Page 87 of Courtside

“I won’t see her hurt, Brinley.” Cheryl was wild-eyed as she looked between her daughters. “I won’t see her make the same mistakes I did. Your father was just like that, Sage. He was handsome and older and seemed to have it all figured out.” She wiped at her nose with the back of one hand, the various beaded bracelets she wore rattling against one another. “It started small, with me giving up little things to make our lives work together. First it was going dancing with my friends, and next thing I knew it was my career! My financial independence. And then when he left us, I had nothing. There was nothing of myself left.”

“Jesus, Mom,” Brinley snapped. “Can you please stop putting your own baggage on her? Sage is perfectly capable of making her own choices.”

“Fine, fine.” Their mom waved her hands in surrender, her eyes once again kind and so recognizably maternal. “Just be careful, okay?”

Sage could do nothing but nod. Her body, which had just been so full of warmth and confidence and certainty, was cold.

Cold, hollow, and numb.

But still she’d gone with them to dinner at a local spot Brinley had found, and they fell into familiar conversations and jokes and laughter. She’d shared Brinley’s bed in their hotel, claiming it was easier to crash with them than to go back with the team.

And once their mom had fallen asleep, the two Fogerty daughters shared a whispered conversation that lasted late into the night. Sage told her sister about seeing Evan again. About going to him after the game and the pain and closure she’d come away from the situation with. She told her about kissing David, and about what she hoped was going to happen when they got home.

Brinley told Sage about her boyfriend, Rohan, who was so deeply devoted to her. She talked about how he cooked for her, confessed his fear of disappointing his father, and loved her in a way that was so shockingly selfless that neither of them could believe that he was real.

At some point they’d both fallen asleep.

When she’d given her rushed goodbyes that morning after oversleeping, Brinley had held Sage tightly against her, holding her in place long enough to whisper:

“Live your own life, Sage.”

Her sister’s words still echoed in her head as the roar of the engines pulled her into sleep.

* * *

When they got back to Southeastern, Sage exchanged farewells with the players, making numerous promises to meet in the gym to shoot and play pick up. If any of them noticed that her smile was forced or her mind was elsewhere, they didn’t comment. Her bullshit was her own, and she didn’t want to take away from what these guys had just accomplished. She remembered what it had been like in the hours following the ending of the season.

Her mom’s words had thrown her off of her axis. Rants like those from Cheryl Fogerty were nothing new, but there was something different about hearing it directed at her. To realize that there were perceptions about any situation where an older man was pursuing a younger woman.

Sage honestly hadn’t taken that into consideration.

Of course she was aware of his age. She had the internet — she’d looked at what years he’d been in college. But beyond that fact, his age hadn’t come up in their lives in any meaningful way. Sage took pride in being herself, in owning her body and her actions and moving through the world with confidence.

But she did give a shit about people thinking she was weak or unable to take care of herself. Is that what people would think if she and David were together as a couple? Would they think that Sage saw David as an easy ticket to a comfortable life?

Fuck.

Somehow she managed to dodge a frowning and determined David and finally, Sage was safe in her car, driving home. She didn’t turn on music, needing the silence to try to tease through the tangle in her head.

As soon as she was home she got in the shower, turning the water hot enough that it smarted the surface of her skin. Once she was out and dry she sought out her comfiest clothes: old sweatpants, a hoodie, and thick wool socks.

She grabbed her phone from her bag. Guilt curdled her stomach as she bypassed the ten text messages from David, but she wasn’t ready yet. She just needed a little bit of time.

Maggie answered on the second ring. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Can I come over?”

There was a moment of quiet. “Are you okay?”

“Not really.”

“Come on then.”

* * *

Maggie’s place was about 15 minutes northwest of town, in a second floor apartment in a building that looked like it hadn’t been painted in the past twenty years.

“You made it,” Maggie said, holding the door wide open.

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