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t3n5cious · 20 days ago

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terms of play [chapter 15 - pick and roll]

Summary: Azzi Fudd built the Golden Valkyries on a dare, but drafting Paige Bueckers was all strategy. Fresh off an NCAA title, Paige is everything the team needs—and everything Azzi shouldn’t want.

Officially, it’s all business. Unofficially, it’s glances that linger too long and touches that mean too much.

Author's note: this is an AU where Azzi owns the Golden State Valkyries and drafts Paige. Azzi's family are all original characters. Also, Azzi is three years older than Paige.

*CHAPTER LIST HERE*

Chapter Summary: With Paige out, the team adjusts. But the real shift happens between her and Azzi. They travel together, show up to family events, and move through each other’s lives in a way that feels new. There’s no label on what they are, but it’s there in how they act and in how people start to notice. Whatever this is, it’s real.

Author's note: How is everybody's all-star weekend? Are we still alive with all the contents?

Word Count: 6,772

Valkyries HQ, San Francisco. October 2025.

The meeting room held the kind of atmosphere built from early starts and measured discipline. Neutral-toned walls framed a long rectangular table, where cups of black coffee and tablets lay beside printed packets and capped pens.

Conversations had already narrowed to essentials. The usual morning chatter faded into focus the moment Coach Nakase stepped to the front.

She tapped to the first slide, a diagram of ball movement and adjusted spacing.

“With Bueckers out, the system changes,” she said.

Her tone was even, but there was a current of intent behind each word. “We’ve restructured the starting unit. Leite will step into that guard slot. She’s earned the minutes. It’s going to be a different rhythm, but she reads pace well and has the composure we need to start sets clean.”

She advanced to game tape from the previous week. The clip showed the ball swinging through the high post, Iriafen shifting the defense with a hard cut before Martin drove and kicked out. The possession ended with a made corner three from James.

“Ball control stays the priority. Martin’s been solid with primary reads, and James is drawing more attention off screens. Leite gives us stability off the catch, especially with our second action. Thornton’s mid-range is opening floor space for Iraifen, and we’re getting better timing out of the horns set.”

A chart appeared next, tracking defensive shifts.

“Defensively, we’re late on some switches,” Nakase said, pointing to the gaps between Thornton and Iriafen on help coverage. “That has to tighten. Paige was a communicator. Without her voice on the floor, we need someone stepping into that role. I want more talk from our forwards. Iraifen especially, she’s got the vision.”

She paused before continuing, her gaze moving across the room.

“This isn’t about filling shoes. It’s about understanding who we are without Paige. The core holds. James and Martin are controlling tempo. Thornton’s spacing the floor. Iraifen’s ready to take on more. We’re not patching over something but we’re adapting with intent.”

Her tone carried both direction and belief, a reflection of how she had always led this team. Firm, measured, and with an eye on the long view.

She nodded toward the far end of the table, where the head of the medical staff had been waiting.

Evina Westbrook stood, iPad in hand, and navigated to Paige’s treatment overview.

“We’re working with a Grade 2 lateral sprain,” Evina began, her tone even but purposeful. “There’s moderate ligament damage, but no structural tearing beyond what we expected. Bruising is reducing, inflammation’s localized. She’s been diligent with therapy, responding well to treatment. Range of motion has improved significantly over the past seventy-two hours.”

She clicked forward to a schedule. “She’s not cleared for court activity. No jogging or weight-bearing drills. But her pain threshold is manageable and consistent. Flight won’t interfere with recovery as long as we keep her ankle supported and she follows a strict icing and elevation routine during transit.”

There was a pause. Evina gaze scanned the room once more before landing on Coach Nakase. “Medically, she’s cleared to travel if the team wants her in Washington.”

“If she’s cleared to fly, I want her with us. Hoodie, walking boot, doesn’t matter. The locker room’s different when she’s there. This group holds together better with her in the mix, even if she’s just on the bench.” Coach Nakase said.

All eyes shifted toward the end of the table, where Azzi sat with one hand resting over her phone.

The light overhead cast soft shadows under her eyes, a quiet trace of the late nights she'd spent caring for Paige. Her attention drifted, half tethered to the conversation, half elsewhere.

The pause grew long enough that she looked up, frowning faintly at the sudden attention.

“Why is everyone looking at me like that?” Her voice was low, casual, though it caught slightly at the end.

Nika leaned forward, her grin teasing but kind. “The team’s checking if Paige can make the trip. It’s a long haul to Washington. They’re waiting on your decision.”

Azzi paused, her chest rising with a slow breath. Hearing Paige’s name spoken aloud always seemed to strike somewhere deeper.

She glanced down, collected herself. “That’s Lisa’s call. If she gives the go-ahead, then it’s fine with me.”

Lisa let out a short laugh. “You’re not as slick as you think you are, Miss Fudd.”

The table responded with laughter that filled the space, the kind that made everything feel a little lighter.

Then Lisa added, her voice warm, “Whatever’s going on, it suits you. That smile looks good on you, Azzi. You should let it show more often.”

Azzi looked up, her mouth tipping into something soft.

Coach Nakase cleared her throat, then glanced across the room.

“If Paige is going,” she said with deliberate ease, “we’ll need you on that plane too, Miss Fudd.”

“Me?”

“It’s less about concern and more about foresight. She’s still recovering. The staff will manage, but let’s be honest, she listens to you.”

Azzi sat straighter, eyes narrowing faintly as she weighed the statement.

Before she could respond, Evina stepped in, tone calm but direct.

“With all due respect, Miss Fudd, we’re not equipped to handle Paige if she decides to push herself too far out there. She’ll pretend everything’s fine, downplay the pain, skip her protocols when no one’s looking.”

“She’s stubborn,” Lisa added quietly. “And more likely to make a mistake if she feels like she has something to prove.”

Evina’s eyes settled on Azzi. “But she slows down when you’re around. If we’re taking her on the road, she needs someone she trusts to keep her grounded. That’s you.”

Lisa gave a small nod, tone gentler now. “We’re okay with it, Azzi. We get it. You don’t owe anyone an explanation. What matters is she’s better when you’re there, and honestly, so are we. I know you have our back and we want you to know you have our full support as well.”

Azzi held their gaze, the weight of their words landing with quiet force.

She straightened, steadying the rise in her chest with a slow breath. “Alright, send me the itinerary.”

Paige’s apartment, Oakland. October 2025.

Aziaha tested her balance on Paige’s crutches with a half-serious determination, pacing unevenly across the rug while muttering dramatic commentary under her breath. Each step exaggerated, she swung forward and landed with a stomp, earning a groan from Paige who lay stretched across the couch, her leg propped up on a stack of throw pillows.

“You look ridiculous,” Paige said, her voice dry but fond.

Aziaha ignored that. “I’m just saying. You’ve got arm strength now. Shoulder gains. This injury might’ve been a blessing.”

“You want a turn with the boot too?” Paige shifted slightly, pulling the blanket higher on her lap.

Aziaha leaned on the crutches and gave her a look that was more honest than teasing. “For real. How’s it been feeling?”

Paige hesitated, caught in the weight of the question. “Better. Hurts like hell in the morning. But it’s better.”

In the kitchen, Kiki tore open one of the takeout bags and peeked inside, pulling out three cartons and setting them on the counter.

“Why is this place so... adult all of a sudden?” Her gaze swept across the counters, brow raised at the lineup of labeled containers and stacked dishes. “You always this organized or are we in the wrong unit?”

Kate was crouched at the fridge, still studying the contents. She pulled out a clear box of sliced fruit and held it up. “Okay. Who the hell are you and what did you do with the real Paige Bueckers? These are raspberries. In glass. And they’re fresh.”

“That’s new,” Kiki agreed. “Last time we were here, you were surviving off cereal and string cheese.”

Paige tried to wave it off with a shrug, but her ears betrayed her before she could speak. A soft flush crept along her cheeks and she busied herself with adjusting the corner of the blanket.

Aziaha didn’t miss it. She propped the crutches beside the wall and walked over, her grin widening as the pieces clicked. “Hold up. This you, or someone else making those grocery calls?”

Paige rubbed at the back of her neck. “Miss Fudd has... strong opinions about nutrition.”

That was all it took.

Kiki let out a sharp laugh as she turned around, chopsticks still in hand. “Miss Fudd? Oh, we’re formal now?”

Kate grinned as she returned the fruit to the fridge. “Miss Fudd sounds like the type to pack leftovers in labeled containers.”

“She does,” Paige mumbled, barely audible.

Aziaha let out a dramatic gasp and pressed a hand to her chest. “Devastating. Paige Bueckers, domesticated.”

Paige let her head fall back against the cushion with a groan. “You’re all annoying.”

But her smile lingered, soft and easy. Their teasing held no bite. It came with a kind of affection that settled deep in her chest—an unspoken way of saying they saw the change in her, and it looked good.

Fudd Holdings, San Francisco. October 2025.

Nika set the pen down with a little flourish, then leaned back with the kind of grin that always meant trouble.

“Now that I have your attention,” she said, drawing out the words as if they were part of a performance, “are we finally going to talk about your situationship with Paige?”

Azzi glanced up from the last page, already half-expecting something like this. “It’s not a situationship.”

Nika raised her brows, amused. “Alright. Then has she asked you to be her girlfriend?”

Azzi paused.

The question wasn’t meant to be sharp, but it landed that way. She turned it over in her mind, flipping through every conversation she and Paige had shared since the night they finally admitted what they felt.

They had talked about everything—vulnerability, timing, wanting to be better for each other. But there hadn’t been a specific moment. No one had asked anything out loud. Her gaze drifted to the desk as she spoke.

“No. She hasn’t.”

The smugness on Nika’s face returned, soft but unmistakable. “Then I hate to break it to you, boss. That’s a situationship.”

Azzi sat back, her fingers still curled near the edge of the folder they had just signed.

She had been at Paige’s apartment nearly every day since the injury, cooking, organizing her meds, helping her shower when the pain got too bad. She had washed Paige’s hair in the kitchen sink with a plastic cup and her own hands, drying it with a towel she’d warmed in the dryer.

Paige had let her in, fully and without ego, and Azzi hadn’t hesitated once.

This wasn’t casual. It hadn’t been for a long time.

“Do you think it matters? If we label it?”

“With you two? After everything?” She gave a small shake of her head, more amused than disapproving. “You’ve been through every version of a relationship without actually naming it. Hookups, fallouts, the on-and-off stage, the weird terms and agreements you had on each other. Honestly, if you told me you were getting married next month, I’d just ask what you’re wearing so I can coordinate.”

Azzi exhaled slowly, like the words had been waiting. Her hands drifted toward her lap, fingers drawing a line along the seam of her pants before she spoke.

“I’ve been in relationships,” she said carefully. “I’ve dated people who were good on paper. People who made sense. I’ve had the structured thing, the safe version.”

Her mouth lifted into something wry, but her eyes didn’t shift away from Nika’s.

“This isn’t like that,” she went on, quieter now, more certain. “Whatever this is with Paige… it’s different. It makes me feel like everything I’ve built, everything I thought I understood about myself, has been completely undone in the best and most terrifying way. She makes me want things I never used to consider. Makes me question my choices. I used to walk into rooms full of CEOs twice my age and not flinch, and now I lose sleep wondering if I overstepped by asking if she took her meds.”

Her voice cracked slightly before she caught it. She shook her head once, not to dismiss what she was saying, but to slow herself down.

“I’ve got degrees. I’ve run entire firms. I was closing multi-million dollar contracts before I turned twenty-three. But with her…” Azzi looked down at her hands again. “With her I feel like a teenager who never learned how to do this part right. I feel ridiculous. Emotional. Vulnerable. And I’m scared out of my mind that I’ll mess it up.”

Nika didn’t interrupt. She just sat with her, her posture relaxed, her presence steady. Azzi’s shoulders lowered a little as if saying it out loud released some of the tension she carried. Still, the weight of the confession settled deep in her chest.

“She’s different,” Azzi repeated, softer now. “And I care about her more than I know what to do with.”

Nika studied her for a moment, her expression hard to pin down. Then she reached into her bag, pulling out a slim folder that had clearly been packed with care. She ran her fingers along the edge of it, hesitating for only a second before placing it on the table between them.

“I didn’t plan to do this today,” she said, her tone low but certain. “But after that speech? I think it’s time.”

Azzi glanced down at the folder, brows pulling together. “What is this?”

Nika sat back and gestured toward it. “Go ahead.”

Azzi opened it slowly, flipping through the first few pages. Her brow tensed as her eyes moved down the lines. She shifted in her seat, reading faster now. Numbers. Legal terms. Corporate names she knew well.

“I’m going to get chewed out for giving you this,” Nika said, almost like a warning, though her voice carried something gentler underneath. “But watching you lately, seeing how in love you are? You deserve this.”

Azzi turned another page, her voice catching slightly as she read aloud. “Fudd Corp. J. Fudd Innovations. Muhl Ventures... These are my brothers’ companies. And your start up.”

“Yup!”

Azzi lifted her gaze. “What is this?”

Nika gave her a look that landed without needing to be explained. “Last page.”

Azzi flipped it. Her eyes locked on the bolded header near the top. Her lips parted slightly as she read, this time slower.

“A letter of intent, filed jointly by Fudd Corp, J. Fudd Innovations, and Muhl Ventures, outlining a proposal to acquire the Golden State Valkyries from Fudd Holdings. Valuation is set at two billion dollars.”

She looked up, stunned. “What?!”

Then she stared down at the document again, her hand still braced on the folder like she needed to steady it. Her eyes moved across the lines again, tracking the language, the numbers, the names, but her focus fractured under the weight of what it meant.

She lifted her gaze toward Nika, her voice low but sharpened with disbelief.

“You and my brothers have been conspiring against me?”

Nika laughed under her breath, the sound soft and almost affectionate. She reached for the edge of the desk, her fingertips brushing the worn wood as if grounding herself.

“Not like that,” she said gently. “We talked, yes. But it wasn’t some master plan to cut you out. We’ve all seen what this has been doing to you. The pressure, the expectations, the way people watch everything you and Paige do like it’s a headline waiting to happen.”

She paused, her expression open and careful.

“We saw how much you care about her. And how hard you’re trying to hold everything together. I don’t think you even realize how close you are to breaking again. You love this team, Az. No one’s questioning that. But trying to be the owner, public face, protector, and whatever the hell you think you owe the league... it’s too much. You’re burning yourself out trying to keep Paige safe from something she already chose to walk into.”

Azzi didn’t interrupt. Her fingers had relaxed over the folder, but her posture remained still, watchful.

“We just want you to be happy,” Nika said. “That’s what we all want. So, we thought... maybe if the team wasn’t one more thing pulling you apart, maybe if you didn’t have to carry the weight of this alone anymore, then you’d have space to just be with her. Without all the noise.”

Her voice held no pity. Only a kind of clarity that came from watching someone you love suffer for too long.

“We’re offering you an out. A chance to breathe.”

Azzi’s fingers skimmed the edge of the paper again, her gaze trailing over the signatures like she still couldn’t quite believe it.

Her voice came softer this time, edged with something closer to disbelief than protest. “For two billion dollars?”

“We know the team doesn’t actually hit that number, but figured we’d sweeten the pot a little. Call it a love tax. Maybe toss in a trip to Lake Como. Or Monaco if you’re feeling dramatic. Once your girlfriend’s ankle stops being the main character, maybe in the off-season.”

A smile crept across Azzi’s face before she could hold it down. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Right,” Nika said, drawing the word out with mock sincerity. “I forgot. Situationship. I meant your non-girlfriend girlfriend.”

Azzi laughed, shaking her head as she picked up a paper pin from the desk and tossed it at her. It bounced harmlessly off Nika’s shirt, but the expression on Azzi’s face stayed bright, unable to dim. Her shoulders had lifted slightly, like something heavier than she realized had finally been set down. Her chest felt lighter. The kind of lightness that stayed.

Azzi’s condo, San Francisco. October 2025.

The morning sun filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Azzi’s apartment, casting soft golden light across the furniture. Paige sat propped on the couch, her foot elevated on a pillow, one hand absently tugging at the hem of her sweatshirt as she stared toward the front door. Her expression was already halfway to annoyed.

The man standing there looked entirely too comfortable for someone who was a stranger in the apartment.

“Why is this necessary again?” Her voice rose slightly as she called out to Azzi, who was somewhere in the bedroom.

Azzi emerged with her usual poise, adjusting the cuff of her blouse as she entered the living room with a steady, effortless stride. Her hair was pinned neatly, the clean lines of her outfit giving her that specific energy Paige had come to recognize—the kind that meant she had already made up her mind.

“What are you whining about at nine-thirty in the morning?” Azzi asked, though her tone carried more amusement than irritation.

Paige lifted a hand toward the stranger. “Who’s he? Where’s Tony?”

Azzi’s gaze flicked toward the man in the doorway, then returned to Paige with calm assurance.

“We talked about this. Tony works for me personally. We’re not sharing him.” Her brow lifted slightly. “Why are you getting attached to Tony, by the way?”

“I’m not,” Paige said quickly, a little too quickly, folding her arms with a guilty shrug.

The truth was, she liked Tony. Ever since Azzi had asked him to keep an eye on her while she recovered, they’d developed an easy rhythm. He brought her gummy worms and pistachio ice cream without asking, never judged her Netflix choices, and had surprisingly decent skills in Mario Kart.

Paige leaned in a little, lowering her voice. “I just don’t like how he looks at me.”

The room stayed still for a beat. Azzi huffed, brushing past the couch as she crossed toward the hallway. “Jake is harmless.”

“Jake? As in short for Jacob?” Paige’s nose wrinkled, eyes narrowing. “You’re seriously telling me he has the same name as your ex?”

Azzi paused at the edge of the hallway. Her expression stayed unreadable, somewhere between entertained and exasperated. “Yes.”

“I don’t like him.”

“Because he shares a name with someone I dated?”

Paige stole another glance at Jake. He stood near the door, arms at his sides, expression neutral. He didn’t look offended. He didn’t look much of anything. Objectively speaking, he wasn’t bad-looking. And he wore a black button-down like someone who knew the importance of presentation.

Paige shifted her weight on the couch, trying to double down. “It’s not just the name.”

Azzi stepped forward with a more serious tone, though her voice remained even. “Jake has worked for my family for years. He knows exactly what to do when it comes to security and medical coordination. He’s coming with us to Washington to help you. That’s already settled.”

Paige opened her mouth to argue, but Azzi’s gaze shifted into something firmer. It was the same expression she used in boardrooms and interviews. Controlled, exact, and unwavering. Paige watched her for a moment, then leaned back against the cushions in surrender.

Azzi gave a slight nod.

“That’s what I thought,” she said, then turned and walked back toward the bedroom.

Once she was gone, Paige let out a breath and looked toward Jake, who was still standing patiently in place.

She cleared her throat.

“No offense, man, but I’m calling you Jay.”

Jake (or Jay) gave the smallest nod.

CareFirst Arena, Washington. October 2025.

The arena was loud, but Paige was louder.

Crutches rested forgotten beside her as she sat on the edge of the Valkyries bench, shouting across the hardwood like she was still in uniform.

Every steal, every rotation, every bucket earned a reaction—clapping, whistling, half-formed plays called out like muscle memory.

When Aziaha stripped Brittney Sykes at the top of the key and dished it to Carla in transition, Paige was already halfway upright before Jake or “Jay" placed a hand near her elbow to stop her. Her right leg hovered a second too long. She hissed, dropped back onto the bench, then threw her hands up anyway when Leite buried the three.

Up in the suite, Lisa Leslie leaned against the railing with a small smile. Her eyes followed the pace of the game, but her attention drifted to the sideline, to Paige’s voice cutting through every timeout.

“She’s full of energy even when injured,” Lisa said.

“You have no idea. This is just the tip of the iceberg.”

Lisa laughed softly, folding her arms. “She’s your problem now.”

Azzi’s smile was small but present.

Below them, the game ramped up.

Washington tried to push the tempo behind Brittney Sykes and Shakira Austin, crashing into the paint with sheer physicality. Sonia Citron hit a contested pull-up jumper to bring the Mystics within four late in the third.

But the Valkyries answered with discipline.

Kiki muscled her way into position, taking contact and finishing with her off hand. The next possession, James cut through two defenders, drew help, then swung the ball to Kate at the top of the key.

Three more points.

The bench exploded, Paige louder than anyone.

As the fourth quarter tightened, Carla took control. She directed the offense with poise, slipping a pass inside to Kiki for an easy two, then coming right back to drain a long jumper off the high screen.

Washington scrambled to adjust, but the damage spread quickly. Every rotation left someone open. James took advantage with a transition layup, then a corner three.

The clock bled down. Washington fouled to extend it, but the Valkyries hit their free throws. On the final possession, Carla dribbled out the last few seconds before tossing the ball into the air.

Game 1 belonged to the Valkyries.

Azzi’s condo, San Francisco. October 2025.

The Valkyries pushed through the semifinals with grit and precision, following up their road victory in Washington with a commanding Game 2 win at home. The sweep earned them a break in the schedule, giving the team a few rare days off while the Indiana Fever and the New York Liberty battled it out on the other side of the bracket.

Azzi used the downtime to prepare for her niece’s birthday.

Paige stood in front of the full-length mirror, tugging at the knot of her tie for the third time. It sat crooked again. She exhaled sharply and tried once more, hands unsteady. The shirt clung too stiff across her shoulders, the collar too high. Every movement felt wrong, like the fabric was working against her.

She paused, studying her reflection, and gave the tie one more pull. It only made the knot worse.

Behind her, the soft sound of footsteps carried through the room. Azzi stepped in, already reading the tension in Paige’s shoulders, the way her jaw tightened in the mirror’s reflection.

Without a word, she crossed the space between them, lifted her hands to Paige’s chest, and unknotted the tie with a slow, easy motion. Then she tossed it onto the bed behind them.

“You look good without it,” Azzi said simply.

Paige swallowed, still watching the mirror, her hands hovering uselessly in the air.

Azzi’s fingers lingered at Paige’s collar, smoothing the edge before settling at the top button. She didn’t undo it, just brushed her knuckle lightly there, her gaze soft and amused.

“You look good in anything,” Azzi said, her tone teasing. “Even better when you’re not trying to win a staring contest with your own tie.”

Paige let out a frustrated sound. “Your family requested me. Like I’m some rare species.”

Azzi smiled. “You are kind of rare.”

“That’s not helping.”

“You growling on the tie was not helping.”

Paige narrowed her eyes in the mirror. “That tie was being disrespectful.”

Azzi laughed, soft and warm, then leaned in just close enough for her lips to graze Paige’s neck. “Relax. It’s a birthday party. For a six-year-old.”

“That’s what they want me to think,” Paige muttered, eyes narrowing dramatically. “Lull me into a false sense of security, then wham—sudden trivia round on caviar and yacht etiquette.”

Azzi kissed her, slower, until Paige stopped pretending to panic and melted into it. Paige’s fingers drifted beneath the hem of Azzi’s blouse, thumbs brushing skin.

“You’re distracting me,” Paige murmured against her lips.

“I’m deescalating. Completely different.” Azzi smiled, hands skimming up Paige’s back. “You really don’t need to try so hard.”

“Can I still try a little?” Paige asked, kissing her again before she could answer.

She tugged Azzi in by the front of her blouse, mouth already chasing hers before she could make another comment.

The kiss started soft, but it shifted quickly, teeth grazing, hands searching with more intent than restraint. Azzi’s fingers flexed at Paige’s waist, as if trying to decide whether to pull her closer or push her away. Paige tasted like mint and something warmer underneath, something familiar now, and Azzi let herself lean in for another second.

Then she pulled back, just barely, her lips grazing Paige’s as she spoke.

“You’re going to make me redo my lipstick.”

Paige’s grin was slow, teasing. She leaned back only far enough to look her up and down. “Do you want me to make you redo your outfit too?”

That got a laugh from Azzi, full and low in her throat.

She shook her head and pressed one hand to Paige’s chest, easing her away. “You’re benched from sex, remember? Doctor’s orders.”

Paige groaned like the world had ended. She tipped her head back with an exaggerated sigh. “God. You and my orthopedic team are really killing the vibe.”

Azzi kissed both her cheeks before stepping back, hands lingering for a moment against Paige’s jaw. “Hurry up, rookie. We don’t want to be late and have Tony wait forever in the lobby.”

Paige perked up instantly. “Tony’s here?”

Azzi was already halfway to the hall, adjusting her blouse as she walked. “Wow. Replaced by my own driver.”

“I love you though,” Paige called after her, grinning at the doorway.

Azzi’s hand lifted in response as she disappeared down the hall, and Paige, still smiling, turned back toward the mirror—tieless, kissed breathless, and slightly more put together than before.

Fudd Estate, Northern California. October 2025.

The Fudd Estate buzzed with late-afternoon warmth and the sound of children darting between garden tables.

Paige stepped through with Azzi beside her, heart pacing faster than she wanted to admit. It looked more like a small wedding reception than a kid’s party. White umbrellas lined the patio, soft jazz played from somewhere near the pool, and pastel balloons floated gently against the breeze.

James was the first to greet them, stepping away from a conversation near the grill. His shoulders were broad, and he was wearing a tailored short-sleeved shirt that somehow managed to look both laid-back and pressed. The resemblance was immediate, but there was something steadier about his smile, something older.

“You made it, lil sis,” he said, wrapping Azzi in a hug before turning to Paige. “You must be the baller. I’m James.”

His handshake was firm, but warm, and Paige relaxed a fraction. “Paige. Thanks for having me.”

Before James could respond, a high-pitched squeal rang out across the yard.

“AUNTIE AZZI!”

Zuri Fudd barreled toward them, ponytail flying behind her, face lit up with pure joy. She crashed into Azzi’s legs and wrapped both arms around her, burying her face in Azzi’s hip.

“There’s my favorite girl,” Azzi said, crouching to hug her back. “Look at this outfit. You look like a star.”

“I saved you a cupcake,” Zuri declared with great importance.

She looked up, grinning. Then her eyes landed on Paige. Her mouth dropped open. “Is that your girlfriend?”

Azzi gave her a look. “Z!”

Zuri tilted her head, undeterred. “But Daddy said you were bringing your girlfriend.”

Then she turned back to Paige, beaming. “You’re really pretty.”

Paige smiled, resting her weight on one crutch as she leaned in slightly. “I think you’re the prettiest one here. Are you gonna show me where the good snacks are?”

Zuri stepped in front of Paige with the confidence of someone on a mission. “Do you want to see the unicorn cake? It’s got edible glitter.”

Paige perked up. “That sounds like something I should probably investigate.”

Azzi raised a brow. “Babe, you’re supposed to be staying off your feet.”

“I’m not running laps,” Paige said, giving Azzi a boyish shrug. “I’m just doing some light cake research.”

Zuri tugged at Paige’s wrist, careful not to pull too hard. “I’ll be your helper. You can hold my shoulder if your leg gets tired.”

Azzi looked like she was trying not to melt.

Paige smiled down at Zuri. “Thanks, partner. I like having backup.”

Zuri beamed. “I saved you a cupcake already. It’s pink. That’s the best one. Daddy said Aunt Azzi’s bringing her girlfriend, so I picked it for you.”

Paige looked over at Azzi with a crooked grin. “You hear that? She said it twice now. Official title and all.”

Azzi met her eyes and felt something settle, low and certain. They never put a label on what they had, but hearing Paige say it out loud, proud and sure, filled her with something warm. She smiled, quiet and full. It felt right.

Then, with a lift of her brows, Paige added, “Guess I just upgraded. Non-girlfriend girlfriend no more.”

Azzi sighed, trying and failing to look annoyed. “Please don’t teach my niece any of your vocabulary.”

“Too late. She’s already got great taste.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but she lingered, brushing a hand over Paige’s forearm before stepping aside to let them pass.

Zuri marched ahead like she had a mission. Paige followed behind her slowly, steady on her crutch, glancing back at Azzi once with a look that said everything she wasn’t about to say in front of the birthday girl.

And Azzi, standing there, found herself smiling. Again.

James slid in beside her, arms crossed, a knowing grin tugging at his mouth. “Guess she has a new favorite aunt now.”

Azzi elbowed him lightly without looking away from where Paige limped after Zuri.

Zuri finished arranging her cupcakes on the plate with exaggerated care, like each sprinkle had its own storyline. Her masterpiece complete, she grabbed Paige’s free hand and tugged.

“Come on. You have to meet Nana and Papa now,” she said, already marching them toward the far end of the garden.

Paige shot Azzi a quick who they left at the dessert table, almost panicked look over her shoulder. Azzi’s smirk was subtle, and useless—there would be no saving her from Zuri’s mission.

The little girl led with confidence, her curls bouncing with each step, one hand gripping Paige’s and the other pointing like a commander on a parade route.

“This is Auntie Azzi’s girlfriend,” she announced when they reached the patio where Mary and Harvey Fudd sat. “You have to like her.”

Paige froze for half a second, caught between the crutches beneath her arms and the weight of Zuri’s declaration. Her ears went hot.

She glanced at Azzi again, half-expecting her to step in, but Azzi only raised an eyebrow like she was curious to see how this would play out.

Zuri stood proudly in front of her grandparents, like she had just presented a science project.

“She got hurt but she’s still super fast,” she added. “And she likes strawberry cupcakes best. And she’s funny.”

Paige cleared her throat, shifting her weight slightly to adjust the crutches.

“Hi. I’m Paige.” Her voice came out higher than usual, and she smiled a little too wide. “Uh… I play for the Valkyries. I mean, I’m supposed to. Once the ankle cooperates again.”

Harvey gave a single, amused nod, studying her with the same look one might use to assess a game plan. “Good to meet you. I’ve seen you play. You move well off the ball.”

“Thanks,” she said, and cleared her throat again. Her hands felt clammy against the grips of her crutches. “I’m, um—Zuri’s been showing me around. The cupcakes were impressive.”

Mary smiled faintly, eyes tracking every detail, from the way Paige stood to the nervous energy humming just under the surface. “How’s the recovery going?”

“Slower than I’d like, but getting there. Physical therapy twice a week. Ice baths and a lot of bad TV.” Paige gave a small shrug. “Azzi’s been helping with the good snacks part.”

Zuri grinned. “And I’m helping with the fun part.”

“You are,” Paige agreed, grateful for the opening. “Very helpful.”

Harvey leaned back in his chair, crossing one ankle over the other. “Azzi mentioned you were competitive. Guess we’ll find out when Zuri starts that frosting contest she’s been hyping all day.”

“Oh, I’m terrified,” Paige said, easing into the humor, though her hands were still tense. “I think she’s got a mean sugar streak.”

“You’re gonna lose,” Zuri informed her cheerfully, hugging her leg. “But it’s okay. I like you anyway.”

Before Paige could stammer out a response, Azzi finally made her way over. The sun catching the edge of her curls as she stepped onto the patio. She slid an arm around Paige’s back in a wordless gesture of support, then leaned in to press a quick kiss to the top of Zuri’s head.

“Causing trouble already?” she murmured to her niece.

Zuri shrugged. “Paigey likes it.”

Azzi looked up and smiled at her parents, then stepped forward to embrace them both. Her mother’s hand rested at her back for an extra beat.

“I figured I’d better come supervise before Zuri started planning the wedding,” Azzi said, and her voice held just enough warmth to soften the teasing. “I wanted to give her a fighting chance.”

Paige just shook her head, laughing under her breath like she couldn't believe any of it.

Azzi reached for Paige’s hand next and linked their fingers. “Mom, Dad, this is Paige Bueckers. She plays for the Valkyries... and she’s someone really important to me.”

Harvey stood first. He gave Paige a long, considering look before offering his hand. His grip was firm but not showy, the kind of handshake that carried approval in its steadiness.

“You’ve got a good game,” he said. “And I hear you’ve been showing even more heart off the court lately.”

Paige managed a small smile. “Trying my best, sir.”

Mary was already rising behind him. She didn’t wait for an opening or a formal cue. Instead, she stepped in and pulled Paige into a careful hug, arms wrapping around her without hesitation.

Paige stiffened at first, caught off guard. Then she leaned into it, just enough to show she understood what was being offered.

Mary stepped back with a soft smile.

“We’re happy to meet you, Paige. Zuri’s been talking about wanting to meet you for weeks. And Azzi…” Her gaze lingered on her daughter, affectionate and a little knowing. “Azzi seems lighter when you’re around.”

Paige looked over at Azzi, eyes warm. “That’s the best scouting report I’ve gotten so far.”

From below, Zuri groaned dramatically.

“Grownups are soooo slow.” She tugged at Paige’s hand. “Can I show you my presents now, pleeease?”

Paige gave a helpless glance to the group, then started to follow as Zuri tugged insistently.

“I’m sorry,” she called back. “Apparently, my new boss is six and a menace.”

Laughter followed her across the lawn, warm and unforced.

Azzi remained behind with her parents, who both looked at her in a way that made something settle deeper in her chest.

“She’s lovely,” Mary said simply. “And you look good like this.”

Harvey nodded. “Balanced. Happy. In fact, very happy.”

Azzi glanced toward the yard, where Zuri was already shoving a sparkly bag into Paige’s hands. Paige grinned like she belonged.

“She makes it easy,” Azzi said.

Mary reached for her husband’s hand. “That’s how you know it’s real.”

Paige sat on a low patio bench, her injured foot stretched out carefully in its boot, resting on a small pillow James had thoughtfully placed beneath it.

The afternoon warmth reached just enough under the umbrella’s shade, and her shoulders eased for the first time since the drive over.

Zuri had lined up several gummy worms on a paper plate between them, conducting what she called “the official candy taste test.”

“This one’s red-cherry,” Zuri said, pointing with a licked finger. “This one’s red-watermelon. And this one’s red-but-actually-kinda-orange.”

Paige popped the middle one into her mouth and nodded solemnly. “Advanced palate. I respect it.”

Zuri grinned, wiggling in her seat beside her. “Which one wins?”

“Haven’t decided,” Paige said, leaning back slightly as she shifted her weight. “But my ankle’s voting for whichever one lets me keep sitting here all day.”

Zuri giggled and offered her another. “This one’s blue-sour. You have to make the face after.”

Paige accepted it with a smirk. She was mid-chew when someone grunted—loud, dramatic, and carrying weight. She turned just enough to see a large, glittery pink-wrapped box making its way across the grass.

“Zuri Faye,” The guy called out, puffing a little as he dropped the huge gift on the grass. “What did I tell you about birthday wishes that require two grown adults, a forklift, and probably a chiropractor?”

Zuri’s head whipped around. Her eyes lit up.

“Uncle Trey!”

She launched off the bench at full speed, candy forgotten, legs pumping until she dove straight into his arms. He caught her on instinct, wobbling a step before locking her in tight.

“Dang,” he said, hugging her. “You got heavier and bossier.”

“I’m six now,” she declared proudly.

Trey chuckled, then looked up—eyes landing on Paige.

Their gazes met.

“Oh,” Trey said, brow twitching. “It’s you.”

Paige gave a half-smile and lifted a gummy between two fingers. “Uh. Hi again?”

Before Trey could respond, Zuri’s head popped up over his shoulder, wild curls bouncing with the excitement of a new announcement.

“She’s Auntie Azzi’s girlfriend!” she declared, beaming. “A real one! They kiss and everything!”

Paige nearly choked on the gummy.

Trey’s eyebrows shot up. His smirk returned instantly, slow and wicked, like he’d just stumbled onto a winning lottery ticket.

“Girlfriend, huh?”

He set Zuri down gently, then looked back at Paige with mock seriousness, nodding once like he was taking mental notes.

“Well,” he said, stretching the word out, “I guess Auntie Azzi’s girlfriend and Uncle Trey need to have The Talk.”

Paige swallowed hard, wishing the gummy would work its way on the wrong pipe so she could choke her way out of this.

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