can you fix a broken heart
Synopsis: Azzi decides she’s done running from her past and her feelings and handles everything in one slightly chaotic, very overdue night.
warnings: angst
wc: 4.5k
a/n: snuck this in just before the fam shows up for easter dinner. enjoy it instead of a miserable natty game with no uconn in it. also... please don't kill me!
chapter 17:
Rain tapped against the windshield as Azzi drove, the night sky dark and angry. She barely registered any of it, flexing her hands on the steering wheel, knuckles pale, her focus locked straight ahead as familiar houses slid past.
The second the plane landed, there had only been one place her mind would let her go. One person she needed to see, a conversation that had been sitting on her chest for days now, pressing and pressing until she couldn’t ignore it anymore. She’d grabbed her bag, brushed off a couple teammates asking about brunch in the morning, and walked straight to her car.
Typing the address into her phone without hesitation, she peeled out of the airport, nearly taking out a few traffic cones in the process. And okay, maybe, she wasn’t totally focused. It’s not that she was a questionable driver. Not that at all. Despite the teammates she caught doubled over with laughter in her rearview mirror.
Azzi’s focus remained loose as she drove the streets of Seattle, until she turned down a road that made her pulse tick up.
The familiar truck came into view at the end of the block, parked crookedly in the driveway. Typical. Azzi’s stomach twisted, but she didn’t slow down or hesitate. She turned the wheel and pulled in, letting the engine idle for a few seconds.
After pulling in a deep breath, she slipped out of the car, the rain immediately dotting her green flannel as she slammed the door and strode up the short walkway.
Her pulse was pounding in her ears as she reached the porch. She lifted her hand and knocked hard against the wood.
No answer.
Azzi shifted her weight, blowing out a shaky breath as she glanced back toward the driveway at the truck again. Irritation flashed through her.
“I know you’re in there,” she called, voice carrying through the door. She knocked again, a little louder this time, but not enough to seem completely crazy. Showing up unannounced at this hour was already bad enough. “I see your truck in the driveway.”
A few more tantalizing seconds of silence passed, then the faint sound of movement inside. Azzi crossed her arms, foot tapping against the damp wood of the porch. She wished she had an umbrella as rain dropped down the back of her neck and sent a chill down her spine.
The lock finally clicked and the door opened just enough for a sliver of warm light to spill into the dark night. Then it swung wider and Azzi found herself staring at a familiar blonde wearing a shocked expression.
For a split second, something in Azzi’s chest stuttered, the image aligning too easily with something else, someone else.
Then Azzi’s gaze lifted, meeting wide green eyes, and her expression flattened. A dry, unimpressed expression settled over Azzi’s features as her brown eyes narrowed.
“Nice to see you again, Chloe.”
The woman blinked, clearly caught off guard, her mouth parting slightly before she recovered. “It’s Cindy.”
Azzi tilted her head just a fraction, a humorless smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.
“Yeah, I actually don’t give a shit,” Azzi shot back, tone laced with indifference. “Can you get the fuck out so I can talk to Mark?”
Cindy scoffed, her shoulders stiffening as her eyes flicked over Azzi and her face drew into a scowl.
Azzi didn’t bother looking at her anymore. Cindy wasn’t worth another second of her time. Her gaze had already moved past the blonde’s shoulder, landing on the man standing a few steps back inside the house.
Mark looked exactly how she expected him to.
Disheveled, shirt wrinkled, hair messy like he—or someone else—had been running hands through it too many times. There was tension in his posture, his jaw set with irritation.
For a second, neither of them said anything. They just started blankly, a silent showdown unraveling between them.
Cindy shifted uncomfortably, turning toward Mark, silently asking the question that Azzi already knew the answer to. This wasn’t a contest Cindy was going to win. Five years down the road, she probably still wouldn’t. He might be a complete asshole, but Azzi always did have a hold over him.
Mark exhaled through his nose, seemingly annoyed by his own inability to turn Azzi away. Then he gave a short, clipped nod and mumbled, “I’ll see you at work in the morning, okay?”
The words were directed at Cindy, but his attention was already back on Azzi.
Unable to hide her growing annoyance, Cindy stomped to the couch to grab her purse, then back to the door to yank her pink jacket off the hook with more force than necessary, nearly taking it off the wall. The tantrum was comical, really. Azzi would usually have a good laugh about it, but she knew that as soon as Cindy was gone, things were going to get even more tense.
Cindy brushed past on her way out, her shoulder clipping Azzi’s in a move that was far from accidental, and borderline hilarious seeing as Cindy was the one who had fucked her husband. But Azzi was a built WNBA player and she didn’t budge, instead holding her ground. And this time she really did let out a laugh when Cindy bounced off her into the doorframe.
With an eye roll, Azzi stepped into the house as Cindy slammed the door behind her with a loud crack, the noise echoing through the entryway. Azzi glanced over her shoulder for a second, then let out an unimpressed breath as she turned back toward Mark.
“She seems lovely,” she said, stepping further into the room and shaking a bit of rain from her flannel.
Mark scoffed, dragging both hands through his already messy hair. It seemed like he was trying to pull himself together, but if anything, it made him look more unraveled. He looked like shit if Azzi was being honest, though she didn’t feel any guilt. This was his own doing.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Azzi?” he snapped.
His tone bordered on hostile, but she didn’t flinch. While Azzi hadn’t been particularly surprised to find Cindy, or really any woman here, Mark was clearly caught off guard by her sudden presence. Despite the fact that he’d been trying to summon her for weeks.
Instead, she turned fully toward him, throwing her arms out wide in a loose, exaggerated gesture.
“You wanted to talk so bad, Mark,” she huffed. “So let’s talk and get this over with.”
His teeth ground together, reaching to the end table next to him where a whiskey glass sat. He studied her over the rim while taking a sip of the amber liquid.
“You can’t just show up at my house,” he muttered, eyebrows drawn together putting creases in his forehead.
Azzi pushed out a disbelieving breath, dropping her arms as she took a step closer. Like he hadn’t done that exact thing several times over the months. The only difference was Azzi had gotten better at slamming the door in his face.
“You called my phone ten times in a row tonight. Seems like you really needed to talk.”
That set him off.
“You don’t get to just go and release a statement like that without even consulting me!” Mark shot back, frustration bleeding into every word. “Do you have any idea what that looks like?”
Azzi cut him off before he could build any more momentum, her already limited patience snapping.
“I stopped needing to consult you when you started fucking another woman during our marriage!”
Mark’s face twisted, anger flaring up instantly. Azzi knew that look all too well. It was one that had become quite common over the more recent years, and it wasn’t especially comforting.
“And what, Azzi? You’re okay with just throwing our marriage away because I made a mistake?”
“A mistake you’re still making, Mark,” she laughed, pointing to the door Cindy had just exited for emphasis. “You clearly seem real shaken up about our marriage ending.”
“I have needs!” he yelled, throwing his hands out like that justified anything.
Azzi actually laughed then, shaking her head incredulously as she watched the whiskey slosh out of his glass.
“Oh my god,” she groaned.
Azzi exhaled before glancing back at him. He looked dead serious, like that was a valid excuse for having his mistress over all the while he was begging Azzi for another chance. It was pathetic, and she wasn’t going to let him get away with it.
“You know what, Mark? So do I,” she shot back. “Like a partner who actually respects me and can give me a goddamn orgasm.”
The reaction was immediate. Mark swore under his breath and slammed his glass down on the table, the whiskey splashing out in every direction and soaking the cream carpet.
Azzi didn’t even blink, though she did wonder if coming here had been a bad idea. She wasn’t worried Mark would actually hurt her, he wasn’t stupid enough to do that. But she’d been subjected to enough of his drunk tirades over the years to know he was easier to manage in the daylight hours. Well, at least before Happy Hour struck. Still, she’d come here and set this chain of events in motion so she wasn’t going to back down now.
“Seems like we both have our needs being met now,” Azzi said evenly, tilting her head just slightly. “So why don’t we just call it.”
That stopped him completely. Mark went still, the anger on his face shifting into something else, something madder. His dark, beady eyes narrowed back in on her.
“Who is he?” Mark demanded, his voice a low growl.
Azzi waved a hand dismissively, knowing the question itself wasn’t worth answering.
“It doesn’t matter, Mark. Look at us.” She gestured vaguely between them, the space, the stained carpet. “This is never going to work. We’re both miserable, we can’t even stand to be in the same room, and honestly…” she exhaled, the fight draining just a little. “I want more for myself. More than you can give me.”
He shook his head, stepping closer looking like a kicked puppy, holding his hands forward, grasping for something to hold onto. It certainly wasn’t going to be Azzi, who took a step back to keep distance between them. Not that she was worried about being pulled back into his orbit, but she certainly didn’t want to give him the impression that it was possible.
“It wasn’t always like this,” he tried, his voice shifting and softening as if he hadn’t just erupted in a fit of rage. “We were good, Az. We were really good. I moved here for you. I left my family, my life, everything to support your career…” Azzi opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught for a second as she really looked at him. Not the version of him she’d been fighting with or the one that cheated on her or the one who showed up every couple of weeks banging on her door. Just… Mark.
He looked older and tired. But most of all, sad. The easy confidence he used to carry, the charm that had drawn her in all those years ago at UCONN, wasn’t there anymore. His shoulders sagged, his eyes dull from more than just the whiskey. Dejection had settled into his features, like something had worn him down over time.
If Azzi was being honest with herself, she probably didn’t look all that different.
Somewhere along the way, they’d both changed. Maybe they held on too tightly in some places and not enough in others, but if Azzi really let herself think about it, it hadn’t just been one thing or one mistake. Cindy was the catalyst, sure, the reason she gained the confidence to make the step she’d been thinking about for at least a year. But in reality, their marriage suffered from a slow unraveling, piece by piece, until this was what was left.
Azzi swallowed, pushing out a deep exhale and she felt some of the anger fall away too.
“I know,” she sighed.
The words came out gently, cutting him off in a different way than before. Azzi nodded, bobbing her head a few times, her gaze trying to hold his wild eyes steady, trying to inject some calm into the situation. Holding onto the hate and animosity was only going to drag them both down.
“I know, Mark,” she repeated, uncrossing her arms. “And I’ll always be thankful for the support that you showed me and the good times that we had. Because it was real and there was a time when you were my person.”
She paused and blew out a deep exhale through her nose.
“But we grew apart,” she said quietly. “And this isn’t what I want for the rest of my life. It’s not.” Her voice turned firm again. “And no amount of talking or begging or threats or whatever you’re trying to pull is going to change my mind.”
She didn’t wait for him to respond. Instead, she turned, reaching into her bag and digging around before pulling out a thick stack of papers. The weight of them felt heavy in her hand as she stepped forward and dropped them on the coffee table in front of him with a flat, final thud.
“So please just sign the papers,” she pleaded, meeting his eyes again. “Sign them so we can both get on with our lives.”
Mark stared at them, his jaw working like he wanted to argue, to push back again, but something in his expression eased. Not entirely, he was still clearly on edge, but it was enough that some of the fight in him seemed to drain out.
“Who is he?” he asked again, more resigned this time.
“She,” Azzi corrected without hesitating.
Mark’s eyes widened, something clicking into place behind them as realization set in. He’d always known she’d dated women before him. It was something Azzi had been open about when they first started dating in college so it wasn't new information. It did seem to make him less angry as his shoulders dropped a fraction. Azzi supposed it stoked his misogynistic ego. At least he hadn’t lost Azzi to another man. Which was a pathetic thought, but she was trying to placate him for the time being so she let it go. She chose not to tell him that Paige fucked her better and kept her more satisfied than Mark ever had.
“Is she good to you?”
Azzi nodded, holding his gaze. “She’s more than I deserve.”
Mark let out a quiet sound of displeasure, but it wasn’t mean this time. If anything, it sounded tired. Which was exactly how Azzi felt too. Tired of the hurt. Tired of the back and forth. Tired of the bullshit.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Az,” he said, the fight finally gone as he turned toward the wet bar, pulling open a drawer and rummaging around for a pen. He found one after a second, tapping it once against the white marble counter before plopping down on the leather couch and dragging the papers closer.
“Can we at least put out a joint statement now that you’ve blown this all up?” he asked while flipping through the pages.
Azzi leaned back against the wall, arms folding loosely across her chest. “Yeah. I already have Amanda drafting something,” she said. “I kinda caught her off guard.”
“That makes two of us,” he muttered, eyes still scanning the documents.
“Well, imagine my surprise when Cindy opened the door this fine evening.”
He clicked his tongue, not bothering to look up as he started to sign. Page after page, initials, signatures, the scratch of pen against paper filling the quiet between them.
Azzi watched him in silence, feeling…strange.
Surprisingly, there was lingering guilt there. Sadness, too, threading through her chest. This had been her life. He had been her life. For years. And now it was ending in a series of signatures, documenting their failure in a rented house after the internet exploded with Azzi’s truth bomb. But underneath all of it, Azzi felt relief settling further into her bones with every page he signed.
He finished after a few minutes, sliding the stack back across the table toward her.
“I take it you’ll get these over to the lawyers?”
Azzi nodded, pushing off the wall as she gathered the papers and slid them carefully back into her bag.
“Yeah,” she said. “They’ll be in touch.”
“I’m sure they will.” Mark nodded, heading toward the front door and pulling it open with little fan fare as she walked past him. “Take care of yourself, Az.”
Azzi paused just briefly on the threshold, glancing back over her shoulder. Her eyes traced over his face one last time, taking in the familiarity of it, the history, all the things that had once meant something. Then she stepped forward and pulled him into a hug. Mark stiffed for a moment, but then she felt his body relax, arms wrapping tightly around her.
“Take care of yourself too, Mark,” she mumbled before taking a step back and fixing his wrinkled collar one last time.
And with that, she gave him a tight lipped smile, an amalgamation of the good and the bad and the ugly, and stepped back out into the rain.
The second the car door shut behind her, Azzi sank back into the driver’s seat, her head dropping against the headrest. A long, shaky breath that had been sitting in her chest for months finally broke free. Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel as she exhaled.
“Fucking finally,” she whispered.
The tears came a second later. Warm against her cheeks, the stream slipped down in quiet streaks, her breathing uneven. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for her bag, pulling it into her lap and digging through it until her fingers found the papers.
She slid them out carefully, her eyes scanning over the pages until they landed on his signature. Her throat tightened as she stared at it, and the reality settled in.
It was over.
A rogue tear slipped from her chin and landed on the page, leaving a faint, uneven mark as she let out a quiet breath. She didn’t even think to wipe it away. Didn’t care that her lawyers would see it later, that it would be there permanently, a small, messy reminder of how this all ended.
Azzi just sat there, staring at the pages, letting her mind drift.
Not to the end. No, she didn’t think about the anger or the shouting or the slow unraveling of everything they had built. She thought of the beginning, the version of them that had once made sense. Nights at Ted’s, dancing and drinking into the waning hours. Late nights on the couch with takeout containers scattered across the coffee table because they’d packed up everything. Cuddled in bed, laughing at something stupid while the Seattle rain pounded on the roof of their apartment. The way he used to look at her like she was everything.
Despite the ending, the beginning had been real. At one point, it was good. Losing that still hurt, even now, even after everything that followed.
Azzi dragged the back of her hand across her cheeks, blinking hard as she looked down at the papers again. If Azzi was honest with herself, knowing what she knew now, she could finally admit what she had been avoiding for a long time—he had never been it.
There had always been something missing, something maybe she couldn’t name back then. She had pushed it aside because everything else made sense on paper. He loved her and supported her. He showed up when it mattered. He moved across the country.
But it had never felt like what it should have.
Azzi let out another breath, longer this time, as she set the papers on the passenger seat beside her and let her thoughts drift to Paige.
To the way Paige looked at her, the softness in it that Azzi hadn’t fully let herself lean into. The way Paige laughed. How she made everything feel infinitely lighter. The care she showed without Azzi even needing to ask for it.
The way Azzi had left things between them made her heart hurt. Paige didn’t deserve that and Azzi didn’t want another minute to pass with Paige thinking Azzi wasn’t choosing her..
Azzi grabbed her phone, hitting her contact as she started the car and backed out of the driveway. It rang a few times before going to voicemail.
“Fuck me,” she muttered, immediately jamming her pointer finger into the call button again, as she took off on the dimly lit street.
Straight to voicemail again. Fucking great. Azzi was really feeling blessed and highly favored right now.
She glanced at the clock on the dash and saw it was just after 9 o’clock. Maybe Paige was out. Maybe she had gone to bed early. Maybe she… didn’t want to talk?
Azzi shook her head, pushing that ridiculous thought aside as she stepped on the gas, leaving Mark’s house far behind.
Thankfully, the drive didn’t take long. Fifteen minutes later she pulled onto Paige’s street, the tightness in her chest easing a fraction when she saw Paige’s red truck sitting in the driveway. A warm light glowed from the living room window, a telltale sign that the blonde was up and probably watching tv.
She barely brought the car to a stop before throwing it in park and pushing the door open. The rain was falling harder now, soaking her clothes as she jogged up the walkway. She didn’t care.
Climbing the steps of Paige’s front porch, her pulse spiked, but she pushed down the anxiety and knocked hard against the door.
“Paige,” she called out.
When there was no answer, Azzi knocked again with a bit more force. She felt a bit crazy. This was the second porch she’d stood on, banging on the front door unannounced, but that was something she could unpack in therapy another day.
She just needed to see Paige. To hold her and kiss her and tell her that she was hers. Completely. Openly. Unashamedly.
Letting out a sigh of frustration, Azzi stepped to the side to peer through the curtain. She knew this was increasing her level of crazy, but whatever. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.
The living room looked as it always did. The lamp was on, everything exactly how she expected it to be, except for no brightly lit television. No Paige.
Without caring who might overhear, she knocked loudly again, urgency creeping into her voice. “Paige, it’s me!”
Still nothing.
Doubt began to slip in. Maybe Paige was ignoring her. Maybe she had seen her name on caller ID and decided she didn’t want to deal with it tonight. And honestly? Azzi couldn’t blame her. Not after how they’d left things, with Azzi not able to give Paige what she needed or even the reassurance she deserved.
“Paige,” she called again, her voice more pleading and desperate.
A door creaked open to her left.
Azzi turned, her body tensing as she spotted an older man stepping out onto the neighboring porch. His expression was cautious but not unkind as he looked her over.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
Azzi swallowed, again very aware of how this must look. Standing on someone’s porch in the pouring rain, banging on the door and shouting like she’d lost her mind.
Which, okay. To be fair, she had.
“I’m… a friend of Paige’s,” she said, forcing herself not to laugh at how stupid that sounded. She was more than that, sure, but also, no one bangs on a friend's door in the middle of a storm late at night like this. “Do you know if she’s home?”
The man studied her for a moment, his gaze lingering as if he was trying to place her. Azzi braced for him to tell her to leave, or worse, to call someone, like the cops, because this was crazy. Lock her up in an asylum, honestly.
Instead, his eyes widened slightly. “Are you… Azzi Fudd?”
That was certainly not the response she was expecting but it was infinitely better than the alternatives. She gave a small, almost sheepish smile as she nodded.
“Yeah, I am.”
“And you’re friends with Paige?”
She nodded again, laughing internally at the heady mix of disbelief and pride in his tone.
“Well I’ll be damned,” he chuckled, shaking his head, the skepticism gone now. “I’m sorry, but you just missed her.”
Azzi’s stomach dropped like the floor had disappeared. “What?”
“Her friend… Nina, I think? She picked her up maybe an hour ago. They carried out a big cooler, a couple duffel bags. Her little brother was with her too.”
Azzi exhaled, pulling her phone out and opening her calendar as the realization settled in.
Of course.
The trip.
Paige must have left early, which Azzi didn’t blame her for. She probably needed space as the anniversary of her dad’s death approached. Probably needed space from Azzi too.
“Oh,” she said quietly, trying to keep the complete disappointment from her tone. This poor man had already seen enough. “Okay. Thanks.”
The man nodded. “Yeah, she said she’ll be back in a couple weeks. Asked me to keep an eye on the house while she’s gone.” He hesitated for a second before adding, “Said she won’t really have her phone on her though so not sure how I’m supposed to reach out if anything happens.”
He let out a soft laugh, but the words weren’t funny to Azzi. Instead, they smacked her square in the chest.
No phone. No way to reach Paige. No way to fix this for weeks. And she’d only missed her by an hour.
The thought taunted Azzi. She had barely made it a week without Paige in her life and now there was nothing she could do to repair what had been broken. Worse, Paige was going to be dealing with the anniversary of her father’s passing, still thinking Azzi hadn’t chosen her. That she wasn’t enough.
It was a nauseating thought.
“Got it,” she finally managed, forcing a weak, “Thank you.”
He gave her a sympathetic look before stepping back inside, the door closing softly behind him.
Azzi stood there for a moment longer, staring at Paige’s front door. She sighed, then turned, the walk back to her car feeling longer as the rain continued to fall around her. It wrapped her in a blanket of chill, soaking into her clothes, her hair, everything.
All she wanted was to be in Paige’s arms.
But Paige was gone.
Read Chapter 18.
