Page 2 of Anatomy of Us
This morning I didn't talk to anyone except Wesley, and I don’t think babbling at a baby counts as real conversation. Even if he’s the best listener I’ve ever had.
“Is that Wesley?” she asks, stepping closer and pointing at him with one finger.
“Yes. This is Wes,” I say.
For a second, I swear something like a smile tugs at her mouth. Then it’s gone, and I decide my brain made it up out of hunger and nerves. The nickname didn’t come from nowhere.
“He looks like you. Same chin.” Her eyes flick over me, sharp and fast. “You know you don’t have to be here until tomorrow, right? Come on. Break room. You need coffee.”
It isn’t a question. Diana Creed doesn’t ask questions. She gives orders, and the world learns to follow them. Even when it’s just coffee.
I walk behind her through hallways I know better than the streets in my own neighborhood. We pass the gym, where I used to spend hours until my arms shook for a different reason. We pass the medical area, and my stomach tightens, because I already know I’ll live in there for a while this preseason—checkups, treatment tables, hands pressing into sore muscle, someone judging what my body can do now.
It feels like coming home and trespassing at the same time.
The break room is empty. Diana points at a chair. I sit. Wesley stays tucked against my neck, his cheek soft against my collarbone.
Diana starts the coffee without asking how I take it, because she already knows. Seven years playing for her means she knows my coffee order, my tells, the way I shut down when my thoughts get too loud. She knows what kind of pep talk works when I’m spiraling.
She knows everything about me.
“Tomorrow is your medical test,” she says as she hands me a mug.
Espresso. Two sugars. Perfect.
“Are you ready?”
“If I’m honest? No.” I grip the warm mug like it’s a lifeline. “I don’t even know what ready means. It feels like I climbed into someone else’s body. Like it’s been years, not one.”
“Laura Dinaris had twins,” Diana says. “About your age. Everybody said she was done. She came back. She played three more seasons.”
“Laura was built like a tank,” I say. “She didn’t even get hurt. I’m not her.”
“No.” Diana takes a slow drink, watching me over the rim. “You’re not. You’re better than she was. You always were. Maybe not as tough, but better. But, Zoe, you have to want this. You can’t go back on the field just because you think you should. Or because you’re bored. And not because you’re trying to prove something to people who don’t get to matter anymore. Like your ex-husband.”
My jaw tightens. Heat crawls up my neck, right under Wesley’s warm weight.
“You have to come back because you still love this sport,” she continues, “more than you hate how hard it’s going to be. Because getting back to your old level will be hell. I promise you that.”
Wesley shifts against my throat like he understands her. Both of us go still, waiting for the cry.
It doesn’t come.
Just a tiny sigh, and he melts back into sleep.
“My contract ends this year,” I say. The words taste like metal. “If I can’t prove I can still play at the level I had before…”
“Then we don’t renew,” Diana cuts in, and she shrugs like she’s talking about the weather.
Hades doesn’t sugarcoat. She never has.
“Look, Zoe. I’m not going to lie to you. You know we only play to win. My job depends on it. My reputation depends on it. Your salaries are higher than those of most teams. You’ve been here a long time. You know spots are earned. I’m not giving you minutes out of sentiment. Not because you’re a legend. I need to know you’ll bring more than the player replacing you. If you don’t, you’ll spend the season on the bench.”
I already know. Knowing doesn’t stop me from almost choking on my coffee.
“Understood,” I say, and the sigh that leaves me feels like it drags my lungs with it.
“Do you?” Diana leans forward, elbows on the table. “Because the team changed this last year. Jade Herrera has been waiting two years for her shot. She took it. She’s good, Zoe. Really good. She won’t step aside just because the legend is back.”