pballer5

[pballer5]

I’m being deadass timeout is one of the series I read right now and grin when you post a new chapter, which is very frequent btw I love it!

I’m wondering will Paige ever find out about azzis basketball life…!!

Also I cannot express how much I love this, you really write timeout so beautifully

aw thanks sm 🙏🤧

i’ve had this story fleshed out for a while, and it’s def building to a point 😉 so excited for you to keep reading 🤭

[pballer5]

I LOVE THIS SERIES.

Seriously.

You are an amazing writer

aw shucks 🤧🥹 thx!!!

[pballer5]

timeout: chapter 3

masterlist

summary: Paige and Azzi continue to let their quiet friendship turn into something more.

a/n: I told myself if Dallas played assketball today, I would polish off and post chapter 3. So here we are!

wc: 4.6k

Chapter 3: November

By November, the mornings came in silver and left in rust. Everything smelled like woodsmoke and frozen soil. The trees were bone-bare. Paige had started showing up with handwarmers in her pockets and her thermos that steamed when she twisted the lid.

They didn’t talk about the kiss.

Instead, Paige kept coming around, not often, but steadily. Helping Azzi move hay bales before the frost set in, or hauling feed bags when the delivery guy dumped them too far from the shed.

Sometimes she brought odd things: a packet of candied ginger, a cracked tin of saddle soap, a tiny screwdriver set Azzi didn’t need but kept anyway.

One Tuesday, Paige showed up without a reason.

She didn’t knock, just wandered around the barn until she found Azzi crouched by the trough, breaking ice. The morning light hit her like it was glad to see her: hair unbound and wind-tousled, a few strands clinging to her cheeks where the cold had turned her skin a soft pink. Her coat hung open at the collar, revealing a threadbare flannel shirt and the sharp line of her collarbone where the wind caught. She moved with that easy, unhurried kind of grace Azzi had started to recognize like the world didn’t pull at her the way it did other people. Paige didn’t say anything, just pulled on her gloves and stepped in beside her, cracking the ice with the heel of her boot like she’d always meant to find her way back.

Azzi glanced up. “You’re not working today?”

“Called out.”

“You sick?”

Paige shook her head, gaze steady on the ice. “Didn’t want to be around people.”

Azzi didn’t ask more. Just passed her the pickaxe.

Paige glanced over, voice casual but steady. “About that kiss…”

Azzi looked up, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah?”

Paige’s gloved hands rested on the pickaxe handle. She gave a quiet laugh, warm and easy. “Just wanted to make sure I didn’t mess things up.”

Azzi’s smile grew a little, eyes softening. “You didn’t.”

Paige let out a breath,  her expression easing. “Good. Because… I’m glad it happened.”

Azzi met her gaze, the tension between them melting into something calm and quiet, like the slow settling of snow on bare branches. “Me too,” she said simply.

The ice cracked again under Paige’s pickaxe, sharp and satisfying. Azzi crouched next to her, watching the way the sun caught the frost on Paige’s lashes, making them sparkle like tiny crystals.

“Don’t usually work this slow,” Azzi teased, nudging her gently with an elbow.

Paige shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. “Thought I’d try something new.”

Azzi shook her head, laughing softly. “You’re full of surprises.”

Paige looked over, eyes glinting with mischief. “Maybe I like keeping you on your toes.”

Azzi leaned back on her heels, letting the quiet settle around them. For a moment, all the noise of the world felt miles away: just two people, the cold air, and the slow cracking of ice.

“So,” Azzi said after a beat, “what made you call out today, really?”

Paige’s smile faded just a little, her gaze dropping to the frozen ground. “Needed a break. From everything.”

Azzi nodded, not pushing. She knew better than to pry too hard, not yet.

Instead, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the cracked tin of saddle soap Paige had given her weeks ago. “Here,” she said, holding it out. “For when you feel like fixing up whatever’s cracked.”

The barn smelled faintly of hay dust and cold earth, the kind of smell Azzi could almost wrap herself in. Outside, the sky was purple with early dusk, and a pale frost clung to the edges of the trough. Paige settled next to her on the bucket, boots scraping softly on the worn wood floor.

Azzi could feel the heat from Paige’s body, a quiet warmth in the chill that seemed to reach out without words.

“You never really said where you’re from,” Azzi said gently, her voice low enough to match the hush of the barn.

Paige’s eyes flicked to the beams above, fingers curling around the edge of her jacket like holding something back. After a beat, she said, “Minnesota. Grew up near Minneapolis."

Azzi nodded, waiting.

“Family’s spread out,” Paige added, voice careful. “Had to make my own way for a while.”

Azzi thought she caught a shadow cross Paige’s face, something like a flicker of something unspoken. But Paige looked away, pulling her knees up slightly.

“I like it here,” Paige said softly, “the quiet. The space to just... be.”

Azzi kept her eyes on her, the warmth between them steady but unforced. Her fingers brushed lightly against Paige’s sleeve.

“If you want to talk about it,” Azzi said, voice low, “I’m here.”

Paige shifted on the rough wooden bucket, her fingers tightening around the cuff of her jacket as if holding something back. “It’s just... stuff from back home,” she said, voice low and careful, like stepping around a fragile thing. “Things I don’t usually talk about.”

Azzi watched her, eyes soft but steady. She noticed the faint shadow in Paige’s gaze, the way her jaw tightened ever so slightly.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Azzi said gently, her fingers drawing quiet shapes on the wood beside Paige’s knee. She kept her voice low, her presence steady. “Not unless you want to.”

Paige’s lips twitched in a small, bitter laugh, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I used to think I had it figured out. Plans, timelines… all the right steps.”

Her gaze stayed fixed on the floor, lashes casting shadows beneath her eyes. “Turns out life’s better at improvising than I am.”“It makes new rules when you’re not looking. And suddenly you’re somewhere you didn’t mean to be, wondering if it’s still okay to want something good.”

The silence that followed felt thick, almost sacred. Heavy with everything Paige hadn’t said and maybe wasn’t ready to. Her eyes lifted for a fleeting second, brushing Azzi’s like a hand that didn’t quite dare to touch. There was something raw there: vulnerable and bright, like the glint of sun off ice. Then she looked away again, jaw tightening as if to hold something in.

Azzi didn’t move, didn’t rush to fill the space. She just reached over and curled her fingers gently around Paige’s, grounding her.

“You still get to want good things,” she said softly. “Even if they show up different than you thought they would.”

Her thumb traced a slow arc along the back of Paige’s hand. “Even if they show up late. Or messy.”

The barn held still around them, the air thick with cold and quiet, but Azzi’s voice was warm enough to lean into.

When Paige finally answered, it was barely more than a breath: “Thanks.”

Azzi smiled, small and steady. “You don’t have to explain everything right now. I’m not going anywhere.”

She meant it. And somehow, Paige seemed to know that too.

The day was folding into evening, the sky bruised with soft purples and dusty pinks. The chill had deepened, and Azzi pulled her jacket tighter around her, the wool rough but comforting. 

Paige had been quiet most of the afternoon, moving with easy surety as she helped stack feed bags and sweep out the corner where the chickens roosted. Azzi watched the way the light caught the strands of Paige’s hair, the way her breath puffed out in small clouds, the slight crease in her brow when she concentrated. It was those little details Azzi was learning to read, like a slow unfolding book.

When Azzi knelt to pick up the last bale of hay, she felt rather than heard the soft footsteps approaching behind her. The world seemed to hush, the sounds of the farm falling away like a gentle tide. Before she could turn, a warmth settled behind her solid, steady, familiar.

Paige’s hands curved around her waist, grounding her in a quiet presence. The roughness of Paige’s jacket against Azzi’s cheek was a soft contrast to the cold air. Azzi didn’t pull away. Instead, she let her breath slow, the tension in her shoulders easing.

“You’ve got hay in your hair,” Paige said softly, fingers brushing a stray piece away from her curls, careful, deliberate.

Azzi’s eyes closed for a moment, the closeness settling between them like a gentle promise.

Azzi’s eyes fluttered open just enough to meet Paige’s gaze. There was something calm in those eyes, steady, patient, like the promise of something unspoken but real. The barn light flickered, casting shadows that softened the sharp edges of the day.

“Thanks,” Azzi murmured, voice low. Her hands rested lightly on Paige’s forearms, feeling the warmth there, the subtle tension of muscles relaxed but alert.

Paige shifted closer, her breath warm against Azzi’s cheek. “You’re cold,” she said, voice almost a whisper.

Azzi didn’t argue. Instead, she tilted her head so Paige’s hand could tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Their fingers brushed, and for a moment, the world outside the barn ceased to exist.

The air between them thickened, not rushed or heavy, but full of quiet possibility. Paige’s hand lingered, tracing slow circles on Azzi’s skin beneath her jacket. Azzi’s heart hammered softly, a rhythm matched by the steady beat of Paige’s fingers.

They stayed like that for a long moment, neither moving away nor pushing forward, just two bodies finding comfort in the space between.

Paige’s hand slid from Azzi’s forearm, tracing the line of her jaw, careful, reverent, like she was memorizing the way Azzi’s skin felt beneath her fingertips. Azzi’s breath caught, small and uneven, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she tilted her face up, meeting Paige’s eyes dark, searching, full of something that made Azzi’s chest ache with longing.

The barn smelled of woodsmoke and hay, and the cold was a distant memory, wrapped up in the heat between them. Paige’s other hand moved to the small of Azzi’s back, drawing her closer with a gentle but sure pull. The fabric of their jackets pressed together, warmth seeping through, and the steady thump of Azzi’s heart was loud enough to fill the space between their lips.

Paige leaned in slowly, their breaths mingling, and Azzi closed her eyes, feeling the softness of those first tentative kisses, light as a feather but burning deep. Her hands found their way to Paige’s waist, fingertips grazing the smooth curve beneath layers of flannel and denim.

When their lips parted, Azzi stayed close, foreheads resting together, sharing the quiet between breaths.

Azzi’s heart thudded a slow, steady rhythm as she looked into Paige’s eyes,  a clear, striking blue that caught the quiet amber of the fading light, like dusk reflecting off a frozen lake. Her eyelashes shimmered with the last glimmer of sun, delicate and golden.

Her voice was low, careful.

“We don’t have to rush anything.”

Paige’s smile was small, soft:  the kind that tugged at something deep and unseen. Her breath warmed Azzi’s fingers, the scent of earth and something faintly sweet in the air between them.

“Yeah. Just… this.”

They stood like that, the world around them muted and softened, the silence wrapping around their shoulders like a well-worn blanket. For a moment, there was no need for words, just the steady pulse of warmth, the quiet promise held in a touch.

<3

The days were shorter now. Dusk came fast and quiet, bleeding into the trees like watercolor left out in the rain. She’d been trying to read, half-heartedly, a blanket wrapped around her knees, but her mind kept drifting.

It had been a good day: feed buckets filled, boots muddied, one of the horses nuzzling her shoulder like it knew she needed the contact. And yet, beneath the rhythm of the ordinary, there was a hum, something that tugged at her ribs when the wind shifted, something she couldn’t name.

Then came the knock, soft, careful, like the sound itself wasn’t quite sure it belonged.

Azzi pulled her jacket tighter against the sharp November wind, the sky bruised with early evening shadows. She wasn’t sure why her heart kept flipping every time Paige showed up, but when Paige stood there, cheeks pink from the cold, it felt like a quiet kind of promise.

“Hey,” Paige said, voice just above a whisper. “Thought I’d take you out for a change.”

Azzi blinked, caught off guard. “You mean... a real date?”

Paige shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips. “If you want.”

Azzi smiled back, a warmth spreading beneath her skin. “I do.”

They drove with the windows fogging gently, the radio low, conversation trailing in soft starts and pauses that didn’t need filling. Outside, the world blurred into silhouettes of pine and frost. Inside, Paige’s hand brushed the gearshift too close to Azzi’s, lingering just enough to make her heart stumble.

By the time they pulled into the diner, all flickering neon signs and wood-paneled nostalgia, the quiet between them had shifted into something easy, threaded with shared looks and barely-there smiles.

Inside, Paige slid into the booth like she owned the place, stretching her legs out and grinning across the table. “So,” she said, propping her chin on her hand. “How does it feel to be on the best date of your life?”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Bold of you to assume it cracks my top five.”

Paige gasped, mock-offended. “Rude. I brought you to a place with actual character. That’s worth at least third place.”

Azzi leaned in, smirking. “We haven’t even ordered yet. What if the food’s terrible?”

“Then I’ll distract you with my charm,” Paige said, dead serious.

Azzi laughed, shaking her head. “You’ve got backup plans for your backup plans.”

Paige shrugged. “I came prepared.”

Their waitress came by with two waters and a crooked smile, and once she left, Azzi glanced around the diner, then back at Paige. “Okay, so what’s the real reason you brought me here?”

Paige leaned forward, playful glint in her eyes. “Thought it’d be harder for you to run away if you’re stuck in a booth.”

Azzi laughed again, a real one this time, warm and easy. “Trapped with you in a diner. Sounds dangerous.”

Paige grinned. “Only if you play your cards right.”

Azzi sipped her water, eyes drifting toward the window, where the neon sign buzzed faintly in the dark. “I don’t usually do this.”

Paige tilted her head. “What, diners? Late-night getaways with devastatingly charming women?”

Azzi smiled, then shook her head. “No. Let someone in like this.”

That caught Paige. For a second, the teasing in her eyes softened into something steadier. “Yeah,” she said. “Me neither.”

A beat passed, quiet but not uncomfortable. Outside, a truck rumbled by on the highway, its headlights sweeping past like a brief spotlight on their little corner of the world.

Azzi fiddled with her straw wrapper. “It’s easier with you. I don’t know why.”

Paige leaned back, the playfulness still there but gentled. “Maybe because I’m not trying to make you be anything. I just… like being around you. However that looks.”

Azzi met her eyes. “Even when I’m grumpy? And smell like hay?”

“Especially then,” Paige said, deadpan. “It’s part of the charm. The hay-swept mystery of Azzi.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her. “You’re such a dork.”

“Only for you.”

Their food arrived then, steaming plates and clinking silverware interrupting the spell. But the energy between them had shifted again, softer now, like a thread pulled tighter without breaking.

Paige reached for the salt, brushing her fingers against Azzi’s. She didn’t move them right away.

And as they settled into the meal, the laughter came back, easy, familiar, a rhythm starting to form between them. Not quite love yet, but something unmistakably on its way.

They ate slowly, the easy rhythm of their conversation swirling between teasing jabs and soft smiles. Outside, the wind whispered against the windows, but inside, the booth felt like its own little world, wrapped in warmth and the scent of melting butter and fresh bread.

At one point, Paige leaned forward, lowering her voice to a mock-serious whisper. “I have a confession: I may have picked this place because they play the absolute worst ‘80s music on repeat.”

Azzi’s eyes widened in mock horror. “You did not.”

“Oh yes,” Paige grinned. “So, if you hear me singing off-key, just pretend you don’t.”

Azzi shook her head, smiling wide. “Deal. But only if you promise to duet with me sometime.”

Paige reached across the table again, their fingers brushing lightly. “It’s a date.”

The jukebox sputtered to life with a clunky version of “Take On Me” as they pushed back from the table. Paige slipped her hand into Azzi’s, fingers weaving together like they’d done it a hundred times before.

Outside, the night air was crisp, fresh with the smell of damp earth and a hint of pine from the nearby woods. The diner’s neon sign buzzed softly, casting a pinkish glow that danced across their faces.

Azzi tugged Paige gently toward the cracked sidewalk, their steps light, bouncing to the echo of the corny ‘80s beat still humming inside. “So, what’s your favorite song to embarrass yourself singing?”

Paige tilted her head, grinning mischievously. “Oh, definitely something by Madonna. ‘Like a Virgin,’ maybe. You?”

Azzi laughed, squeezing Paige’s hand. “I’m a ‘Living on a Prayer’ kind of disaster.”

They paused beneath a streetlamp, and the light caught in Paige’s hair like spun gold. Azzi’s breath caught just a little—something about the way the shadows played over her face made the whole world shrink to just this moment.

Paige brushed a stray lock behind Azzi’s ear. “This was nice,” she said softly. “More than nice, actually.”

Azzi smiled, the warmth in her chest spreading like wildfire. “Yeah. It really was.”

The wind shifted, and without thinking, Azzi stepped closer. Their hands tightened around each other, and the night felt full of possibility.

Azzi nudged Paige with her shoulder. “So… Madonna, huh? You never told me you were such a ’80s pop icon in disguise.”

Paige smirked, eyes sparkling. “Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried belting out Material Girl in the shower.”

Azzi laughed. “I might need a live demonstration someday. You promise you won’t judge my air guitar skills?”

“Only if you promise not to judge my dance moves,” Paige shot back, stepping into an imaginary spotlight and striking a ridiculous pose.

Azzi grinned. “Deal. Though fair warning, my moves might cause permanent eye damage.”

Paige laughed, then lowered her voice with a teasing edge. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to protect my eyes with a kiss.”

Azzi’s heart jumped, but she played it cool. “Is that your smooth way of asking me out again?”

“Maybe,” Paige said, brushing a hand lightly over Azzi’s. “Or maybe I’m just trying to keep you around.”

Azzi squeezed her hand gently. “Works for me.”

The laughter faded slowly, leaving a quieter space between them. Paige’s eyes softened as she looked at Azzi, the teasing sparkle replaced by something steadier, warmer.

“You know,” Paige said quietly, “I’m glad you didn’t run after that kiss. I wasn’t sure if you’d want me around after.”

Azzi’s chest tightened, there was a raw honesty there, a vulnerability Paige rarely showed.

“I didn’t want to run,” Azzi said carefully, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Paige’s ear. “It felt… right. Like something I’d been waiting for but didn’t know how to ask.”

Paige swallowed hard, her voice just above a whisper. “I’m scared sometimes. Of what people think. Of what I want.”

Azzi’s hand lingered on Paige’s cheek, thumb brushing lightly over her skin. “You don’t have to be scared here. Not with me.”

Paige leaned in, hesitant at first, then more certain.

Their lips met, soft and slow, like a question and an answer wrapped in warmth. Azzi’s fingers curled gently into Paige’s jacket, grounding herself in the moment.

The silence stretched between them, comfortable and full, like the pause before a song’s next note. Paige’s fingers slid down Azzi’s arm, curling around her hand and pulling it closer. The rough callouses of work met soft skin, and the contrast made Azzi smile against the cold.

They walked slowly, feet crunching on the frost-hardened grass, the world reduced to just the two of them. A stray breeze lifted strands of Paige’s hair, and Azzi reached out, tucking it behind her ear fingers brushing her cheek again, light and sure.

Paige glanced at her, eyes sparkling with that playful spark Azzi had come to love, the same spark that softened whenever she looked her way. “You’re making it impossible to focus,” Paige teased, voice low and warm.

Azzi laughed, the sound spilling into the night like a secret. “Good. Maybe you’re the distraction I needed.”

Their pace slowed until they stopped beneath the skeletal branches of an old maple. The moon slipped behind a cloud, casting their faces into gentle shadow. Paige’s hand cupped Azzi’s neck, thumb brushing her pulse, steady and alive.

Azzi leaned in, breath mingling with Paige’s, her heart hammering against ribs she barely noticed. “So,” she said softly, “what happens now?”

Paige’s smile was a secret shared in the dark. “We keep walking,” she said, “and see where the night takes us.”

Azzi nodded, the world opening wide and quiet, holding infinite possibility in the space between their hands.

Eventually Paige spoke again. “You want to come back with me?”

Azzi hadn’t hesitated.

The cabin was warm when they stepped inside, Paige must’ve lit the stove that morning before work. The air smelled like old cedar and faintly of whatever incense Paige sometimes burned, sharp and smoky-sweet. The lamps were low, throwing soft gold into the corners. Azzi shrugged off her jacket and hung it next to Paige’s on the hook that always leaned a little left.

“You ever going to fix that?” she teased, nodding to it.

Paige toed off her boots and kicked them near the door. “Nah. It leans with character.”

Azzi snorted. “That’s what people say about fences and dogs. Not coat hooks.”

“Then it’s a coat hook with dog energy.”

They grinned at each other, familiar, playful, comfortable. Azzi wandered toward the kitchen, where a half-finished crossword sat on the counter and a mug was left beside the sink with the ghost of dried coffee inside.

Paige came up behind her, leaned against the fridge and crossed her arms. “You want tea or something stronger?”

“Tea’s fine.” Azzi glanced at her sideways. “Though you offering the ‘something stronger’ makes me nervous.”

“I like keeping you slightly on edge.”

Azzi laughed, and Paige smiled like she’d been waiting to hear that sound all day.

They didn’t rush. Paige made tea like she always did, quiet and precise. Azzi perched on the counter, swinging one booted foot and watching her.

When they sat down on the couch, Paige curled her legs under her, close but not pressing. The steam from her mug drifted up between them.

Azzi broke the silence. “You ever get tired of the quiet out here?”

Paige didn’t answer right away. Her gaze was somewhere near the window, where snow had begun to fall again, slow and soft like dust. “Sometimes. But only when I forget why I like it.”

“And why’s that?”

She looked back at Azzi. “Because it makes space for things.”

Azzi turned that over in her head, sipping her tea. “Like what?”

“Like you.”

It wasn’t bold, not the way Paige said it. It was quiet and real, like stating a fact she didn’t need to convince Azzi of.

Azzi set her mug down, slower now. “You always say things like that when I’m not ready.”

“Not ready for what?”

“To feel everything I feel.”

Paige shifted closer, knees bumping. “And what do you feel?”

Azzi looked at her. Really looked. The shadows curved gently across Paige’s face, highlighting the scar near her eyebrow, the way her hair curled loose at her collar, damp still from the snow. There was something in Paige’s eyes that was open, but not demanding. Just waiting.

Azzi’s voice was quiet. “Like I want to stay here longer than I probably should.”

Paige smiled. Not wide, not smug. Just soft.

Then she leaned in, brushed a kiss to Azzi’s jaw, nothing heavy, just warm skin and the smell of peppermint tea. She stayed there, lips hovering just shy of her cheek.

“I don’t think there’s a ‘should’ to worry about anymore.”

Azzi closed her eyes. Let herself lean in.

They didn’t move for a long time.

Azzi stayed there, eyes closed, cheek tilted into the warmth of Paige’s breath. The only sound was the soft hiss of the stove and the faint groan of the house settling into the cold. Her fingers, still curled around the handle of her tea mug, had gone slack, the ceramic long cooled. But none of that mattered. Not with Paige this close. Not with the quiet so full of something she could feel in her chest.

When Azzi opened her eyes again, Paige was watching her: not intensely, not expectantly. Just… there. Present in a way Azzi wasn’t used to. Like Paige had already decided she’d stay, and there was no need to say so aloud.

Azzi reached up and tucked a loose curl behind Paige’s ear. Her fingers grazed the edge of her cheek, and Paige closed her eyes briefly like it meant something. Maybe it did.

“You’re warm,” Azzi murmured.

Paige let out a low laugh. “Don’t spread it around. I’ve got a reputation.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “What kind of reputation does the girl who shows up with saddle soap and thermoses have?”

Paige leaned back just a little, her smile crooked. “The mysterious loner who gives unsolicited tools and then makes grilled cheese with exactly the right cheese-to-bread ratio.”

Azzi smirked. “You’re dangerously close to domestic.”

Paige bumped her shoulder lightly. “Don’t ruin it.”

Their hands brushed again, first accidental, then deliberate. Azzi’s fingers caught Paige’s and didn’t let go. They rested there, knuckles touching on the couch cushion between them.

Outside, the snow had thickened, fat flakes falling past the window in slow, spiraling drops. The trees beyond the glass were coated in white, their limbs heavy and silent.

Inside, Paige shifted closer until their knees touched. She didn’t say anything, just reached out and rested her hand gently on Azzi’s thigh, a soft anchor. Her thumb rubbed slow circles over the worn denim.

“You’re really not scared?” Azzi asked, barely above a whisper.

Paige looked at her for a long moment. “Of what?”

Azzi hesitated. “This.”

A beat.

“Scared?” Paige repeated, her voice thoughtful. “No. Not scared. Just… careful.”

Azzi nodded. That, she understood. The kind of care you took with something that mattered.

The warmth between them settled deeper. Paige’s hand moved up, slow and sure, to Azzi’s waist, the weight of it grounding, familiar now. Azzi leaned into her, resting her forehead against Paige’s collarbone. She felt Paige’s breath at her temple, steady and warm.

“I like being here,” Azzi said, voice muffled.

“I like you here,” Paige replied, fingers tightening gently at her side.

No need for more words. Just the way Paige’s thumb kept tracing soft circles, and the way Azzi’s hands curled into the hem of Paige’s flannel shirt, and the slow exhale they shared as the snow kept falling.

[pballer5]

timeout saved my broke ass life 🥹

aw ty!

[pballer5]

😍😍

[pballer5]

Okay! I've seen enough.

[pballer5]

LOVE IT 😍

[pballer5]

timeout masterlist

summary: In the quiet after victory, Azzi Fudd finds herself questioning everything she thought she wanted. Searching for clarity far from the spotlight, she begins to confront who she is when the game, the noise, and the expectations fall away.

Chapter 1: Montana

Chapter 2: Flashlight

Chapter 3: November

[pballer5]

timeout: chapter 2

masterlist

summary: Azzi and Paige spend more time together and fixing fences, sharing quiet moments, and learning to trust each other. A slow connection builds, even if neither of them are ready to name it yet.

a/n: need to make a masterlist before this gets outta hand ;)

wc: 8k

Chapter 2: Flashlight

The sound of Paige’s truck fades down the gravel road, swallowed by the trees. Azzi watches the dust settle for a moment longer before setting the axe down beside the pile of freshly split logs. Her arms ache, not the kind of pain she’s used to after a game, but a dull, honest soreness. A useful kind.

She brushes wood chips from her hoodie and turns toward the barn. The structure looks like it’s held together by history and stubbornness. She walks slowly, running a hand along the rough siding as she passes. Her fingers catch on a splinter and she curses softly, sucking the sting out of her thumb.

Inside, it smells like hay and motor oil. Rusted tools hang on hooks, some half-buried in dust, others still gleaming from recent use. A faint breeze slips through the cracks in the boards, carrying the cold with it.

Azzi finds a workbench, drops onto the stool, and lets herself breathe.

For a few minutes, she just sits. No plan. No pressure. No one watching.

That should feel like freedom. But the silence is still unfamiliar, like a song missing its chorus.

She pulls out her phone again, almost without thinking. Still no bars. No texts. No reminders about media obligations or off-season clinics. Just a dark screen and a reflection that doesn’t quite look like her anymore.

She flips the phone face-down and looks around the barn.

A calendar hangs crookedly on the wall. October. A photograph of elk crossing a frozen river. The days are marked in black ink feed runs, weather checks, wood delivery. Ruth’s handwriting is sharp and no-nonsense, the kind that doesn’t bother with exclamation points or apologies.

Azzi studies the calendar like it might offer her answers. It doesn’t.

She stands and moves to the shelves, where jars of nails and bolts sit beside old canning supplies and half-burned candles. Everything has a purpose. Everything is here for a reason.

She’s still trying to figure out if she is, too.

<3

Later that afternoon, Ruth finds her sweeping out the barn.

“You don’t have to do that,” Ruth says, leaning against the doorframe with a mug in hand. “The place has been a mess for twenty years. I’ve made peace with it.”

Azzi shrugs, not stopping. “It gives me something to do.”

“Mm.” Ruth sips her coffee. “That why you were sulking around like a kicked puppy after Paige left?”

Azzi pauses, broom in mid-swing. “I wasn’t—”

Ruth raises an eyebrow. “Kid, I’ve been alive long enough to know when someone’s rattled. Paige has that effect. Talks like she’s been everywhere and knows everything. Which she mostly doesn’t.”

Azzi leans the broom against the wall. “She just… caught me off guard.”

“She’s blunt. But she’s not wrong. You don’t exactly blend in out here.”

Azzi exhales, her voice low. “I’m not trying to blend in.”

“No,” Ruth says. “You’re trying to disappear.”

That lands harder than Azzi expects.

She doesn’t respond right away. The truth of it lingers between them, as sharp and quiet as the cold.

“I thought coming here would help me… breathe,” Azzi says finally. “Figure out who I am without all the noise. But the silence is just as loud.”

Ruth nods, like she understands. “That’s how it starts. You think quiet is what you need. Then you realize it doesn’t fix anything unless you’re willing to listen to what it’s saying.”

Azzi looks down at her hands, still raw from chopping wood. “What if I don’t like what I hear?”

Ruth takes a long sip, her gaze steady. “Then you’re finally being honest.”

That night, Azzi can’t sleep. Again.

The wind howls outside, rattling the windows. The house creaks like an old ship lost at sea. She lies in bed, staring at the ceiling, the quilt pulled up to her chin.

She thinks about Paige, her easy confidence, her teasing grin. She thinks about Ruth, about Caroline and her teammates back in San Francisco, about the version of herself that lived in highlight reels and postgame interviews.

And then she thinks about this Azzi. The one in flannel pajamas and wool socks, whose hair still smells faintly of firewood. The one who didn’t pick up a basketball today.

She reaches into her bag and pulls out the jersey still wrinkled, still stained with champagne and celebration. She holds it in her lap for a long time.

Eventually, she folds it. Properly. Smooths the fabric. Sets it in the bottom drawer of the dresser.

Not forgotten.

Just… resting.

Like her.

<3

Three days pass before Azzi sees Paige again.

She’s in the garage, sleeves rolled up, grease smudged along her cheekbone like an afterthought. The truck’s hood is popped, and classic rock hums from a dented speaker on the windowsill: Fleetwood Mac, something slow and sad. Azzi recognizes the song but not the name.

She hesitates at the door. She didn’t come here looking for anyone. She came for a wrench.

Ruth’s faucet is leaking, and Azzi figured she might as well try to fix it herself. That’s what people do out here, right? Solve problems with their hands instead of schedules.

Paige doesn’t look up, just calls over her shoulder, “Careful, the floor bites.”

Azzi frowns. “What?”

“There’s a spot by the jack that’ll roll your ankle faster than a crossover.” She peers around the hood and smirks. “I figured someone who lives in sneakers should know.”

Azzi steps carefully inside, avoiding the oil stain that looks suspiciously like it’s claimed victims before. “Noted.”

“You here for the truck, or for the privilege of seeing me covered in axle grease?”

Azzi deadpans, “Definitely not the second one.”

“Shame,” Paige says, wiping her hands on a rag. “I usually charge for this level of charisma.”

Azzi cracks the smallest smile. “I need a wrench. Faucet repair.”

Paige arches an eyebrow. “Ruth’s finally letting you touch plumbing?”

Azzi shrugs. “Letting is a strong word. She said if I break it worse, she’ll just call someone who knows what they’re doing.”

Paige chuckles. “Sounds about right.” She disappears behind a shelf and reappears with a metal toolbox, sliding it across the floor toward her. “Top row. Half-inch should do it.”

Azzi knelt in front of the toolbox and cracked it open. It let out a groan, like it had been holding its breath for a decade. Inside, rows of tools gleamed, some polished from use, others with a patina of “do not touch unless you know what you’re doing.”

She hovered over a couple before grabbing a wrench.

“Bold choice,” Paige said from across the garage.

Azzi looked up. “Why?”

Paige grinned. “That one’s known to hold grudges.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Is that a mechanical diagnosis, or are you just assigning personalities to tools now?”

“Both,” Paige said, sauntering over. “That one bit me last winter. Right here.” She held up her knuckle, where a faded scar curved like a crescent moon. “Wrenched a radiator, lost a chunk of pride.”

Azzi glanced at the wrench in her hand. “I like her already.”

“She’s high-maintenance.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

Paige laughed and leaned against the workbench, watching as Azzi rolled the tool in her palm.

“You know what you’re doing with that?” she asked.

Azzi tilted her head. “I’ve read a manual.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“It was laminated.”

“Still doesn’t count.”

Azzi smirked. “Well, then I guess we’re both just here winging it.”

Paige looked amused. “Speak for yourself. I wing it with flair.”

Azzi gestured toward the oil-streaked rag stuffed in Paige’s back pocket. “And grease.”

“It’s called ambiance,” Paige said. “I’m cultivating an aesthetic.”

“Of being attacked by an engine?”

“Of being extremely competent under very dirty circumstances.”

Azzi shook her head, chuckling as she grabbed the wrench again. “So this is a trap, huh? You charm people with sarcasm, then make them fix the plumbing.”

“Hey, you volunteered.”

Azzi paused, smirking. “I said I’d try. That’s not the same thing.”

Paige pushed off the workbench. “Around here, touching the toolbox means you’re stuck with it.”

Azzi gave her a dry look. “Got it. No backing out now.”

As she moved toward the door, wrench in hand, Paige called after her, “Just don’t cross-thread the pipes. Ruth will hear it in her sleep.”

Azzi turned back, walking backward down the steps. “If the house floods, I’ll blame it on a ghost.”

“Make it a dramatic one. Victorian. Vengeful.”

Azzi nodded solemnly. “Named Gerald.”

Paige saluted her. “Godspeed, Gerald’s plumber.”

Azzi disappeared around the side of the house, still smiling.

Paige stayed there for a moment, watching the empty doorway like it might say something. Then she looked at the wrench she'd warned Azzi about and quietly grinned.

“She’ll be fine,” she said aloud, to no one in particular.

And somehow, she knew it was true.

<3

That night, Azzi lies awake again. Not from unrest this time, but from thought. From possibility. That last line of Paige’s clings to her ribs.

She doesn’t know what Paige’s story is, why she’s out here fixing cars and making metaphors. But she feels something unfamiliar forming, a thread between them.

Not trust. Not yet.

But something like recognition.

<3

The flyer showed up on Ruth’s fridge overnight.

In hand-scrawled Sharpie across a neon-orange background, it read:

FALL HARVEST FAIR

Saturday @ The Grange Hall – 3PM

Apple pies, hayrides, wood carving, cider, and the annual cornhole showdown.

Come hungry, leave humbled.

“Sounds like a cult,” Azzi muttered, eyeing the flyer over breakfast.

Ruth chuckled. “Only if you count worshiping at the altar of spiced cider and bad country covers.”

She didn’t give Azzi a choice. When Saturday rolled around, Ruth handed her a scarf (“It’s autumn, not the apocalypse, you can wear color”) and told her to get in the truck. Paige, it turned out, was already in the passenger seat.

“Don’t look so shocked,” Paige said as Azzi slid in beside her. “Ruth picks me up like a stray cat any time there’s free pie involved.”

“Should’ve guessed food was your love language,” Azzi said, buckling up.

“It’s that, or insults. Depends on the day.”

Azzi smirked. “So today’s both?”

“Lucky you.”

The Grange Hall sat at the edge of a wide, flat field, the old barn-turned-community center strung with cheap string lights and lined with folding tables. Kids ran in circles with caramel apples stuck to their faces. An acoustic band was tuning up near a stack of hay bales. It smelled like cinnamon, earth, and woodsmoke which was comforting in a way Azzi hadn’t realized she’d missed.

“You ever been to one of these?” Paige asked as they stepped out of the truck.

Azzi shook her head. “Closest I’ve been to a harvest fair was a team fundraiser with pumpkin spice smoothies and a DJ.”

Paige winced. “God, no. Do you even know what a pumpkin is supposed to taste like?”

“Do you?”

“I’m not the one drinking it blended with whey protein and trauma.”

Azzi laughed, genuinely this time, and Paige glanced at her, surprised maybe, but she didn’t comment on it.

They wandered together, Ruth disappearing toward the pie table with the focus of someone on a sacred quest. Azzi kept her hands in her jacket pockets, her eyes drifting from booths to faces to the open stretch of sky beyond. No one looked twice at her. No flashing phones. No whispered recognition. Just neighbors laughing into paper cups and calling out greetings across hay bales.

At one booth, a man in overalls waved them over. “Cornhole tournament starts in ten. You two in?”

Paige looked at Azzi. “You any good?”

Azzi tilted her head. “Let’s just say I don’t usually miss what I aim at.”

“Yeah, well, the real enemy here is wind and overconfidence.”

Azzi smirked. “Sounds like fun.”

“Or disaster.”

“Even better,” Azzi said, already stepping forward. “Let’s cause some chaos.”

The bracket wasn’t exactly Olympic level: some farmers, a couple of teenagers, and a very intense elderly woman named Marla who brought her own beanbags. Still, the competition was real.

Azzi and Paige moved through the rounds with ease, though they spent most of their time bickering.

“Too much wrist,” Paige muttered after Azzi overthrew the bag.

“I’m adjusting for wind,” Azzi replied.

“It’s an indoor barn.”

“Still wind.”

“Yeah. From your ego.”

But between the quips, they were in sync. Laughing. Loosening.

By the time they made the finals, a small crowd had gathered, sipping cider and cheering them on with the gentle chaos of rural competitiveness. Marla and her husband stood across from them, expressionless and mildly terrifying, like they’d trained for this in secret.

Azzi stepped up, exhaled, and tossed. The bag sailed through the air and dropped clean into the hole.

The barn erupted in a wave of warm, understated celebration and applause, a few whoops, someone tapping a cider cup on their knee.

Paige gave a low whistle. “Alright. Didn’t think you had that kind of precision in you.”

Azzi smirked. “That your way of saying sorry?”

“Not even close.”

“You trying to avoid admitting I carried us?”

Paige grinned. “You carried the beanbags. I brought the charm.”

Azzi arched an eyebrow. “You mean the commentary?”

“Same thing.”

They won the match by two points. No trophy, just a mason jar of local honey and a ribbon that said “Fall Baller Champs.” Paige wore hers like a medal. Azzi tucked hers in her back pocket.

Afterward, they stood by the edge of the field, watching the sun drip behind the hills. Paige handed her a cider. Hot. Spiced. Sweet in a way that felt undeserved and necessary all at once.

Azzi took a sip, quiet settling between them.

Then Paige said, voice low but steady, “So, you gonna tell me what you’re really doing here?”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She watched a few kids tumble off a hay bale, their laughter bright and careless.

“Trying to figure that out,” she said finally.

“That’s not a no.”

“It’s not a yes either.”

Paige tilted her cup toward her. “Cryptic. Classic.”

Azzi glanced at her. “You got a problem with that?”

Paige smirked. “Nah. Just seems like there’s more going on than you’re letting on.”

Azzi gave a small shrug. “There is. Just not ready to get into it.”

Paige didn’t push further. She just nodded, took another sip of cider, and said, “Well. Good thing we’ve got time.”

They stood there for a while, letting the quiet settle between them. The sky deepened by degrees, oranges fading to slate, then ink. The music inside drifted toward something slow and lopsided, the kind people swayed to without quite dancing. Someone lit a bonfire near the fence line, and sparks lifted like restless stars.

Eventually, someone shouted about needing more firewood. A gust of wind sent napkins skittering across the grass. Paige gave Azzi a questioning glance, then jerked her chin toward the trucks.

Azzi nodded.

They walked in silence, boots crunching on gravel, until they reached Paige’s pickup. Climbing into the bed felt natural somehow, like sitting on a rooftop with someone, or the end of a long day on the lake. No big declaration, just a quiet agreement.

The truck bed was cold, but Azzi didn’t mind. She pulled the flannel blanket tighter around her legs and leaned back against the side of the cab, staring up at the stars. They looked close enough to reach sharp and unbothered, like they’d always been there and always would be.

Paige sat a few feet away, arms draped loosely over her knees, a half-eaten donut in one hand. Her hat was gone, blonde hair tousled in all directions like she’d forgotten it was even there.

Neither of them had said much since they climbed up here.

From the hill, the bonfire still flickered, a small, warm pulse in the dark. They could hear voices sometimes, but the wind carried them off before they could land.

“Cold,” Paige said finally, not looking away from the sky.

Azzi glanced sideways at her. “You’re wearing two shirts and a jacket.”

“Yeah, and it’s still cold. That’s how I know.”

Azzi huffed a quiet laugh and took a sip from the thermos Paige had brought up with the snacks. The hot chocolate was too sweet and slightly gritty, but it worked. It warmed her throat, anyway.

Paige leaned back on one elbow, shoes scuffing the edge of the bed. “So, what do you think?”

“About what?”

She made a vague motion toward the field, the fire, the stars. “All this.”

Azzi thought for a second. “It’s quiet.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got.”

Paige didn’t argue. She picked at the edge of her donut for a moment, then popped the last piece into her mouth. “I used to think quiet meant boring,” she said, like she was talking to herself. “Turns out, it just means you can hear yourself think.”

Azzi didn’t reply. She lay back slowly, the ridged truck bed biting into her shoulders through the blanket. Above her, the stars blurred just a little. Her body ached in a familiar, low way like it always did after too much motion and too little rest. But here, it felt different. Earned, maybe. Or at least allowed.

Paige didn’t speak again for a while. She laid down too, not quite beside Azzi but close enough to feel like company. The metal creaked slightly under the shift in weight.

“Is this your usual post-bonfire move?” Azzi asked, eyes still on the sky.

“Nope,” Paige said. “Usually I go home and fall asleep with my boots on.”

Azzi smiled a little. “So I’m special.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

They both laughed: quiet, unhurried.

A breeze passed over them, just enough to stir the trees and ripple the edges of the blanket. Azzi tugged it higher and let her eyes drift shut for a moment, not to sleep, but just to rest. To let the quiet settle in deeper.

She didn’t need to say anything, and neither did Paige. It wasn’t silence that needed filling. It just was.

The stars watched without judgment. The wind carried no expectations. And beside her, Paige existed the way Azzi wished she could more often: unbothered, still, entirely herself.

Azzi let out a slow breath and opened her eyes again.

“You fall asleep,” Paige said casually, “I’m leaving you here.”

Azzi didn’t even flinch. “Fair enough.”

<3

The next time Azzi saw Paige, it was two days later. The cold had deepened, curling under doorframes and needling through jackets, and Ruth had declared, with her usual mix of cheer and command, that the barn door wasn’t going to fix itself.

Azzi was mid-lift, coaxing a rusted hinge into alignment, when she heard the familiar low growl of Paige’s truck in the drive. It sounded rougher in the cold, like it objected to the weather on principle.

Paige stepped out wearing a thick canvas jacket, the collar flipped up, a wool cap tugged low over her ears. She walked like the ground owed her answers: deliberate, unhurried, with her weight slightly forward as if expecting trouble and unimpressed by it. Her dark jeans were worn at the knees, and one cuff was still dusted with frost. 

She took one look at the barn and raised an eyebrow. “So this is the structural emergency?”

Azzi wiped her hands on a rag. “Welcome to rural disaster response.”

Paige walked up and gave the door a light kick, then nodded. “Yeah, that’s not great.”

She didn’t ask what needed doing, just reached out, took the drill from where Azzi had set it, and gave it a cursory spin in her palm before crouching beside the warped wood. They worked without much talking, the silence broken only by the burr of the drill and the occasional scrape of boots on gravel. Every so often, their arms or shoulders brushed: brief, unintentional, but Azzi felt each one linger a little longer than it should have.

They finished the hinge and stepped back to test the swing of the door. It groaned like something ancient, but it stayed on its tracks.

“Not bad,” Paige said.

Azzi arched an eyebrow. “Is that your professional opinion?”

“Nah. My professional opinion is that the whole barn’s crooked and held together by stubbornness.”

Azzi laughed. “Guess it fits in.”

Paige smiled but didn’t respond. She kicked a stone across the dirt and watched it bounce. The wind stirred her hair across her face, but she didn’t brush it away.

“Want coffee?” she asked suddenly.

Azzi hesitated. “You have coffee with you?”

“No. But there’s a thermos in my truck. Might still be warm. No promises.”

Azzi followed her, curiosity piqued. Paige reached behind the driver’s seat and pulled out a beat-up green thermos. She poured the coffee into the metal lid like it was muscle memory, handed it over.

Azzi took a sip. Bitter, faintly burned, but better than most café stuff she’d had on road trips. “You make this?”

“Technically? No. It was made by my neighbor. I just stole it when I left this morning.”

Azzi chuckled and took another sip. She leaned against the tailgate, her body grateful for the pause. Paige stood beside her, sipping from the thermos lid like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The silence wasn’t awkward, it had shape now. Familiar edges.

“I like days like this,” Paige said finally. “Gray sky, nothing urgent. Everything just slows down.”

Azzi hummed in agreement.

They stood like that a while longer, nursing lukewarm coffee, watching clouds drift across the sky in slow motion. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once, then fell quiet again.

When Paige finally left, it wasn’t with a goodbye, just a glance and a soft, “See you around.”

Azzi watched the truck disappear down the dirt road, dust trailing behind it like a fading thought.

And then she turned back to the barn, tools still scattered at her feet, and got back to work.

<3

Later that week, with the sky painted in gold and the shadows stretching long, Azzi spotted Paige near the edge of the woods, leaning against a weathered fencepost like she belonged there, one boot crossed over the other, fingers idly playing with a blade of grass.

“You coming, or are you just gonna keep staring?” Paige called, not turning around but clearly knowing she was being watched.

Azzi smirked, grabbing her jacket off the porch rail. “Depends. Where are you dragging me this time?”

Paige finally looked over her shoulder, her smile crooked and easy. “There’s a trail through the pines. Barely a hike, more of a scenic detour. But if we time it right, there’s a view at the top that might just knock the breath out of you.”

Azzi reached her, standing a little closer than necessary. “You always this dramatic?”

Paige’s grin widened. “Only when it works.”

And without another word, she turned and started walking, leaving Azzi to follow the sound of her laughter through the trees.

Paige led the way down the narrow trail, her steps sure but deliberate. The path dipped and twisted, roots snaking across it like lazy veins. Azzi noticed something in Paige’s gait, her left leg moved just a little differently. Not a limp, exactly. Just... careful. Protective.

The woods closed in around them, hushed and golden. Leaves crunched underfoot, birds calling distantly, their cries echoing through the trees like a secret.

“You come out here a lot?” Azzi asked, keeping her voice low, like anything louder might spook the moment.

Paige gave a half-nod. “When I need to think. Or not think. Depends on the day.”

Azzi adjusted her pace until they were side by side. “You alright?”

Paige didn’t answer right away. Her face stayed relaxed, but her eyes flicked sideways for a beat, unreadable.

“Old thing,” she said finally. “Acts up sometimes. Nothing major.”

Azzi caught the brief tension in Paige’s jaw as she shifted her weight, subtle, but not invisible. Paige straightened quickly, like she was used to brushing it off before anyone could ask again.

Azzi didn’t press. But she didn’t stop looking, either.

The trail opened up onto a rocky outcrop overlooking the valley below, where the trees stretched out like a green sea, rolling toward the horizon. They both settled down, legs dangling over the edge, feet hovering above the steep drop.

Azzi let out a slow breath, the crisp air filling her lungs and clearing the tightness that had been knotting in her chest. Around them, the world felt vast and quiet like time had slowed just enough to catch its breath.

Paige pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders, the fabric rustling softly. Her gaze was distant, tracing the fading light as it painted the valley in soft shades of amber and purple. The edges of her face softened in the twilight, revealing a calm that felt almost fragile.

Azzi glanced at her, the way Paige’s eyes caught the last glimmers of the sun making her seem smaller, somehow more human. For a moment, the usual walls they both kept in place dropped away.

They sat side by side, close enough that their shoulders brushed now and then, but neither moved to fill the space between them. The silence stretched, comfortable and easy, full without needing to be broken.

Somewhere below, a creek whispered over stones, and a distant bird called out, sharp and clear in the cooling air.

Azzi let her gaze wander back to the horizon, feeling like the world was wide enough to hold all the things she didn’t know how to say yet. Paige’s quiet presence beside her was a kind of anchor: steady and unspoken.

The sun dipped just below the ridge, and a gentle chill settled over the outcrop. Paige shifted slightly, brushing a stray leaf from her jacket.

“Ready to head back?” she asked softly, not rushing, just easing the silence.

Azzi nodded, stretching her legs before swinging them around to stand. The rocky ledge felt colder now, the sharp edge less inviting as dusk settled in.

They stood together for a moment, taking one last look at the valley bathed in twilight. Then, Paige turned, stepping carefully onto the trail, her boots crunching softly on the loose dirt.

Azzi followed close behind, matching Paige’s steady pace. The woods were quieter now, the birdsong faded to whispers and the shadows deepened between the trees.

The uneven ground betrayed Azzi before she even realized. One moment she was steady, the next her foot caught on a hidden root, and a sharp jolt shot through her ankle. She stumbled, catching herself against a tree trunk.

“Whoa, you okay?” Paige’s voice was instantly there, steady and concerned.

Azzi gritted her teeth but forced a small smirk. “Just a twist. I’ve dealt with worse.”

Paige wasn’t buying it. She slid closer, offering her arm without hesitation.

“Come on. I’ll take you to my place, it’s closer.”

Azzi hesitated, the stubborn streak in her screaming to shake it off, to prove she didn’t need anyone’s help, not even Paige’s. But the dull, persistent ache blooming in her ankle argued otherwise, a quiet but insistent reminder that maybe she wasn’t invincible.

“Alright,” she finally admitted, leaning into Paige’s steady support. “Guess I’m the rookie today.”

Paige’s lips curled into a wry smile, her eyes soft but teasing. “You’re lucky I’m the seasoned pro.”

They moved slowly down the trail, Paige’s arm firm and grounding around Azzi’s waist, her other hand occasionally brushing against Azzi’s back as she guided her careful steps. The forest seemed to hold its breath around them, the usual chatter of birds and rustling leaves giving way to a gentle hush that matched the unspoken understanding between them.

When they reached Paige’s house, the warmth wrapped around Azzi like a soft blanket before she even stepped inside the smoky scent of wood fire mingling with the rich aroma of brewing coffee, something safe and constant in a world that sometimes felt unpredictable.

Paige settled Azzi onto the couch with practiced ease, propping her foot up with a pillow. She disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a cold pack, pressing it gently against Azzi’s swollen ankle.

“So,” Paige said quietly, eyes studying Azzi’s face, “how long have you been carrying this kind of ‘worse’?”

Azzi let out a slow breath, staring up at the ceiling as if it held answers. “Long enough. Life tends to leave its marks; some loud, some quiet. But this kind of quiet pain,” she flexed her foot with a faint wince, “is new. And stubborn.”

Paige’s gaze softened, patient and unjudging. She didn’t rush to fill the silence, giving Azzi space to be honest without fear of pity.

“You’re not alone in it,” Paige finally said, voice low. “I’ve got my own scars some that still throb when the weather turns. They don’t always show, but they’re there.”

Azzi cracked a small, almost reluctant smile. “Yeah? Bet you don’t chop wood for therapy.”

Paige chuckled, the sound easy and warm. “Only when the truck’s being stubborn,” she said, voice softening. “But whatever keeps the demons quiet, right?”

Azzi shifted, adjusting the pillow beneath her ankle. “Thanks, Paige.”

“For what?”

“For this. Not just the help, but for not treating me like I’m breaking.”

Paige shrugged, a playful glint in her eyes. “Fragile’s overrated. I’d rather see the parts that still fight.”

They shared a quiet smile, the kind that spoke volumes without words. For a moment, the weight of pain and pretense lifted, replaced by something steadier: connection.

<3

Over the next two weeks, things settled into a rhythm.

Azzi’s ankle healed slower than she liked, but Ruth kept her from overdoing it with an iron will and a walking stick she claimed was “decorative” but used liberally to enforce rest.

Paige started showing up more often, never scheduled, never explained. One morning, she was just there at the kitchen table, already halfway through Ruth’s scones. Another, she rolled in while Azzi was raking leaves, handing her a second rake with a grin and a “Figured you could use a backup dancer.”

They didn’t talk about serious things, not really. But they didn’t avoid them, either.

There was a kind of honesty in the way they existed around each other. Not confessional. Not forced. Just… true.

One afternoon, Azzi found herself on the porch steps, her leg stretched out and wrapped, sipping tea that Ruth insisted was medicinal but tasted like mint and bark. Paige arrived with a plastic bag and two mismatched mugs clinking together inside.

“What’s that?” Azzi asked, wary.

“Hot toddy kit,” Paige said, holding it up. “Or, y’know, frontier medicine. For morale.”

Azzi snorted. “You know it’s not 1862, right?”

“I do,” Paige said, settling beside her. “But whiskey and lemon don’t care what year it is.”

They sat in companionable silence, watching the wind twist through the bare branches. The sky was that pale, almost translucent blue that only showed up in late fall: washed out, but vast.

“You ever miss it?” Paige asked, voice quiet, like she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted an answer.

Azzi looked over. “Miss what?”

Paige kept her gaze on the horizon. “Whatever life you stepped away from.”

Azzi didn’t respond right away. Her breath fogged lightly in the cooling air. “I miss pieces. The structure, maybe. The sense that every day had a direction. But not the pressure. Not the feeling that every move meant something to someone else, even when it stopped meaning anything to me.”

Paige nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. She rubbed her thumb along the rim of her mug, fingers restless, like they were trying to work something loose beneath the surface.

“It’s strange,” she said finally. “How something can start out feeling like home… and end up feeling like something you have to escape.”

Azzi turned to study her. Paige’s face was calm, almost too calm, but her hands betrayed her—tapping a rhythm that felt old, like a habit she hadn’t quite broken.

“You asking about me,” Azzi murmured, “or are you telling on yourself?”

Paige didn’t answer right away. She just took a sip, winced at the sharp heat, and said, almost absently, “Bit of both, I guess.”

Azzi let the silence stretch between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just honest. The kind that filled the spaces between words with something truer than explanation.

<3

The next morning, the frost lingered longer than usual. Sunlight spilled thinly across the fields, catching in the curls of smoke rising from the barn’s chimney. Azzi, bundled in a borrowed wool coat and still favoring her ankle, made her slow way down the dirt path.

Paige had mentioned something the day before: “I’ve got a weird project going. You can come watch me fail at it if you’re bored enough.” Azzi had called her bluff.

She found Paige in the garage with the side door propped open. The old truck wasn’t on the lift this time. Instead, the workbench was cleared, and in its place was a mess of scrap wood, carving knives, and what looked like the beginnings of a bird.

Azzi leaned against the doorframe. “You buildin’ a petting zoo?”

Paige didn’t look up. “Trying to make a chickadee. So far, it’s more... abstract pigeon.”

Azzi stepped inside. “You any good at this?”

“Not yet,” Paige said. “But it shuts my brain up for a while. That counts for something.”

Azzi nodded and didn’t press. She watched as Paige ran the blade gently along the grain, her movements slow, steady. Focused. A soft instrumental played from a speaker on the shelf: acoustic, wordless, the kind of music that filled a space without asking anything from it.

The garage was warmer than it looked. Sunlight pooled in patches on the cement floor, catching motes of dust midair. Azzi lowered herself onto an overturned crate and watched the quiet process unfold.

“You always make birds?” she asked eventually.

“Started there,” Paige said. “Small, simple. Now I’m stubborn about it.”

Azzi picked up one of the finished carvings from the edge of the bench. It was a robin, not perfect, but shaped with intention. The paint was faded but careful, the strokes sure. “This one’s good.”

Paige shrugged, but there was a flicker of something: gratitude, maybe, in her expression. “Thanks. That one’s for my neighbor’s kid. She thinks they’re magic or something. The birds, I mean.”

Azzi traced the wing edge with her thumb, then set it down. “You do this often?”

“Only when I can’t sleep,” Paige said, still carving. “Or when I need to remember I know how to finish something.”

Azzi looked at her then, properly. There was sawdust in Paige’s hair, a smudge of paint on her wrist, and a crease of quiet concentration between her brows. She looked so present, it almost hurt.

But Azzi didn’t ask the obvious questions. Not yet. She just sat there while the bird slowly took shape, piece by careful piece.

When the sun dipped low and the shadows stretched across the floor, Paige handed her a mug of something: warm cider again, or maybe a weak coffee. Azzi didn’t ask.

They sat together on the garage step, shoulder to shoulder, their breath rising in small, shared clouds.

A hawk circled high above the field, and Paige tracked it absently with her eyes.

“You ever wonder what it’d be like,” she said, “to just leave everything behind and not explain it to anyone?”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. “Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

Paige huffed a quiet laugh. “Guess so.”

But she didn’t say what she had left behind.

And Azzi didn’t ask.

Not yet.

<3

The next week, they fixed the garden fence.

It wasn’t a glamorous job, it was muddy and slow, the kind of task that left your hands splintered and your boots heavier than when you started. But Azzi liked the rhythm of it. Hammer, lift, measure. She liked working next to Paige, too. They didn’t talk much while they worked, but there was an ease in the motion of handing each other tools, holding boards steady, sharing a thermos of coffee without asking.

At one point, Paige stood and stretched her back, groaning. “I swear this fence is growing longer.”

Azzi leaned on the shovel. “Or maybe we’re getting slower.”

“That’s a dangerous thought.”

They looked at each other, grinning in the shade of the pine trees, both covered in sawdust and dirt. Azzi couldn’t remember the last time something so simple made her feel so grounded.

One morning, Paige brought her a book.

She didn’t say anything when she handed it over, just a quiet, half-shrug. The cover was worn, the title etched faintly into the spine: The Solace of Open Spaces.

Azzi flipped through the pages that night. The writing was spare and clean, full of wind and silence and vastness.

She didn’t tell Paige, but she read the whole thing in two sittings. When she finished, she left it on the kitchen table with a sticky note inside that read: You dog-ear pages. Monster.

The next time Paige came over, she said nothing, just held up a paper bag with donuts and arched an eyebrow like, truce?

Azzi rolled her eyes and took the bag.

They never talked about why Azzi was really there. Or why Paige kept showing up.

But neither of them walked away.

And maybe that was enough.

At least for now.

Then one night, the power went out.

Ruth was at a neighbor’s for a book club that involved more whiskey than literature, and Azzi was alone when the lights flickered and vanished, plunging the house into sudden, absolute dark.

Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock at the door.

Paige, flashlight in hand, stood on the porch wearing a headlamp and a smirk. “Figured you might be panicking about ghost raccoons.”

Azzi let her in without a word, lighting candles while Paige brought in extra blankets and a battery-powered speaker.

They sat on the living room floor, passing a flashlight between them like it was a campfire. Paige dug out a deck of cards. They played rummy badly and argued about the rules.

At some point, Azzi asked, “Why do you always have this stuff in your truck?”

Paige glanced at her over the cards. “Because sometimes life doesn’t cooperate. And it’s easier to show up prepared than panic later.”

Azzi held her gaze. “That your whole deal?”

Paige looked away, set down her cards. “Mostly.”

They sat in quiet for a while after that, the wind brushing against the windows, the candlelight flickering.

The wind had dropped off, no longer rattling the windows, just brushing lightly at the eaves. The candles flickered steadily now, their flames no longer dancing, just breathing.

Paige was sitting beside Azzi on the floor, shoulder to shoulder, both of them wrapped in the same old blanket like co-conspirators in some quiet rebellion.

They played another hand of rummy, Azzi winning this time, barely and Paige groaned dramatically as she handed over a marshmallow in defeat.

“You know,” Paige said, poking the sticky sweet at Azzi, “if we don’t die of frostbite tonight, I’m demanding a rematch tomorrow.”

“That’s a lot of confidence for someone who just lost,” Azzi replied, popping the marshmallow into her mouth.

“Strategic loss,” Paige said, leaning back on one elbow. “It builds your confidence. And then I crush it.”

Azzi snorted. “Thanks for the emotional whiplash.”

Paige just smiled and closed her eyes for a moment, resting against the arm of the couch. The silence that fell was easy. Not expectant. Not probing. Just… settled.

Azzi didn’t feel the need to fill it.

Eventually, Paige spoke again, her voice a little drowsy. “You know what I like about blackouts?”

Azzi glanced over. “That you can sneak into people’s houses under the guise of being helpful?”

Paige grinned with her eyes still closed. “That too. But mostly, it slows everything down. No screens, no excuses. Just… time.”

Azzi looked at the cards in her hand, at the soft glow around the room, at Paige beside her, barefoot now, hair loose, completely unbothered by the dark.

“It’s kind of nice,” Azzi admitted.

“Yeah,” Paige murmured. “It is.”

The storm outside had softened into a hush, just wind and tree limbs brushing one another in the dark. The room was dim and warm with candlelight, flickering shadows stretching tall across the ceiling beams.

Paige had gone quiet again, sitting with her back against the couch, legs stretched out, fingers idly drumming on the arm of her mug.

Azzi shifted, adjusting the blanket that pooled across both their laps. “You ever… get tired of being the person everyone counts on?”

Paige blinked, surprised by the question. “Where’s that coming from?”

“I don’t know,” Azzi said. “You show up with flashlights and soup and firewood and sarcasm. It’s like… you’ve already done the math on every disaster. It’s a little intimidating.”

Paige looked down at her mug, her voice quiet. “Yeah. Well. When you’re used to things going sideways, you learn not to expect help.”

Azzi turned to face her. “So you became the help.”

Paige gave a soft, humorless laugh. “Something like that.”

The silence between them stretched again, this time fuller, heavier, but not uncomfortable.

“What happened?” Azzi asked, gently.

Paige didn’t answer right away. She stared ahead, not at the firelight, not at Azzi, just at some space between.

“There was a time I needed someone to show up,” she said at last. “And no one did. After that, I figured I'd rather be the one holding the flashlight than waiting in the dark.”

Azzi exhaled slowly. “Yeah,” she said. “I know that feeling.”

Paige looked over. “Do you?”

Azzi nodded. “Sometimes I wonder if the quiet out here is just me waiting for someone to knock, and not wanting to admit it.”

Paige’s voice softened. “Then I’m glad I did.”

They didn’t say anything else after that. But the quiet felt different, shared now, not solitary. The candles burned low. The wind outside moved gently, as if it too had settled for the night.

Paige shifted closer, shoulder brushing Azzi’s. Azzi didn’t move away.

The power stayed out.

Paige didn’t move, still sitting beside Azzi in the quiet, her mug empty, her words lingering like smoke. The flashlight had dimmed to a low orange glow, and the last candle on the mantle flickered weakly, its wax pooling down the sides.

Azzi stretched out her legs, careful of her wrapped ankle, and leaned back against the couch. “You ever let anyone show up for you?”

Paige gave a half-smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Not really my strong suit.”

Azzi looked over at her. “Might be time to practice.”

That earned her a look, sharp and curious. “Is that your way of offering?”

Azzi shrugged, but the motion was deliberate. “Could be.”

Paige’s expression softened, the edges of her posture loosening just slightly. “I’ll think about it.”

They sat like that for a while, neither reaching for anything more. The kind of silence that didn’t ask for resolution. Just presence.

Eventually, Paige rose, stretching with a quiet groan, and crossed to the window.

“Still black outside,” she said. “Whole ridge is probably out.”

Azzi tilted her head back against the couch. “Think we’ll freeze before morning?”

Paige grinned over her shoulder. “Nah. You’ve got at least three blankets on you and a space heater personality.”

Azzi laughed, a real, unguarded one and Paige turned at the sound. Watched her for just a moment longer than necessary.

Then she moved to the wood stove and added another log, coaxing the fire back to life. The glow painted the room in amber, catching the curve of Paige’s jaw, the stray smudge of soot on her wrist.

Azzi watched her quietly.

It wasn’t the fire that made the room feel warmer.

They didn’t speak for a while.

The storm had shifted to sleet, the sound soft against the roof like fingers brushing glass. The room had dimmed to shades of orange and shadow, and Paige passed her the flashlight again, resting her hand just a beat longer than necessary in Azzi’s.

“I don’t usually do this,” Paige murmured, voice low.

Azzi turned to her, brow raised slightly. “Do what?”

“This. Stay. Sit around in someone’s dark house and… talk.” She paused, then added, “It’s easier to just be the girl with the truck and the toolbox.”

Azzi’s smile was small, but it didn’t hide. “You’re allowed to be more than one thing.”

A breath passed between them.

Then Azzi shifted, gently, her shoulder brushing Paige’s. It wasn’t accidental. Paige didn’t move away.

“I’m not good at quiet, either,” Azzi said. “But I’m learning.”

Paige let out something like a laugh: soft, dry, a little disbelieving. “You’re better at it than you think.”

They turned to each other, the space between them narrowing not with urgency, but with certainty. Azzi lifted her hand, slowly, brushing a strand of Paige’s hair back behind her ear.

Paige leaned into the touch like she didn’t mean to, but she didn’t pull back.

“Are you gonna kiss me,” she said quietly, “or are we gonna keep making metaphors until the fire dies?”

Azzi laughed, hushed and warm, and whispered, “You never shut up, do you?”

Paige tilted her chin. “Make me.”

Azzi did.

The kiss wasn’t rushed. It unfolded like everything else between them—careful, steady, real. No spotlight, no music cue. Just the quiet heat of two people who hadn’t meant to need each other, but did.

Outside, the storm softened into a hush. Inside, the fire burned on.

Azzi didn’t move right away after the kiss. She stayed close, her forehead resting lightly against Paige’s, breath steady, both of them suspended in that warm stillness that comes after something honest.

Paige’s eyes were still closed. “Well,” she murmured, almost like a secret. “Guess I deserved that.”

Azzi smiled against her. “Deserved?”

“For running my mouth.”

Azzi let her hand rest at the side of Paige’s neck, her thumb brushing the edge of her jaw. “You kind of did.”

Paige cracked an eye open, mischief flickering just underneath the softness. “You’re not exactly subtle, you know.”

Azzi laughed under her breath. “I’ve never had to be.”

There wasn’t much light left. The fire had settled into coals, glowing deep red beneath the grate, and the room held onto the heat, wrapping around them like a blanket. Paige leaned back just enough to see her fully, to really look her gaze unguarded for once, all the irony peeled back.

“I don’t do this either,” she said. “Not like this.”

Azzi nodded, understanding. “I figured.”

They weren’t touching much: just knees close, hands brushing now and then, that faint hum of nearness you only notice when the noise outside your body has stopped.

“You don’t owe me anything,” Paige said, voice softer now, almost cautious. “This doesn’t have to mean something big. Doesn’t have to mean anything you don’t want it to.”

Azzi looked down, then back at her. “Maybe it doesn’t have to mean everything. But it doesn’t mean nothing.”

Paige let out a breath like relief. “Okay.”

Silence wrapped around them again, but it had changed shape. Less absence, more presence.

Azzi leaned back against the couch, tilting her head toward the ceiling. “How long do you think the power’ll stay out?”

“Could be hours. Could be ‘til morning,” Paige said, matching her posture. “Lines are ancient. Ruth says they’re held together by duct tape and spite.”

Azzi’s grin was sleepy, fond. “Sounds about right.”

They sat like that a while longer, shoulder to shoulder now, the way people sit when the world outside feels too wide and the space between them feels safe.

Eventually, Paige shifted, pulled a blanket from the armchair behind them, and draped it across both their laps. She didn’t say anything when she did it. She just settled in beside her, warm and quiet.

Azzi let her head fall gently onto Paige’s shoulder.

Paige didn’t move.

Outside, the sleet had turned to snow soft, slow, and quiet.

And in the little living room full of flickering shadows and firelight, the silence didn’t ask for anything.

It just let them stay.

Together.

[pballer5]

would love more of the story 🥺

posting chapter 2 later today! :)

[pballer5]

timeout: chapter 1

masterlist

summary: In the quiet after victory, Azzi Fudd finds herself questioning everything she thought she wanted. Searching for clarity far from the spotlight, she begins to confront who she is when the game, the noise, and the expectations fall away.

a/n: Hey y'all! This is my first time posting a fic on here. I've been working on this for a while. It's a very introspective au I've been obsessed with writing, and I tend to go on and on lol. This chapter is very prologuey...

wc: 3.6k

Chapter 1: Montana

Azzi Fudd is on top of the world. She just won a WNBA Championship, capping off a season that was dominant from start to finish. Her chemistry with her teammates was electric: seamless passes, shared momentum, and more than a few moments where she shined on her own. And in the stands, her family had been there for all of it, cheering with every shot, every win, every step.

So why does she feel like this?

Her ears still ring from the roar of the crowd as she steps into the hush of her apartment. The scent of champagne clings to her skin. She shrugs off the light jacket she’d needed for the crisp October air in San Francisco.

Azzi feels… empty. A kind of hollow she hadn’t prepared for, not after achieving the one thing she’d spent her whole life chasing. The questions come fast, sharp, relentless: What’s next? What else is there?

She knows the answer. Or at least, she knows the one she’s supposed to give, the one she’s said a hundred times before: Get back to work.

But this time, the truth feels messier than that.

Azzi loves basketball. She always has, probably too much. The obsession never used to bother her. Until now.

Somewhere along the way, it stopped being just about the joy of the game. It became about expectations. About image. About legacy.

She used to wear those words like armor. Now, they just feel heavy.

Azzi told herself it was normal, that pressure came with the territory. That’s what it meant to compete at this level. To be a pro. To be her.

But lately, the silence feels different. No games. No noise. Just the low hum of her apartment… and a creeping sense of uselessness she can’t shake.

She moves through the apartment like a stranger, unzipping the duffel she hasn’t unpacked since the victory parade. Her jersey is still crumpled at the top, half-folded and smudged with champagne and confetti. She stares at it for a long moment before shutting the bag again.

Her phone buzzes on the counter: more texts, more congratulations. A voice memo from her agent. A photo from her mom, tear-streaked and smiling, captioned “So proud of you, baby.”

She loves them all. Truly. But each notification feels like a brick on her chest.

Azzi sinks onto the couch, the silence around her suddenly deafening. She scrolls mindlessly, through news articles and postgame analysis, through slow-mo clips of her jump shot, through comment sections filled with fire emojis and GOAT tags.

It should be validating.

Instead, it feels like she’s watching someone else.

The version of her that lives in highlight reels and headlines the version everyone expects her to be doesn’t feel like someone she knows anymore.

She pulls a blanket tighter around her shoulders, even though she’s not cold. The scent of champagne still lingers on her skin: bitter and sweet all at once.

Her eyes blur with exhaustion. Her body aches in all the familiar places: hips, shoulders, knees, but this feels deeper. Not physical. Not something a night of sleep or a bag of ice could fix.

She closes her eyes.

What now?

The question loops again. Not like a voice. Not even like a thought. More like a haunting.

What now?

She doesn’t plan it.

One minute, she’s scrolling through emails, half-hoping the answer might magically appear between a calendar reminder and a sponsor offer she hasn’t responded to. The next, she clicks open a message from her cousin, subject line: Need a favor?

She almost deletes it without reading. But something about the casual tone slows her down.

Inside, it’s short. Just a few lines:

Hey, I can’t make it out to Aunt Ruth’s this year, military’s keeping me overseas longer than expected. She’s stubborn as ever, won’t ask for help, but winter’s coming fast and someone needs to make sure the pipes don’t freeze and the roof doesn’t cave in. Thought maybe you could use the change of scenery. Montana’s got plenty of space to think. No pressure. Just a thought.

No pressure. Just a thought.

Azzi stares at the message. Her first instinct is to scoff. She hasn’t seen Ruth in years and only remembers her through blurry childhood photos and a vague recollection of a woman with a booming laugh and a firm handshake. Montana feels like another planet.

But the idea lingers.

She rereads the email. Then again. The cursor hovers over the reply button, but she doesn’t press it.

Instead, she opens a new tab.

Searches flights.

It’s impulsive. But it doesn’t feel reckless. It feels… like relief. A door quietly swinging open in a house that’s been locked up too long.

She checks the dates. The price.

Her finger taps the trackpad once. Twice. And then the ticket is booked.

Only after the confirmation hits her inbox does she lean back on the couch, blinking like she’s just come out of a dream. The quiet returns, thick and undisturbed.

But now it’s different. Not emptiness. Just space.

Space to go. Space to leave. Space to figure out what’s next.

<3

“You’re going where?” Caroline stares at her like she’s grown a second head.

Azzi rolls her eyes. That’s about the reaction she’s gotten from everyone so far. “Just for a couple of months. My great-aunt needs help getting ready for winter, and I figured… why not?”

“This great-aunt you’re apparently so close to that I’ve never heard of her?”

Azzi shrugs. “She’s extended family. My cousin usually helps her out, but he’s overseas this year. I thought it’d be good to step in.”

Caroline raises an eyebrow. “Good for her or good for you?”

Azzi doesn’t answer right away.

Caroline raises an eyebrow and says it again. “Good for her or good for you?”

Azzi doesn’t answer right away. She leans back against the counter, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the floor. “Does it matter?”

Caroline lets out a quiet breath, softer now. “I mean… maybe not. I just didn’t think your idea of a break was chopping wood in the middle of nowhere.”

Azzi lets out a dry laugh. “Me neither.”

They fall into silence. The kind that only happens between two people who know each other too well. Caroline doesn’t press further, but she doesn’t look convinced either.

“You okay?” she finally asks.

Azzi picks at the edge of her sweatshirt. “Yeah. I just… need a reset. Clear my head.”

Caroline nods, but her concern lingers. “And the middle of Montana is the only place you could think of for that?”

Azzi smirks. “Exactly. No distractions. No press. No expectations.”

“No cell service, probably.”

“Even better.”

Caroline watches her for another beat, then sighs. “Alright. Just… don’t disappear, okay?”

Azzi’s smile softens. “I’ll text you when I hit civilization.”

“Or when a bear chases you down a mountain.”

“Also a possibility.”

Caroline shakes her head, but she’s smiling now. “You’re out of your mind.”

“Probably,” Azzi says, grabbing her duffel. “But I’ve been in my mind too much lately. Time for a change.”

<3

The airport blur comes next: security lines, gate announcements, people moving with purpose. Azzi moves on autopilot, nodding at flight attendants, answering texts she doesn’t want to send. When the plane finally takes off, the city shrinks below her, just a mess of lights and motion, and she doesn’t look back.

The connection is tight in Denver. Then it’s onto the second leg: a much smaller plane, the kind with propellers and a handful of passengers, most of whom seem to know each other by name. Azzi keeps her hoodie up and her earbuds in, though she’s not listening to anything. Just noise-canceling the world for a while.

She dozes off somewhere over the Rockies. Wakes up to light turbulence and a wide stretch of sky through the window.

When she steps off the plane, the cold hits her immediately, sharp and clean. The air smells like pine and something older, untouched. Mountains loom in the distance, dusted with early snow. The sky stretches wide and unapologetically blue.

She shifts her duffel onto her shoulder, boots crunching on the gravel as she scans the lot. There’s no terminal, not really, just a low building with a hand-painted sign and a vending machine out front. A pickup truck rolls into view, slow and steady, the kind of red that used to be brighter, now dulled by time and weather.

Behind the wheel is Ruth, just as Azzi remembers from childhood photos: small but square-shouldered, wrapped in a thick flannel and ball cap pulled low over wild gray curls. She parks, doesn’t bother turning off the engine before hopping out.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Ruth calls, letting the door slam behind her. “You actually showed up.”

Azzi manages a tired smile. “I like to keep expectations low.”

Ruth eyes her like she’s checking for cracks. “Could’ve fooled me. You look like someone who just quit a job instead of won a trophy.”

Azzi shrugs. “Maybe it’s both.”

That gets a short laugh. “Well, you’ll fit in fine out here. No one much cares what you’ve done, long as you know how to stack wood and keep the pipes from freezing.”

“Sounds like exactly what I need.”

Ruth nods once and reaches for her duffel. “Good. Grab the other side. It’s a long drive.”

The road out of the airport winds through a patchwork of fields and pine-covered hills. Azzi watches the landscape roll by: rusted mailboxes, hay bales wrapped in white plastic, cattle huddled along fences like they’ve all agreed to stand in the same direction.

Every so often, Ruth hums along with the radio. Not words, just melody. Azzi doesn’t ask what station it is. She doesn’t ask anything, really. It feels good to be quiet.

After nearly an hour, the truck crests a small ridge and the house comes into view: a white farmhouse set back from the road, its porch slouched slightly to one side like it’s been exhaling for decades. A red barn leans with similar exhaustion off to the left. The sky is beginning to turn gold behind it all, as if the land is shrugging into dusk.

“You remember it?” Ruth asks, voice softer now.

Azzi nods. “Yeah. It’s smaller than I remember.”

Ruth chuckles. “That’s ‘cause you’re bigger.”

They get out. The cold bites harder here, less filtered by trees and buildings. Azzi drags her bag up the porch steps while Ruth fumbles with a ring of keys the size of a belt buckle.

Inside, the house smells like cedar and something faintly sweet—maybe old apples or cinnamon from another season. The heat kicks on with a groan as Ruth stomps off her boots.

“You’ve got the upstairs bedroom,” she says. “Sheets are clean. Water heater’s moody, so don’t get greedy.”

Azzi drops her bag just inside the door and turns in a slow circle. Wood-paneled walls. A crooked picture of someone riding a horse. A faded braided rug she remembers tripping on as a kid.

“You hungry?” Ruth asks.

Azzi hesitates, then shakes her head. “Think I just want to shower. Maybe sleep.”

Ruth gives a noncommittal grunt and disappears into the kitchen.

Azzi climbs the stairs with the same ache she gets the morning after a game: muscle-deep and impossible to stretch out. But this is different. It’s not the kind of tired you can fix with sleep.

The upstairs room is small and square, with a quilted bedspread and a window that frames the darkening sky. She sits on the edge of the mattress, listening to the wind outside, the ticking of the old house as it settles into night.

Azzi lies back against the pillow, eyes tracing the jagged silhouette of the mountains against the night sky. The wind whispers through the cracked windowpane, carrying a chill that seeps into her bones. She pulls the quilt closer, but warmth feels farther away than ever.

She wonders if this is what quiet feels like for people who’ve never lived in noise, not just the buzz of the crowd, the clatter of sneakers on hardwood, or the endless hum of expectations, but a real, deep quiet that lets your own thoughts echo loud and clear.

The hours slip by. Somewhere below, the slow creak of the old house settling shifts into rhythmic breathing, a steady lullaby that somehow soothes her. She thinks of the question still echoing in her mind. What now?

Azzi sits up. She pulls her knees close, fingers tracing the faded patchwork on the quilt. She’s done chasing the next goal, the next highlight reel, the next victory. But that doesn’t mean she’s ready to give up.

She needs to find out who Azzi Fudd is: without the trophies, the cameras, the noise.

Morning comes soft and slow. Sunlight drips through the curtains like honey. Azzi dresses in layers, the cold reminding her of the world beyond herself. Downstairs, the kitchen smells of brewing coffee and something baking, maybe apples, maybe cinnamon.

Ruth is humming again, this time words drifting through the kitchen like a gentle breeze.

“Morning,” Azzi says, voice rough but steady.

“Thought you’d like some breakfast,” Ruth replies, sliding a plate across the table. “Apple pancakes. Figured you could use something sweet.”

Azzi smiles, a small crack in the armor. “Thanks.”

They eat in comfortable silence, the kind that feels like an unspoken truce. Ruth glances up, eyes sharp but kind.

“So, what brings a champion to a place like this? Besides the obvious ‘reset,’ of course.”

Azzi takes a deep breath. “I don’t know yet. I just… need to figure out how to be me without basketball defining every part of me.”

Ruth nods slowly, as if that makes perfect sense. “That’s a long road, kid. But you’ve got time. And you’ve got help.”

Azzi looks out the window, watching the wind stir the pine needles. Maybe this is the beginning of something not the ending she feared, but a new chapter she didn’t know she needed.

The morning light stretched across the kitchen table as Azzi savored the last bite of her apple pancake, the warm sweetness settling in her stomach like a small comfort she hadn’t realized she needed. Ruth’s humming had faded into the background, replaced by the soft tick of a clock and the occasional creak of the old farmhouse.

“So,” Ruth said, breaking the silence, “you got plans today? Or just gonna sit around pondering the meaning of life?”

Azzi smiled, the first genuine one in days. “Maybe a little of both.”

Ruth nodded knowingly. “Well, you’re in luck. There’s always something that needs doing around here. Plus, it’s good to keep busy when your mind’s spinning.”

Azzi stood and stretched, the chill still lingering in her bones. “What’s on the list?”

“Wood chopping, fixing the fence by the barn, and you might want to get your hands dirty in the garden before the frost really sets in.”

Azzi laughed softly. “Sounds like a full day.”

“Don’t worry,” Ruth said with a wink, “it’s the kind of work that lets you think without distractions. No press conferences, no highlights, just you and the land.”

Azzi felt a strange calm settling in. For the first time since the championship parade, she wasn’t fighting against the silence, she was learning to listen to it.

<3

The sun hadn’t fully crested the ridge when Azzi stepped outside. Frost coated the porch railings, glittering like crushed glass in the dawn light. The cold was a bit sharper than yesterday, and she pulled her hoodie tighter around her neck, her breath puffing in soft clouds.

The world was still. No horns, no chatter, not even a dog barking in the distance, just the soft crunch of her boots on frozen grass and the low hum of wind in the pines.

She wandered out toward the edge of the property, past the old tire swing that swayed lazily on a branch, half-frozen. Beyond it, the fields stretched wide and silent, dusted with frost and framed by the deep blue of the mountains. Somewhere in the distance, a hawk cut across the sky, wings slicing the air with a kind of grace that didn’t need an audience.

Azzi stopped at the edge of the fence. The wood was old, bleached gray and splintered, the kind of weathered that came from years of standing still.

She leaned against it, arms folded across the top rail, eyes following nothing in particular. There was a weight inside her she couldn’t name. Not sadness exactly, just a hollow ache, like her soul had run too many sprints without stopping to breathe.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. No bars. No emails. No news alerts screaming about MVP votes or off-season trades.

She scrolled anyway, out of habit. Photos from the championship flicked past: her arms raised, confetti falling, smiles so wide they looked permanent.

But they weren’t.

She clicked the screen off and stuffed the phone back in her pocket. Her fingers were cold. Numb in a way that felt earned.

Down by the barn, a crow landed on the fence post and gave a sharp caw, like it was calling her out for pretending to blend in here. She raised an eyebrow at it. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

The bird blinked, unimpressed, then took off in a rush of black feathers and wind.

Azzi closed her eyes for a moment, letting the cold press against her face. Letting it ground her. There was something brutal but honest about it, nothing performative here, nothing artificial. Just cold, wind, and silence.

She exhaled slowly.

For years, her life had been structured down to the minute: weight room, practice, film, travel, repeat. Even rest days were scheduled. Now, time moved differently. Stretched. Slowed. It made her restless, itchy. But also… free?

She wasn’t sure yet.

A rusted wheelbarrow leaned against the side of the barn, half-buried in leaves. She made a mental note to clean it out. Maybe today. Maybe tomorrow.

One day at a time, Ruth had said last night. Azzi hadn’t replied then, but now, as the sun finally broke over the trees and spilled gold across the field, she thought maybe Ruth was right.

One day at a time.

<3

Azzi was mid-swing, splitting another log clean down the middle, when the sound of an engine grumbled down the road like it was held together with duct tape and spite. She paused, axe in hand, watching as a beat-up blue pickup skidded to a stop just past the fence.

Out stepped a girl, late twenties maybe, tall, broad-shouldered, and giving off a cool-confident energy. She wore a hoodie under a grease-stained flannel and a backwards trucker hat, blonde flyaways peeking out the sides. She took one look at Azzi, then the axe, then the stacked wood, and let out a low whistle.

“Damn. Ruth really out here recruiting lumberjacks now?”

Azzi didn’t smile. She shifted the axe on her shoulder, her voice flat. “Are you always this nosy with strangers, or just bored?”

The girl didn’t back off. If anything, her grin widened. “Little of both,” she said easily. “It’s a slow morning, and you’re new. That makes you interesting by default.”

Azzi said nothing. The silence stretched just long enough to turn the air sharp.

The girl glanced at the stacked firewood again, then nodded, almost to herself. “Clean cuts. Either you know what you're doing, or you're trying real hard to look like you do.”

Azzi’s grip on the axe stayed loose, casual. “Why does it matter?”

“It doesn’t,” she said, rocking back on her heels. “Just trying to get a read. You don’t exactly scream ‘local.’”

Azzi’s eyes flicked toward her. “And you do?”

She laughed in response, low and unbothered. “Fair. But I’ve earned the right to look out of place here. You?”

Azzi didn’t answer.

The girl waited a beat, then shrugged and stuck out her hand. “I’m Paige. Mechanic-slash-resident pack mule when Ruth’s got too many chores and not enough people.”

Azzi looked at the offered hand but didn’t take it. “Azzi.”

Paige lowered her hand, unfazed. “Cool. Well, if Ruth hasn’t run you off in the first week, I’ll probably see you around. I’m the one she yells at when her coffee machine acts up.”

She turned to go, then paused with one hand on the truck door. “Word of advice: if it starts making that weird grinding noise, hit it once and swear at it. Works most days.”

Azzi gave a single nod. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Azzi watched Paige climb into the truck, the engine coughing and sputtering like an old beast begrudgingly waking from a long nap. Dust swirled in the late morning sun, settling back onto the worn gravel road. She lingered for a moment, the weight of the axe grounding her, the steady rhythm of the forest around her a balm against the chaos still echoing in her head.

She hadn’t meant to snap at Paige well, maybe just a little, but the guard was up, like it always was these days. Trust didn’t come easy out here, especially not for someone who’d spent years under the spotlight, performing on hardwood courts, under bright lights and constant scrutiny.

Azzi shifted the axe from one hand to the other and exhaled slowly. The sharp snap of a twig somewhere behind the barn reminded her she wasn’t alone, but still, the isolation pressed in close, like a weight she couldn’t quite shake.

Paige was right, though, she didn’t scream ‘local.’ And maybe that was okay. Here, no one cared about championships or highlight reels. No one was watching her. Just the trees. The sky. The quiet.

Azzi let herself feel the moment, the chill in the air, the distant hum of a tractor somewhere on a neighbor’s farm, the smell of pine and earth settling after the morning dew. For the first time in weeks, she felt a flicker of something besides restless energy. Maybe peace. Maybe a chance to breathe without the world watching.

[pballer5]

...anyways...these two are in love.

[pballer5]

CC getting back to it… just in time for Sunday lol 😝

[pballer5]

I’m not gonna lie guys I really don’t think Paige is on social media like that, I really think Azzi be seeing everything and showing her and giggling 🤣

[pballer5]

also i used to have dirt and worms all the time as a kid so i get it

LMAO not her defending herself 🤪🤭😝 personally i don’t like gummy food cold cause it makes them hard but 🤷‍♀️

[pballer5]

LMAO not her defending herself 🤪🤭😝 personally i don’t like gummy food cold cause it makes them hard but 🤷‍♀️

[pballer5]

double date asf