A war between us ( Chapter 16 )
AN: Im sorry for leaving you guys but im back !!!!!
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It's the first thing that registers in the quiet morning stillness. My eyes adjust slowly to the soft light filtering through the curtains, and then I realize the second thing: she’s still here, peacefully breathing beside me, a comforting presence that makes the world feel a little softer, a little warmer.
Azzi is half-turned on her stomach, her arm casually draped across my bed as if she owns every inch of this space.
It's surprising because just a season ago, she was the one who carefully built invisible walls between us, distance, tension, an invisible net keeping us apart. Every interaction was measured, every step deliberate, designed to keep us separated.
But now, there’s no pillow fortress guarding her, no gap to maintain a safe distance. Instead, there’s just this
her warmth pressed close, the quiet rhythm of her breathing, the undeniable closeness that fills the room with something soft yet electric. It’s a silent declaration, a vulnerability that speaks louder than words ever could. It’s as if all the barriers have melted away, leaving only this raw, beautiful connection between us.
For a second, I let myself look.
Her hair’s a mess, pushed into her face. Her breathing is slow, even. Calm in a way she never is on the court. No edge. No competition.
Because I know what she looks like when she’s locked in. When she’s trying to beat me. When she’s watching me like I’m something to figure out.
This version of her doesn’t feel like my rival.
I cut the thought off before it finished, and that was frustrating. This whole thing feels like a bad idea.
All of this is a bad idea.
I shift slightly, and her eyes open. Of course they do. She has always been like that, quietly aware even when half-asleep. There is a gentle softness in her gaze, but also a quiet strength, as if she never truly lets her guard down.
No immediate jokes.
No arguments.
No pretending.
“You’re staring,” she says, her voice rough from sleep.
“You’re in my bed.”
“That didn’t bother you last night.”
It should feel like a win, but it doesn’t. Instead, there’s a quiet tension, something unspoken hanging between us.
I push myself up against the headboard, dragging a hand through my hair. “We should probably—” I gesture vaguely between us. “—figure out what that was.”
She sits up slower, back resting against the wall, close enough that our shoulders almost touch.
There's a pause, stillness that hangs in the air between us. It’s not awkward or forced, but something more delicate, more deliberate.
It feels like a fragile moment held with care, as if both of us are quietly navigating uncharted territory, aware of the weight and meaning behind every breath. It’s a silence filled with unspoken thoughts,
“I remember it,” she says.
My head snaps toward her. “What?”
“Last night,” she clarifies. “I remember choosing it.”
Something tightens in my chest, a sudden beat I can’t ignore.
Because that was the one thing I needed, the assurance my heart had been quietly longing for, the comfort it desperately craved but never quite found until now.
“And?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even.
She shrugs, but it’s not casual. “And I didn’t hate it.”
I let out a quiet breath that almost turns into a laugh. “High praise.”
I don’t answer right away.
Because the point is I don’t do this.
I don’t blur lines with teammates.
I don’t risk the season over something I can’t control.
And I definitely don’t wake up wanting it again.
“We don’t tell anyone,” I say finally.
There it is.
The line.
The unspoken rule between us.
Azzi studies me for a moment, her eyes searching.
She’s not offended.
Not surprised.
Just quietly thinking, weighing everything in silence.
There’s a depth in her gaze, a calm understanding mixed with something more.
“What do you want me to say?”
Something more.
Something that makes this feel less temporary.
The silence settles again, but it feels different this time, heavier, yet somehow softer.
Then, beneath the blanket, she gently nudges my foot with hers, breaking the stillness in the smallest, quietest way.
“Your block last night?” she says casually. “On match point.”
I glance back at her. “Yeah?”
I huff out a small laugh. “You’re complimenting me now?”
“Your swing in the fifth was reckless,” I shoot back.
She grins slightly. “It scored.”
“It barely cleared the block.”
I shake my head, but there’s something lighter in my chest now.
Competition wrapped in something else.
“Get up,” I say, swinging my legs off the bed. “We have a team breakfast.”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------The team is already there when we walk in,
of course. KK spots me first, then her eyes shift to Azzi, and back to me. I swear I see the exact moment it clicks. “Oh my god,” she says—too loud, way too loud.
“Shut up,” I snap immediately, sliding into the seat across from her. “I didn’t even say anything.”
KK leans forward, eyes sharp. “You look different.”
“You look—” she gestures vaguely “—different.”
Azzi sits next to me like this is normal.
Caroline walks in a second later and drops into the seat beside Azzi. She looks between us once, then twice, and then smirks. Great.
I check my phone to make sure today isn't April Fool's. Just making sure. It isn't
“Good morning,” she says, way too casually.
KK is still staring at me, her eyes never leaving mine. The silence stretches between us, thick with questions. Finally, she breaks it. “Did something happen?” she asks, voice careful but playful
“No,” I say, too quickly, almost too sharply.
She doesn’t buy it. Instead, a knowing grin spreads across her face. “No? Come on, something happened,” she insists, leaning in a little closer, as if trying to unravel the truth behind my guarded words.
Across from me, Azzi takes a sip of her drink like she’s not involved in this at all.
Caroline leans back in her chair. “Miami must’ve been educational.”
“It was a biology camp,” I say flatly.
“Mm,” she hums. “I’m sure.”
I kick KK under the table.
She winces but doesn’t stop smiling.
“I’m just saying,” she continues, lowering her voice slightly, “you two are acting weird.”
Azzi finally glances at me, just for a brief moment, but it is enough to make my pulse quicken. There is something in her eyes, something unspoken yet powerful, a truth that neither of us wants to admit out loud.
It feels like we are both standing on the edge of something we are afraid to face, pretending it is not there even though it lingers in every breath and every glance.
KK raises her hands. “Fine. For now.”
That “for now” feels like a threat.
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Conditioning is worse than usual.
Coach doesn’t care that we just got back.
Doesn’t care that we have a game against Notre Dame in a few days.
If anything, that makes it worse.
“On the line!” she yells.
My lungs burn halfway through.
The gym echoes with shoes squeaking, breaths hitching, bodies pushing past limits.
“Try to keep up, middle,” she mutters.
I glance at her. “Focus on your own time.”
She edges ahead by half a step.
Not because I care this time, but because I always care. We finish at the same moment, neither of us willing to slow down first. Coach watches us closely, her gaze sharp and too closely, as if she’s searching for something beneath the surface.
But her eyes linger, like she’s trying to figure something out.
She senses that there is tension between Azzi and me. She just can't prove it.
This time my shoulder brushes Azzi’s as we line up. Accidental. Not accidental. My heart rate is already high, but it spikes anyway. She glances at me for half a second before looking away, and somehow that tiny moment hits harder than it should
“Still think we shouldn’t tell anyone?” she says under her breath.
I keep my eyes forward. “Yes.”
After conditioning, I’m bent over with my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath while sweat drips down my neck and onto the floor. My lungs burn.
KK drops beside me dramatically like she just finished a marathon instead of surviving a few suicides.
“Okay,” she says between breaths. “I’m giving you one chance to confess before I start making up details myself.”
I already know where this is going. “No.”
I choke on air so hard I start coughing.
KK immediately bursts out laughing. “OH MY GOD. That reaction just confirmed everything.”
“Keep your voice down,” I hiss, looking around to make sure nobody heard.
She grins like an evil little gremlin. “I knew it. I literally knew it.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“Mhm.” She nods seriously for about two seconds before breaking again. “So was it romantic? Awkward? Did you cry after?”
A few heads turn toward us.
KK nearly falls over laughing. “Okay, wow, so defensive.”
I drag a hand down my face. “You are actually the worst person alive.”
“And yet,” she says proudly, throwing an arm around my shoulder, “I’m still your favorite.”
I straighten, glaring at her.
“Say anything,” I warn, “and I will personally make your life miserable.”
She laughs. “You already do that.”
Across the gym, Caroline is talking to Azzi.
Their heads close together.
Caroline says something that makes Azzi roll her eyes.
And doesn’t look away this time.
Her expression softens just slightly, like she’s thinking the same thing I am but doesn’t know how to say it out loud. The gym noise fades into the background for a second, and something settles low in my chest—warm, heavy, terrifyingly real. Because this suddenly doesn’t feel like a mistake anymore.
Then looks back at me slowly.
“Oh,” she says, softer now.
But there’s no heat in it.
Because for the first time, I’m not trying to deny it.
And we said we’d keep it a secret.
But secrets don’t make things smaller.
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