she'd do anything to keep this i don't say it i just nod, and pay for a dinner i don't finish, and go home to boxes i haven't unpacked yet that was four months ago.

i tell people i'm fine. i tell my new teammates i'm fine i tell cam and rae the two who've adopted me fastest, who drag me out for team dinners and make sure i'm not eating cereal for dinner alone in that apartment that i'm fine.

i am not fine i am, by rae's precise clinical assessment, "surviving on vibes and spite," which is generous so tonight, they don't ask. "we're going out," cam says, already holding my jacket out like she anticipated the protest. "not a discussion."

"i have a lift at eight tomorrow—"

"you have a lift at eight tomorrow regardless of what you do tonight, so you might as well enjoy the in-between," rae says, unbothered, already scrolling for a bar i go mostly because arguing with the two of them together has never once worked in my favor.

the bar they pick is dim in the right way — low gold light, the kind of hum that makes conversation easy without shouting i get two drinks in before i actually loosen, shoulders coming down from somewhere near my ears, laughing at something rae says about a rookie mixing up two coaches' names in shootaround that's when cam elbows me subtle as a truck.

"okay don't be weird about it," she says, "but table by the window."

i look i shouldn't have looked, because now i can't stop she's stunning in that inevitable, slightly unfair way dark hair loose around her shoulders, a black slip dress, the kind of face i've definitely seen before, on a poster, a screen, somewhere, i can't place it and i don't try very hard because she catches me looking and doesn't glance away first.

"i think that's the actress from that show," rae mutters. "the one everyone was talking about last year."

"the action one?"

"the action one."

i don't say anything i take a drink instead she comes over about twenty minutes later — actually walks over, drink in hand, easy smile already in place like she does this often, like strangers are just friends she hasn't been properly introduced to yet. "i'm told you're the reason golden state's offense looked confused all season," she says, sliding into the empty seat at our table without waiting for permission.

"i'm told you're the reason half of my group chat lost their minds last spring," i say back, and something about the surprise on her face like she didn't expect me to have an answer makes cam laugh into her glass. "madison," she says.

i tell her my name she says it back once, testing it, like she's deciding whether she likes the shape of it in her mouth i don't know how the night goes the way it goes after that, only that it does she stays. 

cam and rae fold her into the conversation easily, and she folds into it like she was always meant to be there, laughing at rae's stories, asking sharp, curious questions about the trade, about the city, about me specifically in ways that feel less like small talk and more like she's paying attention.

i have another drink and another by the time the bar starts to empty out, cam and rae have migrated to the other end of the table, deep in their own conversation, leaving me and madison in the kind of proximity that feels accidental and isn't.

"dance with me," i say it comes out before i can stop it, loosened by whatever's in my glass, by four months of feeling invisible in my own life she raises an eyebrow. "there's no music."

"there's music." there is, technically, a faint from the speaker near the bar it's enough that she stands anyway and takes my hand like she's been waiting for me to ask.

there's nothing choreographed about it, just her hand at my waist, mine loose around her neck, swaying more than dancing, her laugh low against my ear when i nearly trip over my own feet. "you're not usually like this," she says, not a question but an observation. "like what?"

"forward."

"liquid courage," i admit, and she laughs again, closer this time, and i feel it more than hear it. "i don't mind it," she says.

i kiss her first i'll think about that later that i'm the one who closes the distance, hand sliding to the back of her neck, her breath catching soft against my mouth before she kisses me back like she's been waiting all night for me to be brave enough when i pull back, she's watching me with something unreadable. "my place," she says. "if you want."

i should think about veromica i should think about the fact that i'm still not fully unpacked, that my heart's been sitting in a box somewhere in el segundo for four months but standing here, with madison’s hand still warm at my waist and her eyes steady on mine, i don't think about any of it. "yeah," i say. "i want."

her place is close, a high floor, floor-to-ceiling windows, the city glittering low and endless beneath us i barely register any of it, though, because the second the door shuts behind us, she's got a hand fisted gently in the front of my shirt, pulling me back to her. "tell me if you want to stop," she says, low, serious under the teasing. "any point."

"i won't."

"tell me anyway." i nod, and that's enough for her she kisses me again, slower this time, deliberate, walking me backward until my shoulders hit the wall beside her hallway, her hands framing my jaw like she's trying to memorize the shape of my face.

what happens after that stays between the two of us and the city lights bleeding gold through her window unhurried, quiet, the kind of night that asks nothing of either of us except to be present in it after, i lie tangled in sheets that smell like her perfume, her fingers tracing idle patterns against my spine.

"so," she says, eventually, voice rough and amused. "was that just the liquid courage talking?"

i think about it — actually think about it, veronica's face fading further from my mind with every second i spend here, in this bed, with someone who somehow doesn't feel like a stranger anymore. "ask me again in the morning," i say. "when i'm sober."

she huffs a laugh against my shoulder. "i intend to."

i wake up before she does as the light in her bedroom is different in the morning softer, less gold and more grey-blue, filtering in through the blinds she never fully closed. for a second i forget where i am, then i feel the unfamiliar weight of an arm slung loose over my waist and it all comes back at once, quick and warm and a little disorienting.

sloane's still asleep, hair a mess against the pillow, face soft in a way it wasn't at the bar none of the easy performance from last night, just someone sleeping as i lie there for a while, not moving, doing the math on how i feel.

i wait for the guilt the reflexive kind, the kind that's been showing up uninvited for four months every time i so much as looked at someone new it doesn't come but what comes instead is quieter something closer to relief, though i'm not ready to call it that yet.

she stirs eventually, blinking slow, and catches me already watching her. "that's a lot of thinking for this early," she says, voice rough with sleep. "i think loudly."

"noted." she pushes up onto an elbow, hair falling across her face. "so. it's morning."

"it's morning."

"i believe i was promised an answer."

i almost laugh. "you don't waste time."

"i've found that's usually the better policy." but there's no edge in it just her watching me, patient, giving me room to actually answer instead of deflect so i try.

"it wasn't just the liquid courage," i say slowly, working it out loud as i go. "i mean — it helped. i wouldn't have had the nerve otherwise. but the wanting to dance with you, the wanting to kiss you — that part was mine, sober or not." something in her expression eases, like she'd actually been bracing for a different answer.

"good," she says. "because i'd hate to be a symptom."

"you're not a symptom."

"what am i, then?" i don't have a clean answer for that one yet, and she doesn't push for one that's the thing i notice most about her, still she asks the real questions without demanding you have the whole truth ready on command.

"i don't know yet," i say honestly. "i just moved here. i got out of something four months ago that i'm still figuring out how to talk about. i don't want to make you a rebound just because the timing lines up."

madison considers that, tracing an idle line along the sheet between us. "for what it's worth, i wasn't looking for anything last night either. i just liked you. still do, actually, in the daylight, which is usually where these things fall apart."

"so what does that make this?"

"undecided," she says, and smiles like the word doesn't scare her at all. "i'm fine with undecided. are you?"

i think about veronica about the version of me that would've needed an answer immediately, needed the label locked down before she could relax into anything but four months of unpacking boxes slowly has taught me something, apparently, about not rushing the parts that don't need rushing. "yeah," i say. "i think i am."

cam texts me twice before i'm even out of madison’s building, the second one just three question marks. rae's is more direct: you didn't come home. spill or i'm assuming the worst/best case scenario.

i don't answer right away either i stand outside on the sidewalk instead, sun is already too bright for how little sleep i got, and let myself just feel the morning for a second before i have to explain it to anyone as my phone buzzes again, not cam not rae.

sloane: for the record, i'd like there to be a next time. no liquid courage required.

i look up at her building once before i start walking, something loosening in my chest that's been tight since a tuesday four months ago.

me: i'd like that too.

it isn't healed it isn't fixed, veronica's absence is still going to sit in that apartment in el segundo for a while yet, in boxes i still haven't opened, in the parts of me still learning how to be somewhere new without someone who used to make it feel like home but for the first time in four months, walking down a sidewalk in a city i didn't choose, i don't feel like i'm just surviving it.

i feel like maybe i'm starting to actually live in it.

three weeks after the morning i walked out of madison's apartment feeling lighter than i had in months, cam corners me at practice with the specific look she gets when she's decided something without consulting me first. "so are you dating the actress or not," she says. "because rae and i have a bet going and i need to win it."

"there's no bet."

"there is absolutely a bet."

i don't answer, mostly because i don't have a clean one, maadison and i have seen each other four times since that night dinner twice, a walk along the strand that turned into two hours of just talking, and once she came to watch me practice and sat in the stands with a coffee like it was nothing, like it wasn't the most normal thing in the world for someone to just show up and want to see my life up close.

we haven't called it anything we also haven't needed to there's something almost restful about not rushing toward a label, after a relationship that ended so quietly i still don't fully understand how it slipped through my hands but tonight she's asked me to come over, said she wants to talk, and something about the phrasing has been sitting in my stomach all day like a stone.

her apartment smells like something she's actually cooked, which surprises me i didn't peg her as a cook; she's barefoot in the kitchen when i get there, hair pulled back, looking more like the version of her from that first morning than the one from the bar. "you cooked," i say, still in the doorway.

"i attempted," she says. "don't get your hopes up." it's good, actually simple, a little overdone in places, but good in the way things are good when someone's tried we eat at her counter, talking easy about nothing important, and it isn't until the plates are cleared that she goes quiet in a way i've learned to recognize as her gathering herself.

"i want to ask you something," she says. "and i want you to actually think about it instead of giving me the polite answer."

"okay."

"what are we doing, kate?" there it is the question i've been half-expecting and half-avoiding since the morning after. 

"i don't know," i say, honest the way she's always been honest with me. "i like you. i like this — whatever this is. i just don't want to say the word before i mean it fully, and i'm scared i'm still catching up on meaning things fully after everything with veronica."

madison doesn't flinch at the name, hasn't ever, not once in three weeks. "i'm not asking you to be over her. i'm asking if you want to actually try this. those aren't the same question."

"i know."

"so which one are you avoiding?" i sit with that longer than i mean to she waits, patient the way she always is, not filling the silence just to ease her own discomfort. "i want to try," i say finally. 

"i'm just bad at trusting that wanting something is enough reason to go after it. last time i wanted something enough to move my whole life for it, and it wasn't enough to keep her."

"i'm not her," madison says, quiet but certain. "and you're not asking me to move anywhere. i'm just asking you to have dinner with me on purpose sometimes, instead of by accident after a bar or a lucky text." put like that, it doesn't sound so impossible. "okay," i say.

"okay?"

"yeah. okay. let's try this. on purpose." the smile she gives me then is different from the one at the bar less easy performance, more like something she actually means.

veronica calls two days later i almost don't pick up four months of silence, and then her name lighting up my screen like nothing happened, like the last conversation we had wasn't over a dinner neither of us finished i answer anyway some part of me still needs to know what she'd even say. "hi," she says, and her voice sounds smaller than i remember it. "i wasn't sure you'd pick up."

"i wasn't sure either." a pause i can hear her breathing, the particular quiet she gets when she's choosing her words with more care than usual.

"i've been thinking about that dinner a lot," she says. "the one where i ended things. i think i said it wrong. i think i made it sound like it was about timing when really i think i just got scared. you were building something new and i didn't know how to be someone who just — came along for it, instead of building my own thing at the same time."

it's the most she's said about any of it since it happened. veronica burton, careful with everything, finally not being careful. "i wish you'd said that then," i tell her, and i mean it, though there's less anger in it than i expected there to be.

"i know. i'm sorry. i'm not calling to ask for anything, i promise — i just needed you to know it wasn't about you not being enough. it was about me not knowing how to be brave in a new city. you were braver than me."

i think about myself four months ago, standing in an empty apartment with three boxes and a mattress on the floor, certain she wasn't being brave at all, just abandoned. "i wasn't brave," i say. "i just didn't have a choice. the trade wasn't optional."

"maybe. but you didn't fall apart. i would have."

we talk a little longer — nothing that undoes the four months, nothing that reopens what's already closed, just two people finally saying the true version of things instead of the careful one. by the end of it, something in my chest that's been clenched since that tuesday finally, quietly, lets go.

"i hope la's good to you," she says, before we hang up.

"i think it's starting to be."

i tell madison about the call the next time i see her, mostly because it feels dishonest not to. "how do you feel about it?" she asks, no jealousy in it, just genuine curiosity.

"lighter," i say, surprised to find it's true. "like i can stop carrying the version of the story where it was my fault."

"good," she says. "you deserve to put that down." we're on her balcony, the city doing its low gold thing beneath us, and she reaches over to lace her fingers through mine without making it a bigger moment than it needs to be.

"for what it's worth," she says, "i'm glad you didn't fall apart either. i don't think i would've gotten a version of you brave enough to ask me to dance."

"that was mostly tequila."

"sure. but you're the one who kissed me first. i remember that part very clearly, tequila or not." i laugh, and it's easy, unguarded, nothing like the practiced laugh i gave strangers for four months while insisting i was fine. "on purpose, then," i say, echoing her from two nights ago.

jealous of what?

the answer never comes because there isn't one, there can't be one kate has friends she's always had friends, teammates who gravitate toward her without trying, people who somehow end up telling her their entire life story after one conversation, strangers who stop being strangers five minutes after meeting her. 

she's warm in a way that can't really be taught. thoughtful without making a show of it, the kind of person who remembers the little things like your favorite coffee order, the name of your childhood dog, the song you mentioned listening to once three months ago.

veronica has never minded that if anything, it's one of the first things she noticed about kate one of the first things she,as she cuts the thought off before it can finish her phone buzzes against her thigh, pulling her back to the present.

kate :): game day.

veronica smiles before she even opens the message.

veronica: i figured.

the entire sparks account has reminded me at least twelve times already.

three little dots appear almost immediately.

kate :): only twelve? i expected more.

veronica shakes her head, laughing quietly to herself.

veronica: give them another hour.

kate :): fair.

there's a pause before another message appears.

kate :): good luck tonight.

veronica looks at it for a second longer than she probably should, good luck, simple normal, the kind of thing teammates who'd become friends sent each other before playing on opposite sides still she likes that kate always remembers.

veronica: you too. don't make me guard you all night.

kate :): no promises.

a blue heart appears a second later.

veronica's thumb hovers over the screen and she tells herself the smile on her face has absolutely nothing to do with one tiny blue heart outside, the bus turns into the arena entrance the rest of the team is already gathering their backpacks when the doors hiss open. "let's go," one of the assistants calls.

veronica slips her phone into her pocket and follows everyone inside game mode; that's what she tells herself to focus on basketball; everything else can wait the arena is already alive.

music pulses through the corridors, echoing off concrete walls before spilling onto the hardwood where arena staff hurry through final preparations photographers crouch along the baseline testing camera angles while television crews adjust lighting above the scorer's table. 

every few seconds another cart rolls across the floor carrying basketballs, towels, or equipment, the organized chaos somehow comforting in its familiarity there's something about game days that never changes.

it doesn't matter what city she's in, the smell of the hardwood, the sound of sneakers squeaking before the seats are even full, the distant voice of the public address announcer running through one last microphone check.

it always feels like home across the court, the sparks begin filtering out of their tunnel cam brink is the first one she notices, somehow already talking with enough enthusiasm that one of the assistant coaches is pinching the bridge of his nose.

rae burrell follows behind her carrying two water bottles then kate she has her backpack slung over one shoulder, earbuds hanging loosely around her neck, completely unaware that rae is already shaking her head.

rae tosses something toward her kate catches it looks down groans veronica can't hear the conversation from this far away, but she doesn't have to cam doubles over laughing.

rae folds her arms triumphantly kate rubs the back of her neck with that same sheepish smile she always gets whenever she's been caught forgetting something veronica smiles to herself some things never change. "what's funny?" one of her teammates falls into step beside her veronica shakes her head. "nothing."

"looked like something."

"just..." her eyes drift back across the floor. "kate forgot something again." her teammate follows her gaze before laughing. "somehow i'm not surprised."

"me neither." across the court, kate finally pulls on what was apparently her forgotten warmup shirt before jogging onto the floor with a basketball tucked beneath one arm.

left corner right corner free throw elbow three veronica knows the routine almost as well as kate does she's seen it enough over the years kate always starts the same way always it makes her smile. "earth to veronica." she blinks. "huh?"

"coach is talking."

"right." she tears her attention away from the opposite end of the floor just in time to hear the last few instructions before warmups officially begin.

focus communicates rebound simple enough the next twenty minutes pass in a comfortable rhythm stretching shooting passing running through the same drills every team in the league seems to know by heart.

every now and then, usually between repetitions, veronica catches herself glancing across the floor sometimes kate is laughing because cam said something ridiculous sometimes she's talking with rae once, she catches kate standing near the scorer's table looking down at her phone.

whatever she reads makes her smile not a polite smile, not one she'd give a reporter or a fan a real one soft around the edges, the kind that reaches her eyes before disappearing just as quickly cam notices immediately even from this distance, veronica can see her nudging kate's shoulder.

kate rolls her eyes cam says something else rae joins them all three laugh veronica finds herself smiling too they're impossible a few minutes later, the arena doors officially open fans begin pouring inside, filling the lower bowl with jerseys, signs, and excited conversations that slowly build into one steady roar.

children rush toward the tunnel hoping for autographs someone calls cam's name, someone else shouts for rae then another voice cuts through the noise. "kate!"

kate looks up instinctively, smiling as she signs a basketball before handing it back then, almost without thinking she looks toward the courtside seats not just a glance she actually looks like she's searching for someone.

veronica notices because she isn't looking anywhere else she watches kate scan the first few rows once twice then smile, small immediate like she'd just found exactly who she was looking for without meaning to, veronica follows her line of sight.

at first, all she sees is people settling into their seats then someone stands sunglasses pushed onto the top of her head an oversized purple-and-gold sparks jersey hanging comfortably over black jeans.

she waves both hands dramatically the second she spots kate, kate laughs actually laughs then lifts a hand in return veronica squints slightly the woman looks familiar, really familiar she knows she's seen her somewhere before she just can't place where.

before she has time to think about it any longer, the officials whistle both teams back toward their benches, warmups are almost over, tipoff is only minutes away and whatever thought had started forming quietly in the back of veronica's mind is forced to wait.

for now.

the whistle cut through the arena, sharp enough to quiet everything else for a fraction of a second then the ball went up, tipoff always felt strangely peaceful to veronica; everything leading up to it was loud. 

the music and the introductions, the lights sweeping across the crowd, the announcer somehow finding another level of enthusiasm every time he said a player's name. but the second the referee tossed the ball into the air, all of it disappeared.

there was only basketball the first possession moved quickly the sparks pushed the pace exactly the way veronica expected them to cam was already talking before she'd even crossed half court, kate pointing toward a cutter while rae sprinted into the corner, all three of them moving with the kind of chemistry that only came from spending every day together.

veronica smiled despite herself, she knew that they looked good together, unfortunately the first quarter settled into a rhythm almost immediately as both teams traded baskets, every possession answered by another on the other end. 

sneakers squeaked against the hardwood, coaches shouted adjustments from the sidelines, and the crowd reacted to every defensive stop like it was the final play of the game kate always played with more energy than people expected she never looked rushed and never looked flustered.

she simply kept moving, cutting communicating, making the extra pass celebrating everyone else's success as loudly as her own veronica had always admired that she still did the first time kate checked back into the game after a substitution, the crowd welcomed her with another wave of applause.

before the official even handed her the ballkate glanced toward courtside just for a second, it happened so quickly that most people probably would've missed it veronica didn't she watched kate's eyes settle somewhere behind the scorer's table before the ball was inbounded again.

the moment passed, play continued but still she found herself looking in the same direction the woman was still there still wearing the oversized sparks jersey still smiling every time kate touched the ball.

she clapped after a clean defensive stop, stood up after one of cam's blocks, and cheered just as loudly for rae's corner three as she did for one of kate's assists.

it wasn't performative if anything, it looked genuine like she'd forgotten cameras even existed late in the quarter, kate stole a pass near half court the arena erupted before she'd even crossed the three-point line.

she drove finished through contact and the whistle blew. "and one!" cam reached her first, throwing an arm around kate's shoulders while rae slapped the back of her head with a grin kate laughed, pointing immediately toward the free-throw line. "i know, i know."

"don't miss," cam warned. "helpful."

"i'm trying." the crowd hadn't even settled back into their seats when someone from the front row shouted, "let's go, kate!"

it wasn't unusual for players to hear their names all the time in this voice, though kate looked over instinctively madison was already standing both hands cupped around her mouth. "you got this!"

kate couldn't help smiling she shook her head once before bouncing the ball against the hardwood cam noticed immediately. "focus."

"i am focused."

"you smiled."

"can i not smile?"

"not at free throws." kate rolled her eyes. "you're unbelievable." she took one breath and released the shot, swish as cam nodded approvingly. "acceptable."

kate laughed all the way back down the court veronica watched the entire exchange from the opposite end it wasn't strange, not really friends came to games, friends cheered still she found herself looking back toward courtside more often than she'd expected.

the woman looked familiar really familiar she knew that face she just couldn't remember where from the first quarter ended with the sparks holding a narrow lead players headed toward their benches while arena staff rushed onto the floor to wipe away sweat and reset equipment before the second quarter cam immediately stole kate's towel. "give it back."

"make me."

"cam."

"yes?"

"that's disgusting."

cam laughed.

"you're dramatic."

"it's literally my towel."

"ours now." rae reached over without even looking and pulled it out of cam's hands before tossing it back toward kate. "children."

"thank you," kate said. "don't thank me."

"why?"

"because i'm tired of listening to you two." kate laughed, throwing the towel over her shoulders out of the corner of her eye, she glanced toward courtside again.

madison caught her looking and she pointed both thumbs up enthusiastically kate laughed then mimed drinking water madison looked down at the unopened bottle beside her chair before immediately picking it up and she exaggerated an enormous sip.

kate shook her head dramatically and madison grinned always. "who are you looking at?" cam asked kate didn't bother pretending. "Madison." cam followed her gaze. "still wearing your jersey."

"yes."

"interesting."

"what's interesting?"

"nothing." kate narrowed her eyes. "cam." cam smiled innocently. "i said nothing." on the opposite bench, veronica watched the interaction without meaning to she couldn't hear them she could only see kate smiling again then looking away then smiling to herself.

something about it felt different, maybe even comfort easy like this wasn't the first game that woman had come to like she belonged here the thought lingered longer than veronica wanted it to she shook it away as coach called everyone back together.

focus on basketball first, everything else later the second quarter began just as quickly as the first the pace never slowed every timeout felt shorter than the last the arena grew louder with every sparks run, only for valkyries fans scattered throughout the crowd to answer with cheers of their own whenever veronica's team responded.

through it all, the woman in kate's jersey never seemed to stop cheering for kate for cam for rae every time one of them made a play, she was on her feet before half the arena it made veronica smile despite herself whoever she was she clearly loved basketball.

she just wished she could remember why she looked so familiar the answer arrived halfway through the second quarter or rather the jumbotron found it first.

the timeout horn echoed through the arena, giving everyone thirty seconds to breathe before the game picked up again.

players drifted toward their benches, assistant coaches unfolded whiteboards camera operators scattered across the floor, already searching the crowd for reactions while the entertainment crew hurried through another routine.

veronica reached for the towel draped over the back of her chair, pressing it briefly against her forehead as coach talked through the next defensive adjustment she nodded automatically hedge the screen.

recover, communication as she'd heard it all before around her, the arena settled into that familiar timeout rhythm music pulsed through the speakers, kids waved at themselves on the big screen, and every few seconds another section erupted when the camera landed on someone willing to dance.

veronica barely looked up until the noise changed. it wasn't gradual; it exploded the kind of scream that only happened when someone unexpectedly appeared on the jumbotron, coach paused for half a second even though a few players looked over their shoulders.

veronica followed their gaze, the massive screen hanging above center court filled with a familiar face madison bailey for a heartbeat, she simply stared then it clicked that's where she'd seen her before.

interviews, movies, photos that somehow always found their way across social media the crowd grew even louder as madison laughed in surprise, looking from the screen back toward the camera before covering her face for a second.

someone behind her was already pointing toward the jersey madison noticed a second later she looked down, laughed then pinched the front of the oversized sparks jersey between her fingers and held it up toward the camera with an exaggerated grin the arena absolutely lost it.

"oh my god." one of veronica's teammates laughed from the bench. "is that madison bailey?"

"i think it is."

"is she wearing—"

"that's kate's jersey."

veronica looked again and really looked at the stitching, the number the name stretched across the back whenever madison turned slightly in her seat.

it wasn't just a sparks jersey it was kate's before she could stop herself, veronica's eyes moved toward the opposite bench kate had already seen the screen the second their eyes landed on each other, cam doubled over laughing she smacked kate's shoulder hard enough that kate stumbled sideways. "stop."

"i'm not doing anything."

"you're literally hitting me."

"because this is hilarious." rae wasn't helping; she had one hand over her mouth, trying—and failing—not to laugh as kate tugged the bottom of her warmup shirt over part of her face, shaking her head as if hiding would somehow make the cameras move on faster.

it didn't if anything, the director lingered another few seconds madison waved awkwardly then pointed toward the floor straight at kate the camera immediately cut to her the crowd roared again kate groaned cam looked like she might actually fall off the bench laughing.

"this is your fault," kate muttered. "my fault?" cam asked between laughs. "you manifested this."

"i absolutely did." rae finally managed to speak. "i've never seen you this embarrassed." kate rubbed both hands over her face. "can everyone relax?" cam leaned closer. "no."

"cam."

"absolutely not." kate looked toward courtside again despite herself madison shrugged innocently, pressing one hand dramatically against her chest like she couldn't possibly understand what all the fuss was about as kate pointed a finger at her.

you're unbelievable.

madison just smiled wider, veronica watched the silent exchange from across the floor it lasted barely three seconds, no words, just expressions, small gestures the kind people only understood after spending enough time around each other something about that realization settled heavily in her chest.

it wasn't the jersey, not really friends borrowed clothes all the time friends supported each other friends came to games.

so why did it feel different? the whistle signaled the end of the timeout players stood the moment dissolved as quickly as it had appeared basketball demanded everyone's attention again.

still the image stayed with veronica madison laughing beneath thousands of eyes kate trying unsuccessfully to hide her smile.

cam teasing her without mercy rae watching the whole thing unfold like she'd expected it all along the game resumed, but veronica found herself noticing little things she hadn't before.

every time kate checked out of the game, she glanced toward the front row not for long just enough every time she made a good play, madison was already clapping before anyone around her.

when cam blocked a shot into the third row, madison stood so quickly her drink nearly tipped over when rae hit another three, she celebrated just as loudly she wasn't only cheering for kate she was cheering for all of them for the sparks like she'd been doing it forever.

veronica tried to ignore the thought she really did instead, she focused on the game on the defensive assignments on communicating through switches on making the next pass but every so often, despite herself, her eyes drifted toward the same courtside seat and every single time kate's did too.

the final minutes of the fourth quarter arrived before either team really had time to catch their breath the sparks held a narrow lead and every possession suddenly mattered twice as much as the crowd rose to its feet coach called one final play.

veronica wiped her hands against her shorts, forcing every wandering thought back into the smallest corner of her mind, basketball first everything else later she had no idea that, by the end of the night, basketball would be the easiest part to understand.

the final two minutes felt longer than the entire game every possession carried weight now. every whistle drew a different reaction from the crowd the arena had long since become a wall of noise, purple and gold towels spinning through the lower bowl while the public address announcer somehow found enough energy to shout over thousands of people doing the exact same thing.

the sparks clung to a four-point lead and the valkyries refused to let it become comfortable veronica had stopped noticing everything except the next play, the next screen, the next pass, the next defensive rotation for a little while, basketball was enough.

kate caught the ball on the wing with less than a minute left, immediately drawing a defender before kicking it out to rae in the corner the shot left her hands the buzzer on the shot clock ticked lower.

swish.

the arena erupted rae turned before the ball had even finished falling through the net, pointing toward kate with both hands. "beautiful!" kate laughed as cam wrapped an arm around both of them while they jogged back on defense. "don't celebrate yet," kate called.

"i'm celebrating a little."

"cam."

"a medium amount." the valkyries answered with a basket of their own then another stop then another timeout everyone looked exhausted everyone except the fans they somehow found another level.

veronica rested her hands on her hips while coach drew up one final play, nodding along even though her attention drifted for the briefest moment toward the opposite bench.

kate was really listening, head lowered slightly, eyes fixed on the whiteboard while the assistant coach talked through every option.

there it was again that focus that quiet steadiness it was one of the first things veronica had admired about her no matter how loud everything around her became, kate never seemed to panic.

she just played, the whistle sounded again, one last possession, one last defensive stand the final buzzer echoed through the arena before anyone had time to think much beyond it.

the sparks won the building exploded kate closed her eyes for a second, exhaling before cam crashed into her side. "we survived."

"barely." rae laughed, pulling both of them into a quick hug before everyone separated again. "good game."

"you too."

the celebration was never very long, not against friends players met at half court almost immediately, the familiar line forming as jerseys of different colors mixed together.

veronica fell into step with the rest of her teammates, exchanging quick hugs and handshakes as she moved down the line then she reached kate for a second, the noise around them seemed quieter kate smiled first. "hey."

"hey."

"good game."

"you too." their hands met in a quick handshake that turned naturally into a brief hug, the kind athletes shared after playing each other, nothing unusual, nothing anyone else would've noticed. "you almost stole that from us," kate said veronica smiled. "almost doesn't count."

kate laughed. "fair." there was another beat, small and comfortable like maybe one of them was about to say something else instead, someone behind veronica gently nudged the line forward she stepped back. "see you."

"yeah." kate smiled again. "see you." and just like that, it was overplayers disappeared in different directions almost immediately afterward the valkyries headed toward their locker room for postgame media and the sparks gathered near the opposite tunnel.

the organized chaos returned camera crews, microphones, equipment managers, security everyone seemed to need someone at exactly the same time veronica answered questions she barely remembered hearing talked about defensive adjustments.

complimented the sparks mentioned the atmosphere inside the arena smiled for the cameras the entire time, another thought sat quietly at the back of her mind.

ask her.

it had been sitting there for weeks, months, maybe every time they'd texted after games, every time they'd met for coffee in the offseason, every time she'd caught herself wondering whether kate lingered after conversations for the same reason she did.

she was tired of wondering, it was only dinner, one question, one answer. whatever happened after that she'd deal with it by the time media obligations finally ended, the hallways beneath the arena had begun to quiet.

staff wheeled equipment carts toward storage rooms the distant sound of showers and laughter drifted from behind closed locker room doors security guards chatted near the tunnel entrances veronica tucked her phone into her pocket and started walking.

she already knew where kate usually came out after home games she'd waited there before not often just enough to know with every step, she rehearsed the sentence again.

do you want to get dinner sometime?

too formal.

want to grab dinner?

too casual.

are you free this week?

too vague.

she laughed quietly to herself she'd spent entire games making split-second decisions against professional athletes this, this somehow felt harder as she rounded the final corner toward the tunnel then stopped.

kate was already there still in her practice shirt now, hair damp from a quick shower, duffel bag resting against one leg she was laughing, not the polite laugh she'd given reporters a real one madison stood in front of her, still wearing kate's jersey.

up close, it was unmistakable the sleeves hung slightly past her shoulders the fabric was creased from sitting through four quarters the stitched numbers caught the overhead lights every time she moved. "you survived," madison teased. "barely."

"you missed a free throw." kate groaned dramatically. "you remembered."

"of course i remembered."

"traitor."

"supportive."

"those aren't the same thing."

"they are if i'm saying them." kate laughed again, shaking her head. "you're impossible."

"and yet..." madison spread her arms slightly. "you still invited me."

"questioning that decision."

"rude."

"honest."

they smiled at each other comfortably, easy like they'd had this conversation a hundred times before veronica stayed exactly where she was far enough away that they couldn't hear her close enough to hear every word she should leave instead she stayed.

for a moment, neither of them said anything they didn't seem to need to the kind of silence between them wasn't awkward or uncertain; it was familiar. comfortable enough that neither felt the need to fill every second with conversation madison rocked back lightly on her heels before looking down at the jersey again, smoothing a wrinkle near the hem with the palm of her hand. "i think i stretched it."

kate looked down too. "you definitely didn't."

"how do you know?"

"because it's about three sizes too big for you." madison gasped dramatically. "wow."

"what?"

"body shaming me after i came all this way to support you." kate laughed so hard she had to look away for a second. "that's not what i said."

"it's exactly what you said."

"it literally isn't."

"agree to disagree." kate shook her head, still smiling. "you're ridiculous."

"and?"

"and i don't know why i expected anything different."

"because you're optimistic."

"that's one word for it."

"i prefer hopeful." another laugh escaped kate before she rubbed the back of her neck. "did you have fun?" madison's expression softened immediately. "yeah." there wasn't even a second of hesitation. "a lot."

she glanced back toward the now nearly empty arena. "i've watched games on tv forever." she smiled to herself. "it's completely different being here."

"better?"

"way." she looked back at kate. "everyone around me was explaining little things i never would've noticed."

"like what?"

"one guy spent almost five minutes explaining illegal screens." kate groaned. "i'm so sorry."

"another woman told me she comes to every home game." madison smiled. "she knew everyone's stats."

"that sounds about right."

"and this little girl..." her smile somehow grew even softer. "...she couldn't have been older than seven." kate listened quietly. "she kept telling her dad she wanted to play basketball because of you." kate blinked. "...me?" madison nodded. "she had your jersey too."

for the first time all night, kate didn't have an immediate response; she looked down at the floor instead and a small smile appeared despite herself. "that's..."

"pretty cool."

"yeah."

"i thought so too." they stood there another second before madison nudged her gently with one shoulder. "you've got people looking up to you, martin." kate smiled without looking up. "don't make it weird."

"too late." they both laughed again as veronica watched every second, she couldn't explain why nothing about the conversation seemed unusual, nothing looked romantic, if anything it looked easy.

that's what bothered her; it reminded her of the way kate laughed over coffee the way she'd text random pictures of dogs she saw on walks the way conversations somehow stretched an extra thirty minutes because neither of them wanted to be the first to leave.

except someone else was standing in that space now someone else seemed to know the same version of kate she hated that thought almost as soon as it appeared because it wasn't fair.

kate was allowed to have close friends of course she was so why did it suddenly feel like she'd missed something important?

madison glanced down at the front of the jersey once more before pinching the fabric between two fingers. "seriously" she looked back up. "are you sure i can keep this?" kate frowned. "why wouldn't you?"

"because it's yours."

"i gave it to you."

"people say things." kate laughed. "madison."

"what?"

"i meant it."

"even after i embarrassed you in front of twenty thousand people?"

"especially after that." madison grinned. "good." she looked back down at the jersey. "because i was planning on stealing it anyway."

"i figured." without thinking, kate reached forward and the collar had folded slightly beneath madison's hair sometime during the game she straightened it carefully, smoothing the fabric back into place with an absentminded movement that lasted barely two seconds.

there wasn't anything deliberate about it she didn't even seem to realize she'd done it madison certainly didn't she kept talking as though nothing had happened. "next time i'll wear your shooting shirt." kate snorted. "absolutely not."

"coward."

"boundaries."

"boring." they were still laughing when kate opened her arms. "come here." madison stepped forward immediately and the hug was quick and warm, the kind shared by people who'd slowly become part of each other's everyday lives without either of them noticing exactly when it happened. "thanks for coming," kate said quietly. "thanks for inviting me."

"same time next game?"

"obviously." they pulled apart madison smiled. "now go before your coaches think i kidnapped you." kate laughed. "probably a good idea." a few feet away, hidden by the corner of the hallway, veronica finally remembered why she'd come.

dinner.

the word echoed uselessly in her mind now she looked at kate then at the jersey then back at the easy smile still lingering on kate's face she'd spent the entire game telling herself there was probably a perfectly reasonable explanation.

friends borrowed jerseys, friends hugged friends laughed like that friends looked at each other the way they just had...right?

the question lingered longer than it should have, veronica took one slow step backward then another the sound of her shoes against the concrete disappeared beneath the distant noise of arena staff finishing cleanup.

she turned before either of them could look up before kate could notice she'd been there before she'd have to ask a question she suddenly wasn't sure she wanted answered behind her, kate watched madison disappear toward the parking garage entrance before slinging her duffel bag over one shoulder.

she started to turn toward the tunnel when something caught the corner of her eye, someone walking away in a familiar build familiar posture. "...wasn't that..." she frowned. "what?" madison asked kate looked down the hallway again as it was already empty. "...nothing."

she wasn't completely sure but for just a second she could've sworn she'd seen veronica.

the hallway stayed quiet long after veronica disappeared around the corner kate looked after the empty space for another second before shaking her head. "you okay?" madison's voice pulled her back kate blinked. "yeah."

"you sure?" she nodded once. "i just thought i saw someone." madison glanced down the hallway. "anyone i know?"

"maybe."

"that's mysterious." kate laughed softly. "i don't mean to be."

"who'd you think it was?" there was another pause. "veronica." madison looked back toward her. "the valkyries guard?"

"yeah."

"weren't you just talking to her after the game?"

"for like thirty seconds."

"maybe she forgot something."

"maybe." kate looked toward the hallway one last time before letting it go. "probably just my imagination." madison bumped her shoulder lightly. "come on."

"yeah." they walked toward the arena exit together, still talking about the game.

about cam somehow stealing another towel about rae's fourth-quarter three about the little girl madison had met in the stands by the time they reached the parking garage, the conversation had drifted somewhere completely different.

the moment in the hallway was already gone for kate, anyway veronica sat in her car for nearly ten minutes before starting the engine the arena lights reflected faintly across the windshield while fans slowly filtered through the parking lot, still talking excitedly about the game.

she rested both hands against the steering wheel, dinner she laughed once quietly almost at herself she'd spent an entire week deciding she was finally going to ask all it had taken was one jersey to convince herself not to.

it felt ridiculous she knew it did kate had never promised her anything they weren't dating they weren't even whatever this was. there had never been a conversation, never a confession, never a moment where either of them admitted that staying after practice just to keep talking probably meant something or that texting each other good luck before every game had quietly become a habit.

or that neither of them ever seemed to be in a hurry to say goodbye none of that meant kate couldn't have someone else none of that meant the woman in the jersey wasn't simply important veronica looked down at her phone there weren't any new messages.

she set it face down in the cup holder and pulled out of the parking garage. los angeles was still awake, traffic crawled beneath glowing streetlights, restaurants buzzed with people finishing late dinners, music drifted through open windows at red lights.

the city kept moving she wished her thoughts would do the same by the time she reached the hotel, her social media had already begun filling with highlights from the game cam's block rae's three kate's steal.

she scrolled past them automatically then stopped madison had posted the first photo showing her sitting courtside before tipoff, smiling directly at the camera the second was cam pretending to photobomb from the baseline.

the third was kate head thrown back laughing so hard she'd closed her eyes the jersey was visible in every picture as the caption was simple.

first sparks game. think i might be good luck. 💜

veronica stared at it the likes climbed higher every time she refreshed comments poured in underneath people talking about the game about madison about the jersey her thumb hovered over the heart she pressed it unpressed it pressed it again.

closed the app opened it anyway another comment had appeared which was kate.

undefeated when you're here.

less than a minute later madison replied.

guess i'll have to keep coming.

cam liked it rae liked it half the sparks seemed to like it veronica locked her phone then unlocked it again she hated how much space this was taking up in her head because nothing had happened.

nothing.

friends went to games, friends borrowed jerseys, hugged friends and commented on each other's posts she repeated the thought enough times that it almost started sounding convincing.

almost.

her phone buzzed and she looked down immediately.

kate :)

hey.

think i saw you after the game.

did i miss you?

veronica stared at the screen the words blurred for a second before settling again she read them once then again.

did i miss you?

such an innocent question kate probably had no idea what she'd walked into, no idea what veronica had seen, no idea that she'd been standing only a few feet away before quietly turning around and another bubble appeared then disappeared.

kate had started typing and stopped, started again, stopped again, finally nothing veronica's fingers hovered over the keyboard.

yeah. i had to leave.

too short.

i saw you talking.

absolutely not.

i didn't want to interrupt.

that somehow felt even worse she locked her phone instead set it on the bedside table and rolled onto her back, staring up at the unfamiliar hotel ceiling.

she dropped her duffel beside the locker that had her name taped across the front and let out a quiet breath, taking in the room around her a few faces she already knew were scattered throughout the lockers, conversations overlapping as everyone caught up after the offseason. 

somewhere across the room someone laughed loud enough to turn a few heads before another voice immediately cut in to tell them to keep it down, it felt normal, comfortable exactly how the first day was supposed to feel as her phone buzzed in the front pocket of her bag.

emily ❤️

made it to the gym. figured you’d already be there too.

a small smile found its way onto veronica’s face before she even opened the message.

good luck today. don’t overthink everything like you always do.

another message appeared before she could answer.

love you.

she stared at it for a second longer than she meant to distance was strange there wasn’t one moment where everything suddenly became difficult it happened slowly, almost quietly. calls became shorter because one of them had an early lift the next morning.

facetime dates turned into quick check-ins between practices. “i miss you” became something they said every day because they had to instead of because it surprised either of them she still loved emily she knew she did she just missed when loving each other had felt easier.

love you too, she typed back before slipping the phone into her bag. “burton.” she looked up one of the assistant coaches pointed toward the court. “we’re about to get started.”

“coming.”

she grabbed her water bottle and headed out with the rest of the group, the familiar sound of sneakers against hardwood settling something inside her chest this was the part she didn’t have to think about.

conditioning started exactly the way conditioning always did: too much running, too many whistles, not enough water, everyone looked a little slower than they wanted to admit after the offseason, and the coaches looked entirely too pleased about it.

by the time the first drill ended, veronica’s legs were already burning. “first day?” someone asked beside her as she glanced over kate martin stood there with her hands on her hips, breathing just hard enough to prove she’d been feeling the same sprints.

veronica recognized her immediately they’d never actually known each other, but they’d played against one another enough in college that she would’ve recognized her anywhere kate offered an easy smile. “i’m kate.” like she didn’t already know.  “veronica.”

“i know.” there was something almost sheepish about the way kate admitted it. “we played against each other enough.”

“yeah.”

“i always hated guarding you.” veronica let out a quiet laugh before she could stop herself. “thanks… i think.” kate laughed too. “meant it as a compliment.”

before veronica could think of anything else to say, another whistle echoed through the gym. “guess we’re not done suffering,” kate said then she jogged back toward the next drill without waiting for an answer.

veronica watched her for exactly one second before forcing herself to look somewhere else she wasn’t sure why it had been a completely normal conversation nothing about it should’ve stayed with her for the rest of practice and yet every so often, without meaning to, she’d catch herself noticing where kate was on the floor.

she talked a lot encouraged everyone high-fived people after good reps laughed when drills went wrong instead of getting frustrated.

she had this annoying habit of making everyone around her relax veronica decided she probably just had one of those personalities.

that was all it had to be because anything more than that would be ridiculous.

she had emily she loved emily and kate martin was just another teammate.

practice settled into a rhythm over the next few days the first morning was all introductions and nerves, the second was about remembering names, and by the third everyone had already started slipping into routines without realizing it. 

people sat in the same seats during film and they gravitated toward the same racks in the weight room whereas the same groups lingered after practice, stretching a little longer just to keep talking.

veronica noticed all of it she always noticed things it was part of what made her a good point guard she noticed who looked tired before they admitted it who was frustrated after a missed rotation. 

who needed the ball to settle into practice and who preferred to disappear into the background until they found their rhythm.

she also noticed that kate seemed incapable of standing in silence for more than thirty seconds it wasn’t in an annoying way she just…talked to everyone.

she complimented the practice players after good possessions, thanked the equipment staff every afternoon when they wheeled fresh towels into the locker room, asked the interns how college finals were going, somehow remembered every coach’s name by the second day and greeted them every morning like she’d known them for years.

it was strange that most veterans spent training camp trying not to be noticed kate somehow managed to make herself memorable without making herself the center of attention.

veronica caught herself watching her once during a water break kate was standing near the opposite baseline, laughing so hard she had one hand on her stomach while kayla dramatically acted out something that had happened during the last drill.

“that’s not what happened,” kate managed between laughs. “that’s exactly what happened.”

“you are literally making things up.”

“am i?”

“yes.”

“prove it.” kate shook her head. “i can’t believe i have to share a locker room with you.”

“you love me.”

“that’s a strong word.”

“you tolerate me?”

“…barely.”

they both laughed again veronica looked away before either of them noticed she’d been staring as she bent down to retie a shoe that didn’t need to be tied. “you good?”

she looked up to find one of the assistant coaches standing nearby. “yeah.”

“thought you rolled your ankle.”

“no.” he nodded once before walking away veronica stayed crouched for another few seconds anyway she wasn’t staring she’d just…looked over.

everyone looked around during practice that was normal, it didn't mean anything. “booty cheeks!”

the nickname echoed across the gym veronica looked up before she could stop herself kate threw her head back with an exaggerated groan. “if you call me that one more time, i’m telling coach.”

kayla looked completely unfazed. “booty cheeks is a beautiful nickname.”

“it’s a terrible nickname.”

“it’s iconic.”

“it’s embarrassing.”

“same thing.”a couple of teammates laughed as kate walked over and lightly shoved kalya’s shoulder. “you’re impossible.”

“and yet here you are.”

“unfortunately.” they dissolved into another round of laughter before jogging back into the drill as the whistle blew.

veronica frowned, it was…easy that was the word that kept coming back everything between them looked easy they hadn’t known each other very long, but you’d never guess it watching them joke around.

it looked effortless, like they’d been teammates for years instead of days she tried not to think about why that bothered her because it didn’t it couldn’t.

later that afternoon, everyone filtered back into the locker room, exhausted from nearly three hours on the floor.

music drifted softly through the speakers while players packed their bags veronica had just finished changing when she heard footsteps stop beside her locker. “hey.”

she glanced up; it was kate close enough now that veronica noticed the loose strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail and the faint flush still lingering across her cheeks from practice. “hey.”

kate smiled. “i was gonna grab coffee before heading back.” veronica blinked. “oh.”

“you wanna come?” the question was so casual, so harmless, just teammates grabbing coffee veronica knew that still…her phone buzzed inside her bag almost instinctively, she reached for it.

emily ❤️

call me whenever you’re free.

guilt hit her so quickly it almost took her breath away she looked back at kate. “sorry.”

kate’s smile faltered just enough to notice. “i actually…i have to call my girlfriend.” there was only a second of silence then kate smiled again.

the same easy smile she’d walked in with on the first day. “oh.” she nodded. “yeah, of course.”

“maybe another time.”

“definitely.” kate gave her a quick wave before turning toward the exit.

“hey, kayla,” she called as she walked away. “you still getting coffee?”

“always.”

“let’s go before i pass out.” the two of them disappeared through the locker room doors together, still arguing over whose turn it was to pay.

veronica watched them leave then looked back down at the screen in her hand. “call me whenever you’re free.” she pressed the call button emily answered on the second ring. “there she is.” veronica smiled. “hey.”

“how was practice?” she leaned back against the locker. “good.”

“just good?”

“hard.”

“that’s more like it.” emily laughed, and for a moment everything felt normal again.

they talked about practice, about travel, about who looked good in camp and about how sore they both were already the conversation flowed the way it always had: comfortable, familiar, safe and yet.

halfway through the call, veronica caught herself looking toward the locker room doors, wondering if kate and kayla were still at the coffee shop across the street or if they’d already made it back to the hotel.

the thought came and went so quickly she almost didn’t register it almost she frowned at herself.

what was that? “ronnie?” she blinked. “what?” emily laughed softly.“i asked if you’re still there.”

“sorry.”

“you okay?”

“…yeah.” she answered a little too quickly. “just tired.” she hated how easy the lie came because she wasn’t tired, she was distracted and she had absolutely no idea why.

the next week passed quicker than veronica expected, conditioning slowly gave way to more basketball, practices stretching longer as coaches began installing offensive sets and defensive coverages, stopping drills every few possessions to correct spacing or rotations before blowing the whistle again. 

the soreness in everyone’s legs became easier to ignore, conversations in the locker room growing louder as the awkwardness of the first few days disappeared.

somewhere along the way, kate became part of the noise as if someone made a shot from half court, she was the first one celebrating and if someone looked frustrated after a bad rep, she’d clap her hands and tell them to get the next one.

if practice dragged, she’d find a way to make somebody laugh before the next whistle she had an energy that somehow never felt forced.

it was just there veronica told herself she barely noticed which would’ve been a lot more believable if her eyes didn’t instinctively search for kate the second she walked into the gym every morning.

it became a habit before she realized she’d formed one she’d step through the doors look toward the court to find kate then immediately pretend she hadn’t.

it annoyed her mostly because she couldn’t explain it but she wasn’t doing anything wrong, she wasn’t flirting wasn’t texting her hell, half the time they barely exchanged more than a “morning.”

so why did she keep looking?

“burton.” she turned at the sound of her name kate was standing a few feet away with a basketball tucked under one arm. “you mind?”

she tossed the ball over veronica caught it without thinking. “coach said you were first.” they were splitting into groups for a shooting drill. “thanks.” kate shrugged. “figured i’d save you the walk.”

“appreciate it.”

“don’t mention it.” there it was again that tiny pause like kate expected the conversation to keep going veronica could almost see the moment she realized it wasn’t going to.

“well…” kate rocked back on her heels. “guess i’ll see you in a minute.”

“yeah.” 

kate smiled politely before jogging over to the other basket where kayla immediately yelled, “booty cheeks! hurry up!” kate groaned loud enough for half the gym to hear. “i’m never answering you again.”

“you say that every day.”

“one day i’ll mean it.”

“can’t wait.” veronica bounced the ball once twice as she thought “why did she always sound so…different around kayla?”

not different comfortable that was the word comfortable she hated that she’d started categorizing the way kate spoke to different people.

she talked one way with the coaches, another with the rookies, another with the veterans and then there was kayla.

they had already developed that strange teammate language where half their conversations didn’t make sense to anyone else.

it had happened so quickly veronica wondered what it would’ve been like if she’d actually accepted that coffee invitation the thought hit her out of nowhere.

she froze and accepted it? she could’ve it was just coffee teammates got coffee together all the time except…she hadn’t said no because of coffee she’d said no because she’d panicked because emily had texted.

because somewhere in the back of her mind she’d worried that saying yes would’ve meant something it absolutely didn’t and now kate hadn’t asked again good that was probably for the best. “earth to veronica.” veronica blinked coach was looking at her. “you planning on shooting?”

a few teammates laughed and heat crept up the back of her neck. “sorry.”

she stepped into the drill, grateful to have something else to focus on basketball and never judged you for thinking too much.

it simply demanded your attention until there wasn’t room for anything else practice ended with a full-court scrimmage.

teams were thrown together almost at random, players rotating every few minutes while coaches scribbled notes onto clipboards.

veronica found herself matched up against kate more than once; it felt familiar, college, competitive and comfortable.

kate caught the ball on the wing and immediately looked for a cutter veronica slid into the passing lane, forcing her to reset. “nice.” kate nodded.

“good read.” the possession continued a minute later, veronica drove into the paint before kicking the ball to the corner.

“great pass,” kate called from the opposite end as everyone ran back on defense. veronica glanced over as kate wasn’t being sarcastic; she said it the same way she’d compliment anyone else simple genuine veronica nodded once.

“thanks.”

it should’ve ended there instead, as they lined up for the next possession, kate leaned over just enough to speak quietly. “you see the floor really well.” veronica looked at her. “what?”

“your passing.” kate just shrugs. “it’s fun to watch.” before veronica could respond, coach blew the whistle.

“switch!” kate peeled off to guard someone else the moment was over still those five words followed veronica all the way back to the locker room.

it’s fun to watch.

they shouldn’t have mattered, people complimented each other all the time teammates encouraged teammates, it wasn't special so why did she remember the exact way kate had smiled when she said it?

that night, emily called while veronica was lying in bed they talked about everything and nothing, what they’d eaten, how camp was going, who looked sharp, who looked exhausted.

emily laughed as she told a story about one of her teammates, and veronica laughed too, closing her eyes as she listened.

this was home, this was familiar, this was the person she’d chosen when the conversation finally slowed, emily’s voice softened. “i miss you.” veronica swallowed. “i miss you too.”

she meant it she really did but after they hung up, she lay awake staring at the ceiling long after the screen on her phone went dark.

without meaning to, her mind drifted back to practice to kate smiling after complimenting her pass to the way she’d waited half a second, almost like she’d expected veronica to say something back.

veronica rolled onto her side with a frustrated sigh, pulling the blanket over her shoulder this was ridiculous she was thinking about a five-second conversation she’d had with a teammate, nothing more she closed her eyes for once, she wished she could convince herself as easily as she kept trying to.

by the second week of camp, nobody really thought about introductions anymore whereas the locker room had found its rhythm music was louder in the mornings, someone always seemed to be stealing somebody else’s snacks, and every day kayla managed to come up with a new variation of the same nickname. “morning, booty cheeks.”

kate looked up from tying her shoes. “good morning, pain in my ass.” kayla grinned. “see? she’s learning.”

“i’m evolving.”

“into what?” kate shrugged. “a bigger problem.” the locker room erupted into laughter even one of the coaches walking past the doorway shook her head. “save it for after practice.”

“yes, coach,” kate called back, though the smile on her face said she wasn’t sorry in the slightest veronica rolled athletic tape around her fingers, keeping her eyes on the bench in front of her.

she wasn’t listening, she couldn’t have been except she knew exactly who was talking without looking she’d started recognizing kate’s laugh that realization hit her sometime during warmups not because she’d been paying attention because it had become impossible not to.

there were dozens of voices echoing through the gym every day hers somehow always stood out she hated that she’d noticed. “you good?” veronica looked up as one of the trainers was passing by. “yeah.”

“you’ve been staring at that tape for like a minute.” she blinked before realizing she’d completely stopped wrapping it around her fingers. “…guess i have.” as the trainer chuckled. “long week?”

“something like that.” practice started with shell drill before moving into live action coach stopped them every few possessions, pulling players into little groups to talk through spacing and defensive communication.

during one of the breaks, veronica found herself standing near half court waiting for the whistle. “hey.” kate stepped up beside her, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. “hey.”

“your pass yesterday.” veronica frowned. “…what about it?”

“i’ve been trying it all morning.” kate motioned toward the opposite basket. “still can’t throw it.” veronica couldn’t help the tiny smile that tugged at her lips. “it’s not that hard.” kate looked dramatically offended. “wow.”

“what?”

“i come over here looking for help and you humble me immediately.”

“i didn’t—” kate laughed before she could finish. “i’m kidding.” of course she was as she always seemed to know exactly when someone was taking her seriously. “seriously though,” she continued, “if you get bored later, show me?” veronica hesitated.

“…sure.”

“thanks.” the whistle blew kate jogged backward toward her spot. “don’t forget.” veronica watched her go. “burton!” she snapped her attention toward the coach. “eyes here.”

“sorry.” practice resumed and she forgot about the conversation almost immediately or at least she tried to after practice, a handful of players stayed behind getting extra shots up veronica usually did.

today was no different she’d made it through two shooting spots before hearing footsteps behind her. “you forgot.” she turned kate was spinning a basketball on one finger. “what?”

“the pass.”

“right.”

“unless you were lying.” veronica rolled her eyes. “i wasn’t lying.”

“good.” kate tossed her the ball. “teach me.” it was supposed to take five minutes to show her the angle and the timing where to look before making the pass instead, forty minutes disappeared.

kate messed it up a lot every time the ball sailed too high or bounced off the wrong spot, she’d throw both hands in the air like the pass had personally offended her. “there is absolutely no way you people can make this look so easy.” veronica laughed. “a little lower.”

“i am throwing it lower.”

“you’re not.”

“i feel like i am.”

“that’s the problem.” kate groaned dramatically before trying again the ball finally hit exactly where it needed to. “there!” veronica pointed. “that’s it.” kate stared at the pass she’d just made before looking back at her. “i did that.”

“you did.”

“…i’m amazing.”

“let’s not get carried away.” kate laughed so hard she nearly dropped the ball. “you know…” she said between breaths, “i honestly thought you didn’t like me.” the words landed harder than veronica expected. “what?”

“the first week.” kate shrugged. “every time i tried talking to you, you looked like you wanted to be anywhere else.” veronica’s stomach dropped. “i didn’t.”

“i know that now.”

“you do?”

“yeah.” kate smiled. “you’re just quiet.”

quiet if only it were that simple veronica wasn’t quiet around everyone just kate because talking to kate meant thinking about kate thinking about kate meant feeling guilty and guilt was exhausting.

“anyway,” kate continued, completely unaware of the war happening inside veronica’s head, “i’m glad i was wrong.” before veronica could answer, kayla’s voice echoed from across the gym.

“booty cheeks!” kate sighed toward the ceiling. “i swear she has radar.”

“booty cheeks! we’re leaving!” kate looked back at veronica. “duty calls.” veronica smiled despite herself. “apparently.”

“thanks for the help.”

“anytime.” the word slipped out before she could stop it. kate smiled a little wider. “careful.”

“what?”

“you’re making me think we’re friends now.” veronica felt her heartbeat stumble, friends right that’s all, this was friends as she forced herself to smile. “maybe.” kate pointed at her. “i’ll take maybe.” then she turned, jogging toward the exit where kayla was already waiting with two coffees balanced in one hand. “what took so long?” kayla asked.

“private coaching.” kayla looked between the two of them. “without me?” kate gasped. “are you jealous?”

“absolutely.” kate bumped her shoulder as they walked through the doors together. “you’ll survive.”

“debatable.”

their voices faded down the hallway veronica stood alone near the basket, absentmindedly spinning the ball in her hands.

friends.

that was good, friends were safe, friends didn’t make your heart race because they smiled at you friends didn’t stay on your mind the entire drive back to the hotel.

friends definitely didn’t make you replay a forty-minute shooting session over and over while you brushed your teeth that night she caught her own reflection in the mirror and frowned. “get it together,” she muttered quietly as her phone lit up on the bathroom counter.

emily ❤️

facetime?

guilt settled into her chest almost instantly she answered before the second ring because whatever this thing in her head was she was determined to make sure it stayed there.the facetime call lasted almost an hour long enough for emily to tell three different stories from practice, complain about the food she’d been eating all week, and somehow convince veronica that sleeping five hours a night was a perfectly reasonable life choice.

“you’re impossible,” veronica laughed, shaking her head. “i’m efficient.”

“you’re sleep deprived.”

“details.” veronica smiled, resting her chin against her hand as she watched emily grin through the screen as this was easy, this was what they did it reminded her why they’d worked in the first place.

emily could make her laugh without trying she knew exactly when veronica was overthinking because she’d been watching her do it for years. “what?” emily asked.

“nothing.”

“you’re doing the thing.”

“what thing?”

“where you stare at me instead of talking.” veronica laughed quietly. “i’m listening.”

“mm.” emily narrowed her eyes playfully. “you’re thinking.”

“maybe.”

“about?” veronica opened her mouth and closed it again as nothing came out she wasn’t thinking about anything she could actually explain, not without sounding ridiculous. “camp.”

it wasn’t a complete lie. “just trying to learn everything.” emily nodded knowingly. “don’t put too much pressure on yourself.”

“i know.”

“no, you don’t.” veronica smiled. “probably not.”

“ronnie.”

“yeah?”

“you’re there because you deserve to be.” the words settled over her more gently than she’d expected. “don’t spend every day trying to prove everyone else right.” emily smiled. “just play.” veronica swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat.

“i love you.” the words came naturally; they always had emily’s smile softened. “i love you too.”

when the call ended, veronica sat on the edge of the bed for a long moment, staring at the now-black screen in her hand.

she loved emily she did so why did it feel like she was trying so hard to convince herself?

the next morning started with film, everyone shuffled into the dark room carrying coffees and breakfast sandwiches, the lights dimmed before the projector flickered to life.

veronica slipped into an empty chair near the middle; she'd barely opened her notebook when someone dropped into the seat beside her. “morning.”

she looked over kate holding two coffees. “morning.” kate held one out. “peace offering.” veronica blinked. “for what?”

“making you stay forty minutes after practice yesterday.”

“you didn’t make me.”

“still.” she nudged the cup a little closer. “take it.” veronica hesitated for half a second before accepting it. “thanks.”

“don’t mention it.” they sat in comfortable silence while players continued filing into the room veronica took a cautious sip. “this is actually good.” kate looked dramatically offended. “what did you expect?”

“i don’t know.”

“a terrible coffee order?”

“kind of.” kate placed a hand over her heart. “you wound me.” before veronica could answer, kayla walked into the room. “there you are, booty cheeks.” kate didn’t even look up. “good morning to you too.”

kayla stopped beside their row then looked down at the extra coffee in veronica’s hand. “hold on.” kate slowly looked up. “what?”

“you bought burton coffee?”

“yeah.” kayla frowned. “where’s mine?” kate stared for a beat before smiling innocently. “you’re capable of buying your own.”

the room around them erupted into scattered laughter as kayla gasped loudly enough for everyone nearby to hear. “betrayal booty checks.”

“you’ll survive.”

“i don’t think i will.” kate shrugged. “thought you were tough.”

“i am.”

“then act like it.” kayla pointed an accusing finger. “this changes things.”

“does it?”

“absolutely.” kate laughed, shaking her head as kayla wandered off toward another row, still muttering dramatically under her breath veronica found herself smiling into her coffee. “what?” kate caught her. “nothing.”

“you smiled.”

“did i?”

“you did.”

“must’ve been an accident.” kate grinned. “we’re making progress.” before veronica could ask what that meant, the lights dimmed completely and coach stepped to the front film began veronica tried to pay attention she really did she wrote notes circled actions listened to every correction.

yet every few minutes she’d become aware of the person sitting beside her, kate leaned forward whenever coach paused the film she scribbled furiously in her notebook every so often she’d quietly mutter, “that’s on me,” after a missed rotation appeared on the screen she wasn’t embarrassed she wasn’t making excuses she simply owned it.

veronica respected that more than she wanted to admit when film ended, everyone stood at once, conversations immediately filling the room again kate stretched her arms above her head. “Well.” veronica looked over. “well?”

“guess we survived.”

“barely.” kate laughed. “see?”

“what?”

“you joke.” veronica frowned. “occasionally.”

“i knew you had it in you.” she bumped veronica lightly with her shoulder as they walked out of the room it was quick and yet so harmless the kind of absentminded thing teammates did all the time still veronica felt it long after they reached the gym.

she hated herself for that because it meant something to her and it probably hadn’t even crossed kate’s mind across the court, kayla called out, “booty cheeks, quit flirting with burton and get over here.”

the entire gym seemed to go quiet for one impossible second veronica’s heart stopped, kate’s face twisted immediately into confusion. “what are you talking about?”

“you’ve been attached at the hip all morning.” kate rolled her eyes so hard it was almost impressive. “i bought her a coffee.”

“exactly.”

“you’re unbelievable.”

“i know.” kate laughed, shaking her head as she jogged away. “you’re actually insane.”

veronica stood frozen where she was, it had been a joke everyone knew it was a joke everyone except the tiny, traitorous part of her brain that couldn’t stop replaying kayla’s words.

quit flirting with burton.

she wasn’t kate wasn’t they weren’t doing anything so why had hearing it made her chest feel so impossibly light…right before the guilt came crashing back down?

after that, veronica became painfully aware of how often she and kate ended up around each other it wasn’t intentional at least, she didn’t think it was.

the coaches constantly mixed up practice groups, rotated partners through drills, and switched defensive assignments every few possessions. 

if she ended up next to kate during shell drill one day, she’d probably spend the next guarding someone else. there wasn’t any pattern to it and yet somehow, kate always found something to say. “nice read.”

“good help.”

“that’s my bad.”

little things but never enough to keep a conversation going if veronica didn’t want one she appreciated that kate never pushed.

if veronica answered with a smile and one word, kate accepted it if she answered with two, kate grinned like she’d won something it was…easy which only made veronica feel worse because she found herself wanting to answer with three. “burton.”

she looked up from stretching kate was spinning a ball on her fingertip. “question.”

“…okay.”

“be honest.” veronica already didn’t like where this was going. “am i actually getting better at that pass, or are you just being nice?” veronica watched kate bounce the ball before catching it again. “you’re getting better.”

“see?” kate pointed at her triumphantly. “i knew it.”

“i also said you still rush it.” kate’s shoulders slumped dramatically. “you couldn’t let me have that?”

“no.” kate sighed. “that’s fair.” before either of them could say anything else, kayla walked by carrying two water bottles. “booty cheeks.” kate didn’t even bother looking. “yes?”

“you’re needed.”

“for?”

“moral support.”

“that’s not a real reason.”

“it is if i’m asking.” kate laughed. “give me thirty seconds.” kayla’s eyes shifted toward veronica before a grin slowly spread across her face. “am i interrupting something?” veronica immediately looked away. “no.” kate looked genuinely confused. “we’re talking.”

“that’s what i said.” kayla wiggled her eyebrows kate blinked. “…you’re weird.”

“takes one to know one.”

“doesn’t even make sense.”

“doesn’t have to.”

kayla wandered off before kate could come up with another response veronica let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding kate noticed. “does she always do that?”

“pretty much.”

“good.” veronica frowned. “good?”

“means it’s not personal.” veronica laughed quietly. “definitely not.”

“i was starting to think she’d declared war on me.”

“give her time.” kate smiled. “see?”

“what?”

“that.”

“what?”

“you laughed again.” veronica rolled her eyes. “you’re keeping track?”

“a little.”

“that’s weird.”

“a little.” they looked at each other for half a second before laughing at the exact same time it wasn’t loud it wasn’t dramatic it just happened and for the first time since camp started, the conversation didn’t feel awkward.

it felt normal the realization lingered with veronica for the rest of practice, normal when had talking to kate started feeling normal? when practice ended, everyone slowly filtered toward the locker room.

coach reminded them they had a team dinner that evening before dismissing them, earning a mixture of cheers and exaggerated applause. “free food,” someone yelled.

“that’s the spirit,” another coach laughed, by seven o’clock, everyone had claimed seats around a long table in the private room of a restaurant a few minutes from the hotel.

veronica ended up between two veterans, halfway down one side of the table kate was across from her kayla was beside kate she told herself not to look over.

she failed almost immediately, conversation bounced around the room, stories from college bad flights, terrible roommates favorite arenas.

someone asked kate about her first week and she shrugged. “honestly?”

“honestly,” kayla repeated, kate smiled. “everybody’s been awesome.”

“awe,” kayla teased. “don’t.”

“she’s getting emotional.”

“i’m literally not.”

“look at her.” kate reached over and shoved kayla’s shoulder. “eat your fries.”

“yes, ma’am.”

the table laughed, veronica smiled despite herself before taking another sip of her drink she didn’t think that kate caught it. “veronica.” veronica looked up kate was already looking at her.

“what’s been the hardest adjustment for you?”

the question caught her off guard but everyone else had gone back to their own conversations for a moment, it almost felt like they were the only two people at the table. “probably…” she thought about it. “trying not to overthink.” kate nodded immediately. “same.”

“really?”

“all the time.” kate reached for another fry. “i’ll make one mistake and spend the next three possessions thinking about it.” veronica laughed. “…that sounds familiar.”

“it’s exhausting.”

“a little.”

“a lot.” they shared another smile, which was all small, easy and comfortable. “see?” kayla interrupted from beside kate. “look at you two.” both of them turned toward her. “what?”

kayla grinned around a mouthful of food. “you’re having your own little conversation.” kate looked at her like she’d grown another head. “…yes?”

“cute.”

“you’re impossible.”

“i’ve accepted that.” kate shook her head, laughing to herself before turning back toward veronica. “ignore her.”

“i usually do.”

“smart.” the conversation moved on as someone farther down the table started telling an embarrassing rookie story that immediately stole everyone’s attention. veronica laughed with everyone else she should’ve been focused on that instead, somewhere in the back of her mind, one thought quietly settled in.

this was the longest conversation she’d had with kate and she’d enjoyed every second of it the realization followed her all the way back to the hotel she was brushing her teeth when her phone lit up on the bathroom counter.

emily ❤️

how was team dinner?

veronica stared at the message as her fingers hovered over the keyboard.

it was good.

she hit send another message came almost instantly.

make any new friends?

veronica’s thumb stopped moving she looked at the blinking cursor then at her own reflection in the mirror after a long moment, she typed.

yeah. everyone’s been really nice.

it wasn’t a lie it just wasn’t the whole truth and somehow that felt even worse.

the next few days blurred together in the way only training camp could wake up practice, film, lift, eat, sleep and repeat.

every morning felt exactly like the one before it until veronica realized she had stopped checking the practice schedule taped inside her locker because she already knew what the day looked like the team was settling in.

coach had started talking less, stopping drills less trusting them more mistakes still happened, but they weren’t the frantic, first-day mistakes anymore. 

they were cleaner fixable people who had started relaxing that included veronica or at least everyone else seemed to think so. “look who’s smiling.” veronica looked over from where she was lacing her shoes. “i smile.” one of the veterans laughed. “not this much.”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“sure.” the conversation died there, but it stayed with her longer than she wanted it to. was she smiling more? she didn’t think so she’d always smiled probably before she could think about it any longer, kate wandered into the locker room balancing a paper bag in one hand and two coffees in the other. “who ordered the giant breakfast?” kayla asked immediately.

kate held up the bag.

“me.”

“all of that?”

“don’t judge me.”

“i’m absolutely judging you.” kate reached into the bag before tossing something across the room kayla caught it one-handed. “you bought me breakfast?”

“don’t make it weird.” kayla looked genuinely touched for about half a second. “booty cheeks…”

“don’t.”

“i love you.” kate groaned. “i literally bought you a breakfast sandwich.”

“exactly.”

“eat your food.” kayla clutched the sandwich dramatically to her chest. “this means something.”

“it means i was already in line.” the room filled with laughter veronica smiled to herself as she finished tying her shoes she looked up just in time to catch kate’s eyes.

kate smiled, which was a small one the kind people exchanged when they were both in on the same joke without thinking, veronica smiled back.

it lasted maybe two seconds then kate looked away to answer something one of the coaches had asked that should’ve been the end of it instead, veronica found herself thinking about it all through warmups.

it was just a smile people smiled but normal people didn’t spend ten minutes replaying one in their head.

practice was lighter that afternoon coach split everyone into smaller groups for shooting competitions, the losing teams responsible for picking up basketballs afterward veronica ended up on the same team as two veterans.

kate landed with kayla. “you’re going down,” kayla announced from the opposite baseline kate looked at the scorekeeper. “are we allowed to switch teammates?”

“rude,” kayla said.

“honest.” the whistle blew, the gym instantly became louder, players cheered after every made shot, groaned after every miss, talking over one another until nobody could hear themselves think.

veronica was lining up another three when she heard kate yell from the other end of the court. “kayla!”

“what?”

“you were supposed to rebound!”

“i thought you were making it!”

“i would’ve if you rebounded!”

“that’s not how basketball works!”

“then explain why i missed!” veronica laughed before the ball had even left her hands it hit nothing but net. “nice shot!” someone yelled she turned automatically.

kate had been watching from across the court she pointed at the basket before giving veronica a quick thumbs up veronica lifted a hand in return.

it was nothing just teammates encouraging each other except when she turned back toward her own basket, one of the veterans beside her bumped her shoulder. “you two finally becoming friends?” the question came so casually that it caught her completely off guard. “what?”

“you and martin.” veronica frowned. “we’re teammates.”

“that’s not what i asked.” before she could answer, coach blew the whistle signaling the end of the drill, saved or so she thought as everyone bent down to collect basketballs, the veteran walked beside her. “she seems good for you.”

veronica almost dropped the ball she was holding. “what does that mean?”

“you laugh around her.” she stared, the veteran shrugged. “didn’t really happen the first week.” then she jogged ahead before veronica could ask what she meant veronica stood frozen near half court.

she laughs around her the words echoed louder than the whistles had all afternoon.

did she?

she didn’t think she stopped because she suddenly realized she could remember exactly how many times kate had made her laugh over the past week way too many her phone buzzed inside her bag while everyone headed back toward the locker room she smiled automatically.

emily.

call tonight?

veronica stared at the message then looked up across the hallway, kate and kayla were arguing over who had actually lost the shooting competition. “you missed three.”

“you missed four.”

“one rolled out.”

“a miss is a miss.”

“i reject that.”

“of course you do.” kate laughed, nudging kayla out of the doorway with her shoulder veronica looked back down at her phone. yeah. after dinner?

she hit send almost immediately, the guilt settled in again because for the first time since she’d gotten to camp she had answered emily’s text while thinking about someone else.

veronica called emily that night like she’d promised they would talk while veronica sat cross-legged on the hotel bed, the television muted in the background, nothing but the soft hum of the air conditioner filling the silence whenever one of them stopped talking.

emily was telling a story about one of her teammates when she suddenly laughed. “what?” veronica smiled. “nothing.”

“don’t ‘nothing’ me.”

“i’m listening.”

“you’re smiling.”

“is that a crime?”

“depends.” emily narrowed her eyes playfully through the screen. “is someone at camp making you laugh?” the question was innocent, completely harmless veronica answered a little too fast. “the team’s funny.”

it wasn’t a lie well not exactly emily nodded. “good.” she smiled. “i’m glad you’ve got good people around you.” good people just kept replaying as veronica swallowed. “yeah.”

they stayed on facetime for another half hour before both of them admitted they needed sleep. “love you,” emily said. “love you too.”

the words came automatically they always had but after the call ended, veronica stared at her own reflection in the now-black screen.

she didn’t know why she’d hesitated she’d meant it she knew she had so why had it suddenly felt heavier to say?

practice the next morning was louder than usual someone had connected their phone to the speakers before coaches walked in, music echoing through the gym while players stretched and shot around. kayla was dancing terribly on purpose probably. “you have absolutely no rhythm,” kate laughed.

“that’s a lie.”

“it’s actually impressive.”

“you’re jealous.”

“of what?”

“these moves.” kate looked toward the ceiling. “coach.” the coach looked over. “yes?”

“can you cut her?” the entire gym burst into laughter kayla placed a hand over her heart. “after everything we’ve been through.”

“it’s been two weeks.”

“exactly.”

“that’s not a long time.”

“it is emotionally.” kate shook her head, unable to stop laughing veronica was halfway through a layup line when she caught herself laughing too.

she missed the layup completely the ball hit the back of the rim and bounced away. “burton!” one of the assistants called. “finish.”

she jogged after the ball, cheeks warming, focus she needed to focus coach split them into teams for a scrimmage veronica and kate ended up together for the first time. “finally,” kayla said dramatically. “what?” kate asked.

“i don’t have to guard booty cheeks.” kate rolled her eyes. “you were barely guarding me anyway.”

“that’s because i’m saving my energy.”

“for what?”

“being funny.”

“debatable.” they lined up for the opening possession kate drifted toward veronica while everyone got set. “guess we’re teammates today.” veronica nodded. “looks like it.”

“try not to yell at me.” veronica blinked. “i don’t yell.” kate smiled. “exactly.”

the ball went up the scrimmage started fast as coach let them play through almost everything, only stopping the action to correct major mistakes.

late in the second quarter of the scrimmage, veronica drove into the lane before kicking the ball out to kate in the corner. kate caught it cleanly and didn't hesitate the shot splashed through the net. “good pass!” kate called immediately as they ran back on defense as veronica pointed toward her. “good shot.”

“keep doing that.”

“making shots?”

“passing me the ball.” veronica laughed. “i’ll think about it.”

“please do.” they settled into an easy rhythm kate cut veronica found her kate rotated early veronica trusted she would be there it felt surprisingly natural. “nice chemistry,” coach called after another possession.

neither of them thought much of it coach said things like that all the time, still the words lodged themselves somewhere in the back of veronica’s mind.

after practice, everyone slowly wandered toward the locker room, exhausted and dripping with sweat. veronica was digging through her bag for a clean shirt when she heard kate’s voice behind her. “hey.” she turned kate leaned against the locker beside hers. “thanks.”

“for?”

“today.” veronica frowned. “you made my job easy.”

“you made mine easier.” kate smiled. “see?”

“what?”

“we’re getting somewhere.” veronica couldn’t help smiling back. “apparently.” before either of them could say anything else, kayla appeared between them out of nowhere. “there you are, booty cheeks.” kate jumped. “how do you keep doing that?”

“talent.” kayla looked between the two of them before smirking. “am i interrupting?”

“yes,” kate deadpanned. “perfect.” kate laughed. “what do you want?”

“food.”

“okay?”

“you’re coming.” kate sighed dramatically. “do i have a choice?”

“absolutely not.” kate looked back at veronica. “you wanna come?”

the invitation hung in the air for just a second a week ago, veronica would’ve said no immediately today she almost said yes almost then her phone vibrated inside her bag.

she didn’t even have to look she already knew; emily, the tiny spark she’d felt disappeared as quickly as it had come. “i can’t.” kate nodded without a hint of disappointment. “another time.”

“yeah.”

“no worries.” she smiled. “a rain check.” before veronica could answer, kayla was already pulling on kate’s sleeve. “come on, booty cheeks.”

“i’m walking.”

“faster.” kate laughed, letting herself get dragged toward the door. “you’re so impatient.”

“because i’m hungry.” their voices faded down the hallway veronica slowly pulled her phone out.

emily ❤️

free to talk?

she looked toward the now-empty doorway then back at the screen for reasons she couldn’t explain she wished the timing had been different.

the rain check sat in the back of veronica’s mind longer than it should have, not because she’d wanted to go because she’d almost wanted to go there was a difference at least, that was what she kept telling herself.

she’d spent the rest of the evening on facetime with emily, listening to her talk about practice and travel plans, laughing at stories she’d heard a dozen different versions of before. 

it was comfortable and familiar it’s the kind of conversation that had always come naturally between them still, every now and then, there’d be a lull, not an awkward one just quiet and lately, veronica had started noticing them. “what are you thinking about?” emily asked, resting her chin on her hand veronica blinked. “nothing.” emily smiled knowingly. “that’s never true.”

“just tired.”

“you’ve been saying that a lot.”

“training camp.”

“yeah.” emily nodded. “i get it.” she did that was the thing emily always got it as she understood the pressure, the uncertainty, the constant feeling that one bad day could change everything she never asked veronica to explain what it felt like because she’d lived it too.

so why did veronica suddenly feel like she was the one holding something back? “Hey.” emily’s voice softened. “don’t disappear on me.” veronica smiled. “i’m here.”

“good.” they stayed on the phone another twenty minutes before finally saying goodnight when the call ended, veronica lay awake staring at the ceiling she wasn’t thinking about kate she wasn’t she was thinking about why she’d almost said yes that was different.

the next morning brought an announcement that immediately changed the mood around camp. “we’ve got an off day tomorrow,” coach said before practice a chorus of relieved cheers filled the gym. “don’t get too excited,” she continued. “you’re still expected back here the following morning ready to work.”

“yes, coach,” half the team answered in unison. kayla pumped a fist into the air. “i’m sleeping until noon.”

“you wish,” kate laughed. “don’t ruin this for me.”

“someone has to.” practice flew by without conditioning eating up the first hour, everyone looked lighter on their feet.

shots started falling passes were crisper the team was finally beginning to look like a team during a break between drills, veronica wandered toward the cooler to refill her water bottle. “perfect timing.”

she looked over kate was already there. “i’ve got another question.” veronica laughed quietly. “you always have questions.”

“it’s how i learn.”

“what is it?” kate leaned against the table. “how do you always know where everyone’s gonna be?” 

“what do you mean?”

“you’ll throw a pass before somebody’s even open.” she mimicked the motion with her hands. “then somehow they’re exactly where you thought they’d be.” veronica shrugged. “i don’t know.”

“yes, you do.”

“i just…” she searched for the right words. “…watch people.” kate tilted her head. “watch people.”

“their habits.”

“okay.”

“everyone moves differently.” kate listened without interrupting. “once you know how somebody likes to cut…” veronica gestured toward the court. “it gets easier.” kate smiled. “that’s really cool.” veronica looked down at her water bottle. “it’s just basketball.”

“maybe.” kate screwed the cap back onto her own bottle. “doesn’t make it any less cool.”

before veronica could respond, coach called everyone back in as kate jogged away, she glanced over her shoulder. “thanks, v.” veronica stopped walking.

v. it had slipped out so naturally that kate probably hadn’t even realized she’d shortened her name she watched kate rejoin the drill.

v.

no one on the team had called her that yet she wasn’t even sure why it made her smile. “burton!” she snapped out of it and coach pointed toward the opposite baseline. “let’s go.”

“coming.”

practice ended just before lunch everyone showered quickly, eager to start their first real afternoon off in weeks veronica was stuffing a hoodie into her backpack when she heard kayla from the other side of the locker room. “mall?”

someone answered yes another player suggested coffee instead within seconds, half the room was throwing out ideas. “booty cheeks.” kate looked up. “what?”

“you’re driving.”

“who made me the chauffeur?”

“your face.”

“that doesn’t even make sense.”

“none of this does.” kate sighed dramatically. “how many people?” hands shot up around the room. “absolutely not.” everyone laughed. “i have, like, four seats.”

“figure it out.”

“i’m leaving people behind.”

“survival of the fittest.” veronica zipped her bag closed, trying not to smile she almost made it to the door unnoticed almost. “hey, v.”

she froze it took her a second to realize kate was talking to her. “Yeah?” kate smiled. “a bunch of us are going to the mall.” kayla nodded enthusiastically. “come with.”

veronica glanced between them there were at least six or seven teammates standing nearby it wasn’t just kate it wasn’t one-on-one it was a team outing completely harmless. “i…”

before she could finish, her phone vibrated in her back pocket she already knew who it was. she didn’t have to look but she did anyway.

emily ❤️

good morning. call me when you get a chance?

her smile faded just enough for kate to notice. “everything okay?” veronica locked her phone. “yeah.” she forced a small smile. “i just promised emily i’d call her.” kate nodded immediately. “gotcha.” not disappointed, not offended just understanding. “next time.”

“yeah.”

“have fun talking to her.”

“thanks.” kate smiled one last time before turning back toward the group. “okay, who’s sitting in the trunk?”

“not it!” kayla yelled. “i called shotgun.”

“you call shotgun every time.”

“because i’m committed.” their voices slowly faded as they headed toward the parking lot veronica remained where she was for another moment, her phone still in her hand she pressed cal emily answered almost instantly. “hey, you.”

veronica smiled. “hey.” as emily started telling her about her morning, veronica walked toward her own car alone; she never looked back; she didn’t see kate glance over her shoulder as the group climbed into their cars didn’t see the brief flicker of confusion cross her face before she shrugged it off.

from kate’s point of view, veronica always seemed happy to talk during practice she just never seemed to stay once practice was over.

kate figured that was just who she was; she had no idea that every time veronica walked away it wasn’t because she wanted to, it was because staying was starting to feel a little too easy.

the off day came and went faster than anyone wanted it to by the following morning, everyone was back inside the practice facility before the sun had fully come up, coffees in hand, conversations noticeably louder after twenty-four hours away from the gym.

kayla was somehow already talking. “and then she tells me i can’t have dessert.” kate looked horrified. “that’s actually cruel.”

“right?”

“who says no to dessert?”

“a monster.”

“exactly.” veronica smiled to herself as she walked past them toward her locker; she'd gotten used to hearing their voices before she ever saw them.

it was becoming routine she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. “morning, v.” she looked over kate was already smiling at her. “morning.”

“good off day?”

“yeah.”

“do anything fun?” veronica shrugged. “mostly relaxed.”

“same.” kayla immediately cut in. “that’s a lie.” kate sighed. “here we go.”

“you spent forty-five minutes trying to convince me to buy a pair of shoes.”

“because they looked good.”

“they were orange.”

“they were stylish.”

“they looked like traffic cones.” kate laughed. “you have no vision.”

“i have functioning eyes.”

“debatable.” veronica couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped it was quiet barely more than a breath but both of them heard it but kayla pointed dramatically. “see?” kate turned toward veronica with an unnecessarily smug smile. “thank you.”

“for what?”

“validation.” veronica shook her head. “i wasn’t agreeing with you.”

“too late.”

“that’s not how that works.”

“it does today.” coach walked in before the conversation could continue, clapping her hands together. “let’s get to work.” everyone scattered.

practice was easily the most physical they’d had all camp coach let almost everything go.

hands, bumps, hard screens if someone hit the floor, they were expected to get back up by the end of the second scrimmage, everyone was breathing hard.

veronica wiped sweat from her forehead as they waited for the next possession to start kate lined up beside her. “you alive?”

“barely.”

“good.” veronica looked over. “good?”

“means i’m not the only one suffering.”

“that’s a terrible way to motivate people.” kate smiled. “it’s working though.” before veronica could answer, the ball was inbounded the possession moved quickly.

veronica brought the ball up the floor, calling out the set before driving toward the middle the defense collapsed without thinking, she fired the ball toward the weak side.

kate was already there she caught it in stride and laid it in before the help defender could rotate the whistle blew. “nice!” coach yelled.

kate immediately turned toward veronica. “that’s what i’m talking about!”

without thinking, she jogged over and reached out their hands slapped together in a quick high five.

it lasted less than a second just enough for kate to grin before jogging back on defense veronica stood there for half a heartbeat longer than she should have.

it was nothing, teammates high-fived each other all day still her palm felt strangely warm. “burton.” she looked over and one of the assistants smirked. “you planning on getting back on defense?”

heat rushed into her face. “right.” she hurried back as everyone laughed, focus just focus.

practice finally ended nearly three hours later the locker room was unusually quiet everyone looked exhausted kayla flopped dramatically onto the bench. “i think coach hates us.”

“probably,” kate answered. “did we do something?”

“exist.”

“rude.” kate chuckled as she pulled a hoodie over her head veronica was digging through her bag when she heard someone clear their throat beside her.

she looked up kate holding out a protein bar. “what’s this?”

“peace offering.” veronica laughed. “for what this time?”

“coach made us suffer.”

“you didn’t.”

“doesn’t matter.” she wiggled the protein bar. “take it.” veronica accepted it. “thanks.”

“you’re welcome.” there was that pause again only this time neither of them seemed in a hurry to fill it. “so…” kate said. “so?”

“i’ve been meaning to ask.” veronica looked at her. “how come you always leave right after practice?”

the question wasn’t accusing if anything, kate sounded genuinely curious, veronica’s fingers tightened slightly around the wrapper. “i…” she searched for an answer that didn’t feel dishonest.

“i usually call emily.”kate nodded almost immediately. “that makes sense.” she smiled. “long distance’s gotta be tough.” veronica felt something sink inside her chest. “yeah.”

“a friend of mine did it.” kate shrugged. “said it was harder than people realized.”

“…it is.” kate studied her for a second before smiling softly. “well…” she pushed herself away from the locker. “tell her i said she picked someone who throws really good passes.” veronica laughed. “i don’t think that’ll come up.”

“missed opportunity.” before kate could take another step, a voice echoed through the room. “martin.” everyone instinctively looked toward the doorway and one of the team’s staff members stood there. “coach wants to see you.” kate frowned. “right now?”

“yeah.”

“okay.” she looked back at veronica. “see you tomorrow.”

“see you.” kate disappeared down the hallway kayla watched her go before shrugging. “hope she’s not in trouble.”

“she probably forgot to fill out some paperwork,” another teammate guessed. “or she stole another towel,” someone else joked.

the room laughed, veronica smiled faintly before looking back down at the protein bar still sitting in her hands.

she turned it over once twice then slipped it into the front pocket of her backpack instead of leaving it in her locker.

she didn’t know why she only knew that when her phone buzzed a few seconds later with another message from emily for the first time since training camp had started she didn’t answer it right away.

the next morning, kate was quieter it wasn’t obvious, not unless you knew what she’d been like every day before she still smiled when people said good morning still thanked one of the trainers for taping her ankle. 

still laughed when kayla nearly dropped an entire tray of water bottles before practice but the laugh didn’t linger it disappeared almost as quickly as it came.

veronica noticed before she’d even finished putting her shoes on she frowned to herself maybe kate was just tired camp had a way of wearing everyone down eventually. “booty cheeks.” kayla nudged kate’s shoulder. “you alive?” kate looked over. “unfortunately.”

“that’s dramatic.”

“a little.”

“a lot.” kate smiled. “probably.” it was enough to satisfy kayla, who immediately launched into another story about getting lost on the way to the grocery store.

kate listened and she laughed in the right places she looked normal, almost.

practice started a few minutes later coach kept everyone moving, running through offensive sets before splitting the team into small groups for situational work veronica and kate barely crossed paths all morning.

when they did, kate still complimented a good pass still clapped after a defensive stop still looked exactly like herself except she seemed somewhere else during a water break, veronica filled her bottle beside one of the veterans. “you hear?” veronica looked up. “hear what?”

the veteran lowered her voice. “martin.” veronica’s stomach tightened. “what about her?”

“heard she and claire broke up.” the words landed so unexpectedly that for a second veronica wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. “what?”

“one of the staff mentioned it this morning.” the veteran shrugged. “sounded pretty recent.” before veronica could ask anything else, coach blew the whistle from the middle of the court. “let’s go!” everyone immediately scattered but veronica stood still for half a second longer.

kate and claire broke up; she wasn’t sure why her chest suddenly felt so tight; she hated herself for noticing she hated herself even more for wondering if that was why kate had seemed quieter.

throughout the rest of practice, her eyes found kate more often than they should have kate missed a shot she normally made she shrugged it off.

she got beat on a backdoor cut she clapped for the teammate who scored instead of getting frustrated.

she smiled and she laughed she looked fine.

maybe the veteran had been wrong, maybe it wasn’t true or maybe kate was just really good at pretending.

practice ended just after noon.

players wandered toward the locker room, conversations picking back up now that coach wasn’t barking instructions every thirty seconds.

veronica was unlacing her shoes when kayla dropped onto the bench beside kate. “you wanna grab lunch?” kate was quiet for a second. “maybe later.” kayla glanced over. “everything okay?” there it was just four simple words; everything okay?

kate looked down at the floor before answering. “yeah.” kayla didn’t say anything, she just waited finally kate sighed. “claire and i ended things.”

the locker room suddenly felt much smaller it wasn’t silent people were still talking on the other side of the room music was still playing softly from someone’s speaker but the small circle around kate went still as kayla’s expression softened immediately. “oh.” kate nodded once. “yeah.”

“when?”

“a couple days ago.”

“why didn’t you say anything?” kate shrugged. “didn’t really wanna make it a thing.” kayla reached over and bumped their knees together. “you okay?”

kate smiled a real smile, this time small a little sad. “i will be.” kayla didn’t push, she just nodded. “okay.” after a second, she stood. “don’t move.” kate blinked. “why?”

“because i’m getting you food.”

“kayla—”

“that’s not a request.” kate laughed quietly. “you’re bossy.”

“and you’re sad.”

“i’m not—”

“don’t argue with me, booty cheeks.” kate rolled her eyes. “fine.”

“good.” kayla disappeared out the locker room doors before kate could protest anymore veronica looked down at the towel in her hands she shouldn’t have listened.

she hadn’t meant to the conversation had just happened a few lockers away she folded the towel once twice then, before she could stop herself, she looked up.

kate was sitting by herself now, elbows resting on her knees, absentmindedly turning a roll of athletic tape over in her hands. she looked nothing like the girl who’d been making everyone laugh an hour earlier.

she just looked heartbroken but something inside veronica ached, it wasn’t excitement, it wasn't relief if anything, it made her feel worse because the very first thought that crossed her mind wasn’t kate’s single but it was i hope she’s okay and somehow that scared her even more.

her phone buzzed she already knew who it was.

emily ❤️

thinking about you. hope practice went well ❤️

veronica stared at the message then looked back across the locker room kate was still sitting exactly where she’d been, staring down at the floor while she waited for kayla to come back.

veronica looked down at her phone again, her thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

thinking about you too.

she typed it she read it and for the first time in a very long time she couldn’t bring herself to hit send.

after that afternoon, something shifted, not with kate with veronica because now every time she looked at kate, she couldn’t stop herself from remembering the expression on her face after everyone else had left the locker room.

the smile she’d forced the way she’d kept turning that roll of athletic tape over and over in her hands like she needed something to do besides think she’d looked lonely the thought lingered for days.

kate, meanwhile, did exactly what everyone expected her to do she showed up, she practiced, she laughed if anything, she leaned even harder into being around her teammates.

especially kayla it wasn’t difficult to understand why kayla refused to let her sit by herself for more than five minutes.

if kate was stretching alone, kayla somehow appeared beside her, if kate grabbed lunch, kayla was already pulling out the chair across from her if kate looked even remotely lost in thought, kayla immediately found something stupid to say until kate laughed.

veronica watched it happen over and over and she told herself she was glad kate had someone she meant that.

she really did, that didn’t stop the uncomfortable feeling settling in her chest every time she looked across the gym and found them together. “booty cheeks.” kate sighed dramatically.

“yes?” kayla pointed toward the shooting machine. “loser buys coffee.”

“didn’t you lose yesterday?”

“that’s irrelevant.”

“it’s literally the only relevant part.”

“are you scared?” kate laughed. “of you?”

“exactly.”

“not even a little.”

“wow.”

“truth hurts.” they spent the next twenty minutes talking trash while firing shots at the basket, neither of them keeping score correctly by the end because they’d gotten too busy arguing about whose math was worse.

veronica tried not to watch, she failed every single time it wasn’t even the jokes anymore it was how naturally kate smiled around kayla how comfortable she looked how easy everything seemed she hated that word now.

easy, because nothing about this felt easy. “burton.” coach’s voice pulled her back. “you’re up.” she blinked. “right.” she stepped into the drill, mentally scolding herself.

this had to stop it was becoming distracting she’d never been the type to lose focus during practice yet lately every time kate laughed, her eyes found her before her brain had a chance to stop them.

that evening, emily called just after dinner veronica answered from her hotel room, sitting cross-legged near the window. “hi.”

“hey.” emily smiled through the screen. “you look tired.”

“feel tired.”

“camp?”

“yeah.” they fell into another familiar conversation; practice, coaches travel, everything was exactly the same as every other call.

except veronica kept checking the clock not because she wanted to end the conversation but because she realized she was struggling to stay present. “ronnie?” she blinked. “sorry.” emily smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “you keep doing that.”

“doing what?”

“drifting.” veronica looked down. “i know.” a quiet silence settled between them but it wasn’t uncomfortable, it was honest emily broke it first. “is everything okay?”

the question hurt because it deserved the truth and veronica didn’t know what the truth was anymore. “yeah.” the word came out softer than she’d intended. “just a lot going on.” emily nodded slowly. “okay.”

she didn’t push she never pushed they finished the conversation a few minutes later, exchanging another “i love you” before hanging up.

this time, when the screen went black, veronica didn’t immediately set the phone down, instead she stared at her own reflection but she was starting to hate the person looking back at her.

the first preseason game crept closer and suddenly practices felt sharper rotations had tightened as coach spent more time talking about scouting reports than conditioning everything became intentional.

the locker room buzzed with a different kind of energy there was excitement now, anticipation players joked a little louder music played a little earlier everyone could feel the season inching closer. “tomorrow,” kayla announced while pulling on her practice jersey. “finally.” kate nodded. “can’t wait.”

“you nervous?”

“a little.”

“good.”

“why is that good?”

“means you care.” kate considered it. “Fair.” kayla bumped her shoulder. “you’re gonna be fine.” kate smiled. “thanks.”

“don’t get emotional.”

“i wasn’t going to.”

“looked like you were thinking about it.”

“i’ll cry just to make you uncomfortable.”

“please don’t.”

“tempting.” veronica laughed before she could stop herself, both of them looked over kayla pointed immediately. “see?” kate grinned. “told you she’s funny.” veronica’s cheeks warmed. “i didn’t say anything.”

“didn’t have to.” kayla nodded in agreement. “silent comedy.”

“that’s not a thing.”

“it is now.”

kate laughed again and god there it was that laugh veronica looked away before anyone noticed she’d been smiling too her phone vibrated against the wooden bench beside her.

emily ❤️

good luck tomorrow. i’ll be watching. proud of you. love you. ❤️

veronica’s smile faded she stared at the message for a long time long enough that the locker room around her faded into the background.

she loved emily she knew she did so why did reading those words make guilt hit before anything else? “v?”

she looked up kate was standing a few feet away, gym bag over one shoulder. “you coming?”

veronica glanced toward the doorway most of the team was already leaving together kayla was waiting just outside, bouncing impatiently on her heels. “booty cheeks!” kate laughed. “i’m coming.” then she looked back at veronica. “you good?”

veronica locked her phone. “yeah.” kate studied her for a second before smiling. “see you tomorrow.”

“see you.” veronica watched as kate caught up with kayla in the hallway she didn’t hear what kayla said.

she only saw kate throw her head back laughing before lightly bumping their shoulders together as they disappeared around the corner.

for reasons she couldn’t explain, the sight stayed with her long after they were gone tomorrow would only be a preseason game.

it didn’t count not really it was just another step before the season officially began veronica had no idea that by the time it ended…

everything she had spent weeks trying not to admit to herself would become impossible to ignore.

game day arrived before veronica felt ready for it the energy inside the practice facility was different, lighter, everyone moved a little quicker, music echoing through the locker room while players finished taping ankles and lacing shoes. 

coaches weren't barking quite as much there was still work to do, but today wasn't about drills today they finally got to play someone else kayla was already talking before she'd even sat down. "booty cheeks." kate looked up from tying her shoes. "good morning."

"you nervous?"

"a little."

"perfect."

"why is everyone happy? i'm nervous?"

"because it means you're human." kate smiled. "i would've preferred superhuman."

"too late."

"guess i'll settle."veronica couldn't help smiling as she pulled her jersey over her head and she caught herself almost immediately she needed to stop doing that. "v."

she looked over kate tossed something toward her, a small packet of fruit snacks veronica caught it. "what's this?"

"pregame fuel." veronica laughed quietly. "fruit snacks?" kate shrugged. "they work."

"according to who?"

"me."

"that's not exactly scientific."

"i've never claimed to be a scientist." kayla leaned across kate's shoulder. "don't encourage her." 

"too late," kate answered veronica tucked the fruit snacks into her warmup pocket. "thanks."

"good luck."

"you too."

it was a simple exchange completely ordinary still, it stayed with veronica as the team loaded onto the bus as her phone buzzed before they pulled away.

emily ❤️

good luck today. i'll be watching. you're going to be amazing.

veronica smiled.

thank you ❤️

another message appeared almost instantly.

call me after?

her fingers hovered over the keyboard.

of course.

she hit send then slid her phone back into her bag across the aisle, kate and kayla were arguing over music. "absolutely not."

"why?"

"because every playlist you make has the same ten songs."

"that's because they're good."

"it's because you refuse to listen to anything else."

"quality over quantity." kate laughed. "you're impossible."

"and yet you still sit next to me."

"i'm starting to question that decision." veronica looked out the window she didn't need to hear the rest she already knew kate would laugh again she was right.

the arena buzzed with the strange mix of excitement and nerves that only preseason could bring families filled the lower bowl.

kids leaned over railings hoping for autographs as everything felt just a little less serious than the regular season and yet for every player on the floor, it meant everything.

warmups flew by introductions and the national anthem, one last huddle as coach clapped her hands. "have fun."

the ball went up and the game started fast veronica settled in quicker than she'd expected she found teammates in transition knocked down an early jumper.

forced a turnover every good possession made the nerves fade a little more basketball had always been the easy part late in the second quarter, kate checked into the game.

the crowd gave a warm cheer kayla met her near half court. "you ready, booty cheeks?" kate laughed. "been ready."

the two of them immediately brought energy diving for loose balls talking on defense celebrating every stop like it was the playoffs.

veronica noticed of course she noticed she always noticed midway through the third quarter, kayla drove into the lane before kicking the ball out the possession swung around the perimeter until it found kate.

she let it fly nothing but net, the bench exploded, players jumped to their feet, kate turned toward the sideline, grinning so hard it looked like her face might hurt as kayla met her halfway.

"there you go!" without thinking, without hesitation kate reached out and gave kayla a quick, playful smack on the butt before pointing back down the floor. "good pass!"

it lasted less than a second just teammates celebrating the kind of thing that happened every single game kayla laughed. "you're welcome, booty cheeks." then both of them sprinted back on defense like nothing had happened but nobody reacted.

the coaches didn't, their teammates didn't the crowd certainly didn't because there was nothing to react to except veronica couldn't breathe.

the court suddenly felt too big, too loud, too bright she stared after them for one impossible second before forcing herself back into the next possession.

what was that? it was nothing.

it was literally nothing, teammates did things like that all the time she'd seen it a hundred times.

so why, why did something twist painfully inside her chest? she missed the next defensive rotation. "burton!" coach's voice snapped at her back. "wake up!"

"sorry."

she recovered just in time barely for the rest of the game, she couldn't stop replaying it.

kate laughing kayla smiling that quick little tap.

so casual, so natural, so… affectionate before she could stop herself, a thought slipped into her mind. i wish that had been me.

the realization hit like a punch her stomach dropped no absolutely not she'd imagined it.

she hadn't meant she didn't she had she wished kate had looked at her like that she wished kate joked with her like that.

she wished she made kate laugh that easily she wished, she wished she'd been the one standing there.

guilt crashed over her so hard she almost felt sick emily, oh god emily.

the final buzzer sounded before veronica even realized the fourth quarter had ended players exchanged handshakes.

families filtered toward the exits, teammates congratulated one another on little moments throughout the game kayla immediately wrapped an arm around kate's shoulders as they walked toward the tunnel. "told you you'd be fine." kate laughed. "you were right."

"obviously."

"don't let it go to your head."

"too late." they disappeared into the hallway together veronica looked away she couldn't watch anymore.

the locker room was loud after the game as coaches handed out quick feedback, players laughed over missed assignments, someone replayed a highlight on their phone and it all sounded distant like she was underwater.

she changed quietly packed her bag and avoided looking across the room. "v?" she froze kate was standing beside her locker, still smiling, still completely unaware. "good game." veronica forced herself to meet her eyes. "yeah you too."

"you okay?"

"just tired." kate nodded. "yeah." she smiled. "me too." then she walked away that was it, she had no idea she'd just shattered something.

the bus ride back was quieter, everyone was exhausted, some people slept others scrolled through their phones veronica stared out the window, the darkness outside reflecting her own face back at her, her phone buzzing.

emily ❤️

i'm so proud of you. you looked amazing tonight.

tears stung unexpectedly behind veronica's eyes because all she could think about was how undeserving those words suddenly felt she answered the facetime as soon as they got back to the hotel.

emily smiled the second the screen connected. "there she is." veronica smiled back or at least she tried to. "how'd it feel?" emily asked. "good."

"just good?"

"it was fun." emily talked excitedly about a pass veronica had made in the second quarter a defensive possession late in the game.

a jumper she'd hit from the wing she'd noticed everything she'd watched the entire game veronica listened, answered and smiled when she was supposed to but she wasn't really there. "ronnie."

she looked up. "yeah?" emily's smile had faded. "where'd you go?"

veronica's throat tightened and she wanted to tell her not about kate not yet but about this feeling about how something inside her had changed and she didn't know how to stop it but instead she lied. "i'm just exhausted." emily nodded slowly. "get some sleep."

"yeah." another quiet pause. "i love you."

veronica closed her eyes for the briefest second when she opened them again, emily was still looking at her with the same warmth she always had.

waiting, trusting and loving her. "i love you too."

the words came out but they didn't sound the way they used to after the call ended, veronica sat alone on the edge of her bed the hotel room was silent.

she thought about kate laughing with kayla about the effortless affection about the impossible thought she'd had in the middle of the game. i wish that had been me.

she covered her face with both hands for weeks; she'd convinced herself it was just a harmless crush, something that would disappear if she ignored it long enough. 

she couldn't tell herself that anymore because somewhere between coffee offers, passing drills, shared laughs, and one meaningless little celebration...

she had stopped wanting kate's attention as a teammate and started wanting it as something else.

it isn't a lie it's just not the whole truth the whole truth is that the golden state valkyries's locker room had started feeling like a minefield it's small things first kate and veronica sitting one seat further apart at film sessions than they used to.

veronica taking the back of the bus instead of the window seat next to kate that had been hers, unofficially, for one season the coaching staff noticing before either of them said a word, the way kate's passes started going just slightly behind where veronica was cutting, the way veronica stopped calling for the ball when kate had it.

nothing dramatic, just two people who used to move like one organism, slowly learning how to be strangers on a court that doesn't forgive strangers their teammates noticed too, you can't hide a fracture from people who watch film of you for a living but nobody said anything, because what is there to say, really, when two of your best players break each other's hearts quietly and then have to guard each other in practice the next morning.

so when the front office calls kate in and says we think a change might be good for everyone, she doesn't fight it, she packs her bags and she doesn't look back, not because she doesn't want to, but because she's not sure she'd survive looking back.

los angeles is loud in a different way than san francisco but the sun doesn't ask permission to be everywhere at once, and kate finds she doesn't hate it finds, actually, that she's good, at this good at being someone new.

the sparks take her in fast cam's already folded her into the group chat within forty-eight hours, sending memes at 1am with no context, treating kate like she's always been there rae's dragged her to three different brunch spots and one (1) extremely overpriced pilates class that kate complained about for a week straight but went back to anyway.

the rest of the roster is loud and young and a little chaotic in a way that never was practice is competitive but it isn't tense, and kate finds herself laughing at shootaround for the first time in months, surprised every time by how easy it is.

nobody on this team knows the weight she's carrying, nobody asks her to perform fine, because nobody knows there's anything to perform it's almost a relief, almost so when madison bailey's people reach out about the release event for her show, it's an easy yes.

madison's been a real friend since a charity thing two summers back, the kind of friendship that survives time zones because neither of them ever made it complicated. kate texts cam and rae — come with me, it'll be fun, free drinks — and they're in before she finishes the sentence.

she wears the green suit (mr green iykyk) rae picked out she laughs at madison's terrible jokes and means it, and at some point in the night someone's phone is up and madison's pulling her into frame and kate doesn't think twice about smiling for it.

cam's somewhere behind her doing something embarrassing with a mocktail rae's already exchanging numbers with someone from madison's cast it's a good night it's the first good night in a while that doesn't feel like she's faking it for an audience she should've thought twice about the photo.

by morning it's everywhere kate martin's los angeles era, somebody's stitched together a whole narrative out of one picture and a caption that just says love this woman 🤍 sports blogs run it next to trade analysis like the two things belong in the same sentence, like a girls' night out is a referendum on how a breakup is going.

it's nothing, it's a friend supporting a friend at an event but nothing travels fast when there's a breakup-shaped hole for people to pour it into, and this league's fans have never met a vacuum they didn't want to fill.

back in san francisco, the golden state valkyries are mid-trip, and veronica is sitting in a hotel room two cities away from anyone who knows her well enough to ask if she's okay her teammates have tried, in the careful, sideways way teammates try things.

someone leaves a protein bar on her stool without being asked, someone else starts boxing her out a little softer in practice, like her body's made of something more breakable than it used to be.

the coaching staff has noticed her shots aren't falling the way they did two months ago, noticed the half-second delay before she calls for a screen, the way she's started icing a knee that was never actually hurt.

nobody says we know this is about kate they don't have to know the whole locker room knows the whole locker room has known since before the trade was even official.

veronica tells herself she's not going to look she looks anyway kate, golden under event lighting, head tipped back laughing at something off-camera kate, looking like leaving was the easiest thing she ever did kate, surrounded by a team that gets the version of her that's easy and light and untouched, while veronica’s stuck here running the same plays in a gym that still smells like her.

she gets to do that, veronica thinks, and hates how much it sounds like an accusation. she gets to just be fine. she gets a whole new team and a whole new city and she gets to be fine.

it isn't fair, the math she's doing she knows that even as she does it — knows that one photo isn't a whole life, knows performance and presence aren't the same thing, knows all of this in the part of her brain that used to be a basketball player and is therefore unreasonably good at recognizing

when someone's playing through pain she knows it and she still lies awake hating the version of kate she's built out of a single instagram post, the one who left and got to keep all the light she doesn't see the part where kate sat in her car for twenty minutes outside the venue, hand on the ignition, not ready to go in.

doesn't see her in the bathroom at 2am wiping off the night like it's a costume that doesn't fit anymore doesn't see cam knocking on kate's hotel room door at 1am two nights later because she heard something through the wall and wanted to make sure kate was alright, doesn't see kate lying about being fine to the one person in la who might've actually believed her if she'd told the truth doesn't see the second phone, the one with no group chats, where kate types out i miss you into a draft she'll never send, four times, on four different nights since the trade.

veronica doesn't know any of that; she only knows the photo and the photo is winning.

the los angeles sparks lose that night, badly, and veronica plays the worst game of her season six points, four turnovers, a defensive lapse in the third quarter that the broadcast keeps replaying in slow motion like it's trying to teach a lesson nobody asked for.

her coach pulls her with four minutes left and doesn't say anything about it afterward, which is somehow worse than if he had been in the locker room, one of her teammates, the rookie, the one who hasn't learned yet when to leave things alone asks if she saw the kate martin thing going around.

veronica says no she's already seen it eleven times three thousand miles away, kate sits in her new apartment with the tv on for noise she isn't listening to, phone face-down on the counter because she knows what's on it if she turns it over cam texted an hour ago; u good? and kate typed yeah just tired and meant neither word the way cam probably hoped.

two women, two teams, two cities built around two completely different versions of the same person the one the internet decided to love, and the one nobody's checking on.

kate wakes up to fourteen texts and a missed call from her mom, who definitely saw the photo, and a single message from a number she still has saved as v 🤍 — heart and all, because she never got around to changing it, because changing it felt like admitting something she wasn't ready to admit.

the message just says; saw the pictures. looks like la's good for you, no punctuation that gives anything away, no real punctuation at all, actually, which is somehow the most veronica thing about it veronica has never once used a period like it owed her money.

kate reads it four times before she understands it isn't a compliment it's not quite an accusation either it's something flatter and sadder than both, a woman trying to sound fine while typing with her thumb shaking kate doesn't know that part she just knows the words.

she types it's just madison, she's a friend, you know that and deletes it. types i miss you too, if that's what you're actually asking and deletes that faster ends up sending nothing at all, because every version of the truth feels like it costs more than she has to spend before 9am.

cam finds her in the kitchen twenty minutes later, hair still damp from a shower, eyeing kate's untouched coffee like it's a crime scene. "you didn't sleep," cam says not a question. "i slept some."

"kate." cam pulls out the stool across from her, sits down with the specific patience of someone who has clearly decided this conversation is happening whether kate wants it to or not. "i heard you on the phone at one in the morning. you weren't talking to anyone. you were just sitting there."

kate doesn't have a good answer for that, so she doesn't give one she pushes the coffee mug an inch to the left like that fixes something. "you know we're not going to make you talk about it," cam says, gentler now.

"but you also gotta stop telling rae you're fine every time she asks, because rae's started asking me if you're fine, and i don't know what to tell her, because i don't actually know if you're fine."

"i'm—" kate starts, and even when she hears how automatic it sounds, the word loaded and ready before her brain's even caught up she stops tries again. "i don't know what i am. is that an acceptable answer?" cam reaches over and steals a sip of the coffee kate wasn't drinking anyway. "yeah," she says. "that one i believe."

four hundred miles away, give or take a road trip's worth of time zones, veronica is sitting in the golden state valkyries facility an hour before anyone else needs to be there, working through free throws nobody asked her to shoot.

she's not thinking about kate she's thinking about the rim, and the rotation of the ball, and the fact that her shoulder's been a half-second slow on the release for two weeks now and nobody's caught it yet because nobody's looking that closely she's thinking about anything except the message she sent at 7am that she's already regretted four separate times. looks like la's good for you.

she'd meant it to sound easy breezy, the kind of thing you text an ex when you've truly moved on and you're just, you know, making conversation instead it came out sounding exactly like what it was a woman standing outside a window watching someone else's party, asking permission to be hurt about it.

kate hasn't responded as it's been three hours, veronica checks her phone between every fifth free throw like that'll change anything.

her teammate, one of the vets, somebody who's been around long enough to know what a person looks like when they're unraveling quietly in a gym at 7am comes in early too, takes one look at veronica’s face, and doesn't ask.

just racks a second ball and starts rebounding for her without a word but sometimes that's the kindest thing a teammate can do as veronica makes eleven in a row after that, which doesn't fix anything but feels, briefly, like it might.

the call happens by accident, the way most honest conversations do kate means to text her thumb slips, or her heart does, and instead the phone's ringing and it's too late to hang up without making it weirder, so she just lets it ring.

veronica picks up on the third one. "hey," kate says. her voice comes out smaller than she means it to.

a pause on the other end kate can hear a gym somewhere behind veronica a ball bouncing, somebody laughing too loud, the particular echo of a facility before practice officially starts. "hey," veronica says back. "you butt-dial me or—"

"no. i meant to call." kate sits down on the edge of her counter, presses her palm flat against the marble like it'll hold her up if her legs decide not to. "i saw your text."

"it was just a text."

"veronica."

"it was just—" veronica stops herself kate hears her exhale, hears the specific frustration of someone losing an argument with themselves in real time. "it wasn't just a text. okay. it wasn't."

"i'm not — los angeles isn't good for me, like, in the way that makes it sound." kate's gripping the counter edge now, knuckles white, surprised by how much she needs veronica to understand this part.

"i went to one event. for a friend. i smiled in one photo. that's — that's not a whole life, v, that's not me being fine, that's just a tuesday that somebody decided to turn into a headline."

"i know." veronica's voice cracks on the word, just slightly, just enough that kate hears four years of practice in the way she catches it and smooths it back over almost immediately. "i know that. i just i see you laughing in a photo and i'm standing here playing the worst basketball of my career and missing you so much i can't see straight, and it felt like you got to leave and i got to fall apart, and that's not i know that's not fair to think. i know it isn't. i still think it."

kate closes her eyes. somewhere in la, the sun is doing the thing it does, golden and indifferent, completely unaware that this conversation is happening at all. “i have a second phone number saved in my notes app,” she says, quiet, like a confession. “no, that’s not — i mean i have a draft. i’ve had it for weeks. it just says i miss you. i’ve never sent it because i didn’t think i was allowed to still feel like that. you requested — i mean, i requested the trade, and i thought that meant i had to actually be okay with it, like, performatively okay, all the way through. i didn’t know i was allowed to still be falling apart on the inside while everyone thought i was thriving.”

silence on the line kate can hear veronica breathing, can hear the gym noise behind her fade out, like maybe veronica stepped into a hallway, away from teammates, away from witnesses. "you should've sent it," veronica finally says.

"i know."

"i would've told you i miss you back. probably immediately. probably embarrassingly fast." kate laughs, wet and surprised, the first real laugh she's let herself have in days that isn't performed for somebody else's camera. "we're so bad at this."

"we're so bad at this," veronica agrees.

neither of them says anything else for a moment, but neither of them hangs up either, and somehow that's the part that feels like the truth finally catching up to both of them not a grand declaration, not a fix, just two exhausted women sitting with the quiet instead of the performance of being fine, for the first time since the trade went through.

it isn't a reunion, it's not that easy, and the story knows it there's still a city between them, still a locker room each of them has to walk back into and pretend they're whole in front of teammates who already know better.

but it's a start the first honest five minutes either of them has had since this whole thing started. "i should go," veronica says eventually, soft. "practice."

"yeah. me too." kate doesn't move from the counter. "veronica?"

"yeah?"

"i'm glad you texted me this morning. even if it took us until now to actually say anything true." a small pause. then, quieter; "yeah. me too."

the schedule comes out on a wednesday, buried in a press release about national broadcast slots and primetime matchups, and kate finds the golden state valkyries-sparks game before she finds anything else on the page three weeks she reads the date four times like it might change if she stares hard enough.

she doesn't tell anyone she circles it on the calendar in her kitchen in pen, which feels significant somehow, like ink makes it more real than it already is.

the three weeks move strange some days drag, practice and treatment and film sessions stacking up slow, and some days she blinks and it's suddenly only ten days out, then five, then the team's boarding a charter to san francisco and kate's staring out the window at clouds doing absolutely nothing to calm her down as cam clocks it almost immediately. "you've been weird all week."

"i haven't."

"you organized the snack cart on the plane by color. you don't do that. nobody does that."

kate doesn't have a defense for the snack cart she also doesn't have a defense for the fact that she's checked her phone forty times since boarding, and veronica hasn't texted, and kate keeps telling herself that's fine, that's normal, that's just two professional athletes about to play each other and not two women who had an entire emotional reckoning over a phone call three weeks ago and then said almost nothing about it since.

they've talked a little careful texts, mostly; good luck thursday, saw your block on the highlight reel, show off, nothing that touches what actually got said that morning it's like they both agreed, without ever agreeing out loud, to let the real conversation sit untouched until they could have it somewhere that wasn't a phone line between two time zones.

rae notices the snack cart thing too, on the bus from the airport. "okay but for real," she says, sliding into the seat next to kate, "you're acting like we're playing the finals. it's february."

"i'm fine."

"you keep saying that word like it means something different than what it actually means." rae says it lightly, but there's something underneath it, the particular kindness of a teammate who's been watching you carefully for weeks without making a thing of it. "whoever's got you like this, i hope they're worth it."

kate doesn't answer but she also doesn't deny it, which rae seems to take as answer enough, because she just pats kate's knee once and goes back to her phone, leaving kate to sit with the fact that apparently her whole team has known for a while now, in the quiet way teams always know things before anybody says them out loud.

shootaround the morning of the game is its own kind of torture both teams use the same facility on back-to-back schedules, which kate forgot was a possibility until she's walking off the court and veronica's team is walking in, and there she is veronica burton, gym bag slung over one shoulder, hair pulled back, looking exactly like she did the last year and also entirely unfamiliar, the way someone you love always looks slightly new after enough time apart.

their eyes catch across the court; neither of them says anything there isn't room to, not with eight teammates and two coaching staffs and a facility manager all moving through the same space, but v's mouth does something small and helpless that kate recognizes instantly as the exact same thing happening on her own face.

cam, beside her, follows her line of sight and goes very quiet. "oh," she says, soft, like several weeks of context just clicked into place at once. "oh. okay."

the game itself is chaos, in the way rivalry games always are physical, fast, both benches yelling, the kind of basketball that makes for a good highlight reel and a worse night's sleep.

kate and veronica guard each other for stretches at a time, and it's strange, how the body remembers things the heart's been trying to negotiate around the way veronica still goes left more than she goes right, the way kate still knows exactly which fake she'll bite on and which one she won't.

there's a moment in the third quarter where veronica drives baseline and kate cuts her off clean, and instead of the usual chirping that comes with a good defensive play, they just look at each other for half a second too long, breathing hard, something unspoken passing between them that has nothing to do with basketball at all.

the ref blows the whistle for a foul that probably wasn't one neither of them argues it but at the end the sparks win by six; it's not the part anyone in this story actually cares about.

after the game, kate showers fast, skips most of the media obligations she's allowed to skip, and finds herself standing outside the visiting locker room like a teenager waiting outside a school dance, hands jammed in her jacket pockets, heart doing something embarrassing.

veronica comes out twenty minutes later, hair still damp, and stops short when she sees kate leaning against the wall.

"hey," kate say same word from the phone call, three weeks and four hundred miles ago as it means something different in person, heavier, and somehow lighter too.

"hey." veronica doesn't move for a second then she does, crossing the hallway in four steps and kate's pulling her in before either of them really decides to, face pressed into veronica’s shoulder, breathing her in like she's been holding her breath for three weeks and just remembered how lungs work.

"i missed you so much it was embarrassing," kate mumbles into her shoulder. "i organized a snack cart by color today. cam staged an intervention."

veronica laughs like really laughs, the kind kate hasn't heard from her in months, not since before everything got complicated. "i benched myself emotionally for like a week and a half. my coach thought i had a knee thing. i didn't have a knee thing."

"we're so bad at this."

"we're so bad at this," veronica agrees again, the same words from the phone call, except now she's saying them with her forehead pressed against kate's, both of them still in arena clothes, both of them not caring even a little that anyone could walk by.

somebody does walk by, eventually rae, looking for kate to head to the bus, who takes one look at the scene in the hallway and very loudly says "oh thank GOD," to absolutely nobody, before turning around and walking the other direction to give them a minute, already pulling out her phone to text the group chat.

cam's response comes back almost instantly: FINALLY. i've been managing her feelings for a month, somebody else's turn.

it doesn't get fixed overnight, not really there's still a trade, still two cities, still a question of what this actually looks like long-term that neither of them has answered yet.

but that night, sitting in veronica's hotel room with takeout going cold between them because neither of them remembered to actually eat, kate finally opens the notes app and shows veronica the draft she never sent.

i miss you. four words, dated weeks ago, sitting there unsent the whole time like a wound that never got to close.

veronica reads it twice then she takes kate's phone, opens a new message thread, and types back: i miss you too. i would've said it the second you sent it. i'm saying it now instead.

she hits send to herself, which makes no sense and makes complete sense, and kate laughs until she's crying a little, the good kind of crying, the kind that comes after weeks of holding something in alone and finally getting to set it down in front of someone who actually wants to help carry it.

"so what now," kate asks, eventually, head on veronica's shoulder, both of them too tired and too relieved to move.

"now," veronica says, "we figure it out. for real this time. no performing fine for an audience that doesn't actually know either of us."

"i can do that."

"yeah?"

"yeah." kate closes her eyes. "i'm done being fine for cameras. i'd rather just be a mess with you, honestly."

veronica presses a soft kiss to the top of her head. "deal."

outside, two cities wait for two teams, two locker rooms full of people who'll be insufferable about this in the group chats for weeks, two schedules that don't line up nearly as often as either of them would like.

it wasn't supposed to go like this golden state took you in the expansion draft before the 2025 season, and for a year it actually felt like home the inaugural roster, the new city, veronica already established as the engine of that team, reigning most improved player, the best player in the building most nights. 

you started four games. you played in forty-two you weren't a star there, not even close, but you were something, and more than that, you were near her then last may, right before the 2026 season opened, they called you in. 

coach nakase said it was a hard decision, said the front office was just trying to build the best roster possible, and none of that made it hurt less. 

you cried in front of reporters about it, actually cried, in front of cameras, which is not a thing you do because leaving your teammates was the part you weren't ready for. 

leaving her was the part you weren't ready for, even though you never said that part out loud to anyone, least of all her.

three days later you signed a development deal with the sparks, a new city, new jersey, new locker that doesn't smell like the one you left behind and you told yourself the distance would help. 

you told yourself that not seeing veronica every day might finally let this thing in your chest go quiet it has not gone quiet. 

if anything, getting waived by a team and watching her stay, watching the valkyries keep building around her while you packed a duffel bag for los angeles, just confirmed something you already suspected that veronica was never the easy part of golden state to leave. 

she was the only part you actually miss you played them once already, a commissioner's cup game back at the building that used to be yours, and they blew you out by twenty, and somehow the score mattered less than the fact that she was standing on the other free-throw line in a jersey that wasn't yours to share anymore.

it wasn't even dramatic, not at first, not back when you were both still wearing the same jersey it was small things it's the way she ties her shoelaces twice, double-knotting them like she doesn't trust the world to hold still. 

it's the rasp in her voice in the mornings before she's had coffee, low and unbothered, like she's never once worried about how she sounds. 

it's the fact that she called everyone "bro" except you, and you noticed that you noticed it weeks into your first season there and you have never once stopped thinking about it.

you told yourself it was nothing you told yourself a lot of things, back then, when you still had the luxury of seeing her every day to keep testing the theory.

the first time you really clocked it, the obsession, if you're going to be honest, which you try very hard not to be was during a film session in golden state's facility, of all the unglamorous places for your heart to fully and completely give itself away. 

veronica was sitting two seats down, knee bouncing, hood up, mouthing along to whatever was playing through one earbud while the coach broke down a defensive rotation on screen and you were watching the screen. 

you were mostly except your eyes kept sliding sideways like they had a mind separate from the rest of you, cataloguing the way she chews on the drawstring of her hoodie when she's thinking hard, the furrow that shows up between her eyebrows, gone as fast as it came.

she caught you looking of course she did veronica burton catches everything. "you good?" she said, not even bothering to whisper, because subtlety has never been a language she speaks fluently.

"yeah," you said, too fast, and you looked back at the screen so hard your neck protested.

she didn't say anything else but you felt her looking at you for one more second before she did, and that's the thing about veronica she doesn't let things go unnoticed, she just decides, sometimes, generously, mercifully, not to push.

you went home that night, to the apartment you don't live in anymore, and you lay on your back staring at the ceiling fan going around and around and you thought; this is so stupid. you are a grown woman. you play professional basketball. you have, at various points in your life, hit game-winning shots in front of thousands of people without your hands shaking.

but yet the idea of veronica smiling at you from across a locker room made your stomach do something it had no business doing.

you'd never been like that, that's what made it worse you didn't have a frame of reference for how to act normal around someone you liked that much, because you'd never liked anyone that much. 

you'd had crushes before, sure, the kind that fizzle out over a season, that you laugh about later with your teammates over greasy diner food but this wasn't fizzling. 

this was the opposite of fizzling it was a slow burn that kept climbing, day after day, practice after practice, until you weren't sure there was a version of yourself left that didn't orient around whatever room veronica was standing in you started noticing patterns in yourself that embarrassed you if you thought about them too long. 

the way you'd angle your body in the locker room so you could see her reflection in the mirror without it looking like that's what you were doing. 

the way you laughed a half-second longer at her jokes than anyone else's, even the bad ones, even the ones that weren't actually funny, because it wasn't the joke you were laughing at it was her, it was the easy curl of her mouth when she was pleased with herself, it was the way she'd look at you afterward like she was checking whether you got it.

like your reaction mattered to her in some small specific way you had absolutely no evidence for and refused to examine too closely because if you were wrong, if you were imagining it, you didn't know what you'd do with the disappointment.

it wasn't just the big things, either it was the dumb stuff the way you started keeping track of her coffee order without meaning to oat milk, extra shot, no sugar, because she said once, only once, that she likes things bitter, likes things that wake her up rather than coddle her and you didn't even drink coffee that often yourself but you started ordering an extra cup on the days you knew she'd be running late, just in case, just so it was there, just so you could hand it to her without making a thing of it even though it was, completely, entirely, a thing.

your teammates, your golden state teammates, back then noticed before you were ready for them to. "you're staring again," one of them said during a stretch circuit, not even looking up from her phone, like this was just a fact of life now, like the sky being blue.

"i'm not staring," you said, which was a lie, and everyone in a four-foot radius knew it was a lie, and nobody bothered calling you on it because what would have been the point. "you've been staring for, like, a month."

"i have not."

"kate."

"i genuinely have not." veronica, twelve feet away, doing absolutely nothing wrong, just existing, just stretching her hamstrings and talking to someone about a workout playlist, had no idea this conversation was happening or and this is the thought that still keeps you up some nights, all these months and one waiver wire later maybe she did. 

maybe she'd always known, in that quiet observant way of hers, and she'd just decided, again, not to say anything you can't decide if that was kind or if it was its own kind of cruelty, letting you sit in it without ever confirming or denying it.

the thing about being obsessed with someone really obsessed, not the surface-level kind is that it rewires how you experience time, and apparently rewiring doesn't undo itself just because you change area codes. 

a five-minute conversation with veronica from a year ago can still replay in your head for the rest of a day, every word re-examined for hidden meaning, every laugh cross-referenced against every other laugh she ever gave you to see if that one was different, warmer, longer. 

you built an entire library in your head of veronica data points back when you had unlimited access to collect them, and you hate how much you've memorized, and you have no intention of ever deleting any of it you remember the exact shirt she was wearing the day she told you she liked your sense of humor. 

you remember she said "you're actually so funny" like it was a discovery, like she hadn't expected it, and you spent the rest of that day floating about four inches off the ground you remember the away game where the bus broke down and you ended up sitting next to her for two extra hours on the side of a highway, and she fell asleep on your shoulder somewhere around hour one, and you did not move. 

you did not so much as shift your weight your arm went fully numb and you would have let it fall off rather than disturb her you remember and this one you try not to remember, because it does something dangerous to your chest every time the way she said your name once, just once, soft, almost like an accident, like it slipped out before she could decide whether she wanted you to hear it. 

you've replayed that single syllable more times than you'd ever admit to a single living soul, and you've had a lot of long flights with nothing else to do but replay it.

it would have been easier if she weren't so much herself about it if she flirted the way some people flirt, loud and obvious, so you could read it and respond and know where you stood but veronica's affection, when she gave it, came sideways. 

it came in the form of remembering your coffee order before you remembered it yourself it came in the way she'd find you specifically after a bad game, not to say anything profound, just to sit next to you in comfortable silence until you stopped replaying your mistakes on a loop it came in the way she'd text you at eleven at night about nothing a meme, a complaint about her wifi, a video of someone's dog doing something mildly impressive like she just wanted an excuse to talk to you and didn't feel like overthinking the reason. 

she still does that last one, actually that part survived the trade, somehow, even when so much else didn't you don't know if any of it ever meant what you wanted it to mean that's the part that keeps you up now more than it did then. 

because if you let yourself believe it, if you let yourself really believe that veronica looked at you the way you looked at her, looks at you still, even from a different locker room and you're wrong, you don't know how you come back from that. 

you didn't know it then and you definitely don't know it now, three thousand miles and one franchise away so you didn't say anything, then you just kept showing up you kept ordering the extra coffee you kept laughing too long at jokes that weren't funny you kept letting your eyes slide sideways during film sessions, and you kept getting caught, and you kept saying "yeah, i'm good" too fast every single time.

that was the golden state this is june, and the commissioner's cup, and chase center with sparks logos taped over half the signage like the building's still deciding who it belongs to tonight, and you just lost by twenty to the team that used to be yours.

you're the last one in the visitor's locker room, still in your jersey, untying your shoes slower than you need to, when there's a knock on a doorframe that doesn't have a door. "hey." veronica, out of her warmups, valkyries hoodie zipped to her chin, hovering in the doorway like she's not sure she's allowed to be there. "you good?"

"yeah," you say, too fast, exactly the way you always used to, like nothing about this has changed even though everything has she comes in anyway sits down on the bench across from you, elbows on her knees, and for a second neither of you says anything, because what is there, really, to say. you just played her. 

she just beat you by twenty you used to be on the same side of that scoreboard and now you're not, and you don't know how to talk about any of it without talking about the part underneath it. "i hate that it's like this," she says finally, quiet, in that voice she only uses maybe four times a year, the one that doesn't have any performance in it. 

"playing against you. i keep losing track of who i'm supposed to be guarding because i forget for a second that you're not — " she stops herself. "that i'm not on your side anymore," you finish for her. "yeah."

you almost tell her, right there, with your shoes half-untied and your legs still aching from a game you lost you almost say it i'm not okay, veronica, i haven't been okay since may, and not because of the roster spot but what comes out instead is, "i miss the team."

"i know," she says and then, after a beat that goes on a half-second too long: "i miss you specifically. more than the team part." your chest does something complicated and enormous. "yeah," you say. "me too."

she doesn't push further she just sits there with you in the half-empty locker room, and eventually she says, "text me when you land tonight. so i know you got home okay," which isn't anything, isn't a confession, except it is, the way everything with her always has been sideways, quiet, real.

you walk out to the team bus together, the long way, past the loading dock where it's dark and cold and your breath shows. "night, kate," she says, when the bus is close enough that you both know this is where it ends.

"night," you say and then because apparently your mouth has decided to be braver than the rest of you, just this once, just enough to leave the door open without actually walking through it you add, "thanks for staying after with me."

she smiles, it's not a big smile. it's the small one, the real one, the one she doesn't hand out for free. "anytime," she says. "i mean that. even from the other bench. anytime, kate."

and as you get on the bus with your heart doing something it has absolutely no right to be doing over four words and a smile and a losing score, and you think: this is so stupid, and you think: i would let this be stupid for as long as it takes, and you think, finally, as the bus pulls out and chase center shrinks in the back window maybe she's not as unaware as you think she is, maybe neither of you are.

the schedule comes out in january and you scroll past it twice before it registersaugust 9th, crypto.com arena, valkyries at sparks and something in your chest does a complicated little drop, the kind you've gotten used to but never quite get good at surviving.

it's been almost three months since chase center since the locker room, since i miss you specifically, more than the team part, since the bus pulling away with you on it and her getting smaller in the window. 

you've thought about that sentence more times than you'd ever admit out loud you've turned it over so many times it's started to feel less like a memory and more like something you carry, a stone in your pocket you keep checking is still there.

you've texted of course you've texted that part survived the trade, like she said it would good mornings on game days screenshots of dumb things voice memos of her singing badly to whatever's playing in her car none of it crosses any line either of you would have to answer for all of it means more to you than it should but this is different. 

this is her walking into your building, in your city, wearing the jersey that isn't yours anymore, and you don't know yet whether that's going to feel like anything or everything.

it feels like everything you see her in the tunnel before the game, both teams doing their separate warmup routines forty feet apart, and she catches your eye across the floor and does this small thing with her mouth not quite a smile, something quieter, something that's just for you and you have to physically look away before lynne roberts catches you standing still during a layup line.

"focus, martin," coach says, not unkindly, and you say "yes, coach" and you do not focus, not really, not until the ball is live and your body takes over the way it always does once the whistle blows the game is close, well closer than chase center was. 

kelsey is cooking all night, nneka's working the paint like she's got something to prove, and you get real minutes actual run, not garbage time and for stretches at a time you forget veronica burton is on the other end of the floor at all, because that's the thing about being a professional athlete, the game is the one place your brain still knows how to shut everything else off then she switches onto you in the fourth quarter, and your brain remembers everything all at once.

she's guarding you for real low stance, active hands, talking trash the way she talks trash to everyone, except it lands different coming from her, it always has and you cross her over and she stays in front of you anyway, because she's good, she's always been good, and you pull up for a jumper with her hand right in your face and it goes in anyway and the crowd loses it and she just looks at you, breathing hard, something flickering behind her eyes that isn't quite annoyance.

"since when do you have that," she says, not really a question. "since always," you say. "you just never had to guard me before."

something passes over her face you don't have time to read it because the ball's live again and roberts is yelling rotations and the next forty seconds belong entirely to the game.

the sparks win by four you finish with twelve points, your best night in a sparks jersey by a wide margin, and your teammates are loud and sweaty and happy in the locker room in that specific way a close win makes a team feel like family, and you let yourself have it, you let yourself be happy, because you earned this one and nobody can take it from you and then there's a knock on a doorframe that doesn't have a door, again, except this time it's your building, your home locker room, and she's standing there in her road grays with her bag already over one shoulder, looking like she got here as fast as she could after a loss that clearly stung. "hey," she says. "good game."

"you too," you say, even though she had a quieter night than usual, fewer assists than the box score's used to seeing from her, and you both know exactly why, even if neither of you is going to say it in a hallway full of people packing up. "can we — " she starts, and stops, and tries again. "do you have a minute. after. i'll wait."

you tell your teammates you'll catch the bus back to the hotel separately nobody asks why somebody probably erica gives you a look you choose not to interpret.

she's waiting by the players' lot when you come out, showered, hair still damp, duffel over your shoulder, the parking lot mostly empty under the kind of orange-pink la sky that only happens after a summer night game. 

she's leaning against a rental car that isn't hers, arms crossed, and when she sees you she pushes off it and just stands there for a second, like she rehearsed something on the drive and forgot all of it the second you appeared. "hi," she says, finally, dumbly, like you haven't been doing this dance for over a year now.

"hi," you say back.

"i didn't plan what i was going to say."

"that's new for you." she laughs, short, surprised out of her. "yeah. it is." she looks down at her shoes, double-knotted, the way they always are, and when she looks back up something in her face has gone soft and unguarded in a way you've maybe seen four times total in the entire time you've known her. "i've been thinking about that thing i said. at chase center. about missing you. more than the team." your heart does something that should probably be medically concerning at this point.  "i remember," you say, quiet.

"i meant it," she says. "i need you to know i meant it, because i've spent three months wondering if you thought i was just being nice, or being weird because we lost, or — i don't know. i meant it the way it sounded. i miss you, kate. specifically. all the time. it's not about the team. it was never really about the team."

you don't say anything for a second because your whole chest has gone tight and warm at once, an impossible combination, and you're terrified that if you open your mouth what comes out is going to be too much, too fast, a year and a half of careful silence breaking all at once.

"i used to keep track of your coffee order," you say instead, because apparently this is how you do it, sideways, the way you both always have. "back when we were teammates. oat milk, extra shot, no sugar. i used to order you an extra one on the days i thought you'd be running late. i never told you that."

veronica blinks. "i know," she says. "i always knew. i used to drink it even when i wasn't actually running late, just because you'd already gotten it for me, and i didn't want you to feel like you'd wasted the trip."

"you *new?"

"kate." she says it like your name is the whole explanation, like it always has been. "i've known for a long time. i just didn't know if you wanted me to know that i knew. you're not exactly subtle, but you're also careful. you're so careful with this. i didn't want to push you into saying something before you were ready."

"i've been ready for over a year," you say, and it comes out before you can decide whether you're brave enough for it to. "i've been ready since a film session in golden state's facility where you caught me staring and i panicked and said i was fine and then went home and lay on my floor for like an hour because i couldn't believe how much i liked you. i've been ready this whole time. i just didn't think — " your voice catches. "i didn't think i got to want this. you were the best player in that building. i was a roster spot they were trying to figure out what to do with and then i got waived, and i thought, well, that settles it, there's no version of this where i get to have her too."

"kate." she crosses the space between you in about four steps, which isn't far, the lot isn't big, but it feels like the longest distance either of you has ever closed. "i didn't stay because the front office liked me more. i stayed because of a roster decision that had nothing to do with either of our hearts, and i hated it, i hated watching you leave, i almost said something to nakase about it and then didn't because what was i even going to say please don't trade my favorite person, i'm in love with her? i didn't have the words for it then either."

the word lands between you like something dropped from a height in love as she said it so plainly, like it cost her nothing, even though you know you know her, you've always known her — that it cost her everything to say it first. "say that again," you say, barely above a whisper.

"i'm in love with you," she says, steadier this time, like she's decided she's not taking it back. "i have been for a long time. probably longer than you have, if we're being honest, since you're apparently slower at noticing things than i thought."

"i was very aware," you say, half a laugh, half something closer to tears. "i was aware the entire time. i was just scared."

"of what?"

"of this not being real. of making something out of nothing and having to sit across from you for an entire season pretending i hadn't."

"well," she says, and steps the rest of the way in, close enough now that you can see exactly how much she means it, no performance in it at all, the way she only gets maybe four times a year and is apparently spending all four of them on you tonight. 

"you don't have to sit across from me pretending anything anymore. i'm not on your team. you don't have to survive an entire season of this. you just have to decide if you want it."

"i want it," you say, immediately, no hesitation, the fastest you've said anything all night. "i have wanted it since before i knew what to call it." she smiles, the real one, the one she doesn't hand out for free, except this time she's handing it to you with both hands, no sideways, no careful distance, just straight on, just for you.

"good," she says. "because i drove an hour out of my way after a loss to say all that, and i was going to be really embarrassed if you didn't want it back."

you laugh actually laugh, loud, the kind that surprises you and she laughs too, and for a second you just stand there in an empty parking lot under an la sky, two players from two different teams who used to be on the same side of every scoreboard, finally saying out loud the thing you'd both been carrying sideways for over a year. "we're really doing this," you say, when you've caught your breath. "you and me. two different jerseys."

"two different jerseys," she agrees, "and one of us is going to have to learn to lose with grace, because i am not going easy on you next time we play."

"i can take it."

"we'll see," she says, and reaches out, finally, finally, and laces her fingers through yours like it's the easiest thing in the world, like it always should have been, "kate martin." and you stand there a long time before either of you moves toward your cars, because neither of you is in any hurry now you have time. 

you have a text thread and an entire season of being on opposite teams and absolutely no reason left to be careful about any of it you drive home that night with both hands loose on the wheel for the first time in over a year, your heart doing something it has every right to be doing now, and you think: this was never stupid, and you think; i would have waited even longer than i did, and you think, pulling into your driveway, cutting the engine, sitting there in the quiet warm dark with your phone already lighting up with a text from her she's not unaware she never was neither of you ever were.

here is a thing you have learned, four months into this, that nobody warned you about; being loved by veronica does not cure you of being obsessed with veronica if anything it's worse now it's worse because she knows, fully and completely, exactly what she does to you, and she has stopped pretending otherwise, and honestly? 

she's having a great time about it, it's an off day, both your schedules lining up by some miracle of the wnba gods, and you've flown up to the bay for forty-eight hours because that's what the long distance thing requires.

sometimes, somebody gets on a plane you're lying on her couch with your head in her lap while she scrolls her phone one-handed and runs the other hand through your hair like it's the most natural thing in the world, like she's not aware that you have gone fully, completely nonfunctional under the weight of her fingers against your scalp. "you're doing the thing," she says, not even looking up from her phone.

"i'm not doing a thing."

"kate. you've gone all soft and quiet. you do this every time i touch your hair. it's adorable and a little bit concerning."

"i don't know what you're talking about."

"mm-hmm." she sets the phone down, finally, and looks at you properly, and there's that look on her face — the one she gets when she's caught you, when she's known you the whole time and lets you dig the hole anyway just to watch you climb out of it. "you used to think i didn't notice. that whole first year. you thought you were so smooth."

"i was very smooth."

"you ordered me a second coffee every single day for, what, eight months? and thought i didn't clock that you only did it on days you thought i'd be running late, which for the record was every day, because you decided i was always running late so you'd always have an excuse." you bury your face in her thigh, mortified, delighted, both at once. "you weren't supposed to figure that part out."

"baby." she says it like the most obvious thing in the world. "i figured out the coffee thing in week three. i figured out the staring thing in week one. i let you keep doing it for over a year because it was, and i cannot stress this enough, the funniest and sweetest thing i had ever witnessed, and i wasn't about to be the one to end it."

"you're so mean."

"i'm really not. you liked being a little obsessed with me. i wasn't going to take that away from you." she taps your nose, and you swat her hand away, and she catches your wrist instead and presses a kiss to the inside of it like it's nothing, like it's the easiest gesture in the world for her, and you melt approximately four more degrees into her couch.

this is the part that gets you, still, even now that she knows. that she has always known the exact specific weight of how far gone you are for her, the coffee and the staring and the way you used to angle yourself in mirrors just to watch her without watching her, and instead of finding it annoying or excessive or too much, she has simply, calmly, collected it. 

catalogued it the way you catalogued her and once in a while, like tonight, she takes a piece of it out and turns it over in front of you just to watch you go red about it.

later, much later, you're tangled together on her too-small couch with a movie neither of you is watching playing low in the background, and she's got one hand splayed flat against your sternum like she's checking your heartbeat is still doing what it's supposed to, and you say, quiet, into the dark; "you really knew the whole time."

"the whole time," she confirms. "and you just — let me be obsessed with you. for over a year."

"i did." she presses a kiss to the top of your head, unhurried, certain. "because here's the thing nobody tells you about being loved by someone who's a little bit gone for you — it's not embarrassing, kate. i never once thought it was embarrassing. i thought it was the best thing that had happened to me in years, watching you try so hard to be subtle about something you were so obviously, hopelessly bad at hiding. i wasn't laughing at you. i was just — happy. happy that it was me. happy that out of everyone in that building, it was always me you couldn't stop looking at."

"you have me completely wrapped around your finger," you say, and it's not a complaint, it's barely even an observation at this point, it's just a fact you've finally stopped fighting. "you know that, right? you have always had me wrapped around your finger."

"i know," she says, easy, unbothered, the same way she's unbothered about everything, the same low rasp she's had since the first morning you ever heard it across a quiet practice facility. "i've known since the bus broke down on that highway and you didn't move your arm for two hours because you didn't want to wake me up. i felt that, you know. i wasn't actually asleep the whole time." you sit up so fast you nearly knock her phone off the couch. "you were awake?"

"for like the last forty minutes," she says, completely unrepentant, grinning at the look on your face. "you were so still. so careful. i just wanted to see how long you'd let your arm go numb for me before you said something."

"veronica."

"i told you. wrapped around my finger. you've just never minded." and the worst part, the absolute worst part, the part you will never admit to her directly because she will never let you live it down is that she's right.

you don't mind you have never minded, not once, not the staring or the coffee or the year and a half of careful sideways longing or any of it, because all of it led here, to this couch, to her hand against your chest, to a love that you spent so long thinking you had to hide and never, not even for a second, actually had to hide from her at all.

"go to sleep," she says finally, pulling you back down against her, settling you into the same spot you've apparently always belonged in. "you have a flight in the morning and you get insufferable when you're tired."

"i'm never insufferable."

"kate."

"okay. sometimes."

"always," she says, fond, already half asleep herself, her fingers still moving slow through your hair like she has no intention of stopping. "but you're my favorite kind of insufferable. so i'll allow it."

you fall asleep like that, wrapped around her the way you've apparently always been wrapped around her in every direction that matters, and you think, right before sleep takes you all the way under she was never unaware she was never going to let you go. 

she does it in the morning when she rolls over and reaches for someone who isn't there, her arm moving across the cool left side of the bed with the particular stupidity of a body that keeps expecting something that isn't coming.

she does it in the locker room when her phone buzzes and her heart does the small embarrassing jump it does every time now, and then it's her mom or it's her trainer or it's a brand email and her heart has to climb back down from wherever it went.

she does it during film sessions when the footage shows her making the right read, the smart play, the clean assist, and all she can think is seventeen more.

seventeen more days and veronica will be here seventeen more days and this city will feel like it belongs to her again instead of just being a place she happens to sleep in.

the sparks are playing the valkyries in los angeles. she has had this date circled in something that isn't quite a calendar more like the inside of her chest, a bruise that keeps finding its own edges in the dark when everything else goes quiet.

the schedule came out in february and she had looked at it the way she looks at everything involving veronica now, which is carefully and with her whole chest, and she had found the date and sat with it for a long moment before she let herself believe it was real.

home game los angeles veronica on the floor in front of her veronica doesn't know she's been counting or maybe she does.

veronica has always known things about kate that kate hadn't said out loud yet, which is either the best thing about her or the most terrifying, depending on the day and how much sleep kate has gotten.

in their two years of whatever this is which has been called everything from complicated to long distance to, once, by veronica's teammate on a drunk facetime kate was not supposed to be part of, the situation veronica has demonstrated a consistent and slightly unnerving ability to know when kate is struggling before kate has admitted it to herself.

it's not magic kate has figured out, it’s just that veronica pays attention in a way most people don't she listens to the pauses, she clocks the things kate says around what she actually means.

kate has found this both the most comforting and the most exposing thing about being loved by her, this sense of being known so completely that there is nowhere to put a lie even if you wanted to tell one.

kate texts her after practice “staples is going to be loud.” she sends it without thinking about it too much, standing in the parking lot with her bag over one shoulder and the los angeles evening warm and pink around her she means i've been thinking about this game for three months she means i'm already thinking about after she means a lot of things she doesn't know how to put in a text message and probably wouldn't even if she did.

veronica texts back three minutes later good and then, after a beat i like it loud. kate puts her phone in her bag and stands in the parking lot for another thirty seconds doing absolutely nothing then she gets in her car and drives home and does not think about the fact that she's already at sixteen.

here is what nobody prepares you for the way distance gets physical kate had expected the missing, the ache of absence, the particular loneliness of a city that is beautiful and full of people and somehow still manages to feel like a waiting room.

what she hadn't expected was the way it settles in the body. the way she reaches for her phone in the middle of the night not because she needs to call anyone but because the weight of it in her hand feels like something.

the way she keeps her apartment colder than she needs to because veronica runs warm and kate has spent enough nights pressed against her to have calibrated her sleeping temperature around someone else's body heat.

she doesn't tell her teammates that she doesn't tell anyone this, actually, because she doesn't fully have words for it yet and the words she does have feel too large for a locker room conversation.

her teammates know about veronica the way you know about a weather system in another part of the country they're aware it exists and they know kate checks her phone too often and they have the decency not to make it weird.

dearica has said, once, gently she's gonna come for your neck on the floor, you know that right. kate had said that she knew but she had not said i'm counting down the days.

the facetimes help and don't help they help because veronica's face on a screen is still veronica's face, still the particular stillness of it, the way she listens with her whole body even through a camera, the way she laughs at kate's bad jokes with this small reluctant brightness that kate has spent considerable energy trying to provoke on purpose.

they don't help because kate can see her and can't touch her, which is its own specific cruelty, and because sometimes the connection goes bad at exactly the wrong moment — mid-sentence, mid-laugh — and kate is left sitting in her kitchen holding a frozen image of veronica's face and feeling something she doesn't have language for yet.

she learns veronica's schedule the way she learns opposing defenses; she knows when veronica has morning shootaround and when she has film and when she has the two-hour recovery window in the afternoon where she will actually answer texts instead of leaving kate on read for six hours.

she knows veronica prefers to call late, after ten, when the day has settled into something quieter she knows that when veronica is tired her voice gets lower and slower and more honest, like fatigue strips away the last of whatever professional distance she keeps around herself during daylight hours.

kate is very much looking forward to being in the same room as that voice again.

she doesn't sleep well this is not new kate has never been a good sleeper before big games, her body treating stillness like a problem to be solved, her brain cycling through possessions and rotations and the film she watched three times that afternoon — but tonight is different, tonight the insomnia has a specific shape and it is not shaped like basketball.

she lies in the dark of her culver city apartment and thinks about the last time she saw veronica, which was four months and three weeks ago, which was after a preseason game in phoenix that neither of them should have been playing in — both teams were running their second units, going through motions in october heat, and it had felt vaguely unreal the whole time, like a rehearsal for a play nobody had finished writing.

afterwards they had found each other in the corridor outside the visiting locker room, no plan no plan

arrangement just the particular gravity that operates between them, the one that has been operating since northwestern, since the first time they guarded each other and kate had thought oh, this is going to be a problem.

veronica had pressed her hand flat against kate's sternum, right over her heart, and held it there not a hug not a kiss, just the weight of her palm against kate's chest like she was checking something, like she needed to confirm for herself that the heart was still going kate had stood very still and let her the corridor had emptied around them and veronica had not moved her hand for a long time.

kate had said i'm okay veronica had said i know. i just wanted to feel it. kate turns onto her back now and stares at the ceiling, which is the color of nothing as she thinks tomorrow she also thinks one more sleep, which is something you say to children about christmas morning but apparently also something you say to yourself when you are twenty-three years old and a professional basketball player and in love with a woman who lives eight hundred miles away and is going to beat you tomorrow in front of your own crowd and has been pressing her hand against your heart for two years in one form or another.

she thinks about the game she thinks about the matchup, about what the valkyries will run against her, about the way veronica sees the floor which is unlike the way anyone else sees it, unhurried and total, like she has access to a version of the game that plays slightly slower than the one everyone else is in.

kate has guarded veronica enough times to know that the only way to do it is to stay with her for the whole possession, not to guess, not to anticipate, just to stay, because the moment you commit to a read is the moment veronica has already moved somewhere else.

she wonders if veronica is lying awake right now in whatever hotel room the valkyries have her in she thinks probably not veronica sleeps with the specific discipline of someone who has decided that rest is a form of preparation, who has organized her entire relationship to her own body around what it needs to perform.

kate has always admired this about her and also found it slightly irritating, in the way you find irritating the things about someone that expose your own failures by contrast.

she picks up her phone it's 1:17 a.m veronica's last message is still there from three hours ago which was her saying get some rest. i mean it. kate types and deletes can't sleep types and deleted it thinking about you. types and deletes then finally texts her what hotel you are in she puts the phone back down she stares at the ceiling.

she thinks one more sleep and she falls asleep sometime after two with her phone on the pillow beside her she dreams about iowa she dreams about a gym she doesn't recognize, wooden bleachers, the particular smell of a practice facility before anyone else has arrived.

she dreams about veronica at half-court, alone, putting up shots in the dark, and every one goes in, and kate stands at the baseline and watches and does not interrupt, and in the dream this feels like the most important thing she has ever done.

she wakes up at five forty-seven as the city outside the window is the gray-blue of a very early morning and the wanting is already there, already sitting on her chest, patient and absolute she lies still and lets it. she has gotten better at this at not fighting it, at letting the feeling do what it needs to do and then setting it aside so she can be a basketball player today, which is what today requires.

tomorrow she can be everything else but today she gets up, makes coffee, and starts thinking about the game.

she sees her during warmups this is the part kate has been both dreading and constructing elaborate mental scenarios around for three weeks — the first sighting, the moment when all the counting and the waiting and the 1 a.m. insomnia resolves into an actual person standing on an actual floor.

she has been trying to prepare herself for it the way you prepare for a hard defensive assignment which was by studying the film, by anticipating the reads, by deciding in advance what she will do and how she will feel.

all of that work is immediately useless veronica comes out of the tunnel in golden state purple, which is a color kate now has complicated feelings about, and she is laughing at something one of her teammates has said, her head tipped back slightly, and kate is standing at half-court and she forgets for a moment that she is at work.

she forgets the game plan and the matchup and the four months and three weeks and the eight hundred miles and she just looks the way you look at something that belongs to you even from a distance the way you look at a city from an airplane window when you're finally coming home.

veronica doesn't look at her not yet as she goes through her warmup with the same focused efficiency she does everything with, moving through her layup lines and her stretches and her shooting series with the unhurried precision of someone who has done this ten thousand times and is doing it exactly right.

kate watches in her peripheral vision, pretending to focus on her own shot preparation, hitting mid-range jumpers with the automatic quality of muscle memory while her brain is somewhere else entirely, then veronica straightens up from a stretch and looks directly at her.

it is not a long look it is not dramatic it is maybe three seconds of direct eye contact across the width of the court, and in those three seconds kate's body does about fifteen different things at once.

veronica's expression doesn't change much — it never does, in public, she maintains this quality of composure that kate has spent two years learning to read past — but there is something in the set of her eyes that says i see you. i know you're there. i've been counting too but then her teammate calls her name and she turns away and kate goes back to her warmup and the arena starts filling around them and kate hits seven shots in a row without thinking about any of them.

the thing nobody tells you about playing against someone you love is that you can feel where they are at all times. not in a mystical way — in a basketball way, the game sense that has been calibrated by years of study and repetition, that tells you where the pressure is coming from and where the help is late and where the gap is opening in the defense.

that sense has always been reliable it has helped kate in every gym she has ever played in it goes wrong when it's her it goes sideways in a way kate can't fully explain and would be embarrassed to try.

she knows where veronica is on the floor without looking. she knows when veronica is bringing the ball up before she hears the PA, before the commentators say anything, before the defense has even set it's not supernatural it's just that kate's body has been paying attention to veronica for two years and apparently that kind of attention leaves a mark.

the first quarter is professional kate is proud of herself for the first quarter she does her job, she runs her actions, she makes the right decisions, she does not do anything embarrassing like watch veronica run a pick-and-roll with her mouth slightly open she plays basketball which is fine.

veronica plays basketball too drops eight in the first quarter, which is a problem for kate's teammates but kate is having trouble generating the appropriate level of distress about it because eight points means veronica is in rhythm and veronica in rhythm is one of the better things in the world to watch even when you are supposed to be stopping her.

they don't make eye contact until the second quarter kate is coming off a curl, using a screen on the elbow, and she turns the corner and veronica is right there, two feet of air between them, and for a half-second the game falls entirely out of both of them.

it is so brief that kate isn't sure anyone else would have clocked it half a second where they are not basketball players but just two people who have spent four months apart standing close enough to touch and not touching, and kate can see the small thing that moves across veronica's face not quite a smile, not quite relief, something that lives in the space between those two things and then the ball swings wide and kate cuts hard and the moment closes like water over a stone and they are back in the game.

the second quarter is harder kate's focus keeps doing the thing she told it not to do, which is locate veronica on the floor and then stay there she catches herself twice watching a veronica possession when she should be transitioning, standing at half-court for half a beat too long, the part of her brain that is supposed to be running offense temporarily hijacked by the part of her brain that has been thinking about nothing but this for seventeen days.

halftime the locker room her coach says things kate processes with the surface of her attention she drinks water she thinks about adjustments she thinks, briefly, about the fact that veronica is forty feet away in another locker room right now, and she buries that thought under the professional layer of herself that is going to go back out there and compete.

the third quarter is the best kate has played all season she doesn't fully understand why until it's over something about the halftime reset, or the adrenaline climbing now that the game is real and close, or maybe just the simple fact that veronica is on the court and kate has always, even when it was inconvenient, raised her game in her presence.

she drops twelve in the third and the crowd gets loud for long stretches she is just a basketball player, just in the game, just doing what she's spent her whole life learning to do, and it feels clean and good and right.

veronica drops seventeen in the second half kate watches two of them go in once on a pull-up mid-range that is so unreasonably pretty it makes kate briefly furious, and once on a drive where veronica simply decides she is getting to the rim and does, with three defenders in her way, with a calm that looks less like confidence and more like inevitability — and feels something she can't name cleanly proud, probably sick with pride, a little.

the specific disorienting feeling of wanting your team to win and wanting the person you love to be unstoppable and finding that these two things are fundamentally at odds with each other.

the valkyries pull ahead with four minutes left kate is running back on defense and she hears veronica's voice calling out a coverage adjustment to her teammates m not loud, not commanding, just precise, just the exact right information delivered to the exact right people and kate has to look at the scoreboard to remind herself which team she's on.

golden state wins by six kate finds out the final from the jumbotron before the horn even finishes echoing through the arena; she is not surprised she had known somewhere in her body since the third quarter that this was where the game was going.

she had played well really well, actually, the kind of game that will show up in the box score in a flattering way and they had still lost, because veronica had been better, which is a thing kate has made a complicated peace with over the course of two years.

veronica is often better kate is the only person in veronica's life who finds this genuinely beautiful instead of threatening she shakes hands down the line. she says the right things.

she is professional and composed and gracious, and the whole time she is doing all of this correctly she is counting the minutes until she can find the tunnel.

the tunnel smells like concrete and sweat and the industrial cleaner they use on the floors after games and kate is standing in it in her warmup jacket with her hair still damp from the shower and her heart doing something complicated in her chest when the visiting-team door opens and veronica comes through it.

she stops they are maybe ten feet apart in the narrow corridor and the tunnel is moving around them staff with equipment carts, a beat reporter kate recognizes talking into a phone, two valkyries assistants laughing about something all of it flowing past like they are two fixed points in a current.

veronica is in her travel clothes now, golden state blue on the bag over her shoulder, her hair pulled back, and she looks she looks like herself, which sounds like a useless thing to say but isn't, because kate has been looking at her through a screen for four months and the specific thing about veronica in person is that screens don't get all of her.

they don't get the way she takes up space, the stillness at the center of her that you can feel when you're close enough, the way she looks at you like you are the most solved problem in the room she is looking at kate like that now.

kate crosses the distance first, because kate always crosses the distance first, and she has been thinking about this moment for seventeen days and in none of the versions she imagined did she say anything, and this one is no different.

she just closes the ten feet between them and veronica's arms come up and around her and kate exhales something she has been holding since phoenix, since the last time veronica's hand was on her chest, something that has been accumulating in her sternum for four months and three weeks and releases now all at once like a pressure valve finally given permission.

veronica is warm she is always warm, always running a few degrees hotter than the people around her, and kate presses into that warmth with the unselfconsciousness of someone who has stopped pretending she doesn't need it.

veronica's hand goes to the back of her neck, fingers spreading against her hairline, holding kate's face goes into veronica's shoulder veronica smells like the same shampoo she has been using since iowa, since the first year, and kate's entire nervous system does something involuntary and enormous in response to this fact, something that says home this is home you found it again.

the tunnel keeps moving around them; nobody says anything to them this is professional sports and everyone has seen everything and a long hug in a tunnel after a game is not remarkable kate is grateful that she is not ready to move yet.

"you counted," veronica says into her hair it is not a question, it has the quality of something she already knew and is only saying out loud now that they are close enough for it to land correctly kate pulls back enough to see her face and does not release her grip on the back of veronica's jacket.

"i didn't," she says and then, because she has never successfully lied to veronica about anything that mattered "seventeen i was at seventeen when the schedule came out and then i stopped at —" she does the math, which she has already done — "i stopped keeping track around day nine."

"you didn't stop," veronica says. "no," kate agrees. "i didn't stop." veronica exhales, slow and a little uneven, the specific exhale of someone releasing a breath they have been holding for longer than they admitted.

she reaches up and pushes a piece of kate's hair back from her forehead, a gesture so quiet and familiar it makes kate's chest do something it does not have a name for. "i was at twelve when i booked the travel," veronica says. "then i made myself stop. then i started again at twenty-two." a pause. "then nine."

"nine," kate repeats. "nine days out i just — couldn't stop anymore. it would've taken more energy than i had." veronica looks at her with the expression that kate has been trying to describe to herself for two years and still hasn't found the right word for, the one that is not soft and not fierce but occupies some specific territory between the two. "you played well tonight."

"you played better."

"yes." not a brag just a fact veronica has always been comfortable with her own excellence in a way kate finds quietly extraordinary not arrogant, just accurate. "i always play better when you're watching." kate stares at her. "you can't say things like that."

"i just did."

"in a tunnel. you can't say things like that in a tunnel where people can see me react to them."

the corner of veronica's mouth moves not quite a smile the particular arrangement of her face that is what veronica looks like when she is happy but is not going to perform it for the room.

kate has been cataloguing this expression for two years and it still does things to her. "come back to the hotel with me," veronica says kate doesn't answer she takes veronica's hand her fingers fitting into the spaces between veronica's with the ease of something practiced, something that has always known where it belongs and they walk out of the tunnel and into the los angeles night, which receives them without ceremony, which is exactly what kate needs it to do.

the city is warm in the way los angeles is warm at night in june, which is not the warm of summer elsewhere but something thicker and more specific, threaded through with jasmine from somebody's yard and the lingering heat of pavement that has been absorbing sun all day.

kate has been living here for a year and she still finds it slightly unreal sometimes, the way the city refuses to cool down, the way the nights feel like a continuation of the day rather than a break from it.

they walk three blocks without saying much this is comfortable one of the things kate has learned about veronica, one of the things she has come to love, is that she does not fill silence for the sake of filling it.

she is content to just exist next to you and let the silence have its own texture kate used to be a talker, used to feel silence as a problem to be solved, and two years of veronica have slowly taught her that sometimes the quiet is the conversation.

veronica swings their joined hands once, lightly. "your third quarter was something," she says. "you were watching."

"i'm always watching." kate processes this for a moment. "even when you're running your own offense."

"especially then. peripheral vision." veronica says it with the flat matter-of-factness that kate has learned means she's being completely serious. "you came off that drag screen in the third and i almost called timeout just to watch you shoot it."

"you almost called a timeout," kate says, "to watch me shoot a jumper."

"i didn't. i exercised restraint." a pause. "it was a very good jumper." kate laughs it comes out bigger than she means it to, spilling out of her in the warm night air, and she feels veronica's grip tighten slightly on her hand in response, and she thinks this. this is what i've been counting down to. not just the physical fact of her but this, exactly this the specific ease of it, the way laughter sounds different when she's the one who caused it.

they walk another half-block in the good silence.

"i missed you," kate says she has been saying this to herself for four months in various forms and none of them have been adequate and this one isn't either but it's what she has.

veronica is quiet for a moment. "i know," she says. and then, softer "me too." she does not elaborate kate has learned to receive this at full weight rather than waiting for more.

veronica means what she says and says only what she means, and me too from veronica contains multitudes, contains four months of facetimes that weren't enough, contains a lamp still burning in a golden state apartment, contains all the counting.

the hotel comes into view half a block ahead.

kate does not walk faster she has been waiting seventeen days and she can wait another thirty seconds.

there is a specific silence that belongs to veronica, different from the silence of an empty room or the silence after a hard loss or the silence of the tunnel with the game still on everyone's skin.

kate knows it the way she knows veronica's game from the inside, from having spent enough time inside it that she has learned its particular texture veronica goes silent when she wants to pay attention it is a focused silence, a receiving silence, the silence of someone who has decided you are the most important thing currently happening and is giving you all of themselves in response.

she is very silent now at the hotel three blocks from the arena kate doesn't remember the walk in any detail she can reconstruct she remembers warmth, and veronica's hand, and the smell of the city and the way the streetlights made everything amber-colored and slightly unreal.

she remembers the lobby, cool and quiet after the street, and the elevator, and the door of the elevator closing behind them, and then veronica's hands on her face and veronica's mouth on hers and the specific quality of that kiss, which was not a first-kiss kiss and not a hello kiss but something that had been building for four months and had therefore accumulated significant pressure.

kate pressed back into the elevator wall and let it land. she thought, from some distance right. this. i had forgotten the specific geometry of this and i should not be allowed to forget it again.

she had not forgotten that it was the thing she had been carrying the memory of this in her body the entire time, but memory and the thing itself are not the same, and the gap between them is exactly the size of four months and three weeks.

the room is dark except for the city light coming through the curtains in long amber rectangles across the floor the city outside is doing what cities do indifferent and gorgeous and completely unaware of them and kate is not thinking about it at all.

she is thinking about veronica's hands, which know her the way her own hands know a basketball with the confidence of long practice, with the particular certainty of something that has been done enough times to become fluent.

she is thinking about the sound of veronica saying her name, which is different from how anyone else says it, which has always had a different weight in veronica's mouth, more considered, like she means it specifically every time.

kate has wanted this so specifically and for so long that when it finally happens it feels almost too much to stay inside of the wanting has been living in her like a weather system for months, low pressure building and building, and now it breaks and she is in the middle of it and it is enormous and good and she says veronica's name once into the dark, not as a question, just as a fact, just as a form of saying i know where i am. i know who i'm with. this is real.

veronica answers it with her hands with her mouth. with the specific patience and intention of someone who has also been counting down, who has also been carrying the weight of the waiting and is now finally, finally allowed to set it down.

later when the city went purple outside the curtains, that particular transition between deep night and the first gray idea of morning.

kate is on her back and veronica is beside her, tracing something on her shoulder with one fingertip a shape that might be letters, might be nothing, might be a word veronica is writing against kate's skin because she doesn't feel like saying it out loud yet.

kate lies very still so she doesn't disturb it she breathes she looks at the ceiling, which is the color of right now, the color of this specific moment she has been trying to get back to since phoenix.

she catalogs veronica the weight of her warmth, still, even now the specific temperature of her that kate has been cold without for four months.

the sound of her breathing, which kate has memorized and which is different in person than through a phone speaker, fuller, realer, the kind of sound that can only exist when someone is actually next to you in the dark.

the way she traces the shape on kate's shoulder with the deliberateness of someone who is not ready to stop touching her yet and is not going to pretend otherwise.

kate turns her head veronica is looking at the ceiling, or at the window, or at something kate can't see. the city light catches the clean line of her profile the quality of attention she carries even in stillness, the particular expression of her face when she is somewhere that feels safe enough to let everything down.

kate has seen this face in early mornings and late nights and the aftermath of hard games and the private spaces between all the public ones, and it is still the thing that undoes her the most, every time, without exception. "how many days until the next game?" veronica asks her voice is low, slower than usual, worn down to its most honest register, meaning how long do we have right now. and she also means i'm already calculating. she means tell me so i can start.

kate has already done the math she did it on her phone two nights ago at midnight and now she carries the number in the same place she carries all the other numbers. "forty-one," she says.

veronica is quiet for a moment. the city breathes outside the window. somewhere below them a car passes, music briefly audible through the glass, and then gone. "forty-one," veronica says, like she is placing the number somewhere inside herself, making room for it, rearranging things to accommodate the weight of another wait. "okay." kate watches her.

"okay," veronica says again softer as she resumes the tracing on kate's shoulder the maybe-word kate watches veronica's profile and feels the tenderness of it settle over her like something physical the specific particular tenderness of loving someone across distance, of knowing that in a few hours they will be back to counting, back to phone calls and texts and the insufficient medium of screens, and choosing to love them anyway, completely, without holding anything back against the leaving.

she doesn't say i'll count with you but she doesn't say forty-one is survivable. we've done worse.

she doesn't say i love you in a way that has made every city i've lived in feel temporary except the ones where you are and all of it is true and none of it needs to be said right now, in this room, with the city going purple outside and veronica's fingertip still moving against her shoulder.

she finds parking two blocks down from veronica's building and sits in the car for thirty seconds longer than necessary this is the building she used to come to after home games after wins, after losses, after the nights when chase center was so loud it rang in her ears all the way down the 101 she'd end up here, on veronica’s couch, shedding the game the way you shed a coat it was easy then. everything was easier when she belonged to the city the same way the city seemed to belong to her.

that was three weeks ago, technically three weeks since nakase called her into the office and said the words that kate has been refusing to fully feel since because there will be time to feel them later, after she's proved something, after she's made the sparks' standard 12-game activation look like an obvious decision rather than a consolation prize it was brutal, she told the reporters, because it was, and then she breathed through it in front of cameras and went to los angeles and started over.

now she's back in san francisco on a tuesday night, going to dinner, just dinner, and veronica opens the door before kate can knock of course she does veronica leans in the doorway in sweats and a northwestern t-shirt, no socks, and looks at kate the way she always looks at kate like she's reading something, like kate is a text that interests her her hair is down she looks like herself in the specific way that means she's not performing anything for anyone, and kate has always found that the most dangerous version of her. "you look good," veronica says.

"i'm always going to look good," kate says, "that's not news," and veronica laughs low and real and steps back to let her in the apartment smells the same as she doesn't know why that lands so hard, like something she forgot she'd been missing. 

the wood and warmth of it, the particular arrangement of veronica's life on every surface — the northwestern sweatshirt always on the same chair, the whiteboard by the kitchen still tracking something kate doesn't look at too closely she used to know what was on that board she used to know everything about this apartment by heart she still does that's the thing nothing's changed only kate's jersey.

"hungry?" veronica asks from the kitchen, already moving. "starving," kate says, and sits down at the counter, and tells herself dinner just a dinner.

VERONICA’S POV:

they eat at the counter and migrate to the couch the way they always used to, veronica at one end and kate at the other, and there is maybe eighteen inches of space between them that veronica is acutely aware of.

kate is talking about the sparks she's careful about it the particular diplomacy of someone processing something complicated in real time while projecting steadiness veronica has been watching kate do this for two years and she's good at it, genuinely good, but veronica knows what the seams look like. coach roberts. the development contract for twelve games kate says these things lightly, like they're facts she's already made peace with, and veronica catalogs each one and says nothing about what she hears underneath them.

"and the locker room is good," kate says. "like, genuinely. i wasn't expecting that, i think i expected to feel like a guest, but it doesn't feel like that." a pause. "yet."

"it won't," veronica says. "that's not how you work."

kate looks at her. "you can't know that from two games."

"i know you." veronica keeps her voice even she's been doing this all evening  tracking herself, monitoring the distance, aware of every inch of the space between them. it is exhausting in a specific way that only kate has ever made her work this hard. "you walk into a room and something organizes around you. it's not a thing you decide to do. it's just how you exist."

kate looks away first, good, veronica thinks. except winning doesn't feel like anything right now because they are not playing or they are always playing with kate it has always been both they talk about the season  golden state's 5-2 record, the fever game last thursday, what it felt like to go to the line up four with eighteen seconds left and hold it. 

kate asks good questions, the kind that mean she's actually watched the film, and veronica answers them and watches kate's face the whole time: the tilt of her head when something interests her, the small frown when she's filing something away to think about later. 

kate martin pays attention to things the way the film does exhaustively, indifferent to context, missing nothing she used to turn that attention on veronica and veronica would feel it like a hand on her arm.

she can feel it now they are carefully not talking about tomorrow by ten o'clock there are twelve inches between them but veronica has not moved, kate's socks are off, her feet tucked up under her, the way she always sits when she's stopped performing relaxed and actually become it. 

the low light of the apartment does something to the angles of her face that veronica is cataloguing and trying to stop cataloguing. "i missed this," kate says, into a comfortable silence. "you know specifically sitting here." she doesn't say “you.” but it is almost loud veronica looks at her kate looks back nine inches, maybe neither of them moving.

she is aware of the list of reasons she compiled it herself after may patient, methodical, the way she approaches everything that matters tomorrow's game is on the list the development contract is on the list the fact that golden state let kate go and kate bled for this team and kate cried in front of cameras three weeks ago, which veronica watched on her phone in the locker room with something she could not name sitting very heavily in her chest — that's on the list too the list is thorough.

she reaches across the nine inches and tucks kate's hair back from her face just that her thumb along kate's temple whereas kate goes very still. "yeah," veronica says softly. "me too."

KATE POV:

the thing about veronica burton is that she is always the one who decides kate has known this since they were in college, since the first time they stood on opposite sides of something and veronica just waited patiently and precisely until she saw exactly what she wanted and moved for it. 

it used to make kate crazy it still makes kate crazy it is also, she has come to understand, one of the most attractive things about her, which is not useful information to be confirming right now with veronica's thumb at her hairline and the game tomorrow and the fact that kate's name is not on golden state's roster anymore, that the building two blocks down has her memory in it but not her jersey.

she doesn't move away she should move away she knows this the way you know a weather forecast for a city you're already standing in veronica's hand has stilled, warm and just there, and kate is mapping the weight of it with the same precision she uses on film the angle, the pressure, the specific deliberateness of it this was not an accident with veronica nothing is an accident.

"we should probably talk about what this is," kate says. "probably," veronica agrees. she doesn't move her hand. "we said—" kate starts. "i know what we said."

"the thing in may—"

"kate." veronica says her name like a period like a door swinging closed and open at the same time. "i know." kate closes the nine inches herself; she doesn't know who she's surprising, not veronica, who doesn't get surprised, not herself, who has been driving toward this since she parked the car. 

she closes it and presses her forehead to veronica's and just breathes, and for a moment they are only those foreheads together, breathing, veronica's hand still light in her hair. "we have a game tomorrow," kate says very close to her mouth. "i know," veronica says very close to hers.

"i'm going to make the active roster." kate says it like a fact, like she's saying it to herself as much as to veronica. "i'm going to play tomorrow."

"i know you are." veronica pulls back just far enough to look at her whereas her eyes are steady and warm and full of something kate has never successfully translated. "and golden state is still going to win."

"yeah?" kate says. "yeah," veronica says, and then she kisses her, and kate thinks we'll see about that, and stops thinking about basketball entirely.

VERONICA’S POV:

this is the part where the list of reasons should reassert itself; veronica is aware of the list she is kissing kate martin on her couch at ten-fifteen the night before they play each other for the first time, kate in a sparks uniform she was handed three weeks after golden state handed her nothing, and the list is not doing anything useful at all.

kate kisses the way she plays — controlled, deliberate, and then suddenly not there is always a moment where the control gives and something more urgent takes over, and veronica has been waiting for that moment since kate walked through the door, maybe longer, maybe since she watched kate cry on camera and felt the particular helplessness of being the wrong person to call. 

veronica's hands find the hem of kate's shirt as kate makes a sound against her mouth that veronica catalogs immediately and permanently kate swings a leg over and straddles her lap with the ease of someone who has done exactly this before—that one time in may that they stepped back from and did not discuss and veronica grips her hips and looks up at her. "hi," kate says. three centimeters away. "hi," veronica says. "we're doing this."

"we're doing this." kate tilts her head. that ghost of a smile. "was this always going to happen when you texted me?"

veronica considers diplomacy. "yes," she says instead kate laughs surprised, real, the one that scrunches her nose, the one veronica has been keeping in her private archive since approximately their second week as teammates and then veronica's hands are at the hem of kate's shirt and kate reaches for hers in return and for a moment they are just looking at each other. 

the low light of the apartment, the familiar weight of everything they are to each other sitting between them, not being a problem, just being true this is the building that was kate's too, veronica thinks kate sat in this apartment after every home game for a season, and golden state cut her one day before the next season started and called her a family member while they did it, and now kate is here in a development deal with the sparks, back in san francisco for the first time, and she came here tonight instead of anywhere else that means something veronica has been sitting with what it means all evening. "bedroom," she says.

kate climbs off her lap and extends a hand like she lives here like she still knows where everything is, which she does veronica takes her hand and follows her down the hall and does not look at the list at all.

ALTERNATING:

kate has a freckle under her left shoulder blade veronica knows this she has always known this, since the first time, and she presses her mouth to it now in the dark and feels kate's breath stutter  that small involuntary thing, the one that cannot be performed and she thinks this is what i have been not thinking about for three weeks.

they move slowly; this is not a decision; it happens the way weather happens, the urgency of the couch giving way to something quieter when the door closes, like the bedroom is a different register. 

veronica's hands move over kate's back with a patience that surprises even her kate turns over and pulls her down and they fit together the way they always have easy and specific, the particular geometry of two people whose bodies remember each other without having to relearn anything. "i forgot how good you are at this," kate says, into the dark.

"you didn't forget," veronica says, kate's laugh is soft. "no," she agrees. "i didn't." veronica traces her collarbone, her sternum slowly unhurried whereas kate's hands are gentle in her hair not pulling yet, just holding, the way you hold something you've put down and picked back up and are relieved to find unchanged. 

veronica works her way down kate's body like she's reading something she already knows by heart and is reading more carefully now kate makes quiet sounds above her, not performing anything, just present — that particular quality of attention kate has, the full weight of it, the way she makes you feel like the only thing in the room.

veronica looks up at her kate looks back down. neither of them says anything this is the part that aches, veronica thinks not badly not like damage like the ache of something that fits pressing against a space she has been very careful not to examine directly.

kate got waived and veronica watched it on her phone and felt it somewhere it had no business landing, and now kate is here, looking at her like that, and the list of reasons is somewhere in the other room being completely useless.

she presses her mouth lower and kate's head falls back and kate's hand tightens in her hair she closes her eyes and lets herself have all of it just tonight by the time kate pulls her back up they are both breathing harder than two professional athletes should be at rest, which veronica finds obscurely funny, and kate must see it because kate smiles that slow private one, the one that takes a moment to arrive and cups veronica's face in both hands. "stay here," kate says softly which means with me, don't go somewhere else in your head right now. "i'm here," veronica says kate kisses her like she believes it.

KATE POV:

the thing shifts around midnight kate couldn't name the exact moment it's a pressure thing, a momentum thing the way a game turns on a single possession that's barely distinguishable from the forty before it one moment they're slow and careful, and then veronica does something deliberate at the curve of kate's shoulder, something with her mouth that is very clearly intentional, and kate's whole body rewires.

she rolls them over veronica looks up at her with something adjacent to surprise she's rarely surprised, kate has always hated and loved that about her and her hair is everywhere and her eyes are dark and she is the reigning most improved player in the wnba and kate's former teammate and the reason san francisco still feels like a city kate belongs to even though kate's name is not on the arena anymore she is also, kate thinks, absolutely not going to win this. "hi," kate says again.

"you're going to be insufferable about this," veronica says, reading her face with that awful accuracy. "tomorrow," kate says. "i'll be insufferable tomorrow." she pins veronica's wrists above her head, lightly, and watches her exhale. "right now i'm being something else."

veronica's chin tips up definitely there she is the version of veronica that kate first understood as a challenge before she understood it as something she wanted to be on the right side of. "oh yeah? what's that?"

"better than you," kate says simply, and lowers her head, and veronica makes a sound that kate is going to replay for the rest of the week it is competitive in the specific way that nothing except basketball has ever been competitive between them. not mean, not cruel — both of them knowing the other's moves before they're made, finding counter-moves, finding the space inside the counter-moves. 

kate knows veronica's tells veronica knows hers they weaponize this cheerfully, thoroughly, without mercy, and kate takes her apart the way she takes apart a zone defense: patiently, completely, finding every gap veronica's hands pull at her hair. 

her whole body working against kate's grip like she's testing whether it'll hold it holds her voice goes rough in the specific way kate has been keeping in some private archive for two years now, retrieving occasionally, trying not to retrieve too often. "kate," veronica says a warning and a plea at the same time, the way only she has ever managed.

"i know," kate says, against her skin. "kate—"

"i've got you," kate says. "i've got you." and then she does fully, completely feels veronica come apart under her with a shudder that kate feels in her own chest she holds her through it loosens her grip and just holds, her face pressed to veronica's neck, her own heart going fast for reasons that have nothing to do with exertion.

veronica's hands softened in her hair and started moving, slowly the way you touch someone to say something you don't have words for yet kate closes her eyes and lets herself be held you win some, she thinks and then veronica rolls her over, deliberate and unhurried, and kate thinks fine, then. and means it in every possible sense.

VERONICA’S POV:

kate falls asleep before veronica does she always has it's one of the small private facts veronica keeps in the category of things that are mine and tries not to examine too closely kate martin, who is awake and sharp and relentlessly present at every other moment, falls asleep fast and easy the way children do like she decides to and then just does it like nothing follows her there. 

veronica used to watch her from the other side of the bed when they were there, and then it wasn't, and then it was may, and now it's this, and veronica is doing the math she is very good at math as it is not helping her.

the numbers kate was waived one day before the season kate said it wasn't easy at all in a press conference while visibly trying not to cry, and veronica watched it on her phone in the locker room at chase center  in ballhalla in the building that had been kate's home too, where kate's jersey number used to hang in the tunnel with everyone else's, and felt something she did not have the right word for. 

nakase said kate was family and then let her go, and kate went to los angeles and signed a development deal worth a weekly stipend and a pro-rated minimum salary and veronica knows what that means, what kate traded down to, to keep playing.

tomorrow golden state plays los angeles at chase center kate will walk back into that building in a sparks uniform veronica will be on the other side of the court kate shifts in the dark, resettles. some instinct pulling her closer even unconscious. 

her arm ends up across veronica's ribs veronica looks down at it and she thinks about moving it she leaves it where it is the continued math they dated, last year, the way two people date when both of them are building careers inside an organization they love and neither of them wants to be the reason the other one loses focus. 

they ended it mutually and correctly and with the specific grief of choosing the right hard thing, and they stayed close because there was never a world where they didn't stay close and then may happened an offseason weekend, something that was always waiting, that had been waiting through the whole relationship and the ending of it and they stepped back over the line and did not discuss it directly and veronica spent three months being more careful and then golden state cut kate and veronica stopped being careful and texted her.

she cannot figure out what she wants the answer to be she has been trying to figure this out for months and she cannot get there the bay is quiet outside that low particular frequency of san francisco at one in the morning, the hum of the bridge, the specific texture of the city veronica has come to know over a season and a half. 

this is home now kate used to be part of what made it home, and then she wasn't, and now she's here for one night with her arm across veronica's ribs and her name on the away team's roster and everything between them unresolved and vivid and completely, irreducibly real.

veronica turns her head in the dark, kate's face is unguarded, not closed, just resting, the sharp attention turned all the way off she looks young, she looks like herself, the version of herself that only shows up when she's stopped working at anything.

tomorrow veronica will be on one side of halfcourt and kate will be on the other the game will be the game it always is this is something veronica has always respected about both of them, that they do not let what they are to each other make them soft on the floor kate will play hard and precise and veronica will do the same and one of them will win and neither of them will let the other get away with anything.

what she isn't prepared for is seeing veronica across the court during warmups but she tells herself she's prepared as she's been telling herself that for three weeks, ever since the schedule dropped and she saw it in black and white breeze vs. mist, game one, opening night. 

she's told herself she can compartmentalize, she's a professional and she's done harder things and then veronica does that thing where she catches the ball off the backboard one-handed without even looking, smooth and easy and completely unbothered, and kate's stomach does something embarrassing.

she turns back to her own layup line as she focuses paige is beside her immediately, because paige is always beside her immediately. "you okay?" paige asks, and her voice is casual but her eyes are doing that thing where they're not casual at all.

"i'm fine," kate says. "you're staring."

"i'm not staring."

"kate."

"i was checking the shot clock." paige looks at her for a long moment. "the shot clock," she repeats. "yes."

"the shot clock that's currently turned off because warmups haven't officially started." kate bounces the ball twice. "i'm fine," she says again as rickea appears on her other side out of nowhere, the way rickea always does, like she teleports. "she's not fine." rickea tells paige.

"i know," paige says. "i'm right here," kate says as they both ignore her.

the game starts and kate is fine but she is genuinely, actually fine but she's locked in, she's reading the defense, she's moving the ball, she's hitting her spots but this is what she does, this is who she is and then veronica drives baseline in the second quarter pure speed, shoulders low, cutting through a gap that shouldn't exist and the crowd reacts before kate's brain does.

her hands clap together. "yeah! let's go—" she stops the word dies in her mouth the sound that comes out instead is something like a choked-off squeak.

the problem is that it wasn't a quiet clap, it wasn't a little polite acknowledgment but it was a full-bodied, enthusiastic, completely involuntary sports-fan clap, the kind kate has done at veronica's games a hundred times from the stands, from the couch, from whatever corner of the world she happened to be in when she pulled up the stream.

the problem is that paige heard it rickea heard it as well half the bench heard it but the mist huddle, thirty feet away, definitely heard it, because two of them are looking over with expressions caught somewhere between confused and delighted.

veronica, jogging back on defense, glances over her shoulder and their eyes meet, veronica's mouth curves up at the corner, just barely just enough kate wants to dissolve into the hardwood. "did you just—" paige starts.

"no," kate says. "kate."

"it was a good play," kate says, very quietly, very controlled. "i was acknowledging a good basketball play objectively in a basketball sense." the silence that follows is the loudest thing kate has ever heard. "she cheered for her girlfriend," rickea says, not quietly at all, to the bench in general.

"i didn't—she's not—we're not—"

"she's literally your girlfriend," paige says. "we are competitors tonight," kate says. "we are athletes competing in professional competition—"

"you clapped," rickea says. "you did a little happy clap."

"it's not funny—"

"it's a little funny," paige says, and she's smiling, and kate hates that the smile is warm and not mean, because it's so much harder to be annoyed at being warm. "please," kate says. "please just let this go." this is when she knows they won't let this go.

it becomes a whole thing every time veronica does anything, every time veronica catches a pass cleanly, or draws a foul, or even just walks to the free throw line at least one of her own teammates does an exaggerated little golf clap in kate's direction.

rickea does it first then the backup point guard, who kate didn't even think was paying attention. then, mortifyingly, someone on the bench who starts doing a full silent slow-clap every time veronica touches the ball.

"stop," kate hisses during a timeout, and no one stops paige pats her on the back. "this is a safe space." she says, which means nothing and yet somehow means everything the worst part, the genuinely worst part is that the mist players are catching on. 

kate can see it happening in real time, the little looks, the quiet nudges veronica's teammate allisha figures it out by the third quarter and starts making pointed eye contact with kate every time veronica does something good, like she's checking whether kate is going to clap again.

kate does not clap again; she holds her hands very deliberately at her sides as she is a professional. "you're doing the thing," paige says. "what thing."

"the thing where you're concentrating so hard on not doing something that you're actually doing a different embarrassing thing."

"what is the different embarrassing thing." paige just gestures at kate's whole situation.

kate looks down at her hands, which are, apparently, clasped very tightly together in her lap like she is a victorian child trying not to reach for a biscuit. as she unclenches them. "i hate this game," she mutters. "no you don't," rickea says. "you're having the time of your life." and the terrible thing, kate thinks, is that rickea isn't entirely wrong.

they lose by three as kate is annoyed about this in a genuine basketball way, separate from everything else.

she wanted to win, she always wants to win but the losing sits in her chest with a particular texture she's been living with since she was seven years old and her first team went oh-and-twelve and she cried in the car on the way home and her mom said that just means you care, baby, and caring is not a bad thing.

she still thinks about that, sometimes she's thinking about it now, in the corridor outside the locker rooms, when she hears footsteps and turns and veronica is there.

they look at each other, veronica is still in her warmup jacket, her hair pulled back, and she's holding two cups of water like she knew exactly where kate would be, which she probably did. ten years of knowing someone leaves a map.

"hi." veronica says. "hi." kate says. veronica holds out one of the cups kate takes it. "good game," veronica says. "you won."

"still a good game." veronica tilts her head. "you okay?"

"i'm fine. we lost by three."

"i know. you okay?"

kate looks at her whereas there's no point in the full performance with veronica, there never has been veronica has been taking apart kate's carefully constructed fine since they were in college and kate thinks sometimes that she resents it, and then she thinks about what it would be like to not have one person in the world who can do that, and she doesn't resent it at all.

"yeah," kate says. "i'm okay." veronica nods and then, very carefully, very deliberately, her face still almost entirely neutral — "i heard you." kate closes her eyes. "the clap," veronica says.

"i know what you heard."

"it was a really nice clap."

"veronica."

"very enthusiastic and very supportive."

"i will walk away," kate says. "i'm just saying. as someone who appreciated the energy—"

"i'm walking away now—"

"my teammates have been asking me about it," veronica says, and there's a smile in her voice now, soft and warm and the specific texture of something that belongs only to them. "what should i tell them?"

kate opens her eyes veronica is looking at her the way she always looks at her, like kate is both the funniest and the most important thing in the room, and it does what it always does to kate's chest, which is make it feel approximately three sizes too small for everything she's trying to keep inside it. "tell them," kate says, "that it was an accident."

"was it?"

"yes."

"your face is doing the thing."

"what thing."

"the thing where you're lying." kate drinks her water and she stares at the middle distance she thinks about dignity, which she has had at various points in her life and appears to have temporarily misplaced. "it was a good drive," she says finally.

"thank you."

"i was reacting to the basketball objectively."

"absolutely."

"as a basketball professional."

"of course."

"can we go home now." veronica's smile breaks fully then, warm and real and a little bright around the edges, and she reaches over and takes kate's free hand and squeezes it once, just once, and kate's whole chest does the thing it always does.

"yeah," veronica says. "let's go home."

they're in the car kate's car, kate driving, veronica in the passenger seat with her feet up on the dash the way she always does even though kate has asked her not to probably four hundred times and kate is recounting the full situation because that's what she does, she processes out loud, veronica has known this forever.

"—and then rickea started doing the slow clap, and i mean slow clap, like full theatrical slow clap, every time you touched the ball—" veronica is laughing, she's been laughing for approximately six minutes it's the laugh that goes all the way to her eyes, the one kate has been collecting like pressed flowers for a decade.

"—and paige said it was a safe space—"

"it is a safe space," veronica says. "for who? not for me."

"for your feelings."

"my feelings were fine before i accidentally cheered for the opposing team."

"you cheered for me specifically," veronica corrects. "that's sweet."

"it was humiliating."

"it was sweet and a little humiliating those can both be true." kate's hands tighten slightly on the wheel. "they're going to bring this up forever," she says. "you know that paige is going to bring this up at my retirement ceremony."

"probably," veronica agrees, cheerfully. "and your team knows now too. allisha kept looking at me."

"allisha texted me during halftime," veronica says as kate takes her eyes off the road for exactly one second. "she texted you during halftime."

"she said, and i'm quoting, 'your girl is rooting for you from the bench, it's very cute.'" kate makes a sound. "don't make that sound."

"what sound."

"the sound you make when you're embarrassed but also kind of pleased."

"i don't make that sound."

"you're making it right now."

"i'm focusing on the road." veronica is quiet for a moment, and kate can feel her looking, the specific weight of veronica's attention that has always felt like something physical, like a hand on her shoulder. "you know," veronica says, more quietly now, "i thought about you during warmups."

kate keeps her eyes on the road. "yeah?"

"i always think about you during warmups. first game especially." a pause. "it's weird, playing against you. it's not bad weird. it's just—"

"weird," kate finishes.

"yeah." they drive for a minute in a comfortable quiet. "i thought about you too," kate admits. "that's probably why the clap happened."

"i know."

"i see you play all the time and i just—" she stops. "habit."

"a year is a lot of a habit."

"yeah."

the streetlights pass over them in intervals, orange and dark and orange and dark, and kate thinks about all the games she's watched veronica play, all the way back to when they were in college and it was smaller courts and different stakes and kate was always watching, always tracking, always feeling that particular thing in her chest that she didn't have a name for until she did.

"i'm glad you were there." veronica says. "i'm glad you won." kate says, which is not completely true in a competitive sense but is completely true in a veronica sense, and they both know it.

veronica laughs again, softer this time. "rickea's going to make a shirt," kate says. "oh definitely." 

"'kate martin: mist fan of the year.'"

"i would wear that shirt," veronica says. "i know you would," kate says. "that's the problem."

veronica puts her head back against the seat, still smiling, and reaches over without looking and covers kate's hand on the gearshift with hers just rests it there easy and warm and completely familiar, like breathing kate turns her palm up veronica's fingers slot between hers they drive the rest of the way home like that.

home is kate's apartment it's become that, slowly, the way most things between them have become  not with a conversation or a decision, just with accumulation. 

veronica's toothbrush appeared in the bathroom four months ago and her favorite tea is in the cabinet above the electric kettle and yet there's a hoodie of hers on the hook by the door that kate has worn twice and not given back and veronica has not asked for.

kate doesn't think about how much she likes that she thinks about it constantly as she parks and they sit for a second in the quiet after the engine cuts, the particular stillness that follows a long night when neither of you is ready to let it go yet. 

the city makes its distant sounds, the streetlight outside the window does its orange thing veronica doesn't move kate doesn't move. "you hungry?" kate asks. "not really."

"me neither." they go inside anyway the apartment receives them the way it always does warm and a little dark, the lamp in the living room on its lowest setting because kate hates coming home to full dark and veronica figured that out without being told and started leaving the lamp on every time she leaves before kate does, which is a thing kate has never mentioned out loud because mentioning it out loud seems like it would break something.

veronica drops her bag by the couch, kicks off her shoes, collapses sideways onto the cushions with the specific bonelessness of someone whose body has been working very hard for the last three hours and has decided it's done.

kate goes to the kitchen fills two glasses of water and stands there for a moment looking at them the clap is still living in her body somewhere, embarrassment-warm, and she's aware she's going to keep being aware of it for probably the next seventy-two hours minimum, replaying it in her head at two in the morning like every other mortifying thing she's ever done except underneath the embarrassment is something else, something softer and harder to name. 

the realness of the reaction, how she didn't even think and how it was just a reflection of a year of watching veronica and loving veronica compressed into a single involuntary moment of pure uncomplicated joy at seeing her do something well.

she picks up the glasses and goes back to the living room but veronica has one arm thrown over her face as kate sits on the other end of the couch, lifts veronica's feet, and settles them in her lap, veronica doesn't move the arm but kate sets one glass on the coffee table within veronica's reach and holds the other.

"you're quiet." veronica says, from under her arm. "i'm always quiet."

"you're a different quiet." kate runs her thumb along veronica's ankle absently. "i'm just thinking."

"about the clap."

"i'm not thinking about the clap."

"your voice does a thing when you're thinking about the clap."

"what thing." veronica moves her arm finally, turns her head to look at kate as her eyes are soft and a little tired and very much the eyes that have been watching kate closely for two years and know the full inventory.

"a tight thing," she says. "like you're trying not to smile." kate looks at her for a second then she looks away, out the dark window, and she lets the smile happen because veronica's already seen it anyway. "it was embarrassing," kate says. "yeah."

"i'm a professional athlete."

"you are."

"i have a reputation."

"the reputation of someone who accidentally cheers for the opposing team because she loves them." the word lands gently, like veronica knew exactly how much space to give it like she's been carrying it around in her hands for a while and just set it down somewhere kate could see it.

kate doesn't say anything; she keeps her thumb moving against veronica's ankle. "loves." kate says, eventually testing the way it sounds. "loves." veronica confirms. not a question. never a question, between them.

kate knows that she's known this as she has known this in the specific way you can know something completely and still need to hear it said out loud sometimes, need the word to exist in the air between you and not just in the place inside you where you've been keeping it. "rickea is going to make that shirt," kate says.

veronica laughs, quiet and warm, and it moves through kate like something lit. "worth it," veronica says. "for you maybe."

"for both of us." she says it simply matter-of-fact like it's geography. "come here." kate moves it's easy, it's always been easy once she stops overthinking, she just moves and veronica shifts and arranges them both with the unconscious competence of someone who has been fitting themselves against kate in various configurations since they were in college in cold gymnasiums with nowhere comfortable to sit.

kate ends up half-reclined against the arm of the couch, veronica tucked against her side with her head on kate's shoulder, and kate's arm goes around her without her deciding to do it.

they stay like that whereas the lamp hums its quiet hum.

"allisha really texted you at halftime," kate says, after a while. "she sent three fire emojis first and then the message."

"three."

"she felt strongly." kate stares at the ceiling. "what did your other teammates say."

"alanna said, and i'm quoting, 'that's the most romantic thing i've ever seen at a sporting event.'"

"it wasn't—"

"including the time a man proposed on the jumbotron."

"it was a clap," kate says. "it was an involuntary hand movement."

"an involuntary hand movement that expressed your deep and abiding—"

"veronica."

"love and admiration for"

"i will physically move," kate says veronica's arm tightens around kate's waist. "no you won't."

she won't, as they both know she won't kate lets her head tip sideways until it rests against veronica's and she stares at the middle distance and accepts her life. "paige texted me," veronica says kate lifts her head. "she did not."

"she said 'take care of her, she's going to be in her head about this all night.' with a heart." kate puts her head back down. "i'm going to talk to her tomorrow."

"she loves you."

"she is destroying me."

"same thing, kind of." veronica pauses. "she's right though. you're in your head."

"i'm not—" kate stops. starts over. "a little."

"what part." kate thinks about how to say it the ceiling is easier to look at than veronica's face when she's trying to find the words for something real.

"just—" she stops again. "i didn't even think. it wasn't a choice, i just—saw you do something and my whole body wanted to—" she exhales. "it was just very obvious. to everybody. how i feel."

"is that bad?"

"it's—i don't know. it's a lot to be that obvious." veronica is quiet for a moment then she shifts up, repositions, until she can actually see kate's face, until kate has to either look at her or make a point of not looking at her, and kate is tired of making points.

she looks like really looks at veronica's expression is the careful, open one she keeps for things that matter. the one that has no performance in it. "i like that you're obvious," veronica says. "i like knowing."

"knowing what."

"that it's real." a pause. very quiet. "that i'm not the only one who does that. looks across a room and just — feels it." kate thinks about veronica texting her before big games calling after bad ones the lamp left on. the tea above the kettle a year of small deliberate evidence. "you're not," kate says.

"i know." veronica's mouth curves. "i just like hearing it."

kate reaches up and tucks a loose piece of veronica's hair back, just something to do with her hands, just a reason to touch her face whereas veronica's eyes go soft at the edges. "you played really well tonight," kate says.

"thank you."

"i mean it. the drive in the second quarter that gap shouldn't have been there, you made it exist."

"i know," veronica says, and it's not arrogant, it's just true, and kate loves that about her, how she can hold her own ability without apology. "i would have clapped for that in any context," kate says. "just so you know. objectively. as a basketball enjoyer."

"as a basketball enjoyer."

"who also happens to—" kate stops. "happens to?" veronica prompts, and her voice is very gentle, the way it gets when she's giving kate room. kate looks at her. "you know," kate says.

"i do," veronica says. "i still want to hear it."

the lamp hums as the city lives its distant life outside the window as kate has been keeping things carefully and carrying them quietly for her entire life and veronica is the one person who has always been able to find them anyway.

it's not hard to say that's the thing she keeps being surprised by, so when it's the right person and the right room and you're not performing anything for anyone, it's the easiest thing in the world.

"i love you." kate says. low and certain, like a fact veronica smiles the real one, all the way up, the one kate has been cataloguing for a year.

"yeah," she says. "i love you too." she settles back against kate's shoulder kate holds her the night does its quiet thing around them.

eventually one of them will make tea, eventually they'll move to the bed and eventually tomorrow will arrive with its new day and its jokes from paige and its rickea designed merchandise and the particular long-game of loving someone who is also, now, the competition.

but right now there's just this lamp of warmth veronica's hand finding kate's again in the dark, easy and certain, like muscle memory like something that was always going to happen it’s like breathing.

kate falls asleep first veronica knows because the particular quality of kate's breathing changes  evens out, deepens, loses the slight held-back quality it has when kate is still thinking, which is almost always.

 kate is almost always thinking it's one of the first things veronica ever noticed about her, back when they first met and the world was smaller and veronica thought she was just noticing a basketball thing, a competitor thing, the way kate's eyes were always moving, always reading, always three seconds ahead.

it took her longer than she'd like to admit to understand she wasn't just noticing the basketball she lies there in the low warm light and listens to kate sleep and doesn't move because moving would shift the weight of kate's arm across her and she's not ready to lose that yet she's not sure she'll ever be ready to lose that.

this is the thing about loving kate that veronica has never been able to explain to anyone who asks: it didn't arrive, it didn't happen but it just always was, underneath everything else, patient and enormous, the way bedrock is underneath a city but you don't see it. it's just what everything is built on.

she remembers being twenty two and watching kate in a game and feeling something shift in her chest and filing it under not now because there was so much else college, basketball, the future, the size of everything they were both trying to become and then she was twenty three and filed it again and twenty four and twenty five.

she got very good at filing it and then kate called her last year from a parking lot after a hard loss, voice low and tired, and said i just needed to hear you and didn't explain that and didn't have to, and veronica sat on her kitchen floor for twenty minutes after they hung up just holding her phone and thinking, carefully, with the full weight of her actual honest attention:

i am not feeling this anymore.

she didn't say anything right away that's not how either of them work but she stopped feeling it, stopped keeping it at arm's length, let it just be what it was present and real and hers  and something in her must have changed because two weeks later kate looked at her across a dinner table and said, without preamble, i think i've been not saying something for a long time and veronica said i know and kate said you know? and veronica said kate, i have always known and kate laughed, this short disbelieving sound, and covered her face with both hands, and that was mostly that.

mostly but the rest of it has been the accumulation, the slow happy accumulation of all the things they already were plus all the things they're becoming, layered together, the way you build something that's meant to last.

kate makes a small sound in her sleep and turns her face slightly toward veronica's shoulder and veronica watches her in the low light the way she sometimes lets herself when kate can't see her doing it.

there's something about kate asleep that's different from kate awake in a way veronica has spent a lot of time thinking about awake, kate is composed precise she manages herself with this constant quiet care, keeps everything running at the right temperature, makes sure she's taking up exactly the right amount of space and not a fraction more. 

it's not performance exactly, it's just kate, the particular shape of her, careful and competent and so genuinely good at everything she puts herself toward that sometimes veronica wants to grab her by the shoulders and say you don't have to earn it, it's already yours.

asleep she's just kate the uncomposed version the one veronica gets to know she loves both of them. she loves the composed, careful kate who cheers for her accidentally and then tries to maintain dignity about it as she loves this one too.

she presses her mouth, very gently, to the top of kate's head as kate doesn't wake up, veronica closes her eyes.

she doesn't mean to fall asleep she has a whole plan that involves eventually getting up, getting water, texting allisha back because nina has sent four more messages that veronica has been feeling vibrate against the coffee table at intervals and is absolutely not going to look at until tomorrow when she has the emotional bandwidth for allisha's enthusiasm.

she falls asleep anyway; what wakes her is the light early, thin, the particular gray-blue of a morning that hasn't decided yet, coming through the gap in the curtains, kate always means to fix and never does. 

veronica surfaces slowly, the way she does when she's slept well, which she has deeply and without interruption, the kind of sleep that only comes when your body has decided it's completely safe.

she's still on the couch kate is still there they've rearranged in the night the way you do kate on her back, veronica half on top of her, kate's arm still around her like even asleep kate is holding on.

veronica lies there and watches the light do its slow morning thing and feels something she doesn't have a precise word for.

content, maybe but fuller than that, the kind of feeling that sits in the center of your chest and radiates outward, warm and steady, like something that's been running this whole time and you just got quiet enough to hear it.

she turns her head slightly and looks at kate's face in the early light, the sleep soft version of the unguarded one.

kate has this little line between her eyebrows that appears when she's thinking hard, and it's there even now, even in sleep, faint and familiar, and veronica reaches up without fully deciding to and presses her thumb to it gently just once kate's brow smooths as veronica smiles at the ceiling.

"you're doing it again," kate says veronica startles. "you're awake."

"i've been awake for a little while."

"why didn't you say something?" kate shifts, turns her head to look at her, and she has the warmest expression veronica has ever seen on another human face, which is a high bar because kate's face in the morning is already something veronica thinks about more than she tells anyone.

"i liked listening to you think," kate says. "you could hear me thinking."

"you make a very specific almost-sound when you're thinking about something you like."

"i do not."

"a small hm almost inaudible. very pleasant." veronica stares at her. "you're telling me you've catalogued my thinking sounds."

"a year," kate says simply like that explains everything because it does veronica puts her face against kate's shoulder to hide the expression happening on it kate's arm tightens around her.

"how'd you sleep?" kate asks. "really well."

"yeah?"

"yeah." veronica pauses. "you?"

"best i have in a while," kate says, quiet and honest, the way she gets in the morning before she's fully assembled herself, and it goes straight into the center of veronica's chest and stays there.

they're quiet for a moment as the light keeps happening. somewhere outside a car passes. "i kept thinking about something last night," veronica says. "before i fell asleep."

"what."

"how you said it was a lot being that obvious." kate goes slightly still in the way that isn't tense exactly, just attentive. "yeah."

"i've been thinking about how that's the thing i love most." veronica says. "about you. about this." she pauses, gets the words in the right order. "you're so contained, usually. you manage everything so carefully and then you just completely accidentally gave yourself away in front of like two hundred people because you saw me do something good."

"that's the thing you love most."

"one of them."

"it was humiliating."

"it was real," veronica says. "it was the most real thing and i know you know that because you said so." she tilts her head up to look at kate. "i just wanted you to know that i think about that. that when you let something be real like that, i notice. i keep it."

kate looks at her for a moment, her eyes are very clear in the morning light, the early green doing something nice to them, and she has the look she gets when she's trying to figure out if she needs to say something or if the moment already said it.

she reaches over and tucks veronica's hair back the same way she did last night but slower this time. "i keep yours too," kate says. "i know."

"every time you leave the lamp on." veronica blinks. then something in her chest does a full slow revolution. "you noticed that."

"i noticed that the first time," kate says. "i just didn't say anything because—"

"because you were feeling it." kate pauses. "how did you know i was feeling it."

"because i was feeling it too." veronica laughs, soft and a little undone. "we're idiots."

"we're very smart people who were idiots about one specific thing for a very long time."

"same thing."

"not the same thing."

"kate."

"technically—"

"we wasted so much time," veronica says, not with grief exactly, more with the fond exasperation of looking back at two people you love and wanting to shake them gently.

"we didn't waste it," kate says. "we were building it." she says it simply, without drama, the way kate says things she actually believes. "everything we were before is why this works. i wouldn't trade the before."

veronica looks at her.

the morning light is doing more now, going warmer at the edges, and kate's face in it is something veronica wants to keep wants to come back to, wants to find on the other side of every hard thing every away game and every loss and every night that goes long and difficult and needs someone at the end of it. "yeah," veronica says. "okay. yeah."

kate smiles a small and real one that lives at the corner of her mouth and only comes out when she's not managing anything. "we should eat something," kate says. "probably."

"i have eggs."

"you always have eggs."

"eggs are reliable." kate says, with great seriousness veronica laughs, and the laugh moves through her whole body, and kate's arm tightens again like a reflex, like even kate's body knows the sound and wants to hold it.

they stay a little longer the eggs can wait the morning is doing its quiet unhurried thing and they are in no hurry and there is something so specifically good about that about having a person and a morning and nowhere to be yet, about the particular luxury of just being still together while the world outside spins itself up for another day.

veronica thinks about the game last night the way kate looked across the court during warmups and then looked away like she'd been caught doing something. 

the way kate's hands came together in that involuntary happy clap and then the expression on her face the mortification, yes, but underneath it, unmistakably, joy pure simple joy at seeing the person you love do what they're made for.

veronica has been playing basketball her whole life whereas she has won things and lost things and worked for things and she knows what it feels like to have people in the stands, people on your side, people who want you to succeed.

nothing has ever felt like that clap. "hey." veronica says.

"hm."

"i'm glad it's you."

kate turns her head looks at her. "of all the people," veronica says. "all the ways it could have gone." she shakes her head slightly. "i'm glad it's you." and kate composed, careful, precise kate who manages everything at the right temperature and never takes up more space than exactly what's needed  kate looks at her with the unguarded morning face and the sleep-warm eyes and says, without any filing at all:

"it was always going to be you." the lamp is still on as neither of them thinks to turn it off outside the window the city is starting its day on the coffee table. 

veronica's phone has seventeen unread messages from allisha, somewhere across town paige is probably awake and plotting but the season is long and they are on opposite sides of it and tomorrow that will matter again.

veronica was a student of the game she didn’t go anywhere unprepared what the film did not prepare her for was kate standing at half court during warmups, not even fully warmed up yet, looking directly at her across the paint with those very blue eyes, and saying loud enough for half the arena floor to hear. “y’all really sent her as your stopper? that’s cute.”

veronica didn’t stop stretching as she pulled her left arm across her chest, held it, and let the silence sit for exactly three seconds. “warm up good,” she said. “you’re gonna need it.”

kate laughed like actually laughed, tossed her hair back and laughed like veronica had said something genuinely funny, and then turned back to her teammates like veronica wasn’t worth another second of her attention like she was already done with her.

that was the first time veronica felt something pull tight in her chest. not nerves she didn’t get nervous, had burned that out of herself freshman year but something else. 

something sharper and harder to name, sitting right at the base of her sternum, saying: oh, so it’s gonna be like that.

it was, in fact, gonna be like that iowa ran a play in the second quarter that veronica had seen on film exactly once, a late clock bailout for kate off a lob fake, and veronica jumped it as she read it perfectly, got two hands on the ball, and was already pushing in transition before kate fully processed what had happened. 

she heard kate behind her. “no no no.” and then the crowd noise swallowed everything and veronica was laying it off the glass and the ref’s whistle was blowing and northwestern was up four. 

she turned around and found kate immediately in the chaos. “film study.” veronica said as kate’s jaw tightened. “lucky.”

“say that again slower.”

“lucky.” kate said, enunciating each letter with her eyes locked on veronica’s, and the look in them could’ve been fury or could’ve been something else entirely if you were the kind of person who looked for that, which veronica was not, absolutely was not, not even a little.

iowa won. 

caitlin existed on this planet, so of course iowa won as veronica dropped 14 points, 6 assists, 4 steals, and held kate to 8 points on 3-of-11 shooting. 

objectively it was a very good game for veronica, sophomore, northwestern wildcats. she’d done what she came to do but kate shot 3-for-11 and still found veronica in the handshake line and said: “good game.“

“you’re actually kinda nice.”

“kinda.” veronica said. “don’t push it.” kate said, and there was something at the corner of her mouth that wasn’t quite a smile but wanted to be, and then she was gone, swept into the iowa postgame chaos, and veronica stood in the line watching her go and felt that thing in her chest pull tight again and told herself it was competitive fire.

she moved on with her life as she thought about it for the whole bus ride home whereas they played each other four more times over the next two years and every single one felt like a small war with official scoring.

there was the game in evanston junior year where veronica blocked kate’s layup in the final minute was a clean block, nothing but her hand on the ball and kate said “i will remember this.” and veronica said “i hope you do.” and kate said “you’re so annoying, do you know that?” 

as veronica said “you literally started it in warmups the first time we ever met” and kate said “that was a COMPLIMENT!” and veronica said “calling me cute in front of three thousand people was a compliment?” and kate opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, closed it again, and walked away.

that moment felt like winning even though northwestern lost by nine there was the big ten tournament game senior year where they spent forty minutes trying to take each other’s heads off and both fouled out veronica with five, kate with a technical on top of her five and they sat on opposite benches with their respective foul trouble watching their teammates finish the game without them. 

veronica caught kate looking at her from across the court twice. kate caught veronica looking back once but neither of them said anything about it to anyone ever.

there was the way kate played veronica couldn’t stop thinking about, and she told herself this was a basketball thing the IQ, the timing, the way kate made every single player around her better without needing the ball in her hands, the specific intelligence of someone who understood the game as a system rather than a series of individual moments. 

veronica understood that but she played that same way. they were the same kind of player in different uniforms and it made them drive each other insane or that was what veronica told herself.

she was good at telling herself things. 

it happened after the iowa game, the first one november turning to december and the northwest wind off the iowa river coming through the parking structure outside carver-hawkeye like it had a personal vendetta against everyone in it.

veronica was not supposed to still be in iowa city her team had bussed out at nine. 

she’d told coach she had a family thing vague, unverifiable, the kind of excuse you give when the truth doesn’t have a clean shape yet and caught a later ride and she was standing in the corridor outside the visitors’ locker room at eleven-fifteen pm.

staring at the door and not fully understanding what she was doing there until the door opened and kate walked out with wet hair and a northwestern bag slung over one shoulder and stopped dead when she saw her. 

they looked at each other as the corridor was fluorescent-lit and empty and smelled like floor wax and that industrial soap every college athletic facility in america used but it was not an atmospheric location. 

kate was in sweats, veronica was still in her travel gear but neither of them were at their most impressive look. “you’re still here?” kate said.

“apparently.”

“why.” veronica had been working on an answer for forty minutes but nothing had come together that wasn’t embarrassing. “wanted to talk.” she said, which was technically true, the way that a lot of true things are incomplete.

kate tilted her head, she studied people the way she studied defenses, precise, looking for the seam. “about basketball?”

“sure.”

“you’re lying.”

“i know.” veronica said as the silence stretched between them but somewhere deeper in the building a door opened and closed the HVAC hummed kate closed the distance between them from six feet to three. “then what.”

“i don’t know exactly.” veronica said, which was more honest than she’d intended, kate looked at her for a long moment, her eyes were very blue in the fluorescent light and veronica made a private note to stop noticing things like that. “this is a terrible idea.” 

kate said. “yeah.”

“you play for the enemy.”

“big ten rival. technically—”

“i just beat you.”

“by six and i held you to eight so....”

“you are so.” kate started. “annoying, yeah, you’ve mentioned.”

kate kissed her fast and a little sharp, like a decision being made before the deciding part of the brain could stop it veronica’s bag hit the floor, her hand found the front of kate’s sweatshirt on pure instinct and held on but when they broke apart, both breathing, kate’s hand was still on veronica’s jaw neither of them moved away from it. “still annoying.” kate said, voice lower now. “still insufferable.” veronica said.

there was a supply closet twelve feet down the hall whereas veronica clocked it, kate clocked it what passed between them in that half-second was the same thing that made them both good at basketball. 

the read before the play develops, the mutual recognition of what’s happening before anyone says it out loud.

kate picked her bag up off the floor. “this doesn’t mean anything.” she said. “obviously,.” veronica said. “we’re still rivals.”

“one hundred percent.”

“okay.” kate said, and opened the supply closet door dark except for a stripe of yellow light under the door veronica could hear the building settling around them, the distant sound of someone’s cart rolling across the arena floor, the hum of fluorescent lights through the wall.

kate’s back was against the metal shelving and veronica’s hands were at her waist and they were still figuring out the geography of each other carefully and tentatively in the way that people who’ve spent months antagonizing each other are tentative when they finally stop.

“you’re shaking.” kate said not mean about it, observational. “it’s cold.”

“it really isn’t.”

“drop it.” veronica said, and kate laughed softly a different laugh than the one from warmups, smaller and private and that was the most disarming thing she’d done all night, that quiet laugh, and veronica felt herself tip forward into it like a decision she’d already made without consciously making it.

she kissed kate slower this time and learned the shape of it, the give of it whereas kate’s hands moved into her hair and she made a small sound in the back of her throat and veronica felt it like a current running from that sound down through her whole body. 

she pressed closer and kate’s back met the shelf a little harder and neither of them cared veronica’s mouth moved to kate’s jaw, her neck, the soft space below her ear. 

kate exhaled long and unsteady and turned her head to give her more room and veronica’s hands found the hem of her sweatshirt and moved underneath it and kate’s skin was warm. “okay,” kate breathed. “okay, you can.”

“i know,” veronica said quietly as she did the same way she knew where players would be before they got there kate’s sweatshirt came off and veronica’s hands traced the cut of her collarbone, the muscle of her shoulders, the lines of her that the game had built, and kate’s head fell back and she made that sound again and veronica understood, in that particular way you can only understand something by being fully inside it, that this was not nothing.

it had never been nothing but kate pulled her back in by the collar of her jacket and kissed her differently this time less careful, more present, both hands in veronica’s hair and the shelving digging into kate’s back and neither of them slowing down for it. 

veronica got her jacket off and kate’s hands found the hem of her shirt and pushed it up and every place kate’s hands went she felt like something was being rewritten.

“here?” kate said, low, thumb pressing into the curve of her hip.

“yes.” kate watched her face when she moved and veronica left her, which was not something she did easily and she knew it and kate seemed to know it too because something in her expression shifted into something careful and deliberate like she understood she was being trusted with something and wasn’t going to waste it. 

she took her time. 

she learned veronica the way veronica had learned plays methodically, until the route was memorized.

veronica’s hand found the back of kate’s neck and held on kate pressed her mouth to her jaw, her throat, the soft place below her ear, and said her name once quiet and low and like it cost something and veronica felt it land in the center of her chest where it would live, she was pretty sure, for a very long time.

afterward they stood side by side against the shelving in the near-dark, putting themselves back together, not speaking. the building settled around them. someone’s cart rolled past in the distance.

“this doesn’t happen again.” kate said finally. “agreed.” veronica said. “rivals.”

“completely.”

“good.” kate said as she picked up her bag, opened the door, stepped back into the fluorescent light and walked away without looking back, which was such a kate thing to do that veronica would’ve smiled if she’d had access to herself enough to do it.

she stood in the doorway and watched kate go and the thing in her chest was the same one from warmups, the same pull was worse now, which made no sense, and she was going to need to think very carefully about what that meant.

she thought about it the whole ride back to evanston she came to no useful conclusions and filed the whole thing under things to never deal with and went to sleep.

veronica watched the 2024 wnba draft from her apartment in australia only happens once in your life if you’re lucky enough for it to happen at all but as time passed she was sitting on her couch for thirty seconds of quiet, checking the draft feed on her phone out of the particular habit of needing to know things.

caitlin clark: 1st overall, indiana fever the internet had already been collapsing over that one for forty-five minutes.

she scrolled.

2nd round, 18th overall: kate martin, las vegas aces.

veronica looked at the screen for a second too long at the aces of the defending champions a’ja, chelsea, and jackie and yet kate was going to go learn from the best. 

kate was going to be fine she put her phone in her pocket and went back out to her family.

she did not text kate, as she thought briefly about texting kate and then put that thought away in the same box where she kept december 2022, and she went and hugged her mother and let herself be happy.

kate did not text her either but they hadn’t spoken since that night not once, not a single word, not even a like on a post.

the whole thing had been so cleanly, mutually and deliberately left in that supply closet that sometimes veronica wondered if she’d imagined it. 

she knew she hadn’t she knew because she could still hear her name in kate’s voice sometimes, the weight of it, the specific care in it, and that was not something you manufactured.

veronica was in her apartment in australia on a tuesday in february doing approximately nothing when her agent called.

“golden state,” her agent said. “expansion pick you’re going to the valkyries.”

veronica sat with it, the bay, a new team, a chance to build a culture from the floor up rather than stepping into someone else’s established one.

she was a golden state valkyries player now she had work to do, she went and did it with the golden state valkyries were the talk of the league before they’d played a single minute.

san francisco, a new franchise the expansion draft pulling talent from existing rosters to build something from nothing, which in basketball terms meant building something from everything if you were paying attention to who they were selecting. 

natalie was running it, the former assistant coach of the las vegas aces one of the sharpest minds working in the women’s game, the kind of coach who could watch forty minutes of film and identify six things that the coaching staff of the team she was studying had missed about their own players. 

with natalie as head coach, it was actually something she could see. she could see the shape of what this could be. “okay.” she said. “good. who else did they take?”

her agent listed names veronica listened to, as she nodded along, started running through what she knew about each player, how they fit, what the backcourt picture looked like. “kate martin,” her agent said. “from las vegas.” the nodding stopped. “say that again.”

“kate martin, from the aces—”

“i heard you.” veronica said as she sat very still after she hung up as the australian summer was gray and flat outside her window, the kind of flat gray that makes the city feel like a waiting room. 

she thought about carver-hawkeye warmups, kate’s laugh, the specific dismissive hair-toss of someone who knows they’re going to win. 

she thought about film study and 3-for-11 and that’s cute she also thought about a supply closet and immediately and deliberately stopped thinking about a supply closet. “no.” she said to her empty apartment whereas her apartment said nothing back. “this is fine. we’re professionals.”

the apartment remained unhelpful. “it’s going to be completely fine,” veronica told it, and then spent the next three hours convincing herself of this with decreasing success. 

kate found out from chelsea, which was its own specific flavor of chaos as chelsea had walked into the locker room after practice, looked at kate with the flat tone she used for everything from defensive assignments to life advice, and said “you’re going to golden state.” and kate said 

“what?” and chelsea said “expansion draft, look at your phone.” and kate looked at her phone and there it was.

golden state valkyries kate martin, drafted from las vegas aces as she’d spent a year with the aces as it had been harder than she’d expected and more rewarding than she’d let herself hope. 

the minutes were limited when you were a rookie behind one of the greatest backcourts in the league’s history she’d absorbed everything she could chelsea’s game management, jackie’s off-ball movement, a’ja’s presence and she’d grown in ways the box score didn’t capture. 

she’d loved the city in the specific way you love things that are wrong for you and now she was going to san francisco to start over at a franchise that had never played a game.

she pulled up the valkyries’ full roster announcement fifteen minutes later veronica burton was the fourth name, kate read it twice, set her phone down, picked it up and read it a third time as if the third time might produce a different result.

“no.” she said out loud. “what?” said chelsea from across the locker room. “nothing. i’m good. this is great.”

chelsea looked at her with the expression she’d cultivated over a decade of playing basketball at the highest level, which was an expression that communicated without words that she had seen everything and been fooled by none of it. 

“sure,” she said but kate did not explain that there was nothing to explain to anyone veronica burton was a basketball player as well kate was a basketball player but they had a competitive history and shared a position and that was the entire story, the whole thing, beginning to end, and if kate had thought about december 2022 more often than she’d ever admit to another living person that was a private internal accounting that she intended to take to her literal grave.

she texted her mom going to golden state!! new chapter!! her mom sent seventeen heart emojis and a photo of the golden gate bridge.

kate packed her things and did not think about veronica. she thought about veronica burton the entire time she packed as the valkyries’ facility was brand new and smelled like fresh paint and specifically chosen ambition. 

natalie ran the first day of training camp the way veronica suspected she ran everything in her life precise, demanding, and with an energy underneath the calm that said i have thought about every variable and you should trust that and also you should run faster than that.

veronica liked her immediately and completely the team was finding its shape new people, new system, the particular productive friction of elite athletes who all have their own established ways of doing things being asked to become something new together, veronica leaned into it she was good at adaptation but it was one of the things she was most proud of about herself as a player then kate walked in.

she looked the same, slightly more polished, maybe the year with the aces had given her a certain professional sureness that the college version hadn’t quite had, something settled in the way she moved through a room like she’d learned to take up the space she was owed.

she was in valkyries gear as she dropped her bag by the bench and started her stretching routine, methodical and efficient, and then her eyes swept the room the way they always did reading the court, reading the people, cataloguing and they landed on veronica and stopped.

veronica held her gaze and said nothing as well as kate who also said nothing the moment lasted four seconds and communicated approximately nine thousand words, most of which were complicated and none of which were useful for team chemistry. 

“burton,” kate said finally, voice carefully neutral. “didn’t know you’d be here.”

“martin. the roster’s been public for a month.”

“figure of speech.”

“interesting figure.” veronica said kate’s jaw did the thing the tightening, the slight shift that meant she was filing something away for later. 

veronica had catalogued that expression across five games and two years and she clocked it now with a traitorous warmth that she immediately stamped out.

natalie, across the court, was watching them with the expression  of a woman already running numbers.

by the end of day two the numbers had resolved into a problem; they were not, technically, fighting but they were being extremely professional. 

indoor voices, basketball language and appropriate eye contact levels, they were making each other completely insane in the specific way that two people with history make each other insane when they’re pretending there’s no history.

it started in a five-on-five drill natalie’s motion offense, still new, still being learned by the whole group. 

kate set a screen and veronica didn’t use it the right way and veronica said, quietly and informatively, that kate’s screen angle was wrong. kate said, equally quietly and informatively, that veronica’s read was wrong. 

veronica said she’d been running motion offense since she was fourteen and kate said that was a long time to develop bad habits.

three of their teammates went very still on the court. “okay.” said kaitlyn their point guard, fast and fierce and clearly not prepared for this on day two. “okay let’s take five.”

“i'm fine.” kate said. “completely fine.” veronica said they ran the drill again as kate set the screen correctly but veronica used it out of spite and scored. 

neither of them said anything the gym held the particular tense quiet of a room full of people pretending not to notice something.

day three was worse day four, natalie pulled them both off the floor at the end of practice with the two words that were worse than any raised voice: “sit down.”

they sat on opposite ends of the bench as natalie stood in front of them with her arms crossed and the calm expression of someone who has a solution and is simply deciding how directly to deliver it.

“you two have history." she said. “we played against each other in college.” veronica said. “competitive rivalry.”

“it was nothing.” kate said simultaneously. “it is clearly something.” natalie said, “because it is affecting my practices and my team’s energy and i did not put this roster together to manage a conflict between two guards who are both intelligent enough to know that this is not how we build what we’re trying to build.”

she looked at veronica looked at kate then back at veronica. “starting tomorrow you two are doing one-on-one sessions just the two of you with no team, no audience you run sets, you work on communication, and you figure out how to play on the same side, i don’t need you to be friends but i need you to be teammates can you do that?”

“yes.” veronica said. “obviously.” kate said. “good,” natalie said. “because if i have to have this conversation again i will make you both run until you’ve forgotten what you were even arguing about.” she walked off no drama just walked off, which was more effective than drama would have been.

the gym was empty now except for the two of them as the bay area afternoon light was coming through the high windows, golden and long. “this is your fault.” kate said. “how?” veronica said.

“you’re antagonistic.”

“you called me cute in warmups the first thirty seconds we ever met.”

“because you were.” kate stopped. inhaled through her nose. “six am tomorrow we run sets.”

“fine.”

“fine.” kate said as they left out opposite doors veronica stood in the parking lot in the san francisco afternoon and looked at the bay in the distance and thought: this is fine, everything is fine i am a professional.

she drove home and convinced herself of this for approximately forty minutes as the first session was bad in the specific way that things are bad when two people are performing normalcy for each other.

veronica arrived at six and kate was already there, which meant kate had arrived before six specifically to not be the person who arrived second, which was so kate that veronica felt something almost like fondness before she could stop it.

they ran sets for twenty minutes of silence broken only by sneakers on hardwood and ball on backboard and the ordinary music of basketball in an empty gym before the world shows up.

it was not comfortable and it was not easy and it was also despite everything genuinely good basketball they were smart players even in silence they were learning each other’s movements.

fourth rep of a give-and-go, kate said: “you’re telegraphing the pass.” veronica stopped. “what?”

“when you’re going to give it back. your left shoulder drops before you release it’s a tell.”

veronica stood there with the ball that was true but she’d been told that freshman year and worked on it and thought she’d addressed it. 

apparently she’d gotten comfortable and lazy and lost the correction somewhere in the muscle memory. “okay,” she said. “thank you.”

kate blinked she’d clearly expected a fight the absence of one seemed to throw her. “okay?”

“it’s useful, i’ll fix it.”

a beat kate bounced on her heels once. “your screen angle call yesterday was right.” she said, like it cost her something. “i checked it against film last night. you were right, i was too flat.”

“thank you for saying that.” they looked at each other in the gray pre-dawn quiet of the gym but something in the air between them shifted not dramatically, not the way it does in movies with music underneath it, just a millimeter of give in something that had been completely rigid.

“again.” veronica said, and bounced her the ball. “again.” kate said, and caught it.

the second week was different, not easy, nothing with kate was ever easy, that was constitutive to her as a person, and veronica had long since decided it was one of the more interesting things about her but different in the way that hard things become different when kate stopped fighting the hardness.

they found the language, the basketball language first, the one they’d always had even as opponents, that specific shared fluency of two people who understand the game the same way and then outside the basketball language too, in the way you can’t fully prevent when you’re spending two hours alone with someone before the rest of the world wakes up.

“right there,” kate said one morning, and veronica had already cut to the spot before kate finished the sentence because she’d read the geometry half a beat ahead, and the ball arrived exactly where she was and went in, and kate pointed at her like yes, exactly that, and veronica felt a warm spike of satisfaction that she told herself was entirely athletic.

kate was funny, veronica had suspected this from the beginning and spent a considerable amount of energy not letting herself confirm it, but it was undeniable now: dry and quick and occasionally genuinely vicious about the things that deserved it. 

she asked good questions and listened to the answers she talked about iowa about caitlin, the team, the specific insanity of that final season with something softer in her face, not soft like weak, soft like it mattered, like she was talking about something real.

“you were genuinely good.” veronica said one morning, near the end of a session, sitting on the court catching their breath. “in college. i want you to know i thought that even when i was trying to stop you.”

kate was quiet for a moment. “i told caitlin you were the best defender i’d played against after our first game.” she said. “i said it while i was pissed about going three for eleven.”

“and you still called me lucky.”

“i was annoyed.”

“you were losing.”

“i was annoyed AND losing,” kate said, and veronica laughed, and kate laughed, and it was

seven in the morning in an empty gym in san francisco and veronica was laughing with kate martin and feeling completely, unguardedly at ease and there it was.

that was the moment not dramatic, not accompanied by any particular revelation but just veronica laughing in an empty gym and feeling the thing in her chest, the one from carver-hawkeye warmups and the supply closet and two and a half years of filing away stop being a thing she could file away.

it became, as of that morning, a problem.“again?” kate said, getting up, offering her a hand as veronica took it. “again.” she said as the valkyries’ inaugural season had the specific breathless quality of something being built in real time where you could see every seam. 

the bay area embraced them the way the bay embraces things it decides to love completely, loudly, and with a very san francisco personality that made every home game feel like a cultural event as much as a basketball game. 

natalie had them playing beautiful basketball: motion and space and pace, the kind of system that rewarded basketball intelligence the way other systems reward raw athleticism, and they had both.

veronica and kate were the backcourt, it worked immediately and completely and veronica spent approximately equal amounts of time being thrilled by this and being unsettled by what the thrill felt like.

on the floor they moved like they’d been doing this for years as kate would drift and veronica would fill and the ball would arrive where it needed to be and veronica knew kate’s cuts before kate made them and kate found veronica in places nobody else was looking. 

their teammates noticed, natalie noticed, even the announcers noticed and started commenting on the chemistry, the fluency, the unusual ease of it, and veronica sat in film sessions listening to compliments about her partnership with kate martin and had to work very hard to maintain a neutral expression.

third home game kate hit a three in transition off a veronica pass the exact pass, the right angle, the timing they’d built in the early morning sessions and turned around with that grin not the competitive one but the real one, the private one, the one that had been deployed approximately twice in veronica’s presence prior and was therefore wildly unfair.

she ran back on defense veronica was standing at half court having a crisis about a smile. “v, move!” kaitlyn called from somewhere behind her veronica moved her feet down the court and did not move her brain anywhere useful for the rest of that quarter.

she tried to diagnose it logically; she was good at logic when logic was applicable, which this increasingly wasn’t, but she tried. fact: she had known kate for nearly three years. fact: for most of that time she’d found kate irritating. 

fact: in december 2022 she’d found kate extremely compelling in a supply closet for twenty minutes. fact: she had quarantined that data and the quarantine had failed. 

fact: kate made her laugh, kate challenged her and kate was one of the most genuinely intelligent basketball players veronica had ever shared a floor with and was also and this was the part veronica had been least prepared for quietly kind. 

she brought kaitlyn coffee before morning practices because she’d noticed kaitlyn didn’t function before nine and she texted the younger players after difficult games, just a word, just enough veronica had watched all of this and been unable to un-feel the warmth of it fact, the most inconvenient one: she was cooked.

“i'm cooked.” she told her sister on the phone, lying on her apartment floor in the dark staring at the ceiling, the marine layer outside turning the san francisco night a particular deep gray.

“i know.” her sister said. “you don’t.”

“v, you have called me three times in the last two weeks and every single call started with ‘okay so kate did this thing that was annoying’ and ended with you describing something that sounded like a person you’re completely gone over. i know.” veronica stared at the ceiling. “i'm not.”

“you are.” the ceiling offered nothing useful. “we have history,” veronica said. “the supply closet.”

“i told you that in 2022!”

“you’re my sister, that’s the same thing, v you’ve been thinking about this girl for three years you’re on the same team now what are you going to do?”

“nothing.” veronica said. “we’re teammates and natalie already had to intervene once and we both know it’s a terrible idea.”

“you said that the first time.”

“and look how that turned out.”

“you mean how you felt something real and then put it in a box for three years?” veronica hung up laid in the dark and thought about kate’s laugh in the empty gym at seven in the morning and felt extremely sorry for herself and also completely unable to do anything about it, which was a new experience.

veronica was a person who could always do something about something as she had spent her entire athletic life turning problems into solutions through film study and preparation and controlled intelligence.

kate was not a problem that yielded to film study but she put her headphones in and lay there and looked at the ceiling and let herself feel it.

the thing about kate, the specific impossible ongoing thing, was that she made it worse by being entirely and exactly herself.

she wasn’t performing anything, she wasn’t trying but she was just kate sharp and funny and demanding and occasionally genuinely infuriating and generous in the quiet ways that don’t ask for recognition and veronica had to stand next to her every practice and sit adjacent.

on every away flight because their assigned seats were next to each other (natalie had done this deliberately, veronica was now certain) and share hotel dining rooms and post-game recovery spaces and every day the thing was heavier than the day before and veronica was carrying it alone and running out of places to put it.

on the flight to atlanta, mid-july, three hours in the air, most of the team asleep, kate looked over and said: “you’re quiet.”

“i’m always quiet.”

“quieter than your regular quiet.”

veronica looked at her and kate was watching her with the direct, undefended expression she used sometimes when she’d stopped performing anything and was just actually looking at someone it was a specific expression and it was very difficult to be the recipient of. 

“i'm fine.” veronica said. “okay.” kate said, in the tone of someone who doesn’t believe that but isn’t going to press it, and went back to her movie, and veronica spent the last hour of the flight looking out the window at the dark below and very carefully not thinking about anything at all.

the atlanta game was a loss, a close one that came down to the final minute, the kind of game that feels like it takes years off of you veronica had 11 points and 7 assists, whereas kate had 11 points and 1 assist.

the team’s best plus-minus but they’d been excellent together and they both knew it and the locker room afterward had the specific sadness of a road loss, everyone sad and stressed.

veronica was at her locker when it got quiet around them the way it sometimes did the rest of the team filtering out and kate pulled off her headband and her hair fell around her shoulders and she looked at veronica and said: “that pass in the fourth the skip pass how did you know i’d be at the corner.”

“i just knew.” veronica said.

“that’s not an answer.”

“it’s the true one. i looked up and i knew you’d be there and you were there.” kate held her gaze a beat too long. “i knew you’d look for me,” she said. “i went to the corner because i knew you’d look.”

the locker room was quiet around them, the fluorescent light humming veronica felt the thing in her chest pull so hard it was almost physical not painful, just present, undeniable, too big to keep filing away.

she stood up gathered her things. “great game,” she said, and her voice came out steady, which was the most athletic achievement of her entire evening.

“veronica.” kate said her name just her name the exact same way she’d said it in iowa city 3 years ago, the exact same weight and care, and veronica stopped with her back to her and stood very still.

“what?” she said a long silence followed after as the building around them. the distance from everything else. “nothing,” kate said. “good game.”

veronica walked out she got on the team bus put her headphones in. pressed play on whatever was already queued and it was the tyla song, the zara larsson verse, she did it again, even when you feel like you can, you can't get me out of your head, i got you like.

veronica laughed out loud, once, by herself in her seat, a real laugh the kind that comes from recognition.

the bus pulled out of the arena into the atlanta night and the city lights moved across the window and veronica sat in the dark with the music in her ears and let herself feel the full weight of it all of it. 

carver-hawkeye and the supply closet and the morning sessions and the empty gym laugh, the skip pass in the fourth quarter, and i knew you’d look for me she let herself feel all of it for thirty-seven minutes of highway because she was only going to allow herself thirty-seven and then she was going to have to figure out what came next.

she cut the music off as she looked at the dark outside the window as she thought: i knew you’d look for me.

she thought: i always look for you. that’s the whole problem. i have always, in every game, on every court, at every moment that mattered, i looked for you. i looked for you to stop you and now i look for you because you’re mine to find and we both know it and neither of us has said it yet.

the bus rolled on through the atlanta night as kate was three rows back, headphones in, looking out her own window at her own stretch of dark, and veronica did not know what kate was thinking and the not knowing, the gap between them that had always been there and had always been the problem was exactly what was going to have to change.

she just had to figure out how she was going to figure out how thirty-seven minutes was up she put her phone away, stared at the seat back in front of her and made a decision she didn’t yet have words for the bus drove on. 

somewhere over the highway the marine layer rolled in off the pacific, three thousand miles away, over the bay that was home now, waiting.

kate’s neighborhood was not far from veronica’s as this was a fact veronica had known and carefully not thought too much about for three months she drove them out of the arena parking structure into the san francisco night, the bridge lights in the distance.

the fog sitting low over the water the way it always did, and kate sat in the passenger seat with her ice pack and didn’t ask where they were going as her apartment was on the third floor with a view of a eucalyptus tree and the corner of the bay if you stood at the right angle. 

it was quiet and clean and had a particular quality of stillness at midnight that veronica had always liked she turned on the kitchen light and got a fresh ice pack from the freezer and handed it to kate without ceremony and kate took it with equal lack of ceremony and sat down at the kitchen table like she’d been doing it for years.

veronica stood on the other side of the kitchen and looked at her and thought: this is the moment since july in atlanta, it has probably been the moment since december in iowa city if she was being honest, which she was, finally, being.

“i need to tell you something.” veronica said as kate looked up from the ice pack her expression was readable which was unusual for kate, kate was usually contained the way cold fronts were contained, all that pressure moving underneath a composed surface, and right now the surface was a little thinner than usual and veronica could see the shape of what was underneath it, and the shape was: i already know i’m waiting.

kate, veronica realized, had been waiting too. “i’ve been thinking about december,” veronica said. “since december.”

“i know.” kate said. “you know.”

“i’ve been thinking about it since december too,” kate said, flat and direct in the way she was direct about everything from screen angles to her own feelings, apparently. “i thought about it the entire year in las vegas. i thought about it when i saw your name on the valkyries roster and i told myself it was going to be fine and it has been very much not fine.”

veronica stared at her. “you never said anything.”

“neither did you.”

“i was—”

“waiting for the right moment,” kate said. “i know. me too.”

the kitchen was quiet way too quiet while the eucalyptus moved outside the window. 

veronica crossed the kitchen and stood in front of her and kate looked down at her with those very blue eyes that veronica had been cataloguing since carver-hawkeye and the ice pack sat forgotten on the table and the gap between them was smaller than it had been in three years.

“i'm cooked.” veronica said kate’s mouth did the thing that wasn’t quite a smile but wanted to be the same thing it had done in the handshake line after the first game, the same thing she’d been doing with the corner of her mouth for three years. “yeah,” she said. “me too.”

“this is a terrible idea.” veronica said. “you said that in the corridor outside the locker room and then kissed me thirty seconds later,” kate said, “so.”

“kate—”

“veronica,” kate said, same weight, same care, the way she always said her name when she meant it. “come here.” veronica moved.

it was different from the supply closet that had been fast and a little desperate, all that compressed friction finding a release that was slower, this had three years of subtext in it and they both knew it and neither of them was in a hurry.

kate stood and veronica’s hand went to her face the unhurt side, careful and kate turned her face into it like an answer, and when veronica kissed her this time it was not the decision before the deciding part of the brain could stop it.

it was the decided thing, the thing at the end of the road as kate’s hands found her waist and walked her backward two steps and veronica’s back met the kitchen counter and she pulled kate in by the front of her jacket and the kiss went deeper and unhurried kate tasted like the gatorade from the bench and something underneath it that was just kate, and veronica had been waiting to do this again for three years and she was not going to rush it.

“your face,” veronica said against her mouth. “is fine,” kate said, and kissed her again. “kate—”

“veronica.” she pulled back just far enough to look at her. “i just got elbowed in the face at a professional sporting event, i’m not going to let it ruin this too.”

veronica laughed as it surprised her, a real one, quiet and helpless and kate watched it happen with an expression that veronica was going to need to catalogue later, when she had the capacity for cataloguing, which she currently did not.

“okay.” veronica said. “okay.” kate said, and kissed her again as the bedroom was dark except for the marine layer glow coming through the curtains, that particular san francisco ambient light that made everything look like the inside of a cloud.

veronica sat on the edge of the bed and kate stood in front of her and they were taking their time with this in a way that the supply closet hadn’t permitted, and the difference was significant but the difference was that veronica got to look at her.

kate in the half-dark was she was the same person veronica had been studying for three years, the same person who set illegal screens and called her cute in warmups and said her name like it was worth saying carefully. 

she was also, veronica was noting, a lot in the specific way that kate was a lot on a basketball court. that quality of full presence, of being completely in the thing she was doing. 

she was a lot right now, standing in veronica’s bedroom with her jacket off and her eyes on veronica’s face like this was the only thing happening in the world.

“you’re staring.” kate said. “i’ve been waiting to.” veronica said something shifted in kate’s expression not the composed surface but something under it, the controlled thing loosening at its edges. 

she closed the distance between them, veronica’s hands went to her hips and kate’s mouth found the side of her neck and veronica tipped her head back and thought: oh. okay. there it is.

kate kissed her throat, her jaw, the soft place below her ear that she had apparently memorized from december because she went there directly and without hesitation and veronica’s hands tightened at her waist. “kate—”

“still annoying?” kate said against her ear. “extraordinarily,” veronica said, and pulled her down onto the bed.

kate’s shirt came off first and then veronica’s and kate paused with her hands at veronica’s waist and her eyes on her face and said, low: “is this okay.”

there it was the same question as the supply closet the same specific care in it, veronica had been carrying that question in her chest for three years and hearing it now, in her bedroom in san francisco with kate’s hands warm at her sides and her eyes soft in the dark, she felt something in her finally, completely, come loose.

“yes,” veronica said. “kate yes.”

kate smiled the real one, not the corner-of-her-mouth one, the full one that came out rarely enough that veronica had never seen it quite this close and then she leaned down and kissed her and the last of the distance between them closed.

she learned her again or kept learning her there was no clean break between december and now, just three years of subtext making everything more legible, she knew which sounds meant what and she went there deliberately, and veronica let herself be known.

which was the hardest part and also the part she’d been waiting longest for as kate’s hands were everywhere with that thoroughness that wasn’t patience exactly but was something deeper. 

the quality of someone who has decided this matters and is not going to be careless about it. “here?” kate said, and veronica said “yes,” and kate’s mouth moved down her collarbone,

her ribs, the soft plane of her stomach, and veronica’s hands were in kate’s hair holding on loosely and the city moved outside and the marine layer sat over everything and the world was very small and exactly the right size.

“kate.” her own voice, lower than usual. “yeah.” kate said, not a question, and kept going veronica felt it build the way she felt the game build slowly and then all at once, the moment before the shot leaves the hand when you already know. 

kate’s mouth and hands and the three years in every movement and veronica said her name once more with real feeling in it and kate said “i’ve got you” so quietly that it was almost just a breath, and veronica let go.

afterward they lay in the dark and the eucalyptus moved against the window and neither of them spoke for a long minute kate’s hand was at veronica’s waist veronica was staring at the ceiling with the particular empty-headed peace of someone who has been carrying something heavy for a very long time and has finally put it down.

“still rivals?” kate said. “we play for the same team,” veronica said. “still annoying?”

“comprehensively.” 

“okay,” kate said the word sat differently than it always had lighter like everything she’d been filing under okay the first corridor, the supply closet, training camp, the morning sessions, thirty-seven minutes on a bus had resolved into this particular okay and could finally rest there.

veronica turned her head and looked at her in the dark kate was looking at the ceiling with a faint smile at the corner of her mouth but the bruise on her jaw had deepened to purple. 

her hair was loose across the pillow and she looked the way she always looked, which was like the most infuriating person veronica had ever met, which was a problem veronica had long since accepted was not going away.

“kate?” she said. “yeah.”

“i knew you’d look for me first,” veronica said. “on the court before i knew anything else i knew that.”

kate was quiet for a second. then she turned her head and looked at her, really looked, and what was in her expression was both unguarded fully. 

the composed surface all the way down. “i always looked for you,” kate said. “even when i was trying to stop you.” veronica looked at her. “yeah,” veronica said. “me too.”

they’re back at unrivaled, back in the rhythm of things, the noise, the practices, sneakers squeaking against polished floors, whistles cutting through conversations, the way everything moves so fast it almost feels like the holidays never happened at all, like it was just a pause that no one is supposed to talk about now that it’s over, but it did happen, and it lingers in ways neither of them can ignore.

it lingers in the way veronica still smells faintly like the perfume she wore at christmas dinner, something soft and warm and a little sweet, something kate caught herself leaning closer to more than once without realizing, it lingers in the way kate keeps catching herself staring, not even subtle about it anymore, like she’s trying to hold onto something she doesn’t quite know how to say out loud yet, something that keeps pressing at the back of her mind every time veronica laughs, every time she says her name, every time she looks at her like she already knows.

it’s been sitting between them for days now, unspoken but heavy, like a held breath that neither of them wants to release first.

kate feels it every time veronica laughs and leans into her, every time their shoulders brush and neither of them pulls away, every time their hands almost touch and then do, fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary, every time she almost says it and then doesn’t, swallowing it back down because almost feels safe and almost doesn’t change anything and almost means she doesn’t have to see what happens after.

but tonight isn’t almost, tonight feels like the edge of something, like standing at the top of a drop and knowing you can’t stay there forever, that eventually you have to move, you have to choose.

“where are we going?” veronica asks, glancing over at her as kate drives, city lights spilling across the windshield in blurred streaks of gold and white, reflecting in her eyes in a way that makes it hard for kate to focus on anything else.

kate just smiles, a little crooked, a little nervous, fingers tightening slightly on the steering wheel like she needs something solid to hold onto. “you’ll see.”

veronica huffs out a soft laugh, shaking her head, but she doesn’t push, doesn’t need to, because there’s something in kate’s voice, something just under the surface that feels different, heavier, like it matters in a way that makes her chest tighten, and she doesn’t want to scare it away by asking too many questions, doesn’t want to ruin whatever this is before it even has a chance to become something real.

so she lets the silence settle, comfortable and warm, resting her head back against the seat as she watches kate instead of the road, because watching her feels easier, feels better, feels like something she’s gotten used to without meaning to.

she notices everything, the way kate keeps glancing over like she wants to say something but can’t quite get there, the way her jaw tightens and then relaxes again, like she’s arguing with herself, like there’s a conversation happening in her head that veronica isn’t part of yet but wants to be.

it makes something in veronica’s chest ache in a quiet, familiar way, because she knows that feeling, she’s been carrying it longer, holding onto it through late night texts and too-long hugs and the kind of moments that feel like they mean more than they should.

she fell first, she knows she did, it wasn’t sudden, it wasn’t dramatic, it was slow and steady and inevitable, like realizing you’ve been walking downhill for a while without noticing, like looking up one day and understanding there’s no easy way back.

but kate, kate fell harder, and veronica can feel it now in the way everything about her seems just a little more intense, a little more certain, like whatever she’s been holding in is getting too big to stay there.

it’s a small place when they get there, quiet and tucked away, the kind of restaurant you only find if you’re looking for it, soft lighting casting everything in gold, low music humming in the background, the kind of space that feels like it exists just outside of everything else, like time moves differently here.

“kate,” veronica murmurs, looking around, a little in awe, a little confused, “this is—”

“i know,” kate cuts in softly, already watching her, like her reaction matters more than anything else in the room, like if she doesn’t like it then none of this works. “i just wanted something i don’t know. not loud. not—” she gestures vaguely, like she can’t find the words, like the words aren’t the point anyway.

veronica smiles then, something softer, something that reaches her eyes in a way that makes kate’s chest tighten in a way that feels almost unbearable.

“i like it.” she says, and she means it, but she also means more than that, she means i like this, i like you, i like whatever this is becoming, and kate hears it anyway, hears all of it in the space between the words.

of course she does.

dinner passes in pieces, in laughter that comes a little easier after the first few minutes, in stories that overlap and tangle together, in the way veronica reaches across the table without thinking to steal something off kate’s plate and kate lets her every time, in the way their knees brush under the table and stay there like neither of them notices even though they both do, in the way conversation dips into something quieter every so often, something softer, before rising back up again like they’re circling around something they haven’t touched yet.

kate watches her the whole time, not even trying to hide it anymore, memorizing the way she smiles, the way she talks with her hands, the way her eyes soften when she looks back at her, like she’s already chosen her, like she’s been choosing her for a while now.

even with all of that, even with how easy it feels, the feeling is still there, waiting, growing, stretching into something that can’t be ignored much longer until kate can’t ignore it anymore.

they’re outside when it happens, the night cold enough to bite, the kind that makes your breath visible, the kind that makes you stand just a little closer than usual without thinking about it, shoulders brushing, hands almost touching.

veronica’s talking about something, something light, something easy, but kate isn’t really hearing the words, they blur together into background noise because all she can focus on is her, the way her lips move, the way her hands gesture, the way she looks so alive in a way that makes kate feel like she’s standing too close to something she doesn’t deserve but doesn’t know how to step away from.

“hey,” veronica says suddenly, noticing the shift, her voice softer now, quieter, “where’d you go?”

kate exhales, a shaky breath she didn’t realize she was holding, her chest tight in a way that feels like it might crack open if she doesn’t say something soon.

“nowhere,” she says, but it’s not true, and they both know it, it’s written all over her face, in the way she can’t quite meet veronica’s eyes for more than a second at a time.

there’s a pause, the kind that stretches just long enough to matter. “i got you something.”

veronica blinks, caught off guard, her brows pulling together slightly. “kate, you didn’t have to—”

“i wanted to,” she interrupts quickly, the words coming out a little too fast, like she’s been holding onto them all night, like they’ve been waiting their turn, her hand already moving to her jacket pocket, fingers brushing against the small box tucked inside like she needs the reminder that it’s real, that she actually did this, that she can still back out if she wants to but she doesn’t.

she hesitates for just a second before pulling it out, holding it between them, her hand steady even if everything else inside her isn’t.

veronica goes quiet, completely, like the world narrowed down to just this moment, just this space between them because she knows, not what it is exactly, but she knows this isn’t just something, this isn’t casual, this isn’t nothing.

“open it.” kate says, softer now, her voice almost lost in the night air.

veronica takes it carefully, like it might break, like this moment might, her fingers brushing against kate’s for the briefest second, and that alone is enough to make kate’s heart stutter, enough to make everything feel too close, too real.

she opens it slowly and then she stops.

“kate…”

it’s the gold chain, not just any chain, not something random or new, but the one, the one kate’s worn, the one that’s become so familiar it feels like a part of her, something constant, something grounding, something veronica has absentmindedly reached for before without even thinking and now it’s here.

for her.

“i—” kate starts, then stops, running a hand through her hair, nerves finally catching up to her in a rush that makes her chest feel tight. “i know it’s— it’s kind of stupid, it’s just a chain, but it’s— it means something to me, like, a lot, and i— i wanted you to have it, i wanted you to have something that’s mine, something that stays with you even when i’m not there.”

veronica’s eyes flick up to hers, wide, glassy in a way that makes kate’s chest ache, because she didn’t expect that, didn’t expect it to hit this hard.

“why?” she whispers, and it’s not just a question, it’s everything, it’s what does this mean, what do i mean, what are we doing and that’s it, that’s the center of everything kate’s been avoiding, the question she can’t dance around anymore.

why?

kate swallows hard, her throat suddenly dry, her heart pounding so loud she’s sure veronica can hear it.

“because it’s mine,” she says first, like that explains anything, like that’s enough, but it isn’t, not even close, so she takes a breath, shaky but real, and this time she doesn’t stop, doesn’t pull back, doesn’t let herself hide behind almost.

“and i want you to have it,” she continues, her voice quieter now, more vulnerable than veronica’s ever heard it, “because you matter to me, like— more than i think i even realized at first, and i tried not to, i tried to keep it simple, to keep it where it was, but it didn’t stay there, it got bigger, it kept getting bigger, and i can’t— i can’t pretend it didn’t.”

she shakes her head slightly, frustrated with herself, with how hard it is to say something that feels so obvious in her chest.

veronica doesn’t move, doesn’t interrupt, she just listens, like she’s been waiting for this, like she knew it was coming and just needed kate to catch up.

“i think about you all the time,” kate admits, the words spilling out now, faster, messier, but honest in a way that makes them feel heavier, “when you’re not there, when you are, it doesn’t matter, it’s just— you, it’s always you, and i don’t know when that happened, i don’t know when it stopped being something i could control, but it did, and i—”

her voice falters, just for a second, but it’s enough, because this is it, this is the edge, the point where everything changes kate looks at her then, really looks at her, like she’s trying to memorize the exact moment before it shifts, before there’s a before and an after and then she lets herself fall into it.

“i love you.”

it’s quiet, not dramatic, not loud, not anything like the way it happens in movies, just three words, soft and real and a little unsteady, like they’ve been waiting at the edge of her lips for longer than she’s willing to admit, like saying them out loud makes them heavier but also lighter all at once.

veronica freezes, completely, because she’s felt it, she’s known it for weeks, maybe longer, something deep and steady and a little terrifying in the way it refuses to go away, but hearing it, hearing her say it first, hearing it in her voice like that it’s different it makes everything real in a way she can’t ignore anymore.

“you don’t have to say it back,” kate adds quickly, the nerves crashing back in all at once now that the words are out, now that she can’t take them back, “i just— i needed you to know, and i didn’t want to keep pretending like—”

“kate.” her name is soft, gentle, enough to stop her completely, enough to quiet everything else.

veronica steps closer, closing the space between them like it was never meant to be there in the first place, like this is where she’s supposed to be.

“i love you too.”

it comes easier than she expects, like it’s been sitting in her chest, waiting for permission, waiting for this exact moment to exist, to be real, to be safe enough to say out loud.

kate lets out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh, almost like relief, her shoulders dropping like she’s been carrying something heavy for too long and finally put it down.

“yeah?” she asks, a little breathless, a little disbelieving, like she needs to hear it again just to be sure veronica smiles, small and certain and so warm it makes something in kate’s chest ache in the best way.

“yeah,” she says again, softer this time, like she’s sealing it into place and this time, when kate reaches for her, it’s not hesitant, not unsure, it’s steady, sure, like she finally understands the shape of this, the weight of it, the way it fits into her life like it was always meant to be there.

veronica lets her, leaning in, her forehead brushing against kate’s, their breaths mixing in the cold air, the gold chain still clutched loosely in her hand like something sacred.

“put it on me?” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

kate nods, her fingers only shaking a little as she takes it, stepping behind her, her hands careful, deliberate as she moves veronica’s hair aside, her knuckles brushing against the back of her neck in a way that makes veronica’s breath catch.

she fastens it slowly, like she’s aware of every second, every movement, like this moment deserves to be remembered exactly as it is when it settles against her skin, it looks right, like it belongs there, like it always has, like it was just waiting for this.

veronica’s fingers come up to touch it, tracing the metal lightly, but she doesn’t look down at it for long.

she turns back around instead, her eyes finding kate’s immediately, like that’s the real thing that matters, like the chain is just a piece of something bigger like kate is the gift.

like she always was and kate, kate looks at her like she’s just realized something she should’ve known all along, something that feels obvious now that it’s here, now that it’s real, now that it’s theirs.

she leans in first this time, closing the distance completely, her hand finding veronica’s jaw, gentle, steady, like she’s still a little afraid this might disappear if she moves too fast.

their kiss is soft at first, hesitant only for a second before it deepens, before it settles into something sure, something that feels like an answer to every question they’ve been avoiding, every almost, every pause, every moment that led them here.

it’s not rushed it’s not unsure it’s just right and when they pull back, still close, still breathing the same air, still not quite ready to let go, kate lets her forehead rest against veronica’s again, her eyes closing briefly like she’s trying to hold onto this feeling for as long as possible.

“you fell first.” she murmurs quietly, the words almost lost between them veronica huffs out a soft laugh, her fingers curling into the fabric of kate’s jacket. “yeah.” she admits, not even trying to deny it anymore.

kate smiles against her, something softer, something deeper.

“but i fell harder,” she says, and it’s not a joke, not really, it’s something steadier than that, something certain.

veronica doesn’t argue, she just leans in again, pressing another kiss to her lips, softer this time, slower, like she’s agreeing without needing to say it out loud because she knows and so does kate and standing there in the cold, wrapped up in something warm and new and already so deeply theirs, it doesn’t feel like something they have to question anymore, it feels like something they get to keep.

something they chose, something that chose them back and for the first time, there’s no almost left in it at all and maybe that’s what changes everything.

not the words, not even the way they were said, soft and a little unsteady, but real, so real it still lingers in the air between them like something tangible, but the way nothing pulls away after, the way neither of them steps back into something safer, something easier, the way they stay exactly where they are, close enough to feel each other breathe, like distance doesn’t make sense anymore.

kate doesn’t rush it for once, she doesn’t move too fast, doesn’t fill the silence with something lighter, something that makes it easier to pretend this isn’t as big as it feels instead, she stays.

her hand still resting at veronica’s jaw, thumb brushing absentmindedly against her skin, like she’s grounding herself in something she’s still trying to believe is real, like if she lets go too soon, this might slip through her fingers and turn back into something undefined.

veronica doesn’t move either.

she watches her, really watches her, like she’s memorizing this version of kate, the one that let herself say it first, the one that looks a little softer now, a little more open, like she’s finally stopped holding something back.

“you’re silent.” veronica murmurs after a moment, her voice low, teasing but gentle, like she’s careful not to break whatever this is.

kate huffs out a small breath, something between a laugh and disbelief, her forehead dropping lightly against veronica’s again. “just— thinking.”

“risky.” veronica hums, and kate can hear the smile in it even before she sees it.

“yeah.” kate agrees quietly, her lips brushing the corner of veronica’s mouth without quite kissing her again, like she’s still learning the shape of this, still letting herself take it slow. “but… good, i think.”

veronica tilts her head slightly, their noses brushing, her fingers coming up to toy with the chain resting against her collarbone, still new, still unfamiliar in the best way. “good,” she echoes softly, like she’s testing the word, like she wants to make sure it fits it does, it fits too well.

they don’t leave right away but they probably should, the cold biting a little sharper now, the night settling deeper around them, but neither of them says it, neither of them makes the first move to step away, because walking away feels like breaking something, even if it isn’t.

so they linger.

in small touches, in quiet smiles, in the way their hands find each other naturally now, fingers lacing together like it’s something they’ve always done, like it’s something they don’t have to think about anymore.

kate keeps glancing at the chain, like she can’t quite believe it’s there, like she gave something of hers away and somehow got something bigger in return.

veronica notices.

“you’re staring,” she says softly, lifting their joined hands slightly, the chain catching the light as she moves kate shakes her head, a little embarrassed, but she doesn’t look away. “just making sure it’s real.”

veronica’s smile softens at that, something quieter settling in her chest. “it is.” she pauses, then adds, a little more serious now, “you don’t regret it, right?”

kate’s expression shifts immediately, brows pulling together slightly like the thought doesn’t even make sense. “no,” she says, quick and certain, stepping closer again like she needs to erase even the idea of distance between them. “not even a little.”

veronica searches her face for a second, like she’s looking for hesitation, for doubt, for anything that might make this less solid.

she doesn’t find it instead, she finds something steady, something warm, something that feels like being chosen over and over again without needing to ask.

“okay.” she whispers, more to herself than anything else kate squeezes her hand gently. “hey.” she murmurs, softer now, “i meant it, you know.”

veronica glances up at her. “i know.”

“no, like—” kate hesitates, then exhales, her thumb brushing over veronica’s knuckles. “all of it. not just the words. everything.” veronica’s chest tightens in a way that feels almost overwhelming, but not in a bad way, not in a way that makes her want to pull back in a way that makes her want to lean in further so she does.

“i know,” she repeats, more certain this time, and when she leans in to kiss her again, it’s not hesitant at all, it’s sure, it’s easy, it’s theirs.

the drive back is quieter not awkward, not unsure, just full like there’s too much to say and somehow nothing needs to be said at all.

kate keeps one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely over veronica’s on the center console, her thumb tracing slow, absent patterns against her skin like she’s still a little distracted, still caught somewhere between disbelief and something softer.

veronica watches their hands for a while before glancing up at her, a small smile tugging at her lips. “you keep doing that.”

“what?” kate asks, even though she knows.

“that.” veronica murmurs, shifting their hands slightly, making the movement more obvious as kate huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “sorry.”

“don’t be,” veronica says quickly, tightening her grip just a little so kate can’t pull away even if she wanted to. “i like it.”

kate glances over at her then, something warm flickering in her expression, something that looks a lot like relief. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

and that’s enough it’s always enough now, the smallest confirmations, the quiet reassurances, the way everything feels just a little steadier than it did before.

when they get back, the building is quieter than usual, the late hour settling into the halls, the usual noise dimmed down to something softer, something that feels like a continuation of the night rather than a break from it.

they don’t rush to separate they should, probably, there are expectations, routines, the way things have always been, but that feels distant now, less important than the way kate’s hand is still wrapped around veronica’s, less important than the way neither of them looks ready to let go.

they stop just outside the doors, lingering again like they did earlier, like neither of them has quite figured out how to end a night like this yet.

“so.” veronica starts, leaning back slightly against the wall, her fingers still hooked loosely in kate’s hoodie, “this was kind of a big deal.” kate lets out a small breath, a smile tugging at her lips. “kind of?” veronica shrugs, teasing, but there’s something softer underneath it. “okay, a really big deal.”

kate steps closer again, like she can’t help it, like this is where she’s supposed to be now. “yeah,” she admits quietly. “it was.” there’s a pause, not heavy, not uncertain, just full. veronica tilts her head slightly, studying her. “so what now?”

it’s not a challenge, it's not pressure, it's curiosity, soft and open, like she’s asking what do we do with something this real.

kate doesn’t hesitate this time, she doesn’t overthink it, she just answers. “now?” she repeats, her voice low, steady, her hand lifting to tuck a loose strand of hair behind veronica’s ear. “now i don’t let you go.”

veronica’s breath catches slightly, her smile softening into something quieter, something that feels a little like home.

“good,” she whispers and when kate kisses her again, right there in the quiet hallway, it feels less like a beginning and more like something they’ve been building toward for a long time without realizing it.

something that finally, finally has a name, something that doesn’t feel like almost anymore something that feels like theirs and this time, when they pull apart, they don’t step back right away.

they stay close like they’ve learned something important tonight like distance is optional now like love, once said out loud, doesn’t disappear into the cold it stays, it settles.

it becomes something they can carry with them, something that follows them down the hall, into the quiet, into whatever comes next and neither of them is afraid of that anymore.

veronica was already there when kate walked in, not unusual what was unusual was the way veronica looked at her—like she’d already been waiting a while longer than necessary, like kate arriving was the part of her morning she’d been quietly building toward without admitting it.

“you’re late.” veronica said, though it wasn’t really an accusation. it was soft, almost amused, like she was trying to hide how easily kate’s presence changed the air around her.

kate huffed a quiet laugh, dropping her bag by the bench. “i’m on time.”

“you’re like… barely on time.”

“that still counts.”

veronica’s mouth twitched like she wanted to argue, but she didn’t but she just stepped closer instead, closing the space between them in a way that felt casual if you didn’t look too hard at it.

kate did look too hard at it she always did, even when she pretended she wasn’t close enough that kate had to tilt her head up just slightly.

veronica didn’t touch her yet; that was the thing she always acted like she was going to like; there was an invisible thread she kept pulling at just to see how far kate would let it stretch before snapping.

media day had a way of turning everything louder than it needed to be with the cameras, flashes, voices stacking on top of each other until nothing felt real anymore.

kate could handle it—she’d always been good at standing still while the world moved too fast around her.

as she had learned early how to make her face calm even when everything inside her was anything but.

veronica, though, had a different problem: she didn’t stand still well at all; she looked like she wanted to move toward kate every time she wasn’t already doing it.

“don’t look so tense.” veronica murmured as they walked into the setup area, her hand brushing kate’s lower back like it was instinct, like she didn’t even think before doing it like kate’s body was just something familiar her hand already knew how to find.

kate shot her a glance, trying for normal. “i’m not tense.” veronica hummed like she didn’t believe her, like she liked not believing her.

but then, like it was nothing, her hand stayed there a second longer than it needed to, not enough for anyone else to notice but just enough for kate to feel it settle in her like heat just a little too long, just a little too familiar.

kate tried to ignore it, really she did. she focused on the lights, the chairs, the way media staff were calling names in different directions.

she focused on being “kate martin,” a version of herself that knew how to answer questions and smile at the right angles and keep everything contained but veronica kept finding ways through the edges of that containment anyway.

fixing kate’s necklace even though it wasn’t crooked, fingers lingering at her collarbone like she was memorizing something she’d never say out loud.

brushing something imaginary off her shoulder, knuckles grazing skin in a way that made kate forget what she was about to say mid-conversation.

leaning in close when a reporter asked a question like kate might need help answering it even though she absolutely didn’t, and veronica knew that, which almost made it worse.

“you good?” veronica asked under her breath at one point, fingers grazing kate’s wrist like punctuation, like she couldn’t help but underline her concern with touch.

kate nodded once. “yeah.” as it came out steadier than she felt whereas veronica studied her face anyway, like she didn’t trust answers that didn’t come with evidence.

“you’re doing fine.” she added, quieter now, like it was meant only for kate and not the room full of noise pretending not to listen but veronica didn’t move away.

instead, she just stayed there, close enough that kate could feel her warmth like a second shadow that didn’t leave when she did.

close enough that kate started to notice things she didn’t mean to notice the way veronica’s focus kept drifting back to her, the way she stood slightly angled toward her no matter who was speaking.

it should’ve been distracting as it was distracting but kate found she didn’t mind as much as she probably should’ve, which was its own kind of problem.

later, during a break between shoots, kate sat on the edge of a folding chair, scrolling through nothing on her phone just to look busy, just to give her hands something to do besides remember veronica’s touch.

the screen didn’t matter. it never did. it was just something to hold between her and everything else veronica leaned against the wall beside her, watching the room like she wasn’t really watching anything at all like her attention had only half landed there, the other half still orbiting kate.

“you always this quiet at media day?” veronica asked, eventually kate glanced up. “you always this talkative when we’re supposed to be behaving?”

that got her a smile, a smaller, realer than kate expected it to be like veronica liked being seen a certain way by her specifically.

then veronica pushed off the wall and stood in front of kate instead, blocking just enough of the noise behind her that kate could focus on her without trying. it wasn’t dramatic. it was just deliberate in a way that made kate’s attention settle whether she wanted it to or not.

“you’re doing that thing again,” kate said. “what thing?” kate hesitated, eyes flicking up to meet hers and then away again like it was easier to breathe that way. “like you’re about to do something you shouldn’t.”

veronica tilted her head slightly with her eyes flicked down for half a second quick, subtle but kate noticed anyway. kate always noticed anyway. “maybe i am,” veronica said.

no teasing no escape route just honesty sitting too close to the surface.

it wasn’t loud nor it wasn’t dramatic it was just real enough to make kate’s pulse shift like it had been waiting for permission.

a staff member called veronica’s name from across the room, breaking whatever that moment was trying to become before it could fully take shape.

veronica didn’t move right away instead, she leaned in just enough that only kate could hear her, voice dropping into something softer, more private, like the world around them didn’t exist for a second.

“don’t miss me too much,” she said and then her fingers brushed kate’s knee once light, casual, almost nothing.

almost like she could pretend it meant nothing if she ever needed to and then she walked away like she hadn’t just left kate sitting there trying to pretend her breathing hadn’t changed, like her chest hadn’t gone slightly too tight around something she couldn’t name out loud yet.

kate watched her go and for a second too long, she didn’t pick her phone back up.

she just stayed there in the echo of veronica’s voice, her hand, the way she never really asked permission but always made it feel like kate was the one choosing anyway.

kate finally looked down at her screen like it could reset something in her it didn’t nothing reset the room kept moving, media day kept breathing around her in bright flashes and clipped laughter and the shuffle of sneakers on polished floors, but she felt slightly out of sync with all of it now, like veronica had stepped out of the rhythm and taken something with her.

she told herself it was nothing, it had to be nothing, people touched each other in gyms all the time, teammates leaned in and coaches corrected the form but friends got close in loud rooms just to be heard but none of them felt like that.

kate exhaled slowly, forcing her attention back into place, back into her body, back into the version of herself that didn’t overthink a single brush of fingers against skin.

except her body didn’t fully cooperate because she could still feel it; veronica’s hand at her knee casual, light and almost careless like it hadn’t meant anything like kate hadn’t felt it after she was already gone.

“you’re staring at nothing again.” kate blinked she didn’t even realize veronica had come back until her voice slid in beside her like she’d never left.

kate looked up and there she was—bag slung over one shoulder now, hair slightly different from the earlier shoot, like she’d been fixed and reset by staff hands and camera lights but her eyes were still the same. focused in a way that didn’t match how relaxed she tried to look.

kate’s throat tightened for reasons she didn’t want to name. “i’m not staring at nothing,” kate said automatically veronica raised a brow. “you were.”

kate scoffed lightly, standing before she could think too much about staying seated. “you just like thinking you’re right about everything.”

“i usually am.” that earned a reluctant breath of laughter from kate, small but real enough that something in veronica’s expression softened for half a second before she hid it again.

they started walking without really deciding to the hallways between media rooms were quieter, more hollow, like the building itself was exhaling between moments of noise.

kate could hear their footsteps more clearly here. could feel the space between them stretch and shrink depending on how veronica moved and veronica kept moving close.

not touching this time just close enough that kate could feel the option of it.

“you’re different at media day,” kate said before she could stop herself veronica glanced at her. “different how?”

kate hesitated; she wasn’t sure she had language for it that didn’t sound stupid out loud so she settled for honesty, the kind she usually kept folded away.

“you act like…like nothing is serious,” kate said finally. “but then you keep doing things like you’re paying attention to everything at once.”

veronica didn’t answer right away, they turned a corner as a staff member passed them and didn’t look twice. the world stayed normal even while kate felt slightly off-axis inside it then veronica said, quieter, “i do pay attention.”

kate glanced at her veronica’s gaze was forward, but her voice wasn’t. it was lower now, less performative than earlier. “just not always in the ways people expect.”

kate’s chest tightened again, frustratingly so. “that’s not an answer,” kate said. “it is,” veronica replied. and then, after a beat, like she decided she didn’t want to leave it hanging in the air too long, she added, “you just don’t like what it’s answering.”

that landed differently as kate didn’t respond immediately; they kept walking veronica’s shoulder brushed hers once accidental on purpose, or maybe the other way around and we’ll kate didn’t move away fast enough to pretend she hadn’t noticed.

instead, she stayed there just long enough they reached the next media zone and the noise returned like a wave voices, cameras, instructions, names being called out again like nothing had happened in the hallway at all.

veronica slowed at the entrance but kate slowed too this time, veronica didn’t touch her but she looked at her like she wanted to like she was deciding whether she already had the right to.

“you coming?” veronica asked, voice normal again, easy again, like she hadn’t just shifted something between them in the quiet.

kate should’ve said yes immediately she didn’t instead she asked, “why do you keep doing that?” veronica tilted her head slightly. “doing what?”

kate swallowed once. her voice came out steadier than she felt again. “like you already know how i’m gonna react.” a pause not long but it was enough that kate noticed it.

veronica’s expression changed just slightly not softer exactly, but less guarded. “because you usually do,” she said kate’s breath caught on that, quiet and inconvenient.

veronica stepped closer then, just enough that the noise behind them blurred at the edges again, not touching, not yet but just existing in kate’s space like she belonged there without asking for confirmation.

“and?” kate asked, though it came out quieter than she meant veronica looked at her for a long second, like she was weighing whether to keep everything half-hidden or let something slip fully into the light.

then she said, almost like it cost her nothing and everything at the same time, “and i think you notice more than you admit.”

kate didn’t have a response ready for that veronica held her gaze for a second longer, then stepped back like she was choosing restraint on purpose.

“come on,” she said lightly, turning toward the cameras. “they’re waiting.” and kate followed but this time, it didn’t feel like just following.

it felt like she was still caught in something veronica had started earlier and hadn’t fully finished yet and kate followed.

but this time, it didn’t feel like just following it felt like she was still caught in something veronica had started earlier and hadn’t fully finished yet.

the cameras hit them immediately bright, unblinking, too fast to think around kate knew how to step into it how to square her shoulders, lift her chin, give the version of herself that didn’t hesitate.

she did it automatically now, like muscle memory built from repetition and expectation but veronica was beside her again and that changed the shape of it because veronica didn’t just pose.

she existed like she was aware of kate beside her at all times, like every angle of her body was subtly adjusted around that fact and even when she smiled at a question from a reporter, her attention kept slipping back not obvious enough for anyone else to name it, but kate could feel it every time like being looked at without being announced.

“kate,” someone called, “what’s been the biggest adjustment so far?”

she answered as she always answered words came out practiced, steady, careful she talked about pace, about chemistry, about learning systems. things that sounded right on paper and meant less the more she said them out loud but halfway through, she felt it again.

veronica’s hand is not fully placed, not obvious just a brief brush against kate’s knee as she shifted closer for the next question, like she needed an anchor and had decided kate was it without consulting anyone about the decision.

kate didn’t flinch she should’ve instead, her fingers curled slightly in response before she could stop them.

veronica noticed obviously she did kate saw it in the way her mouth barely twitched, like she was trying not to react too visibly to something no one else would’ve even registered.

“and veronica,” another voice cut in, “how’s chemistry been with kate so far?”

there it was their names in the same sentence, said out loud like it meant nothing more than basketball.

veronica smiled easily too easily like she’d been waiting for it. “good,” she said. “really good.”

simple clean and yet nothing that could be dissected but then her hand shifted again this time resting lightly at kate’s lower back as they adjusted positions for photos, like she was guiding her, like it was normal, like it belonged in the choreography of the moment.

kate kept her face forward but her breathing changed anyway.

flash, flash, flash as everything stuttered in light and veronica didn’t move away didn’t pull back once the cameras paused.

instead, she stayed there in the quiet between shots, fingers still there, grounding or distracting or something kate couldn’t label without thinking too hard about it.

“you’re doing that thing again.” kate murmured without looking at her. “what thing?” veronica replied just as quietly, still smiling for the next angle.

kate’s jaw tightened slightly. “like you don’t care who sees.” veronica leaned in a fraction, just enough that her words didn’t have to travel far.

“i care,” she said with no joke in it this time kate finally looked at her.

veronica’s eyes were still forward for the cameras, but her attention wasn’t but it was fully, completely on kate in a way that made the room feel further away than it should’ve.

“i just don’t think it changes much,” veronica added kate’s throat felt tight again, like it kept doing that around her for no good reason.

“you don’t think anything changes?” kate asked.

a pause then veronica’s hand slid away not fully leaving her, just dropping to her side like she’d decided to stop touching only because she wanted kate to notice the absence.

“i think it already did,” veronica said simply and then she smiled at the next camera like nothing in the world had just shifted between them at all but kate felt it.

still did even when they moved through the rest of media day, even when questions blurred into each other and voices stacked back into noise, even when veronica eventually drifted a step away to answer something across the room kate still felt where she had been.

like her body had memorized a place someone kept returning to without warning and worse than that like it was waiting for her to do it again.

even though it was waiting for her to do it again, kate hated that part the most, not the touching, not the attention, not even the way veronica looked at her like she already knew too much.

it was the waiting like her body had started anticipating something her mind hadn’t agreed to yet as media day finally loosened its grip near the end, when the cameras started packing up and the room stopped feeling like it was watching her every breath.

kate stayed where she was for a second longer than necessary, fingers curling around the strap of her bag like she needed something solid to remind her she was still in control of her own movements.

veronica was across the room now, talking to someone from the staff laughing at something kate couldn’t hear, it looked normal it always looked normal from a distance.

that was the problem it only stopped feeling normal when kate was close enough to feel it again.

“you look like you’re thinking too hard,” a voice said beside her.

kate turned veronica again of course except now she wasn’t in front of cameras, wasn’t performing, wasn’t angled into anything but kate’s space.

her shoulders were relaxed, hair slightly messier like she’d stopped caring about how it fell, and her expression had shifted into something quieter, less polished and more real.

kate exhaled slowly. “you keep saying that.”

“because you keep doing it.” there it was again that easy certainty in her voice, like she could read the parts of kate that didn’t get spoken out loud.

kate shifted her weight. “maybe i’m just tired.” veronica studied her for a second. not in a way that felt invasive worse, in a way that felt familiar.

like she was checking something she’d already seen before then she nodded once. “yeah,” she said. “you are.”

kate frowned slightly at that it wasn’t disagreement, it was the fact that veronica said it like it mattered, like it wasn’t just an observation but something she’d already decided to account for.

before kate could respond, veronica tilted her head toward the exit. “walk with me,” she said, not a question kate should’ve asked where but she didn’t.

they left the main room together, slipping out into the quieter corridor again where the noise softened into something distant and muffled.

the building felt different here, less like a stage, more like something between scenes veronica slowed her steps almost immediately.

kate matched them without thinking that part bothered her more than anything. “you always do that.” kate said after a few seconds veronica glanced at her. “do what?”

“just decide things.” a faint smile. “and you always follow.”

kate stopped walking veronica noticed immediately and stopped too, turning slightly so she was facing her now.

the hallway felt narrower like this kate could hear her own breathing again. “i don’t follow you,” kate said, though it didn’t land as firmly as she wanted it to.

veronica’s eyes flicked down briefly, then back up. “you do,” she said, not teasing this time just stating it like it was simple math.

kate’s chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with running or conditioning or training camp fatigue.

“that’s not fair.” kate said quietly veronica stepped closer, slower this time. like she was giving kate space to move away if she wanted to.

kate didn’t move that was its own answer. “i’m not trying to be fair,” veronica said.

silence settled between them again, but it wasn’t empty as it felt full like something unspoken had been sitting there all day and only now had room to breathe.

kate swallowed. “then what are you trying to be?” veronica didn’t answer right away but instead, her gaze dropped briefly to kate’s hand still gripping her bag strap too tightly and then back to her face.

“honest,” she said finally kate let out a small breath that almost sounded like a laugh, except it wasn’t really funny.

“you think this is honest?” kate asked veronica’s voice softened. “i think it’s the first time i’m not pretending i don’t notice you.”

that landed differently, more so heavier like it wasn’t just about training camp or media day or cameras or staff or any of the noise it had been building underneath all of it the whole time and only now had a name.

kate looked at her for a long moment as veronica didn’t look away, didn't rush her, or didn’t fill the silence but just stayed there, close enough that kate could feel the choice sitting between them without anyone saying it out loud.

finally, kate spoke quiet and careful. “you do that a lot.”

“do what?” kate hesitated, then let it out anyway. “act like you already know what i’m going to do next.”

veronica’s expression shifted just slightly softer at the edges. “i don’t,” she said. “i just watch you.”

that should’ve been simple but it wasn’t because kate suddenly couldn’t tell if that was worse or better.

veronica shifted her weight back a fraction, giving her space again, like she wasn’t going to push past whatever boundary kate hadn’t drawn yet.

“you coming back in?” she asked, voice lighter again, like she was offering an exit ramp.

kate looked toward the door then back at her the hallway was quiet enough now that every small sound felt louder than it should’ve.

kate nodded once. “yeah,” she said and as they started walking again, side by side but not touching, kate realized something she didn’t say out loud.

veronica didn’t lead this time but kate still didn’t fall behind as they started walking again, side by side but not touching, kate realized something she didn’t say out loud.

veronica didn’t lead this time but kate still didn’t fall behind as it should’ve felt normal.

that two teammates walking back into the same space, same rhythm, same destination nothing worth noticing. nothing worth holding onto but kate noticed anyway.

she noticed the space between them wasn’t distance, it was restraint like something carefully measured and deliberately kept from tipping too far in either direction.

veronica kept her hands to herself now that alone should’ve made everything easier.

it didn’t if anything, it made kate more aware of every moment veronica chose not to touch her the silence between them wasn’t empty anymore it was crowded with everything they hadn’t said.

when they reached the main floor again, the noise returned in pieces: voices, squeaking shoes, staff calling out directions.

the normal world snapping back into place like nothing had shifted in the hallway at all kate stepped into it automatically.

veronica did too but kate felt the difference now veronica wasn’t orbiting her the same way, not drifting into her space, not brushing past her like she couldn’t help it.

she was just there and kate didn’t know what to do with that version of her.

“we’ve got film after this,” veronica said casually, like the last ten minutes hadn’t happened in a different emotional gravity.

kate nodded. “yeah.” another pause veronica glanced at her once, quick and unreadable. “you good?”

kate almost laughed at that because it was the same question from earlier but it didn’t feel the same anymore. “i’m fine,” kate said veronica didn’t push it this time.

just nodded like she accepted it, even if she didn’t fully believe it they split briefly when staff called kate over for something small equipment check, schedule confirmation, something forgettable. veronica lingered a few steps away, talking to someone else, but kate was aware of her anyway.

not watching just being present like a thought you couldn’t fully stop having even when you tried when kate finished and turned back, veronica was already looking at her.

not intense, not obvious, just steady like she’d been there the whole time waiting for kate to come back into focus.

kate walked toward her without thinking about it and veronica met her halfway.

no hesitation no performance just the same quiet gravity from earlier, only now it wasn’t wrapped in cameras or noise or distraction.

it was just them, standing in the middle of everything and somehow slightly apart from it at the same time.

“you’re quiet again,” veronica said kate exhaled slowly. “you’re observant.” a small smile. “it’s kind of my job.”

“since when?” veronica’s eyes flicked over her face for a second, like she was deciding how honest to be again.

“since you started making it hard not to notice,” she said kate’s chest tightened, subtle but real.

she looked away first this time, which annoyed her more than she wanted to admit.

“you’re annoying,” kate muttered. “you’re still standing next to me,” veronica replied immediately.

that pulled a breath of laughter out of kate before she could stop it.

it wasn’t loud, it didn't fix anything but it shifted something veronica noticed of course she did.

her expression softened just slightly, like she’d been waiting for that exact crack in kate’s composure all day.

“there you are.” she said quietly as kate slightly frowned. “what?” veronica didn’t answer right away.

instead, she stepped a fraction closer not touching, not invading, just closing the gap enough that kate had to stay aware of her again.

“you go all quiet when you’re overthinking,” veronica said kate’s voice came out softer than she intended. “i don’t overthink.”

veronica raised a brow kate sighed. “okay, i do. but not about—”

she stopped herself because she didn’t know how to finish that sentence without giving something away she wasn’t ready to name.

veronica didn’t rush her, she just waited patiently in a way that felt unfair.

kate finally looked back at her. “not about you.” it came out honestly and worse and uncertain.

veronica held her gaze for a beat longer than necessary, then nodded once like she accepted the answer without needing to agree with it.

“okay,” she said but the way she said it didn’t sound like agreement it sounded like she was filing it away for later.

a staff member called for them again, breaking the moment before it could deepen any further.

veronica stepped back first this time but as she turned, she paused just long enough to glance over her shoulder.

“film in ten,” she said then, quieter only for kate again. “don’t disappear on me again martin.” and she walked away.

kate stayed where she was for a second longer than she meant to because that was the thing now.

it wasn’t that veronica kept getting closer but it was that every time she left, kate noticed the space she left behind.

kate stayed where she was for a second longer than she meant to because that was the thing now it wasn’t that veronica kept getting closer.

it was that every time she left, kate noticed the space she left behind.

it didn’t feel like empty space, it felt like it was shaped into something had been there often enough to leave a memory in the air.

kate finally moved when someone brushed past her shoulder, snapping her back into the present as she exhaled, slow and controlled, like she could push the feeling out with breath alone.

it didn’t work, but she tried anyway film session blurred into structure lines on a board, corrections, rotations, reminders kate did what she always did: locked in, listened, absorbed.

she nodded when she was supposed to, spoke when she was asked, kept her face neutral in the way coaches liked and cameras later interpreted as confidence but every so often, her attention drifted.

because veronica was not there beside her this time but a few seats over close enough to see far enough to pretend there was nothing unusual about the distance except kate felt it anyway.

she wasn’t looking at her constantly, veronica wasn’t either but it didn’t matter kate could feel when veronica shifted in her seat.

could feel when her attention moved toward her without needing proof like a line between them still existed even when they weren’t touching it.

“martin,” the coach called, pulling her back in kate straightened immediately. “yeah.”

another instruction. another adjustment. she nodded again normal all of it normal and yet when she glanced sideways without meaning to, veronica was already looking at her.

not smiling, not performing but just watching like she’d been caught in the middle of thinking something she hadn’t finished yet.

kate looked away first because that was becoming a habit now too after film, everything broke apart into smaller groups, smaller conversations, the controlled chaos of a team learning itself in pieces.

kate lingered near the edge of it all, rolling her wrists out, listening without fully engaging.

she felt veronica before she saw her that was new veronica stopped beside her like she belonged there.

no announcement no hesitation with the presence returning to a place it had already claimed earlier in the day.

“you’re avoiding me,” veronica said lightly kate scoffed under her breath. “i’m literally standing right here.”

“not emotionally.” kate turned her head slightly. “that’s not a real thing.” veronica’s mouth twitched. “it is when you’re doing it.”

that made kate pause not because it was sharp but because it wasn’t.

it was too calm too sure, like veronica wasn’t guessing anymore kate leaned back against the wall, folding her arms. “you’re really committed to analyzing me today.”

veronica tilted her head. “you make it easy.”

“that’s not a compliment.”

“didn’t say it was.”

a beat, the hallway noise around them softened again, like the building kept accidentally giving them space whether they deserved it or not.

kate studied her for a second longer than she meant to. “what do you want?” she asked finally it wasn’t supposed to come out like that but it did.

veronica didn’t react immediately no smile this time, no quick deflection but a slow shift in her expression, like she’d been waiting for the question but didn’t want to waste it when it finally arrived.

“honestly?” she said kate didn’t answer, but she didn’t look away either.

veronica took a small step closer not enough to crowd her but close enough to make kate aware of how intentional everything had been today.

“i want you to stop acting like you don’t feel it when i’m around you,” veronica said quietly kate’s breath caught small, involuntary.

her arms tightened slightly where they were folded. “feel what,” kate said, but it came out less steady than she wanted.

veronica’s eyes flicked to her face, steady and unblinking. “that.” she said simply kate’s jaw tensed. “that’s not an answer.”

“it is,” veronica replied, softer now. “you just keep pretending it isn’t the question.”

silence dropped between them again, heavier this time.

kate’s thoughts moved too fast to catch properly. she hated that. she hated not having control over the speed of her own mind.

veronica didn’t rush her didn’t fill the silence just stayed waiting and watching as kate swallowed once. “you don’t get to just say things like that and leave it there.”

veronica’s voice dropped even lower. “i’m not leaving it.”

kate looked at her fully now really looked and veronica looked back like she wasn’t afraid of being understood, only of being misunderstood.

that was worse somehow kate pushed off the wall slowly. “you’re acting like you already decided all of this.”

veronica didn’t deny it didn’t confirm it either just said, “i notice patterns.” kate let out a short, humorless breath. “i’m not a pattern.”

“no,” veronica said. “you’re not.”

a pause then, quieter, almost careful. “that’s the problem.”

kate’s chest tightened again, but this time it wasn’t confusion as there it was an awareness sharp and inconvenient a staff voice called from down the hall again, breaking the moment like it had done all day.

veronica didn’t move right away neither did kate for a second, it was just them again no cameras, no film, no noise.

just the space they kept stepping into and out of without fully deciding where they stood then veronica exhaled softly and stepped back.

they live in the in-between spaces, in the breath held a second too long before knocking, in the soft click of a door that shouldn’t open at this hour and the even softer way it closes behind you like it knows better than to make a scene, like it understands the weight of what it’s holding in.

it always starts the same way, even when it feels like a different message—simple, almost careless if someone else were to read it, something that could pass as nothing, something that should be nothing.

you up?

maybe to anyone else, it is, maybe it’s just late-night boredom, or habit, or the kind of empty reaching people do when they don’t want to be alone but kate knows better.

she always knows better when it’s veronica, because with her it’s never just the words—it’s everything wrapped around them, everything unsaid, everything waiting on the other side of her response.

kate learns the rhythm of it faster than she should, faster than she’d ever admit out loud, because admitting it would mean acknowledging how much of herself she’s already given to this thing—this them, this secret that has somehow become the most solid, real part of her days.

she learns the way the hallways in the team hotel settle after midnight, how the energy shifts from loud and alive to something softer, dulled, like the building itself is exhaling after holding too much noise. she notices the distant hum of elevators that rarely stop on their floor after a certain hour, memorizes the pattern of footsteps that pass by her door and which ones linger, which ones belong to teammates who stay up too late and which ones fade early into sleep. 

she learns which lights stay on all night and cast long shadows she can slip through, and which ones flicker just enough to give her cover, to break her silhouette into something less recognizable.

she learns how to move without being seen, how to time her steps with the creak of the floor or the hum of the air vent, how to breathe quieter, how to exist in that strange, delicate space between being there and not—present enough to reach veronica, invisible enough to avoid everyone else.

yet still—every single time—her heart pounds like it’s trying to betray her, loud and insistent in her chest, like it wants to be heard, like it wants to be noticed, like she’s about to get caught.

or worse, like some part of her, reckless and aching and a little too honest, almost hopes she does—just so she doesn’t have to pretend this is something small it’s late when it happens this time. later than usual, the kind of late that feels heavier, like the day hasn’t fully let go of her yet.

practice had run long, tension stretched thin across the court, voices a little sharper than they needed to be, bodies slower, heavier, worn down in that way that seeps into your bones. kate had barely looked at veronica the entire day—not because she didn’t want to, but because she wanted to, too much, because every glance risked lingering, every second of eye contact threatened to unravel something they’ve both been carefully holding together in front of everyone else.

that’s the problem with this: it's not just sneaking around, not just adrenaline or convenience or something fleeting you can brush off when it gets complicated.

it’s the way it matters the way it settles under her skin and refuses to stay surface-level, the way it follows her into practice and into games and into the quiet moments where they’re supposed to just be teammates, nothing more, nothing less.

kate stares at her phone longer than she should, veronica’s name lighting up her screen like it’s something dangerous, something that could ruin her if she lets it.

door’s unlocked.

no emojis, no teasing, no softening of it just that and somehow, that makes it worse her breath catches anyway, sharp and quiet, like her body has already made the decision before her mind can argue with it.

veronica’s apartment is quieter than the hotel, and not just because there are fewer people—it’s quieter in a way that feels deeper, more personal, like every sound has a place it belongs, like it means something when it happens.

kate slips inside like she’s done this a hundred times before—which, technically, she has—but it never feels routine it never feels easy as her back presses against the door the second it clicks shut, her chest rising and falling like she’s just outrun something chasing her down the hallway, like she left a version of herself outside that she can’t quite bring in here with her or like she’s just run straight into the one thing she’s been trying not to.

“took you long enough.” veronica murmurs from somewhere deeper inside, her voice low, familiar in a way that settles and unsettles kate all at once, already wrapped in something soft and knowing, like she’s been expecting her even before kate texted back.

kate exhales a quiet laugh under her breath, shaking her head as she toes off her shoes, trying to shake off the lingering tension clinging to her shoulders. “yeah, well, i’m trying not to get benched for breaking team rules.” she says, but it comes out softer than she intends, less like a joke and more like a half-formed truth she doesn’t want to examine too closely.

“you’re dramatic.”

“i’m realistic,” kate shoots back automatically, but there’s no bite to it, no edge there never is with veronica well not really.

because then she sees her and everything else—the rules, the risk, the constant low hum of what if someone finds out—just fades, like it was never quite as important as it felt five seconds ago.

veronica is leaning against the kitchen counter like she’s been there a while, like she’s been waiting in that exact spot, like she hasn’t checked her phone every thirty seconds, like she didn’t almost text again just to make sure kate was actually coming, to make sure this wasn’t one of those nights where reality wins.

her hoodie hangs loose off one shoulder, soft and worn in the way things get when they've lived in too long, her hair slightly messy, like she’s run her hands through it more times than she’ll admit. her eyes are softer than they ever are on the court, stripped of that sharp focus, that competitive edge—here, they’re something warmer, something open.

it hits kate all at once, without warning.

how much she missed this, not just seeing veronica, not just being near her in the same space.

this version of her is the one that exists when no one else is watching. “hi.” veronica says, quieter now, like the word itself is something delicate and it’s stupid, really, how something so simple can undo kate, how it can settle somewhere deep in her chest and make everything else feel a little less steady.

“hi.” kate echoes, stepping closer without thinking, like there’s something pulling her in, something she doesn’t have the strength—or the desire—to fight she doesn’t want to, she's not even pretending anymore. 

there’s always that moment, and it never gets easier, no matter how many times they stand in it.

the one right before where they’re close enough to feel each other’s breath, close enough that one small movement would close the distance entirely, but not quite touching yet where the air shifts, thickens, becomes something they have to move through instead of something that just exists around them. where everything slows down just enough to make them aware of exactly what they’re about to do—and exactly what it could cost if anyone ever found out.

kate’s hand hovers at veronica’s waist, hesitant in a way she isn’t anywhere else in her life, like she’s asking for permission without saying it out loud, like she’s giving veronica space to stop this before it goes any further.

veronica doesn’t make her wait, she never does. “you’re overthinking again.” veronica whispers, her fingers curling into the fabric of kate’s shirt, grounding, steady, tugging her just a little closer, enough to make the decision for both of them as kate huffs softly, breath brushing her lips. “i’m not—”

“you are.”

“am not.”

“kate.” then veronica kisses her, not because she’s impatient, not because she can’t wait another second—but because she knows kate needs the push, the certainty, the reminder that this is something she’s choosing just as much as kate is.

it’s never rushed, not really, not in the way people might expect from something that’s supposed to be hidden, something that exists under the constant threat of being interrupted.

even with the risk, even with the clock ticking somewhere in the back of their minds, even with the knowledge that at any second someone could knock on the door or send a text or notice one of them missing and start asking questions it still feels like they have all the time in the world like this space bends for them like it makes room.

kate melts into veronica like she’s been holding something in all day—tension, words, feelings she doesn’t have a place for anywhere else—and this, this, is the only place she gets to let it go. her hands settle at veronica’s waist, firmer now, less hesitant, like she’s grounding herself in something real, like she’s making sure veronica isn’t just something she imagined into existence.

veronica smiles against her mouth, soft and a little breathless, like she feels it too. “miss me?” she murmurs, the words brushing warm against kate’s skin.

kate lets out a quiet laugh, her forehead dropping to veronica’s, eyes closing for just a second like she needs to steady herself. “you literally saw me, like, six hours ago.”

“not like this.” and that’s the thing she’s right because this isn’t just seeing this is knowing, this is choosing, this is everything they don’t let anyone else have.

as the nights stretch longer than they should, bending and folding in ways that make time feel unreliable, like it’s slipping through their fingers without asking permission.

sometimes it’s quiet—just the two of them tangled up on the couch or the edge of the bed, the tv on low even though neither of them is really watching it, talking in soft, half-finished sentences about nothing and everything at once, their hands finding each other without thinking, like they’ve memorized the path.

sometimes it’s laughter they have to muffle into each other’s shoulders, the kind that builds slow and then hits all at once, leaving them breathless and a little reckless, terrified someone in the hallway might hear and come knocking just to see what’s going on.

sometimes it’s heavier. slower. the kind of closeness that settles deep, that lingers, that leaves both of them a little dazed, a little softer around the edges, like the world outside doesn’t quite fit the same when they step back into it, like everything else is just slightly out of focus compared to this and sometimes, sometimes it’s just this.

kate lying on her back, staring up at veronica’s ceiling like she’s trying to memorize it, like it’s something she might need later when she’s back in her own room pretending this doesn’t exist. veronica’s hand rests absentmindedly on her chest, rising and falling with her breath, fingers tracing slow, thoughtless patterns like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.

both of them pretending they’re not counting down the minutes until kate has to leave. “we’re gonna get caught one day,” kate says quietly, the words slipping out before she can stop them, before she can decide if she really wants to hear the answer.

veronica hums, soft, thoughtful, like it’s not the first time the idea has crossed her mind, like she’s already sat with it longer than kate has. “probably.”

“and then what?” kate’s voice is softer now, edged with something she doesn’t quite name—fear, maybe, or something deeper than that veronica doesn’t answer right away.

her fingers keep moving over kate’s hoodie, slow and steady, like she’s buying time, like she’s sorting through the weight of the question, like she understands that this isn’t just hypothetical for kate—it’s real, it’s pressing, it’s something she needs to know veronica has thought about too.

“then we deal with it,” she says finally, her voice softer than before, but steady, certain in a way that settles something in kate’s chest even as it stirs something else.

kate turns her head to look at her, searching her face like there’s something there she needs to understand, something she’s afraid she might not find. “that doesn’t scare you?”

veronica meets her gaze, steady, unflinching, like she’s not trying to hide anything, like she’s letting kate see all of it. “only if it scares you.”

it does, it scares kate in a way that has nothing to do with getting caught, nothing to do with team rules or consequences or what people might say as it scares her because of how much she wants this anyway.

leaving is always the hardest part, and it never gets easier, no matter how many times kate tells herself it will.

it’s quieter than arriving, heavier somehow, like the air itself has shifted, like the space knows it’s about to lose something.

kate pulls her shoes back on slower than necessary, her movements careful, deliberate, like she’s hoping time might stretch if she handles it gently enough, like she can delay the moment just by refusing to rush toward it. veronica stands by the door, arms crossed loosely, watching her in that way she does—soft, attentive, like she’s memorizing something she’s afraid might change.

“text me when you get back,” veronica says, and it sounds simple, casual, but there’s something underneath it, something that lingers. “i always do.”

“i know.”

she does that’s the problem; they both know each other too well in all the ways that matter there’s another pause, another one of those moments that seem to stretch between them more often than not, filled with everything they’re not saying out loud.

kate reaches for the handle, her fingers brushing against the cool metal, and then she stops, like she forgot something, like there’s something she hasn’t done yet that she can’t quite leave without.

she didn’t forget she just needs one more second one more touch one more reminder that this is real, that it exists outside of her own head veronica doesn’t make her ask.

she steps forward, closes the distance without hesitation, and kisses her again—quicker this time, but no less certain, no less intentional as it’s the kind of kiss that lingers even after it’s over, the kind that stays pressed into memory like something permanent.

“go.” veronica whispers against her lips, her breath warm, her voice softer than it’s been all night. “before you change your mind.”

kate huffs softly, a quiet, breathless sound that doesn’t quite hide the truth of it. “too late for that.” but she leaves anyway because she has to because that’s the rule they haven’t said out loud.

the hallway is just as quiet as before, unchanged, indifferent to the fact that something inside her has shifted, settled, deepened into something she can’t quite ignore anymore.

nothing’s different and yet everything feels like it is.

kate walks back to her room with the same careful steps, the same awareness of every sound, every shadow, every flicker of light—but there’s something softer in her chest now, something warmer, something that lingers even after veronica’s door is out of sight, even after she’s alone again.

it follows her it always does her phone buzzes before she even makes it all the way inside, the sound sharp in the quiet.

you alive?

kate smiles to herself, small and private, shaking her head as she leans back against her door, letting it click shut behind her.

barely.

there’s a pause, shorter this time, like veronica is already there, already waiting.

worth it?

kate stares at the message longer than she needs to, thumb hovering just above the screen like the answer might change if she waits a second longer, like maybe she’ll find a version of it that feels safer, smaller, easier to carry back into the daylight where everything is supposed to make sense again. but there’s nothing careful about this, nothing measured or distant, not with veronica, not with the way everything between them seems to slip past logic and settle somewhere deeper, somewhere harder to ignore. 

so she lets out a slow breath, her head tipping back against the door, eyes closing as the feeling of her lingers—warm, steady, everywhere—and she types it anyway, simple and certain and entirely too honest.

always.

it sends before she can second guess it, the word disappearing into that quiet digital space between them, and for a moment everything stills—the hallway outside, the low hum of the building, even the rhythm of her own breathing like it’s waiting, like it knows something is about to follow.

her phone buzzes again almost instantly.

dangerous answer.

kate huffs out a quiet laugh under her breath, the sound soft and private, like it belongs to this version of her that only exists in these late hours, in the spaces where veronica lives.

you asked.

there’s a pause this time, longer, stretching just enough to make her glance down at the screen again, her chest tightening in that familiar way that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with anticipation, with wanting, with the way veronica has somehow made waiting feel like part of the experience instead of something to endure.

yeah. i did.

still doesn’t mean i’m not thinking about it.

kate’s brows pull together slightly, her thumb tracing the edge of her phone, the words settling into her slower this time, heavier, like they carry something just beneath the surface.

about what?

she already knows she just needs to hear veronica say it.

the reply doesn’t come right away, and that silence feels different, not empty, not casual, but full, like something is being weighed on the other side, like veronica is choosing her words carefully in a way she usually doesn’t.

about how easy it is to forget everything else when you’re here.

kate’s breath catches, quiet and sharp, her eyes flicking shut again as the memory hits all at once—veronica’s hands, the way her voice softened, the way everything outside that apartment blurred into something distant and unimportant.

that’s not a bad thing, she types, but it comes out softer than she means it to, less like reassurance and more like hope.

depends who you ask.

the reply lands somewhere deep in her chest, heavier than the others, like it’s brushing up against something real, something they’ve both been circling around without actually naming kate swallows, her head tilting forward as she stares at the screen, her reflection faint in the glass, looking a little too thoughtful, a little too caught.

who are you asking?

another pause, this one stretches longer long enough for kate to push herself off the door, to pace a few slow steps across her room, her free hand dragging through her hair like she’s trying to work through the feeling building under her skin.

you.

it’s simple yet too simple and somehow that makes it heavier as kate exhales slowly, her chest tightening, her mind catching up to something her heart already decided hours ago, days ago, maybe even longer than that.

then no, she types, slower this time, more deliberate. it’s not a bad thing.

there’s no immediate response, and for a second—just a second—doubt flickers, sharp and unwelcome, before her phone lights up again.

you’re gonna make this harder than it needs to be.

kate lets out a quiet breath that almost turns into a laugh, but there’s something shaky underneath it, something that betrays how much this matters, how much she matters.

you started it and you didn’t stop me.

kate pauses at that, her lips pressing together as she leans back against the edge of her bed, her mind replaying every moment from earlier like it’s looking for proof, like it’s trying to find where this crossed from something manageable into something neither of them can pretend is casual anymore.

did you want me to?

the question sits there between them, heavier than anything else she’s sent, heavier than anything she’s willing to take back, the typing bubble appears then disappears, appears again kate’s heart climbs into her throat, every second stretching thin.

no.

it comes through simple, clear and uncomplicated in a way that makes everything else feel louder.

good, kate replies before she can think too hard about it, before she can soften it or make it safer.

another pause then—come back.

the words hit her all at once, sharp and immediate, like a pull she feels physically, like her body is already moving before her brain can catch up, like the distance between her room and veronica’s suddenly feels too big, too wrong.

kate glances at her door, at the quiet hallway on the other side, at the invisible line she just crossed not even twenty minutes ago.

you’re serious? she types, even though she already knows the answer.

when am i not with you?

that does it, it always does kate exhales slowly, pushing herself upright, her pulse quickening again, that same adrenaline threading through her veins, familiar and addictive and impossible to ignore.

give me a minute.

she doesn’t wait for a reply this time she doesn’t need one.

the hallway feels different the second time around, like it’s watching her now, like it knows she’s pushing her luck, like every flicker of light and distant sound is just a little sharper, a little louder, a little more dangerous.

kate moves anyway quieter this time, more aware, her steps careful but quicker, like she’s chasing something she just left behind, like she’s not entirely sure what she’ll do if she waits too long and the feeling fades.

it won't, it never does as veronica’s door is still unlocked of course it is kate slips inside, closing it softly behind her, her back pressing against it for a second as she catches her breath, her chest rising and falling in that same uneven rhythm.

“miss me already?” veronica’s voice cuts through the quiet, softer now, closer than before kate doesn’t even pretend to play it off this time. “you texted me.”

veronica hums, stepping closer, the space between them disappearing in seconds like it never existed in the first place. “and you came back.”

there’s something in the way she says it—not surprised, not teasing, just certain like she knew she would.

kate shakes her head slightly, a breathless laugh slipping out. “you make it really hard not to.”

“good,” veronica murmurs, and there’s no hesitation in it, no second guessing, just quiet confidence wrapped in something warmer, something that settles deep.

the moment stretches again, but it’s different now, heavier, charged with everything they didn’t say earlier, everything that’s been building in the spaces between texts and touches and stolen glances.

“this is a bad idea,” kate says softly, even as she steps closer, even as her hands find veronica like they already belong there.

“yeah,” veronica agrees just as quietly, her fingers curling into kate’s hoodie, pulling her in like she’s not even considering the alternative neither of them are.

kate exhales against her, her forehead brushing veronica’s, her voice barely above a whisper. “we’re definitely gonna get caught.” veronica smiles, small and a little reckless, the kind of smile that makes everything feel inevitable. “probably.”

“and you still told me to come back.”

“you still came.”

kate doesn’t argue with that she can't, she doesn’t want to because the truth of it sits heavy and certain in her chest, louder than the fear, louder than the rules, louder than everything that’s supposed to stop this from happening again.

like it’s still looking for somewhere to land. kate is laughing at something someone said—head tipped back, shoulders loose, that soft, unguarded kind of laugh that always seems to land somewhere under veronica’s ribs and stay there, warm and persistent and impossible to ignore.

veronica watches her for a second too long yet that’s the moment she chooses because it’s getting out of hand not in a loud way.

not in anything anyone else would notice no one is looking at them twice, no one is whispering, no one is asking questions but it lives in the quiet details, in the things that feel too small to explain and too big to dismiss—in the way her eyes find kate without thinking, like instinct instead of choice, in the way her body seems to angle toward her even in a crowded room.

like there’s a pull she doesn’t fully understand, in the way her chest tightens when kate brushes past her like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t mean anything at all, while veronica feels it for minutes after, like a mark she can’t see but can’t ignore.

so veronica tells herself, quietly, firmly enough is enough.

she doesn’t let herself sit in the feeling. she doesn’t let herself question it. she just decides, sharp and clean, like ripping something off before it can hurt worse later.

she starts small the next morning, when kate drops into the seat beside her in the locker room, close enough that their knees almost touch, the warmth of her presence is immediate and familiar, veronica shifts. 

just slightly. just enough to create space that wasn’t there before, enough that their legs don’t brush, enough that she doesn’t have to think about it.

it feels deliberate, it feels wrong, kate notices of course she does as she always does.

“you good?” kate asks, voice softer than usual, like she’s already adjusting, already trying to meet veronica where she is without pushing too hard, without making it a thing.

veronica nods too quickly, the motion almost jerky. “yeah. just—tired.”

it’s not a lie but it’s just not the truth either kate studies her for a second longer than necessary, eyes searching, scanning her face like she’s trying to find the piece that doesn’t fit, like she’s used to understanding veronica without needing everything spelled out. 

there’s a flicker of something there—concern, maybe—but she lets it go, humming quietly, easy, like she’s giving veronica an out that should make it easier, it doesn't because kate doesn’t pull away she never really does.

she keeps talking to her the same way, keeps glancing over during practice, keeps tossing her the ball with that same easy familiarity, like nothing has changed, like veronica didn’t just redraw a line that didn’t exist before and that somehow makes it harder.

practice comes and goes, and veronica keeps trying—keeps choosing the other side of the court during drills even when it doesn’t make sense, keeps herself busy between reps so there’s no space for idle conversation, keeps her laughter directed elsewhere when the team gathers in loose, messy circles. 

she tells herself it’s working, tells herself that if she keeps moving, keeps choosing distance over instinct, it’ll eventually feel natural whereas it doesn’t it feels forced, like she’s constantly aware of where kate is so she can avoid her, which is almost worse than just… being near her in the first place.

until film session, until the lights are dim and everyone is packed too close together, knees knocking, shoulders brushing, the low murmur of voices fading as the screen flickers to life but the room feels smaller in the dark, more intimate, like everything is amplified.

there’s an empty seat beside where kate veronica sees it immediately she also sees the way kate glances up, just for a second, like she’s expecting—like she knows, like this is routine, like this is where veronica is supposed to be.

it hits something deep and automatic in her chest,veronica hesitates just for a second long enough to feel the pull long enough to almost give in and then she sits somewhere else.

two rows back far enough to feel intentional. far enough that there’s no way kate can pretend it wasn’t a choice she tells herself it’s fine. that this is what she wanted. that this is what control looks like but she feels it anyway—the shift. subtle, but real. 

kate doesn’t turn around. doesn’t say anything. doesn’t make a scene. but there’s something in the set of her shoulders now, something quieter, something a little more closed off than before.

something that makes veronica’s stomach twist she spends the entire session not hearing a single word this is good, she tells herself afterward.

this is controlled and it lasts all of two days because kate is patient, but she’s not oblivious, and she’s not someone who lets things sit unresolved forever and on the third day, she stops pretending not to notice.

it’s late, but later than it should be, the gym is mostly empty, lights dimmed except for the court where veronica is still shooting, the steady rhythm of the ball against the floor echoing in the open space, each bounce sounding louder than it should, like it’s filling the silence too aggressively.

she’s been there longer than she needs to be, she knows that she just doesn’t want to go back to the quiet of her apartment, to her own thoughts, to the absence that’s been following her around all week.

she doesn’t hear kate come in; she only realizes she’s there when the ball she shoots rebounds wrong, bouncing off the rim and rolling toward the sideline—toward kate’s feet.

kate picks it up easily, like she’s done it a hundred times before, spinning it once in her hands before looking up. “you’ve been avoiding me.”

it’s not a question it lands steady yet so certain veronica exhales slowly, wiping her hands on her shorts like she can buy herself a second, like she can rearrange the truth into something safer, something that doesn’t sound like what it really is.

“i haven’t.” she says anyway kate raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, unconvinced. “ronnie.”

it lands softer than it should. familiar. dangerous in a way veronica doesn’t have a defense for veronica hates that it makes her chest ache. “i’ve just been busy.”

kate takes a few steps closer, the sound of her shoes against the floor too loud in the quiet, each step measured, not aggressive, just intentional. “we’re on the same schedule.”

there’s nowhere to go with that veronica looks away first which feels like losing, even though she’s not sure what she’s trying to win. “why?” kate asks, quieter now. not accusing. not sharp. just trying to understand and that’s worse.

because veronica could handle annoyance, she could push back against frustration, deflect it, meet it head-on. but this—this softness, this patience, this willingness to stand there and wait for an answer—it slips under her defenses too easily, settles somewhere she can’t guard.

“it’s not a big deal,” she says, but her voice betrays her, thinner than she wants it to be, less steady.

kate doesn’t respond right away veronica can feel her watching her, can feel the weight of it, not heavy, not suffocating—just present waiting and something in her chest starts to unravel, just a little, threads loosening in a way she can’t quite stop.

“i just—” she starts, then stops, shaking her head like she can physically reset the moment. “i need space. okay?”

the words feel wrong the second they leave her mouth they sit between them, heavy and misplaced because they’re not entirely true.

she doesn’t want space.

she wants less of whatever this is—the pull, the constant awareness, the way kate feels like gravity and veronica is already halfway gone without meaning to be.

but space from kate? that’s the part she’s failing at.

kate’s expression shifts, just barely. something flickers there—hurt, maybe, or confusion, something small and quickly buried. but she covers it, nodding once, easy, like she’s accepting it without making veronica explain further.

“okay,” she says.

she means it of course she does as kate steps back, placing the ball on the rack instead of handing it back, like even that small contact might be too much now, like she’s already respecting a boundary veronica isn’t even sure she wanted.

“i can do that.”

it should feel like relief it doesn’t but it feels like something closing like a door veronica didn’t actually want shut but didn’t know how to keep open without stepping fully through it.

the next few days are quiet too quiet.

kate keeps her distance, and she does it well—not in a cold way, not in anything anyone else would notice, not in a way that disrupts the team or draws attention; she's still kate, still easy, still laughing, still present. but the small things are gone.

the easy touches the way she’d lean in during conversations, shoulder brushing veronica’s like it was second nature, the quiet jokes meant just for her, spoken low enough that no one else could hear.

the looks that lingered just a second longer than necessary it’s all gone and veronica feels it in every moment she didn’t realize she relied on it’s exactly what she asked for and she hates it.

she doesn’t realize how much until it’s missing, until there’s no kate beside her in the locker room, no kate brushing her shoulder in passing, no kate’s voice low and familiar at her side, grounding her in a way she didn’t notice until it wasn’t there anymore.

it leaves a hollow space that nothing else quite fills she tries to ignore it at first. tries to tell herself it’s adjustment, that it’ll pass, that this is better, cleaner, easier.

it doesn’t pass, it settles, it lingers, it grows by the end of the week, veronica is unraveling in small, quiet ways no one else would catch—missing passes she normally wouldn’t, losing focus for half a second too long, laughing at the wrong time, or not at all. 

she feels off-balance, like something essential has shifted and she doesn’t know how to correct it she misses her.

it’s that simple it shouldn’t be that complicated but it is so it comes to a head after a game they barely win, adrenaline still buzzing under her skin, the team loud and chaotic in the locker room. music blasting, people shouting, towels snapping, everything too bright, too much, energy spilling over in every direction.

veronica’s eyes find kate out of instinct.

they always do across the room kate is laughing again, caught up with someone else, easy and bright and completely fine, her smile wide, her body relaxed, like nothing is missing, like nothing has changed for her at all without her and that.

that does something sharp and unexpected to veronica’s chest, something almost like panic, something that feels too big for what it should be before she can think better of it, she’s moving crossing the room, weaving through bodies and noise, barely registering anything around her until she’s right there, close enough that kate turns, surprised, her expression shifting the second she realizes who it is.

“hey—” kate starts, but veronica cuts her off, the urgency already spilling over. “can we talk?” it comes out tighter than she intended, more desperate, like something is slipping through her fingers and she’s trying to catch it before it’s gone completely.

kate blinks, thrown for a second, then nods quickly. “yeah. yeah, okay.”

they step out into the hallway, the noise muffling behind them, the door closing with a soft thud that feels louder than it is. the quiet that follows is immediate, heavy in contrast, like the world has narrowed down to just the two of them.

for a second, neither of them speaks veronica doesn’t know where to start which is new for her she’s always been able to find the words, to control the conversation, to stay one step ahead of whatever she’s feeling but this…this feels different.

“i don’t like it.” she blurts out finally, the words breaking through before she can soften them kate frowns slightly, confusion flickering across her face. “don’t like what?”

veronica gestures vaguely between them, frustration bleeding through, her hand dropping uselessly back to her side. “this. the—distance. i thought i wanted it, but i don’t. it feels—wrong.”

kate studies her carefully, like she’s trying to piece together something fragile, something that could break if handled too roughly. “you asked for it.”

“i know,” veronica says quickly, almost over herself. “i know, and i meant it at the time, i just—” she exhales, running a hand through her hair, the motion restless. “i didn’t think it would feel like this.”

“like what?” veronica hesitates because saying it out loud makes it real in a way she can’t take back, in a way that might change everything but she’s already here.

she’s already crossed the room, already pulled kate into this quiet space, already opened something she can’t easily close again.

“like i’m missing something,” she admits, quieter now, the words heavier, more honest. “like i’m—off. like something that’s supposed to be there just isn’t.”

kate’s expression softens, just a little, the edges of her concern easing into something warmer, something more understanding. “ronnie…”

“i was trying to get a handle on it,” veronica continues, words coming faster now, like if she stops she won’t start again, like everything she’s been holding back is finally pushing forward all at once. “on how much you’re in my head, how much i notice you without even trying. it was getting—” she lets out a small, breathless laugh, shaking her head. “it was getting kind of ridiculous. like i couldn’t focus on anything without—without thinking about where you were or what you were doing or if you were—” she cuts herself off, exhaling sharply. “yeah. ridiculous.”

kate doesn’t laugh, she doesn’t make it smaller; she just watches her, steady and present, like she’s taking every word seriously, like this matters and there’s something in her eyes now—something warmer. steadier. something that makes veronica’s chest tighten for an entirely different reason.

“and did it work?” kate asks quietly, as veronica huffs out a soft breath, something almost like a smile breaking through despite everything, shaky and real. “no. not even a little. if anything it got worse.”

that earns her the smallest smile from kate which is soft, real and something dangerous in the way it settles into veronica’s chest like it belongs there.

“okay,” kate says quietly and it’s not dismissal, it's not confusion but it’s understanding in which somehow makes it worse and better all at once, because it means kate sees her, really sees her, and isn’t pulling away from it.

veronica swallows, her throat suddenly tight. “i don’t think i want distance. i think i just—” she falters, searching for something that feels honest enough, something that won’t send kate running in the other direction. “i need to figure out what this is. without running from it. without pretending it’s not whatever it is.”

there’s a long moment where neither of them moves and the air feels different closer then kate steps forward not all the way but just enough to close some of the space veronica created days ago, just enough that the distance between them feels intentional instead of forced.

“you could’ve just said that,” she murmurs, her voice softer now, edged with something almost fond.

veronica lets out a breath, something in her chest loosening for the first time in days, tension she didn’t realize she was holding finally slipping. “yeah,” she admits, quieter. “i know. i just… didn’t know how to.”

kate nods slightly, like that makes sense, like she’s not expecting perfection, just honesty their shoulders brush light intentional and this time, veronica doesn’t pull away.

she feels it fully—the warmth, the contact, the quiet steadiness of it—and instead of retreating, instead of overthinking it, she leans into it, just a fraction, barely noticeable to anyone else, but enough.

enough to feel the difference enough to feel something settle back into place kate doesn’t move away either she stays right there, close and steady, like she’s been waiting for veronica to meet her halfway and veronica realizes, in a quiet, undeniable way, that this was never about distance.

it was about fear about not understanding something that felt bigger than she was ready for about not knowing what it meant that kate had become this constant, this presence she couldn’t ignore or push aside.

but standing here now, shoulder to shoulder, the space between them finally honest again doesn't feel overwhelming but it feels right and that’s the part that scares her the most and the part she doesn’t run from anyway because for once she lets herself stay.

the hallway is still quiet, the noise from the locker room dulled behind the door, like the rest of the world has stepped back just enough to give this moment space to breathe. 

veronica becomes acutely aware of everything all at once—the steady rhythm of her own heartbeat, the faint hum of the overhead lights, the warmth of kate’s shoulder pressed lightly against hers like it belongs there, like it’s always belonged there.

she doesn’t move, not this time, not when every past version of her would’ve already taken a step back and turned this into something easier to manage, something less real.

for a second, she expects the panic to come, expects that familiar instinct to pull away, to create distance again before things get too real, too defined, too hard to undo but it doesn’t come. or maybe it does, just quieter, softer, something she can actually sit with instead of immediately reacting to. 

she lets out a slow breath she didn’t realize she was holding, and when she inhales again, it feels steadier, like her chest isn’t fighting itself anymore.

kate shifts slightly beside her, not away, just enough to turn her head, to look at veronica properly, her expression open and careful all at once, like she’s here but she’s not going to rush her, not going to take more than veronica is ready to give.

“so,” kate says, voice low, careful in a way that makes something in veronica’s chest ache again, “what does ‘not running from it’ look like for you?”

veronica huffs out a small breath, something almost like a laugh, though there’s no real humor in it. “i don’t know,” she admits, honest in a way that feels unfamiliar but necessary. “that’s kind of the problem.”

she glances over, meeting kate’s eyes for a second before looking away again, not because she has to, but because it’s still a lot, still something she’s learning how to hold without getting overwhelmed, without losing control of it entirely.

“i’m used to knowing what things are,” she continues, quieter now, her voice steady but thoughtful, like she’s working through it as she says it. “i’m used to having it figured out before it gets complicated.”

kate nods slightly, like she understands that, like it tracks with everything she knows about veronica. “and this isn’t that.” veronica shakes her head, a small, almost helpless motion. “not even close.”

there’s a beat of silence, but it’s not heavy, not uncomfortable. it feels like something that’s allowed to exist, like they don’t have to fill every second with words to keep it from slipping as kate nudges her shoulder lightly against veronica’s, softer this time, almost tentative, like she’s testing if it’s still okay.

“you don’t have to have it all figured out right now.”

veronica exhales slowly, something in that easing a pressure she didn’t realize she was putting on herself. “i know,” she says, though it sounds like she’s still trying to believe it. “i just… don’t like not knowing what i’m doing.”

“you’re doing fine,” kate says, simple and certain, like it’s not even a question veronica lets out a quiet laugh at that, shaking her head. “i told you to stay away from me for a week and then basically chased you down after a game.”

“yeah,” kate says, and there’s a hint of a smile in her voice now, something warmer, lighter, “but you came back.”

veronica stills at that, because that’s the part that matters, isn’t it, not the misstep, not the hesitation, not the fact that she tried to run in the first place—but the fact that she didn’t stay gone. she swallows, her throat suddenly tight. “i didn’t like how it felt,” she admits quietly. “without you.”

the words hang there, softer than everything else she’s said, more vulnerable in a way that makes her chest feel exposed. kate doesn’t joke about it, doesn’t brush past it, she just takes it in like it matters. “i didn’t like it either,” kate says after a second, just as quiet.

veronica glances over, a little surprised at how easily that comes from her. kate shrugs one shoulder, small, almost self-conscious. “i meant what i said. i can give you space if you need it. but that doesn’t mean i wanted it.”

something about that settles deep in veronica’s chest, something steady and grounding, like a hand pressed gently against something that’s been aching. she nods, slow, thoughtful. “yeah.”

another small silence follows, but this one feels different, less uncertain, more like something building, something taking shape in real time veronica shifts her weight slightly, turning just enough that she’s facing kate more fully now, even if their shoulders are still brushing, even if she hasn’t stepped away from that contact.

“can i ask you something?” she says, a little hesitant now kate nods immediately. “always.”

veronica hesitates for half a second longer, then pushes through it. “did you notice? before all this?” kate doesn’t look confused, doesn’t ask what she means, she just watches her, something knowing flickering in her expression.

“yeah,” kate says simply, veronica lets out a breath, half relieved, half mortified. “that obvious?”

“not to everyone,” kate says, her tone gentle, reassuring without being dismissive. “just… to me.” that makes sense, of course it does veronica presses her lips together for a second, processing that, letting it settle.

“and you didn’t say anything.” kate shakes her head slightly. “didn’t feel like my place to push you into something you weren’t ready to look at yet.”

veronica studies her for a second, something softening in her expression, something that looks a lot like appreciation, like gratitude. “that’s surprisingly considerate of you.”

kate huffs out a quiet laugh, nudging her shoulder again, a little more solid this time. “i can be considerate.”

“sometimes,” veronica adds, and there’s a hint of her usual rhythm back now, something lighter threading through the conversation.

“wow,” kate says dryly, but there’s a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth, and it fades into something softer after a second, something more real. “i didn’t want to mess it up,” she admits, her voice quieter now, more honest. “whatever this is.”

veronica feels that land somewhere deep, somewhere steady, something that feels like it’s been waiting for her to catch up to it. “me neither,” she says, just as quietly.

their eyes meet then, properly this time, and neither of them looks away, and it’s not overwhelming, it’s not too much, it’s just there, real and steady and undeniable veronica feels it settle in her chest, not as something chaotic or confusing, but as something clear in a way it hasn’t been before. she doesn’t have all the answers, she doesn’t know exactly what this becomes, but she knows she doesn’t want to step away from it anymore, and that feels like enough to finally do something with it.

“so we don’t run,” kate says after a second, like she’s putting it into words, like she’s making it something they both understand veronica nods, small but certain. “we don’t run.”

kate’s hand brushes against hers then, not quite a full touch, just a quiet, tentative contact, like a question being asked without words, and veronica feels it immediately, feels the instinct to overthink it, to pause and analyze and figure out what it means before she responds.

she doesn’t.

she turns her hand slightly, just enough that their fingers actually meet, just enough to close that last inch of space instead of leaving it open, and this time she doesn’t stop there. her fingers slide between kate’s, slow and deliberate, like she’s choosing it in real time, like she’s aware of every second of it, and kate’s hand tightens around hers in response, immediate and certain.

kate’s breath catches, barely there, but veronica notices, she notices everything when it comes to her as their hands fit as it’s a simple realization, but it lands deeper than it should, like something clicking into place without needing explanation. 

kate shifts closer, not hesitant anymore, her free hand coming up, pausing just for a second near veronica’s arm like she’s giving her time to pull away if she wants to, veronica doesn’t.

kate’s fingers curl gently around her sleeve, grounding, steady, and then she’s closer, close enough that veronica can feel the warmth of her fully now, not just a brush of shoulders but something intentional, something chosen.

“is this okay?” kate asks quietly, veronica looks at her, really looks at her, at the softness in her expression, the care, the way she’s still asking even now, even when it’s obvious.

“yeah,” she says, and it comes out steady, sure in a way that surprises even her. “it’s more than okay.”

something shifts in kate’s expression at that, something that looks like relief mixed with something brighter, something she’s not holding back anymore, and before veronica can overthink it, kate leans in.

it’s not rushed, not sudden, just a slow closing of space that gives veronica every chance to stop it if she wants to she doesn’t.

their lips meet soft at first, tentative in the way first moments always are, like they’re both figuring it out at the same time, like they’re both aware of how much this matters veronica feels it everywhere, the warmth, the closeness, the way kate’s hand tightens slightly around hers, grounding her in it.

it lasts only a second before kate pulls back just enough to look at her, like she’s checking, like she’s making sure veronica doesn’t give her the chance to second guess it.

she leans in this time, closing the space herself, and the second kiss is different, still soft but more certain, less questioning, like something that’s already been decided even if they didn’t have the words for it before.

when they finally pull apart, it’s not far, their foreheads almost touching, their hands still intertwined between them.

veronica exhales, a small, breathless sound, her chest feeling lighter than it has in days, like something that’s been tight and knotted has finally loosened.

“so,” kate murmurs, her voice quieter now, a hint of a smile there, “we’re not doing the distance thing anymore.”

veronica huffs out a soft laugh, shaking her head slightly. “no,” she says, and there’s no hesitation in it this time, no uncertainty. “definitely not.” kate’s thumb brushes lightly over her hand, absent, warm, like she’s already settled into it. “good.”

veronica looks at her for a second longer, something softer in her expression now, something that isn’t trying to hide or deflect or run. “i think,” she starts, then pauses, like she’s choosing the words carefully, even now, “i think i want this with you.”

kate doesn’t hesitate. “yeah,” she says, steady and sure. “i want that too.”

it’s simple, it’s that simple as the noise from the locker room swells again as the door opens somewhere down the hall, voices spilling out, laughter echoing faintly, the world slowly pushing its way back in, but this doesn’t disappear with it, this doesn’t fade or shrink or turn into something uncertain again.

this stays veronica glances down at their hands for a second, then back up at kate, something warm settling deep in her chest, something that feels a lot like certainty. “we should probably go back,” she says, though there’s no real urgency in it. kate nods, but she doesn’t let go. “probably.”

this time, when they move, they don’t separate whereas they walk back together, hands still intertwined, shoulders brushing, steps naturally falling into sync like they’ve done this a hundred times before even though they haven’t.

when they push the door open and step back into the noise and the light and the chaos of their team, nothing about it feels fragile anymore.

but kate didn't; she kept her hands tucked at her sides, feigning casual stretching, her eyes avoiding veronica’s sharp glare the crowd roared behind them, but in that moment, the noise seemed hollow, and all veronica could feel was the sting in her ankle and the heat of betrayal crawling over her.

the ride home was silent at first. veronica sat rigid, gripping the seatbelt like it could anchor her calm, her jaw tight enough to draw blood from the inside as kate kept her hands on the wheel, eyes forward, humming a song veronica didn’t recognize, it was deliberate, maddening, and veronica could feel every second stretching like rubber.

“you could’ve helped me up.” veronica finally spat, her voice low and sharp, the kind that cuts without warning kate swallowed, the corner of her mouth twitching, a mixture of guilt and mischief. “i didn’t think you needed me,” she said, but veronica could hear the lie clinging to every syllable.

“didn’t think i needed you?” veronica echoed, voice rising, eyes flashing. “kate, i’m on the floor bleeding, and you’re just—just.” she gestured wildly, the car shaking with the force of her anger.

kate reached over, brushing a hand against veronica’s knee, a soft, teasing touch meant to calm, but it only fanned the flames. “okay, okay,” she said, voice low, almost a growl. “i overdid it. i didn’t mean.”

“didn’t mean what?” veronica cut in, leaning closer, her words harsh but laced with something deeper. “to show me up? to make me hate you? because congratulations, kate, it worked.”

kate’s hands were on her thighs before she could think, warm and insistent, sliding slowly as if to ground veronica, to remind her who they were beyond the jerseys and the fouls the anger in veronica’s chest didn’t vanish, but it warped into something else—something heavier, more combustible.

“veronica,” kate murmured, leaning closer, her lips brushing the side of veronica’s neck, soft enough to make her shiver but daring enough to make her heart leap. “look at me. not the court, not the fight—look at me.”

veronica’s breath hitched the car and yet the car smelled like kate: a mix of sweat and her signature cologne, sharp and warm, a smell that had lulled her to calm countless nights before. she wanted to pull away, to maintain her pride, but her fingers were already tangled in kate’s hair, tugging gently, needing the closeness she had spent the last thirty minutes denying herself.

“i hate you,” she whispered, but the words weren’t angry anymore they were needy, trembling, the confession of someone who’d fallen too hard to stay mad for long.

“i know,” kate said against her temple, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below her ear. “and you should, because i’m a mess. and i know i shouldn’t have.”

“kate...” veronica cut in, voice trembling as the car slowed at a red light, her body pressing closer, thighs brushing, hands exploring the planes of kate’s back. “i don’t care about that. i care about you. just…just like this. right now. like we always forget everything else exists.”

kate’s laugh was low, rumbling against her lips as she pressed forward, kissing veronica with a hunger that was part apology, part promise, all-consuming veronica melted, letting the tension of the game, the foul, the ride, all of it roll off her in shivers and small, gasping moans that only kate could coax from her.

their hands roamed carefully, teasing, testing boundaries, the kind of intimacy that spoke of nights spent tangled in sheets and whispered apologies as kate’s fingers traced the curve of veronica’s hip beneath the tight fabric of her shorts, and veronica leaned into her, letting the anger and adrenaline of the court transform into something hotter, something that burned in the quiet of the car as the world rushed past outside.

“you’re impossible.” veronica murmured between kisses, grinding lightly against kate, her words a mix of accusation and invitation. “impossible for you to resist,” kate countered, pressing her forehead to veronica’s, their breaths mingling. “and tonight, i plan on making it impossible for you to even think about being mad.”

for the first time since the foul, veronica believed her the red light turned green, and kate’s hands tightened just slightly, guiding both the car and veronica through the streets, safe, reckless, and full of unspoken promises. they were both bruised, in different ways, but here—here in the close heat of each other—they were untouchable.

when they finally pulled into kate’s driveway, the silence returned, but it was softer now, heavy with the kind of satisfaction that only came from fights survived, fouls forgiven, and touches that spoke louder than words ever could.

veronica let herself fall against kate, hips brushing, lips barely brushing against the shell of kate’s shoulder as kate’s hands settled possessively, carefully, in a way that said: i’ll make this right. i’ll make everything right and in that moment, bruises and pride were forgotten, they did what they always did—forgot the world, forgot the court, and remembered only each other.

the car clicked into park, but neither of them moved kate’s hand lingered on veronica’s thigh, the warmth seeping through the fabric, the touch deliberate, slow while veronica’s breath hitched, caught somewhere between frustration, adrenaline, and want, and she tilted her head, pressing her lips lightly against kate’s shoulder, testing, teasing kate’s lips curved into a small, satisfied smile, low and rumbling, like a warning.

“get out.” veronica murmured, but it was more challenge than command. kate chuckled, slow and deep, and leaned down, letting her hands drift to veronica’s hips, fingers tracing, pulling, grounding them both. “you’re not serious,” she teased, lips brushing against the shell of veronica’s ear, warm and insistent. “i think you want me to stay.”

veronica growled softly, rolling her eyes, pretending to push kate back, but her body betrayed her, tilting closer, pressing into the curve of kate’s chest, thighs brushing, heart racing kate laughed against her neck, the sound vibrating into veronica’s skin, the intimacy sharp, potent.

it made the anger of the court, the sting of the foul, feel like a distant echo, replaced by this heat, this need was finally, veronica swung open the car door and they tumbled toward kate’s apartment, fingers tangled, lips brushing, hips grazing with every stumble.

 the hallway was dark and quiet, echoing only their soft laughs and the sound of breathing too fast as kate’s key barely touched the lock before she spun veronica against the door, hands sliding along her sides, pressing her into the warmth of her body.

“you’re relentless.” veronica whispered, voice low, quivering, as kate’s fingers danced just beneath the hem of her shorts, teasing. kate’s lips found hers, slow, deliberate, coaxing sighs and soft moans from deep in her chest every kiss, every touch, was apology and promise wrapped together, and veronica leaned into it, letting go of all the pride that had clung to her since the foul.

“you know i can’t help myself,” kate murmured, lips trailing along veronica’s jaw, teeth grazing lightly, sending shivers down her spine. “and tonight, i plan on making up for every second i ignored you on that court.”

veronica gasped, tugging kate closer, hands sliding under her shirt, tracing every plane of kate’s back, memorizing the warmth, the strength, the way her muscles flexed beneath her touch kate responded in kind, lips and hands exploring, teasing, holding, never fully giving in, making veronica ache for more, wanting more without asking outright.

“kate,” veronica breathed, voice trembling, body trembling, “please.” and kate’s laugh was low, a growl of satisfaction, as she pressed against her, brushing just enough to make veronica’s heart hammer and her skin burn.

they fell onto kate’s bed together, limbs entwined, breaths ragged, kisses deep and consuming, touches lingering in all the right places while kate’s hands traveled with purpose, teasing, grazing, never fully surrendering, drawing soft whimpers from veronica that were half frustration, half desire, and entirely intoxicating. 

veronica arched into her, pulling kate closer, needing that heat, that closeness, that sense of being seen, desired, forgiven and when kate finally rested her forehead against veronica’s, breathing heavy, hands still lingering, she whispered, “i’m sorry,” the words soft, sincere, carrying the weight of everything—every foul, every fight, every moment of distance. 

veronica only smiled, heart racing, and kissed her again, because some apologies didn’t need words, and some love couldn’t be contained to the court or the ride home. it existed here, now, tangled in sheets, lingering touches, and the quiet, explosive rhythm of two hearts refusing to let go.

the night stretched on, quiet and intimate, filled with teasing, whispered names, soft moans, and the kind of closeness that healed more than words ever could kate’s hands traced promises across veronica’s skin, gentle yet insistent, and veronica surrendered, letting the world outside fade, letting anger turn into need, and letting love—flawed, messy, and beautiful—consume them both.

the apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the city outside, lights spilling faint gold across the floorboards. veronica sank into the bed, still catching her breath, pulse fluttering like a bird trapped in her chest. kate hovered just above her, hands warm, tentative at first, brushing along veronica’s arms, tracing the path of the tiny bruises from the court—proof of the collision, proof of kate’s recklessness, proof of their closeness.

veronica’s eyes tracked kate’s movements, heart hammering, chest tightening, because even now, even after the foul, even after the ride home, she couldn’t stay mad not when kate’s lips found the curve of her shoulder, soft and teasing, or when her fingers ghosted along the sensitive skin of her hip.

“you think you can just—” veronica’s words caught in a breath, a soft gasp as kate’s thumb traced over the soft spot beneath her collarbone, “—make everything okay?”

kate chuckled, a low sound that vibrated straight into veronica’s ribs. “no,” she whispered, lips brushing veronica’s ear, teeth grazing the shell, “i think i can make you forget why you were mad at all.”

veronica shivered, caught between wanting to push kate away and needing to pull her closer, body humming with heat and memory as she could feel every touch, every brush of kate’s fingers, the subtle press of her lips, the deliberate tease of a hand lingering where it shouldn’t but somehow always exactly where it needed to be.

“kate,” veronica breathed, thighs brushing, hands twisting in kate’s hair, “don’t stop.”

kate’s smile was soft, knowing, and she leaned closer, letting veronica feel the full weight of her presence, warm, grounding, impossible to resist. “i won’t.” she murmured, lips trailing down veronica’s neck, soft nibbles here, a teasing brush of teeth there, coaxing whimpers from deep inside. “not until you forgive me properly.”

veronica tilted her head, letting herself melt into kate, mind spinning with the friction of guilt, desire, love, and heat she could feel the slow, deliberate movement of kate’s body against hers, teasing, pressing, but never overwhelming, letting the tension build until it curled through her chest, through her stomach, down to the tips of her fingers and toes.

the teasing became a dance—fingers tracing, lips brushing, soft groans tangled with laughter and whispered names kate’s hands were everywhere and nowhere, mapping out the lines of veronica’s body with light pressure, subtle, intimate, making her feel seen, desired, and loved all at once.

veronica’s thoughts spun: she hated kate, she wanted kate, she needed kate. all at the same time. every brush of lips, every subtle press of fingers against her skin, was a promise and a challenge. a reminder of the court, of the foul, of the heat that had never really cooled between them.

“i’m not letting you think about that stupid game ever again,” kate murmured, lips close enough that veronica could feel the warm breath, teasing, dangerous. “you’re mine just for tonight.”

veronica’s pulse jumped, heat pooling low, and she laughed softly, a sound full of surrender. “good. because i’ve been waiting for this all day, all week for you.”

kate’s answer was a soft kiss against her lips, long, slow, the kind that pressed into every nerve, every thought, leaving veronica dizzy and aching for more, every touch a reminder that the anger, the pain, the bruises—they had led them here, to this, to each other.

they stayed like that for hours, tangled in sheets, in each other, exploring the subtle pleasures of being close, of teasing and being teased, of touch that burned with the edges of desire but never crossed the line. kate whispered apologies against her shoulder, and veronica murmured forgiveness back, a promise that words could never capture fully, only the way their bodies pressed together could.

as the night deepened, quiet and intimate, the city outside fading into shadows, veronica let herself fall completely into kate—the warmth, the weight, the teasing touches that spoke louder than words ever could. kate’s hands traced her skin with reverence and mischief, lips lingering on sensitive spots, and veronica, finally, let go let go of anger, let go of pride, let go of everything except this: kate, here, now, and the quiet, smoldering fire of love that refused to be tamed.

in the stillness, after all the teasing and touches, after the laughter and whispers, after every brush of lips and fingertips, veronica realized something: the foul, the fight, the drive, the car, none of it mattered. not really. what mattered was this—this closeness, this surrender, this messy, beautiful, undeniable pull between them that neither game, nor anger, nor pride could ever break.

kate, lying against her, breathing steady, fingers lightly brushing over her ribs, whispered softly, “i’ll make every one of those mistakes up to you. i promise.” veronica smiled, heart full, pulse slow, and whispered back, “i know.” and for the first time all day, all week, she truly believed it.

the first light of morning filtered softly through the blinds, painting stripes of gold across kate and veronica tangled in the sheets while the apartment was quiet, except for the soft rhythm of kate’s breathing and the faint hum of the city waking outside. 

veronica’s fingers traced lazy patterns across kate’s shoulder, memorizing the warmth, the curves, the way kate fit against her like she was always meant to kate stirred, a low groan slipping from her lips as her hand slid over veronica’s waist, pulling her closer without words. veronica let herself sink into it, chest pressing against kate’s, the heat between them lingering from the night before. 

it wasn’t desperate, it wasn’t frantic—it was slow, deliberate, like they were savoring every second of being together, every stolen touch, every brush of lips that had left them both shivering hours ago.

“morning.” kate murmured, voice rough and soft at the same time, lips brushing veronica’s temple. her fingers traced down the small of veronica’s back, teasing just enough to make her sigh, half content, half wanting more.

“morning.” veronica whispered back, eyes still heavy, but full of warmth, full of love, full of everything she had been holding onto since the court she could feel the soft pull of kate’s body beneath hers, the subtle heat of lingering touches, the memory of every teasing brush of lips, every whispered apology and promise from last night.

kate’s hand drifted lower, playful, careful, just brushing the curve of veronica’s hip, and veronica shivered, pressing closer, laughter slipping between them. “you’re relentless.” she murmured, voice low, teasing, echoing the same words she had said the night before, but this time softer, gentler, full of affection.

“i know,” kate replied, lips grazing veronica’s jaw, teeth teasing lightly. “and yet you love it.”

veronica tilted her head back, letting kate’s lips brush against her neck, heart fluttering. she laughed softly, a sound half content, half mischievous, “maybe i do.” and the words weren’t just playful—they were full of trust, of surrender, of the quiet intimacy of two people who had fought and teased, argued and forgiven, and found something deeper in the aftermath.

they stayed like that for a long while, tangled together, fingers brushing, lips grazing, whispered names and soft laughs filling the sunlit room every touch was a conversation, every caress a reminder that they were still here, still choosing each other despite the fights, the fouls, the moments of frustration and pride.

at some point, kate rolled over, pressing her forehead against veronica’s, eyes soft and earnest. “i’ll never let a game or a fight get between us,” she whispered, hands still lingering, tracing lines over veronica’s ribs, the small of her back, hips. “we’ll figure it out, always.”

veronica smiled, heart full, fingers tangling in kate’s hair. “i know,” she murmured back. “and i trust you.” in the quiet of the morning, with sunlight stretching across their bodies and the city beginning to stir outside, they held onto each other, skin against skin, hearts pressed close. the teasing touches, the small brushes of lips, the quiet laughter—they were still there, lingering from the night, a smoldering reminder that love could be messy, messy and hot and tender all at once, and somehow, perfectly theirs.