pazzi devotee

“You’re too much, Fudd,” Paige replies, keeping her tone warm even as it comes out a little quieter than usual.

The nickname had stuck sometime after Paige started spending more time around the team, gathering input for the stadium project. It was Azzi’s idea, insisting every player get a voice instead of just her. 

That insistence led to Paige being invited to a few practices, then lingering for post-practice lunches, then somehow ending up in late-afternoon coffee shops where conversations stretched far longer than either of them intended. Paige doesn’t remember the exact moment it shifted. She’s not entirely sure when talking to Azzi stopped feeling like something she scheduled and started feeling automatic, but she knows she could sit across from her and talk for hours. Sometimes, she does.

“Oh, stop. You love it,” Azzi shoots back.

Paige hums in agreement, but she doesn’t fully play along. There’s some hesitation she doesn’t quite mask, and she hopes Azzi doesn’t hear it through the line. Unfortunately, Azzi has always been terrifyingly perceptive.

“What’s up?” Azzi asks, her tone changing to be more probing. “Why did you call?”

The question catches Paige off guard. Usually, they don’t need a reason. Most times they call just to exist in the same moment, to share something inconsequential, to fill the quiet stretches of their day, or when they just need a friend. This time, Azzi is asking for intention.

Why did I call?

Paige exhales and rubs her temple with her free hand. 

“I don’t know,” she admits, but the soft clearing of Azzi’s throat on the other end tells her that answer isn’t going to cut it. Paige sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose before finally letting the truth surface. “Work. Emma. The baby coming. It’s just… a lot.”

She hadn’t meant for it to sound so heavy, but it is. Everything feels heavier lately. The constant balancing act of deadlines and design meetings layered on top of preparing for a baby. The pressure to reassure Emma that she’s got everything under control, when in reality, she’s not entirely sure she does.

Azzi doesn’t interrupt. Paige can picture her on the other end listening and waiting. When she finally speaks, her voice is coaxing, softened with something almost playful. “Do you want to go grab a drink? It’s Happy Hour.”

Despite herself, Paige smiles.

She knows that tone. It’s the same one Azzi uses when she insists on picking the lunch spot, the same one her teammates joke about falling for over and over again. Paige has definitely fallen for it more times than she’d care to admit.

She pushes back from her glass desk, rolling her chair a few inches before standing. Walking toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that span the length of her office, she looks out over the city from twenty stories up. From here, everything looks deceptively calm. There’s cars inching through rush-hour traffic, people reduced to tiny figures moving with purpose below. For a fleeting moment, she considers staying up here, suspended above the mess of it all, delaying the life waiting for her down below.

She shakes the thought away. That’s not how life works.

“Sure, why not,” she says, turning back toward her desk to gather her things. “How about that new place on 8th Street? Landmark Inn, isn’t it?”

She doesn’t really need to wait for Azzi’s response. She already knows the answer.

The Landmark Inn has been on Azzi’s radar for weeks. She’s already mentioned wanting to go there three times. It’s one of the city’s latest reclaimed spaces, an old industrial building renovated into an upscale lounge. Exposed brick, metal beams, repurposed wood tables, with floor-to-ceiling windows framing the skyline. It’s part of that stretch of the city where forgotten buildings are reborn as trendy destinations, catering to a white-collar crowd happy to spend twenty dollars on a decent cocktail without blinking.

Paige slides a few files into her leather satchel, telling herself she’ll review them later even though she has zero intention of doing so. She pushes her black Ray-Bans onto her face and grabs her keys. There’s work piling up behind her, waiting, but right now she can’t bring herself to focus on any of it.

Azzi’s excitement crackles through the line exactly as expected. “That sounds perfect! I just got home, so I’ll get changed and meet you there in twenty. See you soon!”

The call ends before Paige can point out that it will absolutely take her longer than twenty minutes to get there. Not that it matters. Azzi is famously terrible with time management. If Paige had to guess, the brunette hasn’t even decided what to wear yet, and won’t even leave her apartment in twenty minutes.

Azzi’s indecision is something her teammates tease her about constantly, her inability to decide on a restaurant, her tendency to change outfits three times before settling on the first one she picked. Paige doesn’t mind. It’ll give her time to get there early, maybe order a drink or two before Azzi arrives.

Still, as she moves with purpose, packing up her laptop, slinging her bag over her shoulder, she can’t shake the feeling that she’s postponing something.

She feels drawn to Azzi in a way that’s difficult to explain. Like she could trust her with anything. In some ways, she already has. There are things she’s told Azzi that she’s never said out loud to anyone else, aside from Emma.

But there’s one subject she hasn’t touched.

She’s tried. More than once. The words have hovered on her tongue, ready, and every time she’s swallowed them back down, afraid of what they might change. Afraid of disappointing Azzi. Afraid of being less in her eyes.

It’s irrational. She knows that. And yet, the thought of telling Azzi the truth feels heavier than anything else she’s carrying.

She can’t keep it in much longer. It’s been sitting there for weeks now, festering, pressing against her ribcage like a wound that refuses to heal.

She needs to say it.

Tonight.

Tonight, she’ll tell Azzi, whether she’s ready or not.

***** *** *****

When Azzi finally arrives forty-five minutes later, Paige spots her immediately. 

As usual, the brunette is effortlessly stylish in black jeans, and a fitted pink jacket over a cropped white shirt, her hair swept into a messy bun.

Paige exhales, finishing the last sip of her drink before setting the empty glass down on the bar. The space around her hums with energy, music threading through overlapping conversations, laughter spilling from clusters of young professionals unwinding after work, the steady clink of ice against glass. 

Azzi weaves through the packed bar with ease, her presence commanding attention without her trying. When she reaches Paige, she grins, but Paige doesn’t miss the way those sharp brown eyes scan her face, assessing, cataloging. She knows the brunette has already clocked the slight drag in her words from earlier, the exhaustion settling deep into her bones.

“Started without me, huh?” Azzi asks, her voice warm as she pulls Paige into a quick hug.

Paige holds on a second longer than usual before letting go. “I needed it,” she admits quietly, offering a small smile. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Azzi slides onto the stool Paige fought to keep open, spending twenty minutes dodging bar-hoppers looking for a seat and smarmy men looking for an opening. She gestures toward the empty martini glass, a faint ring of condensation still marking the bar. “What are you drinking?”

Paige glances at it and waves a dismissive hand, unable to remember the trendy name scribbled on the elaborate menu. “Something with purple in the name.”

Azzi snorts. “Helpful.”

Paige pats the granite countertop, half-looking for the leather-bound drink menu that’s long since disappeared, but her attention keeps drifting back to Azzi. The brunette’s presence alters something in her.

But Azzi is studying her now. Paige can feel the weight of her gaze, focused and unflinching. There’s something different about the way Azzi is watching her tonight, and Paige feels stripped bare beneath it.

Before she can look away, Azzi reaches out and lightly taps her hand. Paige stills. Her blue eyes feel a little glassy, but there’s no denying it now. Azzi sees right through her.

“Forget about the drinks for right now,” Azzi says, quiet but firm. “What’s going on?”

The way she says it makes Paige’s throat tighten. There’s no dodging this, no easy deflection that will work. The words are already pressing against her ribs anyway, demanding release.

“I can’t do this.”

She almost hopes Azzi won’t hear her, but the brunette’s eyes widen, her expression shifting instantly from playful to serious. Paige nearly regrets opening her mouth at all, but at the same time, she knows she can’t keep swallowing it down.

“Can’t do what, Paige?” Azzi asks, concern threading through her voice.

Paige exhales sharply, dragging a hand down her face before throwing her arms out in frustration. Now that she’s said it once, everything feels heavier. 

“This,” she says, gesturing vaguely, as if the word alone could encompass it all. “Work. Emma. The baby. I’m freaking out, Az. I don’t think I can do it. I don’t think I can live up to all these expectations.”

Azzi watches her for a beat, then wordlessly flags down the bartender. After a brief exchange, Azzi nods, and then the bartender nods before moving off.

Paige doesn’t ask what she ordered. She doesn’t care.

Before Paige can overthink it, Azzi grabs her hand and tugs her off the stool, guiding her through the dense crowd. The bar pulses around them, and Azzi doesn’t stop until they reach a newly vacated booth tucked into the back. 

Paige slides in, inhaling deeply, hoping the extra distance from the crowd makes this easier. A moment passes before the bartender returns, setting two glasses of ice water on the table. Azzi nudges one toward her, her gaze unwavering.

“So,” Azzi says, calm and entirely too composed for Paige’s liking, “where do you want to start?”

Paige wraps her fingers around the glass but doesn’t drink. The condensation is cold against her skin, but at least it’s something solid to hold onto. Before she can answer, someone stumbles into the table, jostling her shoulder. She barely reacts, just shoots a glare before refocusing on the water. She exhales sharply and rubs a hand over her face.

Azzi frowns. “Where is all this coming from, Paige?”

“I don’t know, Az. Work has been overwhelming,” she admits, her voice tight. Saying it aloud only makes it feel more real. “They gave me a raise, which is great, but it came with a ridiculous workload. I’m working later hours, which means less time at home, and Emma… Emma is really struggling with this pregnancy. She’s sick all the time, exhausted, and I just want to be there for her, but I feel like I can’t stretch myself far enough. You know?”

Azzi nods, even though Paige knows she doesn’t fully understand. How could she? Their lives carry different kinds of weight, different struggles and expectations.

“Have you talked to work about cutting back a bit?” Azzi asks. “I know you just got promoted, but wouldn’t they understand?”

“I can’t.” Paige shakes her head immediately, her stomach twisting. “It’s a new position under a new boss, and with Emma not working, my paycheck is the only income we have right now. I’m… I’m going to have a baby in four months, Az. A whole ass baby.”

Her voice cracks. She tightens her grip on the glass 

“A baby,” she repeats, softer now. “And that baby is going to need me for the rest of their life. What if I can’t do it all? What if I’m not a good mom? A good wife? What if I let both of them down?”

The words sit between them, thick and suffocating. Paige keeps her eyes on the table, afraid of what she might see in Azzi’s face if she looks up.

“Get it together, Paige,” Azzi's voice cuts through the tension between them. 

Paige looks up, startled. “What?”

Azzi rolls her eyes and leans forward. “Look, I’m not… particularly good at this emotional stuff,” she says, waving her hand vaguely in the air. “But I’m going to tell you this once, and once only, so listen carefully.”

Paige nods, heart thumping with anticipation, honestly not sure about where this conversation is heading. 

“You,” Azzi continues, her voice low, “are one of the best human beings I’ve ever met. You’re kind, hardworking, and loyal.”

Paige blinks, her chest cinching as the words make their way in.

“The love you share with Emma is amazing, and I know you would do anything for that woman. She knows it too. You’re not letting her down, and you never will. She thinks you hung the damn moon, Paige.”

Something shifts inside her, nothing fully fixed, but no longer splintering either.

Azzi shifts, suddenly unsure. “Do you get it now?”

Paige nods sheepishly, lowering her gaze to the sticky table as she takes a slow sip of water. She feels suddenly sober, exposed.

Azzi shifts again, clearly second-guessing herself, and Paige senses that she’s wondering if she went too far, if she should’ve softened the edges.

“Sorry if that didn’t come out right,” Azzi adds quickly. “I don’t want you to think that what you’re feeling isn’t valid. I just… don’t want you to sell yourself short.” 

Paige looks up then and catches the way Azzi bites at the inside of her cheek, the faint crease between her brows, the apologetic uncertainty clouding features that are usually so sure of themselves. 

Azzi is waiting. Paige can tell. Probably bracing for her to wave it off, crack a joke, minimize the whole thing like she usually does when emotions get too close to the surface.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, Paige shakes her head slowly. “No,” she says, firm and clear as she meets Azzi’s gaze. “That was exactly what I needed to hear. Thank you.”

Azzi exhales, the tension easing out of her shoulders in real time, like she’s been holding her breath and only just realized it. Paige watches her settle back against the booth, a small, satisfied smile tugging at her lips. Around them, the bar keeps moving, but for the first time tonight, Paige feels oddly still. 

Maybe she really did need to hear it. Maybe Azzi is right. Paige isn’t sure she fully believes any of it yet, but the weight pressing against her chest loosens just enough to let her breathe. Not relief exactly, but maybe something close.

Azzi flags down a waiter. Paige watches him approach, slicking back already over-gelled hair and flashing a practiced grin. He’s the kind of guy who thrives in places like this—clean-cut, confident, dressed in a black button-up that fits just a little too well. His hazel eyes flick to Azzi first, hopeful, then to Paige, who meets his look with mild impatience.

“What can I get you ladies?” he asks, already sounding impressed with himself.

Paige glances at Azzi, who’s squinting at the menu like it’s written in another language. The dark leather-bound booklet is cluttered with pretentious drink names like Violet Hour and Lavender Reverie, and Paige snatches it from her hands with a soft huff. She rolls her eyes, snaps it shut, and slides it toward the bartender.

“We’ll have two of those purple drinks,” she says.

Azzi quirks an eyebrow but doesn’t argue. The waiter nods, looking faintly deflated that the women aren’t entertaining him, and retreats to fetch their order. The silence that follows barley lasts.

Paige leans forward, resting her chin in her hand as she watches Azzi with faint amusement. “It’s delicious,” she offers. “I promise.”

Azzi eyes her suspiciously, fingers tapping against the sticky tabletop. “And you would know after having…”

“Two,” Paige replies, holding up two fingers. “I needed proper lubrication for that conversation.”

Azzi lets out a short laugh, shaking her head. The sound is warm and genuine, cutting through the ambient noise of the bar. For a moment, it feels like the world around them fades, like they’re tucked into their own small pocket of quiet.

“And why do you think you can’t confess your secrets to me soberly?” Azzi asks.

The question lingers. Paige’s gaze drifts to Azzi’s hands, noting the way her fingers trace the rim of her glass without really realizing it. There’s something heavier beneath the words that doesn’t quite match the teasing tone. Azzi tilts her head, waiting, her sharp features softened by the glow of the yellow Edison bulbs overhead.

Paige studies her for a moment, taking in the loose curl brushing Azzi’s cheek, the faint crease of concentration between her brows. “Are you always this blunt?” she asks finally.

Azzi shrugs, tucking the stray hair behind her ear. “I guess I just never understood why people hold back what they really feel,” she says, more thoughtful now. “Enough of my time has been wasted by people who can’t be honest. I don’t need those kinds of people in my life.”

The words slice through the haze of noise around them. Paige catches the subtle shift, the way Azzi’s jaw tightens, the faint whitening of her fingers around the glass. It’s barely noticeable, but it’s there.

For someone who prides herself on honesty, Azzi is holding something back.

Paige sees it clearly, recognizing the contradiction for what it is. For a fleeting moment, she considers pressing, asking the question hovering on the tip of her tongue. She doesn’t, though. Not yet. As close as they’ve grown, this is a door Azzi doesn’t seem ready to open and Paige isn’t in the mood to try and kick it down.

Paige leans back against the booth, letting the moment pass as she tucks her hands behind her head. “True,” she says lightly.

Azzi’s shoulders relax, and she offers a faint smile, seemingly relieved the subject isn’t being pushed.

“So,” Paige says, shifting gears, tilting her head. “Got any plans this weekend?”

Azzi nods, taking a sip before setting her glass down. “I’ve got a game Saturday, and then I’m going out with my teammates. Some friends are coming into town, too. You and Emma should come! I could get you guys free tickets.”

Paige smiles, imagining Azzi on the field, focused, and relentless with that same sharp intensity she carries everywhere. 

“Let me talk to Emma, and I’ll let you know, okay?”

“Of course,” Azzi grins. Then, with a teasing glint, adds, “Speaking of Emma, we should get you home for dinner.”

A loud crash interrupts them. Paige looks past Azzi just in time to see a tray shatter, glass and silverware scattering across the floor. The server scrambles, red-faced, and the moment breaks whatever tension remained.

By the time Paige turns back, Azzi is already standing, tipping back the last of her drink before setting the glass down decisively. She heads over to help, and Paige considers following before deciding she probably shouldn’t attempt walking right now.

A minute later, Azzi returns, once again reminding her about dinner.

“Emma hasn’t been making dinner,” Paige mutters. “All the smells make her sick. I’ve had to cook, which I think might make her even sicker.”

Azzi slides a fifty onto the table with a laugh. “Well, remind me not to come over until after she has the baby.” Then, more pointedly, “Now let’s get you home. You’re not driving.”

Paige rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue as Azzi pulls her up. Outside, the crisp early evening air hits her lungs, refreshing after the heavy warmth of the bar. Her breath fogs faintly as she exhales.

Azzi fumbles through her purse for keys, muttering under her breath. Paige watches her with quiet amusement. When Azzi finally turns back, she places a steadying hand on Paige’s back, guiding her toward the car. Paige doesn’t protest. She probably needs the extra support after three cocktails consumed in rapid succession.

The drive is quiet but comfortable. City lights streak past the windows as Paige rests her head back, thoughts calmer now, the storm inside her finally easing.

When they pull up to the house, Paige pauses with her hand on the door when Azzi leaves the car running. “Aren’t you coming in to say hi?”

Azzi shakes her head gently. “You two need some alone time. Talk to her. Be honest. She loves you.”

Paige holds her gaze, believing her, at least for this moment.

“Go,” Azzi urges, tapping her thigh.

Paige steps out, then turns back. “You’re a great friend, Az,” she says quietly. “Thank you for tonight.”

Azzi’s cheeks turn pink, her confidence giving way to something softer. “I’ll always be here for you, Paige,” she says. “For both of you.”