The hospital corridor smelled like antiseptic and old coffee. Emily's hand was warm in hers, but Hannah couldn't feel it—not really. Her body was here, sitting on this plastic chair that creaked every time she shifted her weight, left ankle propped on the crutch handle she'd angled across her lap, but the rest of her was somewhere else.
The vending machine hummed against the far wall. A fluorescent tube flickered above the nurse's station, steady then stuttering, steady then stuttering. Hannah watched it.
"Hey." Emily's thumb traced across her knuckles. "You're doing that thing."
"What thing."
"The thing where you go somewhere else and leave your body here."
Hannah blinked. The fluorescent tube flickered. She looked down at Emily's hand, small and freckled, wrapped around her own. Her tattooed fingers looked dark against Emily's skin. The contrast made something tug in her chest.
"Sorry."
"Don't apologize." Emily squeezed. "Just... stay with me. Okay?"
Hannah opened her mouth. Closed it. Nodded.
Her ankle throbbed. The wrap felt tight and hot, the ice had worn off hours ago, and every time she moved her foot even slightly the ache flared up her shin. She'd iced it twice at Emily's apartment. Emily had made her elevate it on three pillows, had brought her tea she didn't ask for, had sat beside her on the couch reading a book while Hannah stared at the ceiling and tried not to think about what the MRI would say.
She'd never been injured like this. Not really. A few knocks, a couple of missed games with a bruised rib. Nothing that kept her off the pitch for weeks. Nothing that made her walk down a tunnel while the stadium watched.
Walking down that tunnel. The crowd's sound muffled. Her foot screaming with every step. The look on Alexia's face as she passed.
Hannah's good leg started bouncing again. She stopped it. Held still.
"Voss?" The nurse stood at the door to the MRI suite, clipboard in hand. "We're ready for you."
Hannah's stomach dropped. She pulled her crutches toward her, adjusted the grips under her arms, pushed herself up. Her ankle sent a bolt of heat up her leg. She gritted her teeth.
Emily stood beside her. "I'll be right here."
"You don't have to wait." The words came out flat. Hannah didn't know why she said them.
Emily's hand found hers again. "I know. I want to."
Hannah looked at her. Emily's eyes—sea-glass, steady, patient. No pity. No worry she was hiding. Just presence. The same presence she'd had in the medical room last night. The same hand that had held hers when the doctor talked about possible tears and missed games and MRIs at eight in the morning.
"Okay."
They walked to the door together. Emily's steps slow, matching Hannah's crutch rhythm. At the threshold, Hannah stopped.
She looked at the door. Then back at Emily.
Emily smiled. Tiny. Crooked. "Go on."
Hannah's fingers tightened around Emily's. Then she let go and stepped through alone.
The door clicked shut behind her.
The MRI room was cold. Bright. A machine hummed in the center, white and massive, a tunnel leading into nothing. The technician said something—Spanish, directions, instructions about staying still—but Hannah heard it through water. She nodded, sat on the table, lay back, let them position her ankle.
The machine roared to life.
Thirty minutes. That's what they'd said. Thirty minutes of lying still while magnets scanned the inside of her body, showing the doctors exactly how damaged she was.
She thought about the pitch. The grass. The sound of the ball leaving her foot and hitting the back of the net. The crowd screaming her name. Aitana's arms around her after a goal. Alexia's hand on her shoulder before a match. The weight of the captain's armband.
She thought about Emily. Waiting in a plastic chair. Reading her book. Looking up every time the door opened.
The machine clattered. Hannah closed her eyes.
When the door opened again, the light from the corridor was brighter than the room.
Hannah sat up, ankle propped, watching the doctor step through. A woman she didn't recognize, mid-forties, reading a tablet. The technician was gone. The machine had stopped humming.
"Hannah Voss?"
"Yes."
The doctor looked up. "Good news."
The words didn't land. Hannah blinked. "What?"
"The tear is small. It'll hurt for a few more days, and you'll need to stay off it for a week, but we're looking at three weeks until you're match-fit." The doctor smiled. "You'll make the Champions League semi-final."
Three weeks.
Hannah stared at her. Three weeks. The semi-final was in four. She'd be back.
"Are you sure?"
"We'll do a follow-up scan in two weeks, but the images are clear. Rest, physio, and you'll be fine." The doctor handed her the tablet with the images. "See for yourself."
Hannah looked at the screen. Something about the scan—she didn't know what to look for, really. But the doctor was smiling. The technician had called it good news.
She could play again.
"Thank you," she said. Her voice was rough.
The doctor nodded. "I'll send the report to the club. You'll hear from your physios this afternoon. Take it easy today."
Take it easy. Three weeks. She'd be back.
Hannah swung her legs off the table. Her ankle still ached, but something had lifted. She grabbed the crutches, stood, and walked to the door. Pushed it open with her shoulder.
Emily was standing the moment the door opened. Her book was closed in her hand, her eyes wide, scanning Hannah's face before she said anything.
"Well?"
Hannah leaned against the doorframe. Looked at Emily's face. The freckles. The nervous curve of her mouth. The way her fingers were white-knuckled on the spine of her book.
"Three weeks," Hannah said. "I'll be back for the semi-final."
Emily's face cracked open. A smile—full, unguarded, the one from the café, from the board game night, from the kitchen counter. She dropped her book on the chair and stepped forward.
Hannah caught her. One crutch dropped, clattering against the tile, her arm around Emily's waist, pulling her in. Emily's arms wrapped around her neck, her face buried in Hannah's shoulder, her breath warm against Hannah's skin.
"I was so scared," Emily said into her collarbone. "I didn't want to say it, but I was."
"I know." Hannah pressed her cheek into Emily's hair. The smell of her shampoo. The warmth of her body. "Me too."
"You were scared?" Emily pulled back. Her eyes were wet but she was still smiling. "You didn't show it."
"Didn't want you to worry."
Emily laughed. Small. Shaky. "I worry anyway. It's part of the job description now."
Hannah kissed her forehead. "Sorry."
"Don't apologize." Emily wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Call the team. They've been texting me every twenty minutes."
Hannah blinked. "They texted you?"
"Aitana found my number somehow. I think from your phone when you were asleep. Mapi sent a voice message that was just her screaming. Patri asked for updates. Alexia said to tell you she expects a full report."
Hannah laughed. It came out rough and surprised. "They're idiots."
"Your idiots." Emily bent down, picked up the fallen crutch, handed it back. "Call them. I'll find us a cab."
They rode home with the window down and Emily's hand on her thigh. Hannah called the team on speaker, phone propped between them, Mapi screaming so loud that Emily winced and Aitana's voice cracked with relief. Alexia said good, which was Alexia for I'm glad you're okay. Patri said she'd bring dinner tonight.
Hannah ended the call. Looked at the Barcelona skyline sliding past. The sun was higher now, the morning burning off, the city waking up.
She could play again. She'd be back.
Emily's hand squeezed her thigh. Hannah looked at her.
"Good news." Emily smiled.
"Yeah."
"Good."
They rode the rest of the way in silence. Not an empty silence. A full one.
The apartment was warm when they walked in. Sunlight spilled across the living room floor, caught the dust motes floating in the air, lit up the mess they'd left this morning—a blanket crumpled on the couch, two coffee cups on the counter, Hannah's jacket draped over a chair.
Emily guided her to the couch. "Sit."
"I can—"
"Sit."
Hannah sat.
Emily disappeared into the kitchen. Water ran. The kettle clicked. Cabinets opened and closed. Hannah leaned her head back, closed her eyes, listened to the sounds of someone taking care of her.
She didn't know how long she sat there. A few minutes. Long enough for her breathing to slow, for the adrenaline to drain out of her, for the weight of the morning to settle somewhere behind her ribs.
Emily came back with two mugs. Handed one to Hannah. Sat beside her, close, her knee against Hannah's thigh.
"Tea," Emily said. "With honey. For the nerves."
Hannah wrapped her hands around the mug. The warmth seeped into her palms. She looked at the steam curling up, at the light catching the surface, at her own reflection on the dark surface of the liquid.
"Thank you."
"For tea?"
"For staying."
Emily was quiet for a moment. Then she leaned her head against Hannah's shoulder. Her curls brushed Hannah's cheek.
"I told you. I'm not going anywhere."
Hannah turned her head, pressed her lips to the top of Emily's head. Stayed there. Breathed in.
The kettle had stopped boiling. The apartment was quiet. Sunlight pooled on the floor. And for the first time since she'd walked off the pitch last night, Hannah felt the knot in her chest start to loosen.
Emily shifted beside her, lifting her head, and Hannah felt the absence of her warmth immediately. Emily took the mug from her hands, set it on the coffee table beside her own, then turned back and swung her legs over Hannah's lap, settling sideways against her chest.
Hannah's arms came up automatically, wrapping around her. Her left hand found Emily's hip, her right hand settled on Emily's thigh. The weight of her was grounding. Real.
"Better?" Emily asked.
Hannah considered the question. Her ankle still throbbed. Her body still felt hollowed out from the night and the morning and the waiting. But Emily was in her lap. Emily's heartbeat was steady against her ribs. The sun was warm on her skin.
"Getting there."
Emily's hand found hers, laced their fingers together. Her thumb traced the lines of Hannah's palm. Slow. Absent. Like she didn't even know she was doing it.
"What happens now?" Emily asked.
Hannah watched their hands. The contrast between them. "Rest. Physio. Follow-up scan in two weeks."
"I meant with us."
Hannah's chest tightened. She looked at the top of Emily's head, the curls spilling across her shoulder. "What do you mean?"
Emily was quiet for a moment. Her thumb kept moving across Hannah's palm.
"You're going to be busy. Rehab. Training. The semi-final. Press. All of it." Emily's voice was steady, but there was something careful underneath it. "I just—I don't want to be something you have to fit into your schedule."
Hannah's hand stilled on Emily's thigh. "Hey."
Emily looked up. Her sea-glass eyes were guarded. Not closed—but watching.
"You're not something I fit in," Hannah said. "You're the reason I want to get back on the pitch."
Emily's expression flickered. "That's—"
"I mean it." Hannah shifted, adjusting her weight, wincing when her ankle moved. She ignored it. "When I was in that machine, I wasn't thinking about the semi-final. I wasn't thinking about training. I was thinking about you. Sitting in that chair. Waiting."
Emily's throat moved. She swallowed. "Hannah—"
"I've never had that before." Hannah's voice came out rough. "Someone waiting for me. Someone who wasn't paid to care. Someone who just—wanted to be there."
Emily's eyes were bright. She blinked, looked down at their hands, then back up. "You have it now."
"I know." Hannah's voice cracked. "That's why I'm scared."
Emily laughed. Soft. Wet. "You're scared of having someone who cares about you?"
"I'm scared of losing it."
Emily pulled her hand free, reached up, cupped Hannah's jaw. Her palm was warm. Her thumb traced the line of Hannah's cheekbone.
"You're not going to lose it. Not unless you want to."
"I don't."
"Then stop being scared." Emily's smile was crooked. "Or be scared. I'll be here either way."
Hannah turned her head, pressed her lips to the inside of Emily's wrist. Felt her pulse. Steady. Alive.
"I love you," she said. It came out quiet. Raw. Like she was still surprised she got to say it.
Emily's breath caught. "I love you too."
They stayed like that. Emily's hand on her face. Hannah's lips against her wrist. The sun crawling across the floor.
Then Emily pulled back, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and said, "Right. You need to eat. And ice that ankle again. And probably shower, honestly—you smell like hospital."
Hannah laughed. It came out surprised. "Rude."
"True." Emily stood, held out her hand. "Come on. Shower first. Then food. Then I'll find something terrible on TV and you can fall asleep on me."
Hannah took her hand. Let Emily pull her up. Grabbed her crutches and balanced.
"You've got this all planned out."
"I'm a teacher. Planning is my job." Emily guided her toward the bathroom, hand on the small of her back. "Now move. The water's going to get cold."
Hannah hobbled down the hallway. Emily's hand stayed on her back the whole way.
The bathroom was small. Steam already rising from the shower—Emily must have started it while Hannah was on the couch. The mirror was fogging. The tiles were warm under her feet.
Emily reached past her, adjusted the temperature, then turned back. "Need help?"
Hannah looked at her. Emily's eyes were soft. No pressure. Just an offer.
"Yeah," Hannah said. "I think I do."
Emily stepped closer. Her fingers found the hem of Hannah's shirt. Lifted it slowly, careful not to jostle her. Hannah raised her arms, let the shirt come off. Emily's hands moved to her sports bra, unclipped it, let it fall.
Emily's gaze didn't linger. It was practical. Gentle. She helped Hannah balance, helped her step out of her shorts, helped her sit on the plastic chair Emily had pulled into the shower.
The water was hot. Perfect. Hannah leaned her head back, let it run over her face, her shoulders, her chest. Steam filled her lungs.
Emily was still there. Sitting on the edge of the tub, fully clothed, watching her.
"You don't have to stay," Hannah said.
"I want to."
Hannah closed her eyes. The water ran over her. Emily's presence was a warmth that had nothing to do with the steam.
She didn't know how long she sat there. Long enough for the water to start cooling. Long enough for her muscles to unclench. Long enough for the knot behind her ribs to loosen a little more.
When she opened her eyes, Emily was still there. Watching her. Smiling.
"Better?" Emily asked.
Hannah looked at her. The woman who didn't know who she was when they met. The woman who stayed in a plastic chair for thirty minutes. The woman who was sitting on the edge of a bathtub, fully clothed, because Hannah needed her to.
"Yeah," Hannah said. Her voice was rough. "Better."