Page 200 of Make the Play

“Did he hit you?”

“Shoved me,” she replies with a nod. “Slapped me, dragged me. Tried to get me into his car.”

She pauses, her eyes flicking to mine.

I can see it, the frustration in her eyes. She’s answering everything, but it’s costing her. The nurse and the advocate are doing their jobs, ticking boxes, logging injuries, building a case. But every question is about whathedid toher.

None of them ask what she did. How she fought, how she clawed and kicked and ran.

Zoe Carlson doesn’t walk out of a situation like this without leaving a mark. She’s fire and fury wrapped in skin, and right now, she needs to hold onto that, to remind herself of whatshedid. The part that makes her stronger than him.

I press her hand to my chest, where my heart is thundering so hard it might burst.

“Tell us,” I murmur. “Tell us whatyoudid.”

She exhales, like the pressure in her chest finally found a crack to escape through. “I knew something was off when he ordered my drink because I never told him what I liked. He said it was my go-to and he’d seen me order it after a Storm game.”

She swallows. “Then he commented on my nail color. Said it suited my skin tone. I got a DM weeks ago with that exact phrase, from a burner account.”

My jaw is clenched so tight I feel it in my temples.

“I activated the backup phone. The one you made me carry,” she says, turning to me as her voice wobbles. “Sent the SOS. Then I slammed his car door into his shin and ran. He chased me.”

She flexes her bruised knuckles. “I elbowed him, twice. Kneed him and stomped on his foot.” She pauses, huffing a humorous laugh. “That would have hurt, these boots are Chanel.”

Fuck, I love you. Sharp and stubborn and mine.

“Then I clawed at him. Spat in his fucking face. He shoved me into the wall again, but I didn’t stop…” She swallows, and I track the movement in her throat. “I didn’t stop… I kept yelling. Fighting. Anything to slow him down.”

Her voice cracks slightly, just enough to break something inside me. I look down at the floor, not wanting her to see my eyes getting glassy as she continues.

“That’s when I started hearing sirens. And then, Chase…”

I’m shaking. Not from fear, from rage. From imagining all of this happening while I was halfway across the city, eating cereal and feeling sorry for myself while I refreshed game tape like it fucking mattered.

The nurse clears her throat. “Did he… touch you in any other way?”

Zoe stills beside me. “What?”

“I just need to ask, Ms. Carlson. Did you black out at any point? Is there any chance he—”

“No,” she says firmly. “I was conscious the whole time. He didn’t… He didn’t do that.”

My vision tunnels at the thought, and I want to be sick. I want to go back and finish what I started, make him suffer. Fuckingkillhim.

The advocate asks if she wants to press charges, and Zoe doesn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

She signs the form, but doesn’t let go of my hand once, and when we’re alone again, the silence stretches between us. She shifts on the bed, drawing her knees up, resting her chin on them.

My hand is still tangled with hers, and I’m not sure either of us is ready to let go. She squeezes her fingers again around mine, and when I finally lift my head, her eyes are already on me.

Mine are wet.

I don’t even realize it until one tear drops onto my cheek and burns its way down.

Zoe tilts her head. “You’re crying,” she says, softly surprised.

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