Page 34 of Isolation

“Maybe she realized she was wrong about what happened,” I noted.

Danica met my eyes in the reflection. “Or maybe someone told her to back off.”

I shrugged, maintaining eye contact. “Either way, isn’t it better? For everyone?”

She didn’t answer. She just turned her attention back to her skincare routine, was methodical and focused. But I saw the wheels turning behind her eyes, reassessing, recalculating. Two days later, I found out why Remi went silent. I was shooting around after practice, just me and the ball and the empty arena, when Tray joined me on the court.

“Yo, you talk to DeAndre at all?” he asked, rebounding one of my shots and passing it back.

I shook my head. “Nah. Figured he needs space. Why?”

Tray dribbled absently, a habit when he was thinking. “Just wondering. I visited him yesterday. He asked about you.”

My shot clanged off the rim. “Yeah? What’d he say?”

“Nothing much. Just how you were playing. If you seemed... settled in the starting role.”

I retrieved the ball, taking my time. “What’d you tell him?”

“Truth. That you’re balling out. I also mentioned how his sister was staring daggers at you at some of the games.” Tray spun the ball on his finger, not looking at me.

My chest tightened. “And?”

“And he got real quiet. Then said he’d handle it. Said he’d tell Remi to leave it alone and what happened wasn’t worth messing up his comeback over.” Tray finally looked at me. His expression was unreadable.

I nodded slowly, processing. “Smart. Focus on recovery, not drama.”

“Yeah. Smart.” Tray passed me the ball one more time.

That night, I told Danica about the conversation with Tray. I framed it as proof that DeAndre had moved on and that we all should. She listened quietly, those PR instincts analyzing every word, every implication.

“So, DeAndre specifically told his sister to back off, the same sister who was convinced something happened during that practice, the same sister who was reaching out to me for weeks.”

“Looks that way.”

She studied me for a long moment. “And you don’t find that suspicious at all? That she’d suddenly decide to let it go?”

I met her gaze evenly. “I find it professional… mature.”

She set down her wine glass with deliberate precision. “Or calculated, like maybe someone reminded him what he stood to lose if certain… information were to come out.”

There it was—the accusation. It was thinly veiled but unmistakable. I could deny it. I could have acted offended that she’d think I’d blackmail a teammate. Instead, I just smiled slowly and confidently.

“Like I told you, Dani. DeAndre and I understand each other.”

She held my gaze for one more beat before looking away, her shoulders dropping slightly.

“I’m taking Mason and staying at my mother’s for a few days. I need some… perspective,” she said after a moment. Her voice was carefully neutral.

I didn’t argue or try to talk her out of it. Instead, I reached for her hand across the table, relieved when she didn’t pull away.

“Take all the time you need. I’ll be here when you get back,” I mentioned gently but firmly.

The unspoken question hung between us. Would she come back? Of course, she would. Danica was too bright to throw away everything we’d built over a morally gray area she couldn’t prove and nobody else cared about. She’d come back, and we’d move forward, and eventually, this would be another secret we keep from the world and ourselves. After all, that was the game we played now, and I was winning.

Laughter floatedthrough our condo like a forgotten melody—the kind that reminded you of something you used to know by heart. I paused at the edge of the living room with one hand pressed against the cool white wall, watching Mateo hunched over on the couch with Mason. Their foreheads nearly touched as they cracked up over some inside joke I wasn’t part of. My husband’s smile, genuine and unguarded, the kind I fell for all those years ago, tugged at something raw inside me. But what really twisted the knife was Mason’s face, a perfect mirror of his daddy’s joy, innocent and complete. They didn’t see me watching. They didn’t know the decision hardening behind my eyes, even as that laughter pulled at me like gravity, begging me to forget what I knew.

“Tell me again how Coach’s face looked.” Mason giggled, his small hand patting Mateo’s knee with the familiarity that made my chest ache.

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