Chapter Text
The sterile scent of University Health hit Marina as if it were a physical wall the second the sliding doors hissed shut behind her. It's almost as if they knew her life would never go back the way it was now that she was inside of the hospital. It was currently midnight, that dead of night hour where the world felt like it was held together only by tape and flickering lights. Marina's heart was a frantic bird in a cage of ribs, hammering out a rhythm of why are you here, why are you here? Every step she took in her baggy gray sweatpants felt like a step back in her healing process and a betrayal of her own pride. She had spent five months building a fortress of "I'm over it." Yet the second she saw Niya's knee buckle and heard the stomach turning pop that had resonated through the arena and into her very own bones, that fortress had crumbled like wet cardboard. She had told her sisters she was finally breathing air that didn't have the scent of Niya's coconut oil. They just didn't read through her face all the way because then they would've been able to tell in a heartbeat that it was a bold faced lie.
I shouldn't be here, she though, her thumb obsessively tracing the fraying seam of her hoodie pocket. She's in New York teal now. She's their star. She's Jordyn's problem. But Marina knew Niya's medical history better than her own at this point. She knew that her left knee was held together solely by grits and prayers. She still knew that Niya, for all her bravado, was terrified of hospitals and the distinct smell they distribute. She knew that when Niya woke up from a sedative, she was always looking for the same person. Marina.
As Marina was reaching the fourth floor, she could the hallway was a tunnel of linoleum and shadowed doorways. Juts as she approached Room 402, she slowed her pace, her sneakers squeaking against the polished floor with an annoying, repetitive chirp. The door of the room was cracked open just an inch, allowing the privacy from the conversation Niya was having slip out to Marina ears. Marina stopped in her slow but sure tracks with her back flat against the cold hospital wall.
"I saw you go down, Ni... I though after everything you said about a 'fresh start', you'd want me here." A younger, high pitched voice pleaded.
Shit. Jordyn.
The girl who had stepped into Marina's life as if it were a vacant apartment. The girl who ruined her life. Marina always wondered what she would do if ever she saw her in person. Curse her out? Not do anything? Marina just decided to intrude and listen for a moment longer.
"That's the problem." Niya's voice was merely a ghost of it's usual strength; now strained and raspy with a weary steel Marina hadn't heard in years. "I used you Jordyn. Okay? I'm sorry but I used you as my scapegoat to try and pretend I wasn't falling apart. But seeing you here? In this room? It makes me realize what I've ruined. How much I threw for a feeling that wasn't even real."
Marina's breath caught in her throat. Her lungs have never felt this tight before, not even during some of the longest games of her career. Suddenly it felt as if the hospital air was too thick to even breathe in.
"But you said she was suffocating you!" Jordyn's voice rose, cracking with a desperate yet still youthful hurt. " You said you needed to be in a city where people didn't know your history!"
"I lied," Niya's voice dropped to a guttural confession that made Marina's knee tremble. "I was drowning and I blamed the one person trying to save me because it was easier than admitting that I was the one sinking. This has been done for weeks now and I told you that. I cannot do this with you. Not now and not EVER. Just go." The raise in Niya's voice made Marina's heart sink for Jordyn because she was once in her shoes.
Footsteps approached the door and Marina scrambled into the the shadow of a vending machine alcove, reconfirming herself into the dark corner. Jordyn burst out of the room, her face a mask unrecognizable with tears, her shoulders hunched. She sprinted towards the elevators, the frantic ping of the call button echoing through the hall. She never saw Marina. Thank God. She didn't see the woman she had replaced standing five feet away, heart-shattered and confused. Marina waited until the hallway was safe and silent with only the hum of the vending machine against her ears before she walked out of her corner and pushed the door to Room 402 open.
The room was bathed in the blue-ish glow of monitors as well as the flickering static of a muted television. Niya was sitting in her bare hospital bed staring at the ceiling, her jaw was set so tight that Marina thought it was going to crack. When the door clicked, she didn't even make the effort to turn her head towards the noise.
"Jordyn," She sighed out, already sounding exhausted. "I told you to leave. I have nothing else to say."
"I'm.- It's not Jordyn." The words came stumbling out of Marina's mouth. All of a sudden she was hyper aware of her nerves and how clammy her hands felt.
Niya's head snapped quicker than ever towards Marina's nervous voice. The heart monitor beside her bed let out a series of rapid, rhythmic beeps as her pulse started to hike. For what felt like hours but in reality was a long, agonizing minute, they just stood there and stared at each other with no words to say. The history between them and the love once shared was already enough said for a lifetime. Niya looked smaller than Marina remembered; pale and shadowed under the eyes with her leg elevated and encased in a massive brace.
"Marina," Niya breathed. It was less a question and more so like a prayer. "How.. I mean., why are you here?"
Before Marina even got the chance to let out a response, the door pushed opened once again. A night nurse stepped in, carrying a tray of many small plastic cups. She looked back and forth between the two women, trying to remember if she ever met the tall brunette standing at her patient's bed, her eyes scanning over Marina's messy bun and oversized sweatpants.
"Oh, good! You're here," The nurse said checking Niya's IV line. She turned to Niya with a small & tired smile on her face. "You're fiancé here sounded very worried on the phone earlier. She practically demanded the surgical update and I told her visiting hours were over but she was very.. persistent. I'm glad she made it up before these sedatives kick in. You have a keeper, Saniya. The irony.
The silence that followed was in absolute shock from both parties. Marina felt all of her blood rush to her face, it was a heat so intense it felt like she was being physically burned. She couldn't bring her eyes to look at Niya so instead she allowed them to burn through the hospital tile wishing she could melt through it.
"My.. fiancé," Niya repeated slowly. Marina could hear the smirk in Niya's voice, even through the pain.
"I'll be back in about an hour to check on you!" The nurse said, oblivious to the situation, and walked out.
The door clicked shut and Niya looked directly to Marina with a strange, flickering light in her dark eyes. "Fiancé, Ri? Really? I thought we were 'legally and spiritually separated' to quote our very last conversation."
Marina's defensive wall went up instantly. She crossed her arms over her chest. "I had to or else I wouldn't have been able to get any status update. The front desk told me only 'family or spouses' could get any information. I didn't come to be told I wasn't on the list. So I had to say something. Anything" Marina finished, the tiredness in her eyes starting to reflect onto her voice.
Niya let out a genuine, raspy laugh. It reminded Marina of when it used to make her world stop spinning. "Did you let her hear the good ol' Jersey attitude? Or did you pull out that fake ring we bought at the boardwalk for five dollars?"
Despite herself, Marina felt a small, reluctant laugh bubble to the surface of her lips. She sat down in the vinyl chair right near the bed and the monitors, the material groaning underneath her weight. "I almost told her I was your sister but I realized I'm too pretty for that."
Niya laughed once again, this time a little harder that it ended in a sharp wince as the movement made her knee pull. "Ouch but true. God, I miss your ego, Ri."
Hearing Niya call her 'Ri' again has been nothing but music to Marina's ears. She missed this; before the split and before the trade. It was easy with Niya but it was near impossible for them to be like this ever again. Marina gave Niya a small chuckle and a soft smile as the just look at each other, the noises of the monitors behind them.
After a couple moments of silence, Marina spoke first. "I can't forgive you yet, Ni," Ni. It felt good to call her that. Her voice dropping to the serious tone she only used during crucial games. "Truth be told, I don't know if I ever can. What you did.. the way you did it.. is not something that me visiting you in the hospital can erase." Marina took a breath out she didn't realize she was holding. It felt nice to finally speak her mind to Niya ever since the breakup. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss you though. Even when I was throwing your clothes into trash bags. I just miss you." Marina finished, swallowing back tears she didn't want to let down her face.
"I know," Niya whispered, her hand twitching on the bedsheets, inches away from Marina's "I missed you more. And I know I can talk until I'm blue in the face but that doesn't change my actions and it doesn't change the fact that only I was in the wrong."
Marina gave her another softened smile while they sat in silence one again while Marina's mind drifted back. At this point it was involuntary and more of a reflex.
The sun was setting over the Jersey shore, casting a golden & orange mix glow through the windows of the house they had called home during the off season. The kitchen was a disaster with flours on the countertops and a half empty bottle of wine between them, and a recipe Marina's mother had sworn was "simple" but had turned their kitchen into a sticky mess.
Niya was laughing, her long arms wrapped around Marina's waist from behind, her chin resting naturally on Marina's shoulder.
"Niya!" Marina let out in a squeaky laugh, "You're gonna get flour all over you." She said warning Niya of her overly floured hair was in Niya's face.
Niya leaned closer, her nose brushing the sensitive skin of Marina's neck. "I'm never letting you go, no matter what happens with the season and the league.. as long as I have you and this messy kitchen, I'll be okay."
"Promise?" Marina had asked, turning in her arms now facing her face to face.
"I promise. As permanent as these flour floors." Niya promised a she let soft kisses and laughs plant Marina's cheeks and lips.
Back in Room 402, the floors didn't feel permanent anymore, they felt like they were made of glass. They had spent the next couple of hours talking. They didn't talk about their teams or any gossip. They had the real talk of why it all happened. Niya spoke about the pressure she felt of feeling she was failing, with the fear that Marina didn't want a broken and useless version of her. Marina mentioned how she would've loved her if she had nothing to her name and nothing to give. Marina also talked about the loneliness she felt in her new apartment and how Niya's ghost seemed to follow her everywhere. She included the way her sisters looked at her with pity every time Niya's name came up.
"I miss us," Marina solemnly admitted into the silence, her voice barely a breath. "But I don't know who 'us' is anymore."
Eventually, the pain meds won and Niya's eyelids grew heavy, her sentenced trialing off into soft murmurs. Marina had started to feel her phone incessantly vibrate in her pocket.
Her sisters. Fuck.
Mikey : Marina Mabrey. I know you aren't home. Why is your location at the hospital?
Dara : Answer your phone! Please tell us you didn't go, we saw it happen on TV.
Marina didn't answer. She just didn't have the strength to defend herself to them tonight. She turned her phone face down on the bedside table and put her do not disturb on. She sat in the uncomfortable and way too small chair as she leaned her head against the edge of Niya's mattress. Just for a minute, she was going to close her eyes just for a minute and then head home. She told herself this over and over as she fell asleep with one hand resting on the bed, her fingers inches away from the woman who broke her heart.
"Honey? Excuse me, miss. You have to wake up" The nurse from last night came into the room and light shook Marina's shoulder.
Marina bolted upright immediately, her neck let out a sharp, audible pop that made her wince internally. The room was bathed in the sickly, pale grey of pre-dawn. The monitors beside Niya were still humming, but the blue glow had been replaced by the sharp sterile reality of their situation. The same nurse was still standing there, having nothing but a sympathetic almost pitiful look in her eyes for Marina. "It's 6:45. The shift change is coming and if the charge nurse sees you in here, she will have my head. You shouldn't have slept like that honey, you're going to be stiff all day long." The nurse was moving around the room, fixing little things while making sure Marina got out of there in time. Marina's brain scrambled to catch up with the nurse in time. Film. 9:00. Shootaround. Shit.
"I have to go," Marina barely whispered, her voice gravelly. She took a good look at Niya still deep in sleep, her mouth slightly open and her curls messily laying against the white pillowcase. She had looked so vulnerable which made Marina feel a new fresh wave of guilt. She so badly wanted to touch her one last time; she wanted to wake her up and just say goodbye and to tell her that the 'fiancé' lie was a one time thing. She just couldn't bring herself to and she barely had time.
Marina stood up, her whole body covered in aches. She didn't say bye, she didn't leave a note. She simply just grabbed her sweatshirt and slipped out of the room, her chest feeling like it weighed 100 pounds in her chest.
She drove away from the hospital, the sunrise bleeding a bruised purple over the all too familiar Connecticut skyline. Marina found herself pulling into the parking lot of her favorite local coffee cafe where her and Niya used to spend free mornings together.
"One day, we're going to be retired and sitting in this same exact booth, and I'm gonna make you tell me why you thought California would be a good retirement place," Niya had joked, blowing steam off the top of her latte. She supported Marina's dreams of moving out to California after basketball as done and after they have their family and when they're old and wrinkled, sitting by the beach with a cup of coffee in hand. It was Niya's dream too.
"California is only a good idea if you're there with me," Marina had replied, her hand lightly over Niya's now. "Anywhere with you is okay with me." Marina finished, supporting her head onto Niya's shoulder, taking in the scent of her fiancé.
Marina ordered a large black coffee which was bitter and hot and didn't help her one bit. She drove home to her empty apartment and sunk into her mattress for a whole 60 minutes before she trudged into the bathroom to wash off the hospital air.
She got to the practice facility at 8:45, her hair still damp and her eyes rimmed with red from the lack of sleep she had gotten last night. The second she walked into the film room, she felt the atmosphere tense up instantly. The low murmur of her teammates' voices had now died down as they were huddled in their small groups with their eyes darting to her and then away. Weird. Marina sat in the front row, staring at the blank projector screen, making herself refuse to acknowledge the awkward stares and silence.
I know they know, she thought in her head. They saw the game and the pop, and I know they're waiting for me to crack.
But it was so much worse than that.
After the most awkward and tense film session Marina's ever had, they were headed to change for shootaround when Liv caught her by the shoulder. She didn't look mad at all, just concern deep into her eyes now pouring into Marina's eyes.
"Ri. You haven't looked at your phone by chance, have you?" She asked nervously, starting to make Marina nervous.
"Umm. No? I've been busy, why?" Marina said, trying to remember if she left her phone in her locker or the film room.
Liv held up her phone for Marian to see and her heart dropped so far into the pits of her stomach, she felt nauseous. It was a photo. Grainy but legible through the glass window of Niya's hospital room. It captured Marina asleep in the chair, her head resting on the edge of the bed, her hand clearly visible. The lighting was unmistakable and there was no denying it. The person invading their privacy had caught the exact moment of Marina's weakness. The caption of the viral post read : Caught in the act : Is Marina Mabrey back with Saniya Rivers?
"Who took this?" Marina said, her voice came out shakier than she had anticipated for.
"An intern, maybe? Or a deluded fan who noticed you?" Liv responded softly. " It's everywhere, Marina. It's on sports blogs and group chats. Your sisters have been calling me asking about where you are."
Marina felt a cold, sharp pain radiate all over her body as if it were a cast. She was stressed, her mind racing at a million miles per minute. I look like a fool. Everyone knows I have no back bone. My sisters are gonna kill me.
Shootaround was just a blur of squeaking sneakers, muffled whispers, and harsh stares at her. Marina was moving like a marionette with frayed strings, her shots clanking off the net with a hollow, metallic ring that seemed to reflect on her own emptiness. She could feel the weight of a dozen eyes on her back at all times. Every time Coach slowed down near her, or a teammate offered her a hesitant "You good, Ri?", the pressure in her chest tightened like a bomb that was ready to explode any second.
She didn't wait for the post practice huddle to fully disperse before she was already out of the door. She needed to be alone; she just needed to be anywhere that didn't smell like gym floor and judgement. The second she stepped into her apartment, the silence was shattered. Her phone, which had been vibrating in her gym bag like a trapped hornet, finally erupted. She didn't even have to look at the screen to know who it is. She slumped onto her sofa, still in her sweaty, damp practice clothes, and saw her sisters group calling her. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. I can do this. Marina reminded herself as she slid the call button and accepted whatever was about to come at her.
"Marina Mabrey, have you lost your fucking mind?" Michaela’s voice came through with the force of a hurricane. "I am looking at a picture of you sleeping at the bedside of the woman who broke your heart. Like I am looking at it wrong, right? This can't be real because I KNOW you aren't this weak."
"I'm not weak, Mikey," Marina snapped, though her voice lacked. She stared at the her miserable wall, the color suddenly feeling like a visual representation of her life: dull, stagnant, and caught between black and white. "She was alone. She had surgery. I couldn't just leave her there alone."
"You could!" Dara’s voice joined the fray, sharp and unforgiving. "You could have stayed home. You could have let her New York 'distractions' handle it. Instead, you gave the entire world a front row seat to your doormat phase. Do you know what people are saying about you, Ri? It's not true and you're 10 times better than that."
"I still have love for her!" Marina yelled, the confession tearing out of her throat before she could stop it. The line went silent for a heartbeat. "I still.. love her, okay? I can't just flip a switch and pretend our relationship didn't happen. But that doesn't mean I’m going back. I know I can't go back. I know what she did."
"If you know what she did," Dara said, her voice cold, "then you shouldn't have been in that room. You're letting her win, Marina. You're letting her have the trade, the new life, and the girl she threw away." It was cruel but that is exactly what Marina needed to hear and she had to hear it from people who were closest to her heart for the message to get to her brain.
"Mikey, help me out here," Marina pleaded, her voice cracking. "Please."
There was a long pause. Michaela sighed, a sound of weary protection. "Marina... I get it. I know how hard it is to let go when the love is that deep. I know you're a good person. But Dara is right about the optics. You have a game tomorrow. You have a career. You can't be the 'fiancée' in the shadows while she's the star in the spotlight. You have to choose yourself. We just want to see you choose better."
"I'm trying," Marina said, feeling nothing but defeat.
The call line went silent and that was the end of the call. Marina sat in the dark for hours, not eating or watching TV. She just sat there and watched the shadow of the city lights crawl across her ceiling, caught in the same sad routine of a life she didn't recognize anymore.
The Mohegan Sun Arena was buzzing with a different kind of electricity the next day. Her personal nightmare had gone from a rivalry headline yo a weird social media obsession to everyone. As Marina walked through the tunnel, she saw reporters leaning over the railings with the flashes of their camera brighter than ever. Don't look at them. Don't look at the screens, just get to the locker room. You are a professional, Marina.
She decided it best to skip the picture tunnel where her teammates were currently showing off their pre game outfits. Instead, she headed straight for the sanctuary of the locker room. She was desperate for her game day routine. She needed the tape. the music, and most of all her nerves lit from her anxiety of underperforming.
But as she walked out for the joint shootaround, she saw the one thing she wasn't prepared for. Niya. She wasn't in uniform, but she was on the court, leaning heavily on her crutches near the Liberty bench. She looked fragile, her leg looking thin and vulnerable in the brace. As Marina jogged past, their eyes met.
Niya’s expression was unreadable to Marina. Mostly it was a mix of guilt, longing, and something that looked like a plea. Marina didn't look away but instead gave Niya a look of pure, raw empathy. A silent acknowledgment of the pain they were both currently sharing, before turning her back and heading to the three point line.
The game was an absolute nightmare. Marina’s focus was shattered. Every time the whistle blew, her eyes involuntarily drifted to the Liberty bench. Every time she missed a shot, she felt her "fiancée" label sticking to her skin like wet wool. As hard as Connecticut fought, the Liberty played even harder, more desperate.
Final score: New York 100, Connecticut 52.
The Liberty bench erupted into cheers and celebrations. Marina stood at the half court line, her hands on her hips, watching the celebration. As the teams began to clear the floor, she felt a hand on her arm.
"Marina. Wait." She recognized that voice from anywhere. It was Niya. She had crutched her way toward the center of the court.
"I saw the news," Niya panted, her face flushed. "About the photo. I'm so sorry, Ri. I didn't know someone was watching. And... I wanted to tell you. The surgery for the permanent repair is in two months. October 15th. I was hoping-"
"Stop," Marina said cutting her off mid sentence. The word struck like a knife deep into Niya's expression, and Marina could care less. The adrenaline of the loss, the anger from her sisters, and the humiliation of the viral photo all fused into a single point of rage. "Don't tell me about your surgery, Niya. Don't tell me about your schedule."
"Marina, please."
"No!" Marina’s voice rose, echoing in the emptying arena. "You chose this! You chose New York! You-" Marina was starting to get betrayed by her eyes and it felt like she had a million razorblades inside her voice box. "You chose to request that trade! You chose to leave me in that house! You don't get to use me as your emotional safety net when things get hard. Do not contact me. Do not have anyone call me. You are on your own, Saniya. That's what YOU wanted and you got it."
Niya looked like she had been slapped. Her eyes filled with tears, her knuckles white on the grips of her crutches. "Marina..."
Marina knew that if she turned around, she wouldn't have the strength to walk away and turn her back on her for good. She didn't look back at the sniffling noises she heard on the court. She didn't stop until she was safe in the locker room, inside of the bathroom with no one else.
The drive home after that game was a masterclass in dissociation. Marina didn’t remember the turns she took or the red lights she sat through. She only became aware of her surroundings when she found herself sitting in her parked car in the darkened garage of her apartment complex, the engine ticking as it cooled.
She stayed there for a long time. The silence of the garage was heavy, smelling of exhaust and cold concrete. Her hands were still gripped at ten and two on the steering wheel, her knuckles white.
I blew up at her, she thought. I screamed at a girl on crutches in the middle of a professional arena. I'm such an asshole.
The image of Niya’s face and the way her features had simply crumbled when Marina told her to stay away would forever be burned into the back of her eyelids. It was a victory, technically. She had set a boundary and defended her peace but why did it feel like she had just set fire to the last bridge leading back to herself? She finally moved, her joints stiff and protesting. She dragged herself up to the apartment, her depressing walls greeting her with their usual clinical indifference. She didn’t turn on the lights, didn't check her phone, which she knew was likely melting down with texts from Michaela and Dara about her post game interaction that had surely made its way to social media.
She stripped off her after game clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor, tossing on a ratty old t shirt and crawled into bed. The sheets were cold which felt opposite to the heat she still felt boiling inside of her. She pulled the comforter over her head, wishing she could disappear into the mattress. Marina cried herself to sleep that night; It was a deep, guttural mourning for a version of her life that was officially dead. The exhaustion of the last forty-eight hours finally claimed her. She fell into a feverish sleep and, for the first time in months, she dreamed of the house.
It didn't feel like a dream. It didn't have that hazy, shimmering quality that dreams usually have. It was vivid and high definition and to Marina, it was her reality. Marina was standing in a doorway as she could feel the weight of a heavy, knitted cardigan on her shoulders; it smelled like lavender detergent and woodsmoke. As she looked towards her feet, she noted that she wasn't in sneakers or basketball socks but instead she was barefoot on warm, polished oak floorboards. She stepped out onto a wide, wrap around porch. One that she could've only dreamed of! The air was the perfect temperature with that late September gold where the sun is warm but the breeze has a crisp, salty edge. She could hear the rhythmic, distant shush of the Atlantic Ocean hitting the shore. This wasn't Connecticut. This was the house they had looked at in Avalon, the one they said they’d buy when they decided it was time for their jerseys to be hung up for good.
In the center of the porch sat two wicker rocking chairs.
On the small table between them were two mugs, one was a plain navy blue with steam curling off the surface in a lazy spiral. The other had an indented and bold "Mrs. Grumpy" statement engraved into it.
"You’re late," a voice said. It was a voice she knew but couldn't place yet.
Marina’s heart didn't skip a beat at all but instead found its rhythm as she turned to the voice caressing her soul. Niya was standing by the porch railing, looking out over the railing. She wasn't on crutches or in a brace but was perfectly healthy. She was wearing a loose white linen shirt, her hair down and free, the braids gone, replaced by a soft halo of natural curls that caught the sunlight. She looked whole and happy, something Marina hasn't seen on her in a while. Niya turned and smiled, and it was a smile that didn't have a single secret behind it. No trade requests, no cheating or lies about feeling suffocated, and most importantly, no Jordyn.
"The coffee's getting cold, Ri," Niya said, walking toward her, her gait smooth and her knees even stronger.
Marina reached out, and could physically feel her fingers trembling. As Niya drew closer, Marina saw it and it made her draw in a sharp breath. The glint of a ring on Niya’s left hand. A simple, elegant band of gold. Marina looked at her own hand and was met with a matching gold band with a shining diamond on it she dreamed of as a little girl.
"Is this real?" Marina whispered, her voice sounding thick and sweet like honey.
"It's the only thing that is," Niya replied. She stepped into Marina’s space, her hands coming up to cup Marina’s face. Her palms were warm, her skin soft like butter. She smelled like home, something Marina missed, that mix of coconut oil and the salt air. "We did it. We stayed and fought through the noise. We stayed." She said, whispering into Marina's hair.
Marina leaned into the touch, closing her eyes. In this world, the breakup and the messy articles never got a chance to live. In this world, the trade had been a bad dream they laughed about over breakfast. In this world, they hadn't been separated but instead chosen.
"I was so scared," Marina sobbed, the tears in the dream feeling warm and cathartic. "I thought.." Her tears choking her in her throat. "I thought I lost you. I said goodbye to you in the tunnel. I-" Marina couldn't stop the overflow of tears streaming down her face.
Niya pulled her closer, tucking Marina’s head more to her chest. Marina could hear the steady, strong beat of Niya’s heart, thump-thump, thump-thump. It was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard.
"You could never lose me," Niya whispered above her. "I’m permanent as the floorboards, remember that? Look at the house, Ri. We built this. It’s ours."
Marina looked ever so carefully and through the glass doors, she saw a living room filled with their shared life. A bookshelf where their trophies sat side by side. A dog bed in the corner, a framed photo of their wedding day on the mantle. It was a life of quiet mornings and loud laughter. A life where they didn't have to be stars and could just be each others.
"Stay here with me," Niya said, pulling back to look Marina in the eye. "Don't go back, please baby. Stay on the porch."
"I never want to leave," Marina promised. "I won't leave."
Niya leaned down, her lips brushing Marina’s in a kiss that tasted like hazelnut coffee and a thousand Sunday mornings. It was a kiss that promised safety and healed the sound of her knee coming out of place and the crack in the heart.
And then, the sun on the porch began to grow too bright for Marina's sensitive eyes. The sound of the ocean began to distort, turning into a rhythmic, mechanical, constant beeping.
"Niya?" Marina gasped, clutching the white linen of Niya's shirt. "Don't go please. Don't let it change."
"I'm not going anywhere," the dream-Niya said, but her voice was fading, sounding like it was coming from the bottom of a well. "You're the one leaving, Ri. Wake up."
Marina’s eyes snapped open faster than ever before. Her heart thumping louder than it ever has, as if it were gonna beat out of her chest and fall onto her bed.
The engraved mug wasn't there and the salt air was gone, replaced by the stale, recycled air of her Connecticut apartment. The sun wasn't golden; it was a harsh, judgmental streak of gray light cutting through the gap in her blinds.
She was alone.
She sat up, her whole body clammy, her hands reaching for a ring that wasn't on her finger. She looked at her bleak walls, and for a second, she hated them so much she wanted to scream. The contrast was a physical pain. The dream had been so warm, so full of color and life, that the reality of her room felt like a black and white photograph of a funeral. She put her face in her hands and cried. She didn't cry like a girl who had lost a game. She cried like a woman who had seen heaven and been kicked back down to earth.
It was just a dream, she told herself, the words a bitter mantra. She’s in New York. You’re in Connecticut.
But as she sat there, the memory of the beating of Niya’s heart lingered in her ears as if it was a haunting.
The weeks following her dream were a fight for survival. Marina moved through her life with the mechanical precision of a clock that had been wound too tight. She lived in a self-imposed exile, a digital blackout. She deleted all social media from her phone, unable to handle the sight of Niya’s recovery updates or the relentless posts and hashtags that had turned her trauma into a laughing matter.
She became a ghost in the Mohegan Sun facility. She would arrive at 5:30 AM, the gym dark and smelling of floor wax, and shoot until her vision blurred. Her sisters had tried to stage interventions which fell through immediately. They would show up at her apartment with takeout, looking at the unpacked boxes with a mix of pity and frustration.
"You're mourning a ghost, Marina," Dara had said one night, picking at a salad. "She’s in New York. She’s probably already moved on to the next distraction while you’re the one sitting in the dark."
"I'm not sitting in the dark," Marina had snapped, her voice raspy from disuse. "I'm practicing and playing. I'm doing exactly what you told me to do."
But the truth was in the silence. Every time a New York area code popped up on a telemarketing call, her heart would stop. Like physically stop beating in her chest as if a horse kicked her in the chest with full power. Every time she saw a woman with Niya’s shadow in the distance, she would hold her breath. Then came her four day break. It was supposed to be a reprieve, but it felt more like a trap. The silence of her apartment was too loud for her to bear. When the phone rang at 11:00 AM on the first day of the break, Marina didn't even check the caller ID. Her body knew immediately what it was without even looking.
She decided to uber to NYU Langone with just a duffel bag as it was a three hour descent into her own hypocrisy, this was the least she could do that way she could fly back and not worry about focusing on the road. The New York skyline, once a symbol of Niya’s betrayal, now looked like a lighthouse. When she walked into the post-op wing, the professional veneer of the hospital couldn't mask the raw vulnerability of the scene. Niya wasn't the "superstar" anymore she once claimed she was. She was a patient in a thin gown, her leg looking like a construction site of metal and gauze.
"Marina? She’s been asking for you since she woke up," the nurse whispered, handing Marina a visitor's badge to room 24 as Marina nodded her head unable to form words. "The team doctors left an hour ago, but she wouldn't settle. She’s terrified of the nerve block wearing off."
Marina walked into the room. The smell of antiseptic and stale coffee hit her.
"Ri?" Niya’s voice was a fragile thread. Her eyes were glassy, her pupils dilated from the heavy hitters they’d given her in the OR. "I’m dreaming again, aren't I?"
Marina’s heart didn't just break; it shattered into a million sharp, jagged pieces. She sat on the edge of the bed, her hand instantly finding Niya’s.
You're not dreaming ,Niya," Marina whispered, her voice thick with a year's worth of unshed tears. "I’m here and I’m staying. I’m not going anywhere."
Niya moved to grip Marina's hand in hers and to Marina's surprise, Niya’s grip was surprisingly strong, her knuckles white as she clung to Marina like a life raft.
"I'm here," Marina promised. "I'm right here."
The next seventy-two hours were a blur of domestic intimacy that felt like a haunting personally dedicated to Marina Mabrey. Marina coordinated the discharge, her "Jersey Stare" returning in full force when the insurance paperwork got tangled. She packed Niya’s things and drove her to her luxury New York apartment. They walked in, Marina practically carrying Niya from the elevator and the apartment was cold in a way that felt odd. It was a museum of a life Niya hadn't figured out how to live yet.
"Where's your ice machine?" Marina asked, her tone basic to hide the fact that she wanted to scream at the emptiness of the place.
"In the kitchen... behind the marble," Niya muttered, leaning heavily on Marina as she helped her get settled on her couch.
Marina spent those three days as a ghost of the woman she used to be. She cooked meals, timed the meds to the minute, and sat on the floor by the couch during the long, dark hours when the pain was at its peak. On the second night, both of their masks finally slipped. They were in the living room, the city lights shimmering through the floor to ceiling windows.
"I made a mistake, Marina," Niya said, her voice cracking the silence. She wasn't looking at Marina; she was staring at the reflection of the TV in the glass. "I thought I could be great without you. I thought the trade would make me new and feel better but I’m just a girl in a big apartment with a broken knee and no one to tell my secrets to."
"I know," Marina said. She was sitting on the rug, her back against the sofa. "I know because I’ve been living in that same silence for a year."
"I'll feel guilty forever," Niya whispered. "For the trade, for what happened, and for everything. I destroyed us."
Marina looked up at her. "I forgive you, Niya. I really do." For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Marina meant what she said. Something in these past 48 hours has truly helped her heal what she needed to. "But I have to go back tomorrow. I have a life in Connecticut and you have a life here. We can be mutual but we have to be... apart."
"Marina." Niya started, "Please stay. I know I fucked up but I truly believe we can work through it, I miss you and still love you. I always have and always will, Ri."
Marina felt as if all the air had been knocked from her lungs. "Saniya.." Marina said, eyes starting to water.
Niya’s sob was quiet, but it filled the room. "I know. Thank you though for staying, Marina. Even if it was just for the surgery." They sat in the silence mentally acknowledging the shift in the room.
The air in JFK International was a pressurized cocktail of jet fuel, expensive perfume, and the low frequency hum of ten thousand people trying to be somewhere else. Marina stood in the center of Terminal 5, her duffel bag feeling like it was filled with lead weights instead of clothes and personal care. This is what moving on looks like. It’s a boarding pass. It’s a security line. It’s a gate number. It’s three thousand miles of blue sky between me and the person who just begged me to stay.
She looked at her phone and no new messages were there. She had left Niya with a pitiful goodbye on her couch in that high rise, her hands still craving Niya's touch as she shut the door behind her. The image was a jagged glass shard in Marina’s mind. Marina moved through the security line like a ghost. She took off her shoes, placed her laptop in a gray bin, and stepped through the metal detector. The TSA agent gave her a bored, depressing look, the same look the world gives you when it doesn't know your heart is currently being put through a paper shredder. She reached Gate B24. FLIGHT 402 TO LAX. They were playing the Sparks this week, so she arranged to just head there early and meet the team there. The irony of the gate number to be matching the hospital room where this nightmare had reignited wasn't lost on her. She sat in a hard, plastic chair, staring at the nose of the Airbus A321 through the windows. The sun was setting, bleeding a deep, bruised purple over the tarmac. It was the same color as the New York Liberty jerseys. The same color of the bruise on Niya’s soul.
"Final boarding call for Flight 402 to Los Angeles," the agent’s voice crackled over the PA system. Marina stood up. Her legs felt heavy, as if she were wading through deep water. She joined the line of travelers; businessmen in suits, families with crying toddlers, couples holding hands. She felt like a fraud compared to these people.
She scanned her boarding pass. Beep. The sound was so final. It was the sound of a her officially letting go of the woman she once couldn't live without. locking. She walked down the jet bridge, that narrow, sloping tunnel that separates the world you know from the sky. The air was colder here, smelling of industrial air conditioning and recycled breath. She stepped onto the plane taking a deep breath to help her steady herself.
"Welcome aboard," the flight attendant said with a practiced, empty smile. Marina found Seat 12A. A window seat and shoved her bag into the overhead bin and sat down, bucking her seatbelt. The click of the metal buckle feeling like a handcuff. I’m doing it. She looked out the window. The ground crew was pulling away the luggage carts. The plane gave a low, guttural shudder as the engines began to whine, a rising pitch of mechanical urgency.
And then that's when it happened.
The woman in the seat next to her pulled out a phone. Her wallpaper was a photo of her and a man, laughing in a kitchen, flour on their noses. Happiness and love beaming off of her screen into Marina's soul.
Marina’s breath hitched. Her lungs suddenly felt like they were collapsing. Her dream rushed back with the force of a tidal wave. The smell of the salt air, the warmth of the linen shirt, the steady, rhythmic lullaby of Niya’s heart. What am I doing? The thought wasn't a whisper anymore; it was a scream. She had spent a year mourning a ghost, and when the ghost came back to life and begged her to stay, she decided to walk onto a metal tube to fly away from her.
The flight attendant began the safety demonstration. "In the event of a loss in cabin pressure..."
"I need to get off," Marina whispered. "Please." She pleaded
The woman next to her looked over, confused. "What?"
"I need to get off the plane!" Marina said, her voice louder now, cracked with a sudden, desperate clarity. She unbuckled her seatbelt with trembling fingers. Desperately reaching for her duffel and trying to plead with the flight attendant.
The flight attendant stopped mid sentence. "Ma'am, please remain seated. We are about to push back from the gate."
"No, you don't understand," Marina said, standing up, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. "There’s an emergency and I’m in the wrong place. I’m on the wrong flight, I have to go back."
"Is it a medical emergency, ma'am?"
"Yes," Marina sobbed, the tears finally breaking through. Her hands shaking as she fumbles for the rest of her belongings. "My fiac.. My frien..” She couldn't find the right word to come out. "My best friends is injured and needs me. And I have to be there. Please."
The cabin went silent. A hundred pairs of eyes watched as the "superstar athlete" Marina Mabrey broke down in the aisle of a coach cabin. The lead attendant looked at Marina’s face and saw the raw, jagged agony there and signaled to the cockpit.
"We’re returning to the gate," the pilot announced over the intercom. She could care less about the eyes staring at her and slight cameras pointed in her direction.
The ten minutes it took for the plane to dock felt like a decade. Marina stood by the door, her hands shaking, her breath coming in short, exhilarated gasps. The second the seal broke and the door swung open, she didn't walk; she bolted. She ran through the jet bridge, her shoes pounding against the carpet. She burst back into Terminal 5, a blur of motion in a world of standing still. She didn't look back at the gate. She just ran toward the exit, toward the taxis, toward the city that had stolen her life and was now the only place she could find it. She burst through the sliding doors into the New York night. The air wasn't sterile anymore; it was electric. It smelled of trash and rain and possibility.
She scrambled to order an expedited uber as she got outside and was able to catch her breath. Calming herself down as her uber was on its way, that way she could be coherent when she returned to Niya. Her uber pulled up to her and Marina jumped in before the door was even fully open. The driver looked at her in the rearview mirror at a disheveled, tear streaked, and glowing woman with a frantic energy. "You okay, lady? You look like you just escaped a prison."
"Psh" is all Marina could allow out of her mouth. A laugh starting to bubble up through her sobs. "I really did."
Los Angeles could wait, she can explain something to her team and coaches and manager but right now she wasn't focused on that.
As the car sped away from JFK, the skyline of Manhattan rose up in the distance, a crown of gold and white lights. Marina watched it, her hand reaching into her pocket for the key she had never returned. I'm coming home, Niya, she thought, the gravity finally pulling her exactly where she was meant to be.