Careful

Lucky Shot

Chapter 8:

"Trust me, trust me, I don't like being alone..." — Brent Faiyaz, "Trust"

The gym felt colder now, like the silence between Paige and Dior had frozen the air. Paige's wrist still tingled from where Dior had touched her, that small, careful gesture now lodged in her mind, refusing to fade. She was still processing the intensity of what had just happened, the layers of their past slowly unraveling before her eyes.

Dior stepped back, breaking the fragile moment. "Look, I didn't mean to put you on the spot like that," she said, her voice softer now. "But I couldn't keep pretending either."

Paige shook her head, trying to find the right words. "No, it's... it's fine. I get it. I just—I don't know where this leaves us."

Dior raised an eyebrow, her usual confident smirk creeping back. "Honestly? I don't either. But maybe that's okay."

Paige let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. For years, everything between them had been a mess of pride and bitterness, but now... now it was different. She wasn't even sure how to feel about it.

"You're staying, right?" Paige asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Dior paused, studying Paige's face. "You want me to?"

The question felt heavier than it should've been. Paige hesitated. Did she want Dior to stay? There were so many reasons to keep her at arm's length, but none of them seemed to matter anymore. All she knew was that the idea of Dior leaving twisted something inside her.

"Yeah," Paige admitted, her voice cracking slightly. "I do."

For a split second, Dior's guard dropped. She looked almost relieved, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. She nodded, shoving her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. "Alright, then."

Paige felt the tension begin to ease, the air between them shifting. There was no roadmap for this, no clear path forward, but maybe they didn't need one. Maybe figuring it out together was enough.

"You still got a jumper, or did UConn make you soft?" Dior teased, breaking the seriousness with a sly grin.

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn't help the smile tugging at her lips. "You wish. My shot's still cleaner than yours."

"Oh, really?" Dior raised an eyebrow, reaching for a ball nearby. "Prove it."

Paige caught the ball Dior tossed her, that familiar competitive spark igniting. They could always count on basketball to fill the gaps between their complicated emotions. It was the one thing they both understood without needing to say a word.

Paige dribbled, feeling the ball under her fingertips, the sound echoing through the empty gym. She lined up her shot, the tension of the night rolling off her shoulders as she sank a three-pointer effortlessly.

"Still clean," she said, smirking at Dior.

Dior's laugh was short but genuine. "Lucky shot."

They played like that for a while, the easy banter returning, making it feel like nothing had changed—when in reality, everything had. Paige didn't know what would come next, but she was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, she and Dior could navigate this new territory together.

Eventually, they ended up sitting on the floor, backs against the wall, legs stretched out in front of them. The weight of the night had caught up with them, the quiet moments between shots giving way to something more reflective.

"You ever think about how we ended up here?" Dior asked, her voice soft, the usual edge gone.

Paige glanced at her, wondering where the question came from. "What do you mean?"

Dior shrugged, looking up at the ceiling. "I spent years hating you, and now... I don't even know how to feel anymore."

Paige leaned her head back, letting her eyes drift shut. "Yeah, me too." There was no point in denying it now. "It's weird."

"Weird doesn't even cover it," Dior muttered. "But maybe it's not supposed to make sense yet."

Paige turned her head, looking at Dior, her face partially lit by the dim gym lights. There was something different about her tonight, something softer beneath the layers of confidence and arrogance. Paige was seeing Dior in a way she hadn't before—and it terrified her just as much as it intrigued her.

"Do you regret it?" Paige asked quietly, unsure why she needed to know.

Dior met her eyes, her expression unreadable. "Do you?"

Paige hesitated. "I don't know. Maybe a little. But not because of us." She gestured vaguely between them. "Because I didn't expect to feel... whatever this is."

Dior nodded slowly, her gaze drifting back to the ceiling. "Same."

For a while, they sat in comfortable silence, the weight of their complicated history settling into something less suffocating. They didn't have to figure everything out right now. They could just exist in the moment—together.

Eventually, Dior stood, stretching her arms above her head. "Alright, I'm calling it a night. Don't want you to catch feelings or anything." She flashed Paige a teasing grin.

Paige rolled her eyes, standing up as well. "Oh, please. If anyone's catching feelings, it's you."

Dior chuckled, walking toward the door. "Keep dreaming, Bueckers."

But as she left the gym, Paige couldn't help but think that maybe neither of them had to dream. Maybe this was real enough.

As she walked back to her dorm, the weight in Paige's chest had lifted slightly. There was still so much to figure out, so much unsaid between them. But for now, it was enough to know that Dior wasn't the enemy anymore.

And maybe—just maybe—she was something more.