#ucon wbb

you had always thought paige bueckers was gorgeous—undeniably, effortlessly so. from the way she carried herself on the court with that smooth confidence to the way she joked around with her teammates, never failing to bring a smile to your face. she had a charm that was impossible to ignore, and you had fallen for her long before you even admitted it to yourself.

but nothing—absolutely nothing—could have prepared you for the sight of her in glasses.

it happened on a quiet evening at her apartment. paige had just finished a long day of practice, and you had come over to spend the night, something that had become a comfortable routine for the two of you. she had been complaining about her contacts bothering her all day, rubbing her eyes and muttering about needing to give them a break. you hadn’t thought much of it—until now.

you were curled up on the couch, scrolling through your phone while waiting for her to finish getting ready for your usual movie night. you barely looked up when you heard her footsteps padding back into the living room—until you did.

and that’s when your entire brain short-circuited.

paige stood there, fresh-faced and slightly sleepy-looking, wearing an oversized hoodie that practically swallowed her frame and a pair of loose sweatpants. but what caught your attention—what had your heart stuttering in your chest—was the pair of black-rimmed glasses perched on her nose.

you blinked. once. twice. maybe three times.

she raised a brow at you, adjusting them slightly. “what?”

you didn’t answer right away. couldn’t, really, because your mind was still trying to process just how unfairly attractive she looked. paige was already stunning, but the glasses? they added a whole new level to it.

“i—” you started, but no coherent thought came out.

a smirk tugged at her lips as she walked closer, standing in front of you with her arms crossed. “are you seriously speechless right now?”

you swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. “you didn’t tell me you wore glasses.”

paige shrugged, completely unbothered. “didn’t think it was a big deal. i usually wear contacts, but my eyes were bothering me.” she paused, tilting her head slightly as if studying your reaction. “why? do I look bad or something?”

you scoffed, finally regaining some control over your words. “paige. are you kidding me? you look—” you hesitated, knowing that if you admitted just how good she looked, she’d never let you live it down.

but paige was already onto you, her smirk widening. “i look…?” she prompted, leaning down until her face was inches from yours.

you sucked in a breath, her proximity making it even harder to focus. her scent—clean, fresh, with a hint of whatever body wash she’d just used—was messing with your ability to think straight.

“you look hot, okay?” you finally blurted, your face heating up the second the words left your mouth.

paige laughed, the sound low and teasing as she nudged her nose against yours playfully. “yeah?”

you huffed, trying to look annoyed, but the way she was looking at you—her blue eyes shining behind the lenses, a teasing but affectionate glint in them—made it impossible to stay mad.

“you’re enjoying this way too much,” you mumbled.

“maybe,” she admitted, before reaching up to adjust her glasses again. “but I like that you think I look hot.”

you rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “of course, you do.”

paige chuckled, then suddenly climbed onto the couch, straddling your lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. your hands instinctively found her waist, steadying her as she settled in, her fingers playing with the hem of your hoodie.

“since you like them so much…” she murmured, her lips ghosting over yours, “maybe I should wear them more often.”

your breath hitched, her teasing doing exactly what she intended. “i wouldn’t complain,” you admitted, voice softer now.

paige smiled, then finally closed the distance, kissing you deeply—slow and warm, like she had all the time in the world. her fingers traced along your jaw before moving up to tangle in your hair, her body pressing closer until there was no space left between you.

when she finally pulled back, you were both slightly breathless, her forehead resting against yours. “so,” she murmured, “movie night, or should I just keep distracting you?”

you let out a breathy laugh, squeezing her waist. “you know damn well i’m not paying attention to the movie now.”

paige grinned, “good answer.”

and with that, she kissed you again, her glasses slightly askew—but neither of you cared.

The first thing she noticed was your shoes. 

Still by the door. Still angled slightly toward the wall like you’d kicked them off in a rush.  

One heel hanging over the other. Gold-tipped, leather, stupidly expensive. The kind you once swore you’d never be able to afford—until she slid her card across the glass counter and told you not to argue. 

Her throat burned. She hadn’t even stepped past the threshold. 

She’d taken the redeye back from Phoenix. Told the driver to skip the arena and head straight home. She had neither showered nor eaten. 

Her duffel bag was still pressed into her side, the strap digging into her collarbone. She thought she’d come back to an empty apartment.  

Or at least an emptier one.  

But then again, you never left anything unless you wanted it to be found. 

The lights were off. You always left the hall lamp on when you were alone. It wasn’t habit. It was fear. She used to tease you for it, call you her spoiled city girl.  

You said it made you feel safe. She stopped teasing after that. Bought smart bulbs so you could control them from your phone. 

Now, the lamp was off. But you were here. She could feel it. 

Paige slipped off her shoes and let her keys fall to the table with a clatter louder than necessary. The silence that followed pressed in, dense and deliberate. She kept quiet, unsure what she would say if you answered. 

The kitchen was still spotless. Too spotless.  

The mug you always used sat by the sink, clean but misplaced. The stool you liked—because it faced her while she cooked—was slightly askew. There were crumbs by the edge. The wine bottle she bought for your fake anniversary sat unopened on the counter. 

She walked past it without looking twice. 

The bedroom door hung slightly open, caught between open and closed. It felt intentional, like you were offering her a choice.  

She could come in or walk away.  

Forgive or hold the grudge.  

Stay, or leave you the way she should have when you first borrowed rent money and never gave it back. 

She stepped through the door like it cost her nothing. It cost everything. 

You were curled in the sheets—her sheets.  

The duvet wrapped around your legs, hair tied back in the lazy way you only did when you weren’t planning to see anyone. Her sweatshirt hung off your shoulder, sleeves bunched in your fists.  

You weren’t asleep. Your eyes opened before she said a word. 

“I thought your flight landed at noon.” Your voice scratched through the dark. 

Familiar.  

Wrecked.  

Still casual in that way that always got to her, like nothing ever stuck to you. Like the world melted around your smile and you knew it.    “I told you not to be here.” Her voice low and cold as she set the duffel down without looking at you. 

You sat up. Slowly. Not surprised. “You didn’t mean it.” 

She laughed once. It wasn’t kind. “I meant it the second I saw the photos and texts. And every second after.” 

The air felt thin. Like grief had sucked the oxygen out.  

You moved to the edge of the bed, bare legs swinging down like you had a right to this space. Like she hadn’t built this home on your half-truths and her blind spots.  

You looked up at her, eyes soft, voice quieter. 

“It wasn’t like that.” 

She almost believed you. You were good with tone. Always had been. You knew how to sound sorry without saying it. How to cry without smudging your mascara. 

“Then tell me what it was.” 

You rose from the bed, something unspoken tightening in your chest as you walked toward her. Your hand reached out, careful and uncertain.  

She took a step back, her expression unreadable, pulling the distance wider before your fingers could touch.  

The silence that followed felt heavier than words. 

“It wasn’t serious,” you said. “It wasn’t even—God, it wasn’t even about him.” 

“Who was it about?” Her voice cracked at the edges. “Me? Because if you wanted to punish me, you could’ve just left. You didn’t have to fuck someone else in my sweatshirt.” 

“I was scared.” 

“Of what?” 

“Of messing it up. Of loving you too much. Of needing you.” Your hands shook. “You’re Paige Bueckers. You have everything. I’m just—” 

Paige looked at you like she was memorizing her last mistake. 

The sweatshirt hung loose on your frame, sleeves pushed up where your wrists had once wrapped around her ribs.  

There was a time that touch had steadied her. There were nights she let you fall asleep with your face pressed against her chest, your soft breath counting out the seconds until she found calm. It used to mean something. Now it only made her stomachache. 

You stood with your palms half-raised, words trembling behind your teeth.  

Paige had seen you perform apologies before.  

To friends. To servers. Once to a cop.  

You knew how to turn your mouth into a confession without giving anything real. It had worked for you every time.  

But something in her posture told you it would not work tonight. 

She took a breath, long and slow, grounding herself the way her therapist told her to when the crowd got too loud. 

“You think I wanted a trophy?” she said, her voice steadier than it felt in her chest. “You think I needed someone to flash around, someone to sit courtside and smile for cameras? You think that’s why I kept you?” 

You didn’t answer. 

“I kept you because I thought you saw me. Just me. Not the name. Not the deal. Not the highlight reel.” 

“I did,” you whispered. 

She stood a few feet without reaching for you, her weight anchored evenly across both feet as if she had already decided she would not waver. Her hands had closed into themselves, resting near her hips with a stillness that read more like resolve than restraint. She kept her gaze low, tracing something invisible in the floorboards beneath you both. 

“I gave you everything,” she said. Her voice remained even, each word held with the same deliberate care she once gave to you. “My time. My name. A home you never had to earn. I made space for you in a life that had no room left to spare. And you gave it away to someone who only saw your worth because it was wrapped in mine.” 

The restraint in her posture said more than raised voices ever could.  

You stood in front of her, stripped of excuses, watching the woman you once believed would always forgive you hold firm in a silence you no longer knew how to read. 

You opened your mouth, but nothing came. Anything you could offer would have sounded like damage control, and she had already heard enough of that in the silence between hotels and long flights.  

The room had narrowed between you, charged with everything she had held back. 

Paige shook her head once. She wasn’t angry anymore.  

Anger had left sometime between the second hotel and the layover in Denver. She had sat in the plane’s window seat with her knees pressed to the seatback and wondered if you were home waiting for her or out making up another lie. 

Now that she saw you in front of her, everything clicked.  

It wasn’t her game you doubted. It was your worth. 

And she had paid the price for both. 

“You were in my apartment,” she said. “Sleeping in my bed. Wearing my clothes. And you still looked me in the eye like I wasn’t enough.” 

Tears welled at your lash line. You tried to hide it, tried to straighten your back and breathe through the hitch in your throat.  

But Paige caught it. She had memorized you too deeply to miss even a tremor. 

She crossed to the dresser. Her hands moved without hesitation. She opened the top drawer and pulled out the necklace she gave you last Christmas, the one you hadn’t worn in weeks.  

It glinted against her fingers as she held it out to you. 

“Take this.” 

You stared at it. 

“Paige…” 

“Take it and go.” 

“I love you.” 

She didn’t flinch. She just looked at you. Fully. Unforgivingly. 

“If this is your version of love,” she said, “then I don’t want it.” 

The words took something from her as she spoke, hollowing out pieces she did not show. Still, she held her ground. Her grip remained firm, fingers curled with purpose. 

You moved closer, slow and measured, and reached for the chain. As your fingers brushed her palm, the touch asked a quiet question, seeking a way back in.  

She allowed it. Her hand stayed open but offered nothing more.    “I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” you said, voice cracking. “I didn’t think it would go that far.” 

“It always goes that far.” 

Her throat tightened. She stepped back, letting the distance open again between you. 

“I spent everything trying to make you feel like you were safe,” she said. Her jaw set, but her eyes stayed fixed on you, steady and unflinching. “I let the world believe we were unshakable and forever. I handed you the keys to a life I built with bruised ribs, torn ligaments, and years of grinding through pain no one ever saw. And you traded that for someone who bought you a drink and knew how to lie like it was love.” 

Her breath caught just once, too fast to register unless you were still paying attention to her the way she once paid attention to you. 

You looked down, lips parted like the words were still forming. She gave you no room to find them. 

“I’m done,” she said. 

It wasn’t cold. It was final. That was worse. 

Your eyes met hers one last time.  

A hundred memories passed between you.  

Your first night in her bed. The road trip to Boston. That night on the roof with takeout and one shared blanket. All of it gone before you could speak. 

You turned, gathered what you could.  

Purse.  

Phone.  

The ring box still in your coat pocket, unopened. You had found it in her drawer two weeks ago. You had touched it, smiled at it, planned your Instagram caption.  

And then you slept with someone else. 

Paige watched you leave without another word.  

The door didn’t slam. You closed it softly, like you still thought she was sleeping. 

She stood there long after your footsteps faded.  

The apartment felt strange now. Like the shape of you was still pressed into every surface, but hollow. A ghost of a girl she thought was home. 

She sank onto the edge of the bed, her sweatshirt still warm from your skin. Her fingers curled into the sheets. 

She wanted to scream. Wanted to hate you. Wanted to forget the sound of your laugh when she kissed you too hard on the neck.  

But her body betrayed her. It remembered all of it. 

She stayed seated with her hand spread across the mattress, fingers pressing into the place where your body used to rest. Her breathing stayed measured, too calm for what had just been said. No part of her moved without purpose. The room had narrowed down to this—the absence of you and the shape of what you left behind. 

She stretched her legs out across the bed and sank into the sheets, eyes open, breath steady. Nothing reached for her.  

The apartment was still, but not peaceful. Her body ached in places the gym never touched. 

You had made your choice. And she had meant every word. 

When the morning came, she would wash the sheets and change the locks.  

There would be no storybook ending, no chance to rewrite the damage.  

Only the version where you mistook attention for affection.  

you’ve known paige bueckers for years.

known her game, her favorite gummy snacks, her pre-practice playlists, the way her eyes light up when she talks about basketball, and the way they soften when she looks at you. you’ve known her in every way a person can be known—on the court, off it, during tough losses and quiet victories.

and you’ve been dating her for nearly four years.

so when she starts acting weird—like, real weird—you’re confused. not “she misplaced her socks again” weird. not “she spent twenty minutes looking for her phone while it was in her hand” weird. no. this is a whole other level.

paige bueckers won’t look you in the eye.

not once during practice. not when you handed her the water bottle, not when you passed her a perfect bounce-pass in transition, not even when you hit a step-back three and turned to wink at her like always.

nothing. she flushed bright red and turned the other way.

you notice the way her voice stutters every time she speaks around you too.

“y-yeah, uh, good pass,” she mutters when you catch up to her in a fast break. "y-you look g-g—good, today,” she says like it physically hurts. and when you bump her hip and joke, “you alright, bueckers?” she just about implodes.

her teammates definitely notice.

“oh my god, she’s malfunctioning,” nika whispers dramatically during a water break, pointing a finger in your direction like you’re medusa and paige is slowly turning to stone.

“hey, coach, we might need to sub in a new point guard,” aubrey jokes. “this one’s lost all motor functions.”

even coach geno gets in on it. “you get hit in the head, paige?” he asks mid-practice when she completely misses a wide-open layup. “or are you just lovesick?”

laughter erupts in the gym.

you try to be gentle with her. she’s your girlfriend, after all. you’ve spent years memorizing every inch of her — every curve of her smile, every freckle she tries to pretend she doesn't have. you know she can be shy sometimes, but this? this is like first-crush-level nervousness.

and the worst part?

she’s not telling you anything.

that night, after another long, unusually awkward practice and enough teasing to last a lifetime, you corner her in your shared apartment.

she’s curled up on the couch, hoodie too big and pulled halfway over her face, like she’s hiding. her knees are tucked to her chest, and her phone is face down on the blanket beside her. she looks up when you walk in, then immediately looks back down.

“okay,” you say, arms crossed. “what’s going on with you?”

she gulps. “wh-what do you mean?”

you raise an eyebrow, stepping closer. “you’ve been acting like i’m gonna murder you every time i get within three feet of you.”

“no, i haven’t—”

“babe, you stuttered when i offered you a sip of gatorade today.”

“i-i just—maybe it was too cold—”

“paige.”

she freezes. you sit down next to her. she fidgets with the sleeves of her hoodie, fingers nervously twisting the fabric. you don’t say anything for a moment, waiting.

finally, she blurts:

“i wanted to ask you out on a date.”

you blink. “what?”

she finally meets your eyes, cheeks pink. “i wanted to ask you out. like, properly. like, a date. i was gonna do this cute thing with flowers and that coffee place you like and—yeah.”

you stare at her. then you start laughing.

paige looks like you just slapped her.

“i’m serious!” she insists, defensive and adorable. “i—i got nervous! i didn’t know how to bring it up! and then everyone was making fun of me, and you looked so—so good—and—”

“paige.”

“what?” she mumbles, looking away again.

“we’re already dating.”

she pauses. blinks.

“wait. what?”

you’re still laughing, hand on her thigh, thumb rubbing slow circles. “you asked me out four years ago, remember? after that summer league tournament. i wore that stupid neon headband, and you said i looked like a traffic cone.”

paige’s jaw drops. “oh my god.”

“i said yes, by the way. in case you forgot.”

she covers her face with both hands. “kill me. kill me now.”

you grin, pulling her hands away gently. “why the sudden nerves, bueckers?”

she groans. “i don’t know! i just… sometimes you walk into a room and i feel like i’m seventeen again and you don’t know i exist and i’m terrified you’ll say no.”

you melt.

“oh, baby.”

you crawl into her lap, straddling her, hands resting on her shoulders. her eyes flick up, just barely, and you can see how flustered she still is.

“you’ve got me,” you whisper. “you’ve had me. you don’t have to ask again.”

she exhales, head falling back against the couch. “okay, good. 'cause i was literally sweating all through practice.”

you giggle and lean forward, kissing her forehead. “you’re such a dork.”

“but i’m your dork.”

you kiss her properly then, soft and slow, until she relaxes into your touch.

the next day at practice, paige walks in looking smug and satisfied, hand held tightly in yours.

the teasing explodes.

“oh look!” nika calls out. “she remembered they’re dating!”

“was the amnesia temporary or…?”

“someone call the ncaa, paige finally made a shot without combusting.”

even geno claps sarcastically when she nails her first three-pointer.

“glad to see your motor functions returned, bueckers. maybe next practice you can remember your girlfriend lives with you.”

you lean in and whisper, “you’ll never live this down.”

paige groans, face buried in your shoulder.

but you both know the truth.

she might act like she’s still trying to win you over—but that’s the thing about paige bueckers. she falls for you every day like it’s the first time.

the seattle sky was it’s usual cloudy gray when you zipped up ellie’s jacket and handed her the basketball game ticket she’s been clutching since last night.

“this is gonna be the best day ever,” she said, vibrating with excitement. “d’you think i’m gonna get to meet anyone?”

you smiled, brushing a loose curl on her head, “i don’t know, baby. guess we just gotta wait and see.”

but she was already ten steps ahead of you, babbling about the players she idolized. especially one. “and nika mühl is, like, so cool. i watched her highlights when she was in uconn and she was insane. mama did you know they call her the secretary of defense? i wanna be just like her!”

you didn’t know much about basketball, but ellie’s passion pulled you in. you were more of a coffee-and-books type than a court side-screaming type, but today wasn’t about you. it was about showing up for Ellie.

and maybe… giving yourself a break from everything else around you.

the stadium buzzed with energy. ellie’s tiny hand was clutched in yours, her eyes were everywhere, scanning the court, the crowd, the big screens. you were just trying to figure out where your seats were when she tugged on your arm hard enough to make you stumble.

“mama! that’s her! that’s her!”

she pointed. there she was. nika was warming up, hair pulled into the perfect ponytail, swaying as she crossed the court with practiced rhythm, laughing at something one of her teammates said.

you looked—and okay, yes. she was striking. intense but playful. focused but free.

you couldn’t explain the flutter in your chest, so you ignored it.

“pretty cool, huh?” you said to ellie.

“i’m gonna meet her,” she declared, as if it was already a fact.

you laughed, brushing her bangs away. “dream big, baby.”

the seattle storm won. ellie was over the moon and you were proud of yourself for surviving a game without even checking your phone once.

afterward, you lingered by the barriers near the tunnel, ellie hopeful. you weren’t expecting much—there were dozens of fans doing the same—but sometimes luck is on your side.

or fate.

nika walked up last. a towel slung around her neck, sneakers squeaking a bit as she jogged toward the crowd. she took a few selfies, signed a couple of basketballs then as she stated to walk passed all the fans, she saw a little girl clutching the bars that separated the two of them.

“hey there,” she crouched to where ellie stood, voice warm and lightly accented. “did you enjoy the game?”

ellie froze. “i—yes—i mean—it was the best. you’re my favorite player ever.”

you watched your daughter as she beamed like the sun and something soft unraveled in your chest.

“she’s been watching all your college highlights since i told her about taking her to a game,” you said, offering a smile. 

nika looked up at you. really looked. like the kind of look you didn’t realize you’d miss until it was happening. “that’s some serious dedication.”

“don’t get her started,” you said with a light laugh. “shell challenge you to a on-on-one.”

nika looked back at ellie, giving her a wink. “name a time and place.”

you exchanged names and a quick photo. you figured that was it. but as you turned to leave, nika’s voice called after you.

“hey.”

you turned.

“theres something about you,” she started. “if you ever come to another game, i hope i get to see you again.”

you nodded, caught off guard. “we’ll see.”

you did go to another game. and more after that. it became a routine. you and ellie cheering from the stands and then a brief chat with nika afterward. small things at first—compliments, playful teasing, casual warmth.

she started remembering things. asking how ellie’s science fair went. mentioning the book you said you were reading.

you started to notice things too. how she really listened. the way she made ellie feel important, not just as another fan, but as a person. and how, when she looked at you, it felt… different.

not rushed. not transactional. just present.

still, you told yourself that it was nothing. she was a rising star. you were a single mom with a million things on your plate. what could this even lead to?

but your heart had already started to wonder.

after night and another win, you were both waiting by the tunnel as usual. she signed autographs and took pictures like usual. coming up to where you stood, she gave you both a hug, surprising you with her statement.

“i’m grabbing food after this. you two hungry?”

you blinked. “are you asking us out?”

nika raised an eyebrow, one side of her mouth twitching up. “technically, i asked if you’re hungry.”

ellie whispered loudly, “say yes, mama.”

that’s all it took for you to give in.

the three of you squeeze into a booth at a little diner near the arena. nika let ellie ramble about anything and everything. from dinosaurs to basketball. you watched her from across the table—her laugh, the way she corrected ellie’s pronunciation, how she glanced at you when she thought you weren’t looking. 

it was late by the time you left finished your meal. ellie managed to fall asleep in your arms during dinner as you wait for the waiter to come back with nika’s card. you stood up with ellie still asleep in your arms, having some trouble carrying her comfortably. little things like this keep reminding you how fast ellie is growing, but she will always be your little baby.

“i can carry her,” nika offered, already holding her arms out.

“no, no. it’s okay. you already paid for dinner.”

“i don’t mind,” she says, taking ellie out of your arms. 

she stirs, but still asleep, tucking her face into nika’s neck.

“thank you,” you give her a small smile. “you didn’t have to.”

“i wanted to.”

the walk to the car was filled with comfortable silence. reaching your car, you open the back passenger door. nika tries to place ellie in her car seat, but she had a tight grip to the front of nika’s hoodie. you help out, carefully prying her hoodie out of ellie’s hand. buckling her in, you close the door, walking around to get into the driver’s seat. you give her a smile, putting the car in reverse, bout to drive off when you heard a knock.

putting the car back in park, you roll down your window. nika’s leans in, resting her arms against the door.

before you could say a word, nika starts. “you know,” she said, “ you’re kind of incredible.”

you swallowed hard. “i’m just trying my best.”

“you are. but you make it look like art.”

over the months, your connection simmered. texts here and there. more post-game meals. a rain soaked walk around the city. she asked you questions people are afraid to ask.she makes you feel seen.

still, you hesitated. you had ellie. you had your guard. you’ve been done wrong before. and you couldn’t risk that.

but nika never pushed.

instead, she waited. she showed up.

until one night, after ellie had fallen asleep and nika was sitting on your couch with her knees brushing against yours, you finally said it.

“i’m scared.”

“i know,” she replied. “me too.”

and that was enough—for now.

it had been a week since that conversation with nika. you were afraid that it would change your relationship, but fortunately it hasn’t.

you were both still talking. still texting. still the same.

the strange part was how natural it felt now to expect her. to make enough food for three instead of two. to glance at your phone and smile when her name popped up. ellie had fully adopted her, calling her ‘coach nika’ half of the time and ‘niki’ the other.

but your heart was still cautious.

that night, while ellie was at a sleep over, your were launching in your living room, watching a cheesy rom-com while eating ice cream when your doorbell rang. opening the door, you’re met with a tired looking nika, takeout in her hand.

“i figured we could take advantage of the kid-free window,” she said. “unless you were planning on, i don’t know, reorganizing your spice cabinet.”

you laughed. “wild night over here.”

she flopped onto your couch, you following. “you’re lucky you’ve got a home.”

you raised an eyebrow, “you have one too.”

“no,” she started taking a bite of her food. “i’ve got an apartment, but here, it’s calm. safe.”

you shuffled closer to her, heat creeping into your throat. “you don’t feel safe in other paces?”

she didn’t answer immediately. just leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “sometimes, i feel like i’m always playing a part. cool, confident, always serious nika. but here… with you, it’s different.”

you didn’t say anything. just let the quiet fill the cracks between you.

two days later, nika stood in her apartment, pacing in her living room, phone pressed to her ear.

“i don’t know what i’m doing,” she said into the phone.

her best friend, paige, laughed on the other end. “spire spiraling. again.”

“don’t mock me. this is serious.”

“i am being serious. nika, it sound like you actually really like this girl.”

“i do. i really do. and her kid? god, i’m completely gone for that little storm trooper.”

“okay, that’s adorable.”

nika flopped onto the couch. “but what if i’m not cut out for this? i’m 23. a rookie.i can’t cook. i still lose my keys twice a week. and she’s got this whole life—this real life—with responsibilities and a mortgage and bedtime stories.”

“and she still let’s you in,” paige said gently. “that should tell you something.”

“yeah?”

“yeah. look—love doesn’t always show up wrapped in perfect timing. sometimes it’s messy. but if you feel safe with her and she feels seen with you… that’s the good stuff.”

nika closed her eyes. “so what do i do?”

“start by telling her how you feel. no plays. no cool moves. just… say it.”

nika exhaled, “you’re really wise for someone who still can’t do her own laundry.”

“shut up and go get your milf.”

“paige madison bueckers!”

later that week, nika offered to pick up ellie from school. you hesitated for a moment—was it too much? too soon? was it crossing a line?

but ellie was thrilled. and you…you realized watching your daughter run into nika’s arms  was a feeling you couldn’t describe. not fully.

they came home—wait, what?

nika dropped her off at your apartment, her coming inside as well. they were laughing. covered in chalk dust and slurping on slushies.

that night, you tucked ellie into bed and lingered in the doorway, watching her breathe, thinking about the life you’d built—carefully, painfully, quietly. and how nika had slipped into it like she belonged.

when you went back to the living room, nika was sitting with a mug of tea and that same nervous energy you’d seen a few times before the game.

“what’s up?” you asked, curling up on the other side of the couch.

she set the mug down. “okay. i’m just going to say it.”

you blinked, “okay…”

“i like you,” she said, eyes locked on yours. “not in a flirty, ‘this is fun’ way. i like you in a scary, i-think-about-you-during-practice, want-to-cook-you-breakfast, carry-your-kid’s-backpack kind of way.”

your throat tightened.

she went on. “i know you’re careful. i get it. i do. but i’m not going anywhere. and i don’t want to be just the fun storm player your daughter likes. i want to be yours. if you’ll have me.”

you stared at her for a long second.

and then—finally—you crossed the space between you.

not rushed. not loud.

just a kiss, soft and slow, like turning the first page of a long, beautifully written story.

the days didn’t change overnight. life was less busy. ellie still lost her shoes on school mornings. you still had laundry to do and nika still had road games and aching muscles and pressure on her shoulders.

but now, there was this.

a toothbrush in your bathroom.

text messages with three names in the group.

a couch with two cups of tea and one long-limbed basketball player who called your apartment her favorite place on earth.

ellie made nika a friendship bracelet that spelled out ‘family.’

and nika wore it under her wrist tape every game.

some time has passed and your routine never changed. nika was in the kitchen, cooking up some breakfast—nothing difficult, just some eggs, bacon and toast, she was still learning—when her phone chimed. it was a text from her best friend.

“ya’ll need to come out to connecticut. bring your girls. geno wants to meet the fam.”

nika read it out loud with a little grin, then turned to you and ellie.

“wanna go to connecticut?”

ellie gasps, eyes widened like saucers. “like…uconn connecticut?!”

you laughed, sipping your coffee. “is there another connecticut i should know about?”

nika leaned back against the counter. “paige is serious. i haven’t been back in a while. it could be fun—catch a game, meet the team. ellie would love it.”

“i already love it,” ellie exclaimed, practically vibrating.

you glanced at nika, your stomach fluttering in that way it still did every time she looked at you like this was real. like it wasn’t temporary. like you were already her future.

“let’s do it.”

the campus was colder than you expected, all bare trees and wind-chilled paths, but in was beautiful in that northeastern kind of way—like history lived in the bricks.

nika was grinning like a kid the whole way from the airport. ellie had on a mini huskies hoodie, gifted by paige when she first heard about you and ellie from her best friend.

“this place made me,” nika said quietly as she drove to a parking spot. “it broke me too, a little. but i wouldn’t be who i am without it.”

you reacher for her hand that was resting on the center console, a silent reply. ellie was in the back, face glued to the window, already practicing her future commitment speech in her head, probably.

when paige opened the door to the players' lounge, it was like watching two halves of one should reconnect. she and nika hugged like sisters who hadn’t been in the same room in too long. 

next was azzi. she squeezed the girl tight, making up for the time they lost being away from one another. teammate after teammate went to greet nika while you and ellie stood off to the side, letting nika reconnect with her family, a smile on both your faces.

“and this must be the ellie,” paige said, crouching to ellie’s level with a mock-serious tone. “you ready to coach from the stands?”

ellie nodded hard. “i already drew up plays on the plane.”

“she’s not lying,” you added. “she used the barf bag as a whiteboard.”

paige turned to you next, offering her hand, but then pulling you into a hug instead. “any girl who gets nika this soft? they got my respect.

before you could answer, a familiar gruff voice filled the room.

“well, well. the prodigal daughter returns.”

geno auriemma walked in, arms folded, a knowing smile under his salt-and-pepper beard. “and she brought reinforcements.”

nika smiled, a little sheepish. “hey, coach.”

he pulled her into a hug. “you look good, kid.”

then he turned to you. “and you must be the one who’s keeping her grounded.”

you nodded. “trying my best.”

his eyes softened a little. “good. she always needed someone who saw through all the noise.”

that night, the three of you sat court side at gampel. ellie wore a huskies cap so big it drooped over her ears, and you had nika’s storm jacket draped across your lap.

tt was electric.

ellie cheered for every three-pointer like it was the finals. paige dropped 20 points and blew kisses at you all in the stands. nika watched like a proud big sister, shouting encouragement, coaching under her breath.

at halftime, they brought nika out to wave to the crowd, and the ovation was thunderous. she looked back at you and ellie as she walked onto the court, her eyes shining in a way you hadn’t seen before.

she was home. but now, her home included you.

after the game, the locker room buzzed with energy. ellie sat on nika’s lap, surrounded by laughing players asking about seattle, about her school, her “scouting report.”

“y’all better watch out,” nika said, smoothing ellie’s curls. “she’s got a wicked step-back. she’s basically six years away from being your competition.”

you leaned against the doorway, watching the scene unfold like something from a dream.

paige came over, nudging you with her elbow. “she’s different with you.”

“she’s still nika,” you said.

“she’s more nika,” paige corrected. “like she finally took a breath.”

you smiled. “that makes two of us.”

later that night, ellie passed out in the hotel bed, still clutching a signed ball. you stepped onto the balcony with nika, wrapped in a hoodie and a blanket she’d pulled from the end of the bed.

the air was cold, but she was warm next to you.

“i didn’t know how much i needed this,” she said softly. “to come back. to have you here for it.”

you looked out at the quiet campus lights.

“i didn’t know i could have this,” you replied. “a life where i’m not just surviving. where someone sees me too.”

nika took your hand.

“paige was right,” she said.

“about what?”

“this is the good stuff.”