Part 33 ( Juliet )

I lean against the cold concrete wall outside the locker room, arms crossed, foot tapping restlessly against the floor. The energy in the stadium has faded, occasional shuffle of people heading for the exits. The loss still lingers in the air, thick and heavy, pressing down on everything.

And I hate it.

I hate waiting. I hate not knowing. And I hate that I have no control over how Ellie is feeling right now.

The doors haven't opened yet. It's been too long. Too many players have already walked out, their heads down, shoulders tense, barely acknowledging my presence. But Ellie is still in there.

I glance at my phone. No messages.

I let out a slow breath, rolling my shoulders back, trying to shake the restless energy off. But it doesn't work. My mind keeps circling back to that moment on the field, how she went down, the way she grabbed her ankle, the sheer pain written all over her face.

And then later, on the sidelines, her frustration, she shut me out.

I swallow, shifting against the wall. I don't like feeling this way. I don't like feeling... helpless.

The locker room door finally swings open.

Ellie steps out.

She looks exhausted, her sweats hanging low on her hips, her duffel bag slung over her good shoulder. She's not limping as much as I expected, but I can tell she's trying to hide how bad it is. She always does that. Pretends she's fine, even when she isn't.

Her eyes lift, landing on me.

I push off the wall, closing the distance between us. "Come on," I say, my voice softer than I meant it to be. "I'm driving you home."

Ellie shakes her head, adjusting the strap on her shoulder. "Jules, I can drive."

I raise a brow. "With a twisted ankle?"

She hesitates. I see the moment she realizes she has no argument.

I step closer, reaching for her bag, but she doesn't let go.

"Give me the damn bag, Ellie." My voice is firm, but there's no real bite to it.

She sighs, jaw clenching, before finally relenting, letting me take it off her shoulder. I ignore the small victory and turn toward the exit, expecting her to follow.

She does.

The walk to my car is quiet. Not uncomfortable. The weight of the game, the loss, the injury, it's all still there, lingering between us.

When we reach the car, I unlock it and open the passenger door for her. She hesitates for just a second before climbing in, moving stiffly, her face betraying just how much pain she's still in. I don't comment on it.

I toss her bag into the backseat before sliding into the driver's seat, adjusting the mirrors even though I don't need to.

Ellie exhales, shifting slightly in her seat. "Where are we going?"

"Your place," I answer simply, starting the car.

-

The drive is quiet. I keep my eyes on the road, but I can feel her watching me.

She shifts, her fingers grazing the tape around her wrist, like she's trying to find something to say.

She doesn't have to.

I reach over, resting my hand on her hands. I feel the way her shoulders relax just a little.

Ellie exhales softly before speaking, her voice barely above a whisper. "You don't have to do this."

I glance at her briefly before returning my focus to the road. "Do what?"

"Take care of me." There's something raw in the way she says it, like she's not used to the idea of being looked after, like it doesn't quite fit into the version of herself she's built.

I tighten my grip on the wheel. "I want to."

She huffs a quiet, humorless laugh, shaking her head. "That's not your job, Jules."

I turn my head slightly, watching her for a moment before looking back at the road. "A job? Baby, you're more than that. I want to take care of you."

Ellie lets out a slow breath, shifting again, probably trying to find a position that doesn't aggravate her ankle. She doesn't argue.

After a beat, she murmurs, "I fucking hate losing."

"I know," I whisper back.

She tilts her head, looking at me. "It's not just the game."

I nod. Because I know that too.

It's not just about losing a game. It's about the expectations, the pressure, the feeling of not being enough, of failing. I've felt it too many times to count.

"You played your heart out," I say quietly. "That's not a loss."

Ellie exhales through her nose, tipping her head back against the seat. "Doesn't feel like that."

I squeeze her hand, just a little. "It will."

She's quiet for a moment before whispering, "You staying over?"

I smirk, eyes still on the road. "What, you don't want me to?"

She's silent, but I feel her looking at me. When she speaks again, her voice is softer. "I do."

I squeeze her hand one more time before letting go, resting mine back on the wheel. "Then I'm staying."

Ellie doesn't say anything else, just turns her head toward the window, watching the city lights blur past.

-

The house is quiet when we step inside, the familiar scent of Ellie's place settling around us. It's warm, hers. The high ceilings, the sleek furniture, there's luxury here, but it doesn't feel impersonal. It feels like her.

She tosses her duffel somewhere near the couch and exhales, the weight of the night pressing down all at once. She rolls her shoulders, stretching her arms over her head, and I don't miss the way her jaw tightens, how her stance shifts to take pressure off her ankle.

Ellie barely makes it to the couch before she drops onto it, exhaling sharply, her head tipping back against the cushions. She runs a hand down her face, like she's trying to wipe away the frustration.

I don't say anything. I just watch her for a second.

Then, without a word, I turn and head into the kitchen.

I pull open the freezer, shifting through the cold air until I find an ice pack. I wrap it in a clean dish towel, pressing it between my hands for a second before heading back to her.

She's still slumped into the couch, one leg propped up on the coffee table, her ankle already swell beneath the fabric of her sweats.

She glances at me as I kneel down in front of her, watching as I press the ice pack gently against her ankle.

Her brows lift. "You know my hands work, right?"

I shoot her a look. "Shut up."

Ellie huffs a quiet laugh, but she doesn't fight me.

I adjust the ice pack, my fingers brushing against her skin, careful but firm. She flinches slightly at the cold before settling, letting her head rest against the back of the couch again.

After a moment, she sighs. "I should be celebrating right now."

I glance at her. "Celebrating?"

She opens her eyes, looking up at the ceiling. "The team was supposed to go out. If we won, we were all gonna hit up some bar, get a little too drunk, make Luke do something stupid."

I smirk at that. "Sounds fun."

"It would've been."

A beat of silence.

Then, softer, she murmurs, "Now I'm just stuck here. Sitting on my ass, nursing my ankle like an old man."

I watch her for a second before saying, "You could be doing worse."

She lifts a brow. "Oh yeah?"

I nod, adjusting the ice pack. "You could be in the hospital."

Ellie exhales, her features shifting slightly, like she knows I'm right but doesn't want to admit it. "Still sucks."

"I know."

Another pause.

Then, she says, "You should've gone home."

I frown. "Why?"

She shrugs one shoulder. "I don't know. I just—I don't want to ruin your night, too."

I scoff. "Ellie."

She turns her head toward me, eyes tired but still sharp.

I shake my head. "If you think sitting here with you is ruining my night, you're an idiot."

She swallows, her throat bobbing slightly, then looks away.

I press my lips together, watching her for a moment before finally breaking the silence.

"Besides," I say, adjusting the ice pack again. "I was never going to leave."

Ellie looks at me again, something in her finally relaxes. She exhales, long and slow, and then, barely above a whisper, she says, "Thank you."

I glance up, my fingers still pressing lightly against the ice pack. "For what?"

She tilts her head back against the couch, her eyes flickering toward me before settling on the ceiling. "For this. For... being here."

I don't say anything, just let her speak.

She shifts again, wincing slightly before sighing. "I know I'm—" She pauses, dragging a hand through her hair. "I know I can be frustrating. And stubborn. And I don't always let people help me."

I let out a small scoff. "You think?"

Ellie huffs a soft laugh, shaking her head. "I just mean... I appreciate you. Even when I don't say it."

I watch her, taking in the way her fingers curl slightly against her knee, like she's bracing for something. Like saying this is harder than any hit she's taken on the field.

I press the ice pack a little firmer against her ankle, watching as she exhales again, her body relaxing slightly under my touch. "I know."

She looks at me then, her gaze steady. "No, I mean it, Jules. You didn't have to stay. You didn't have to drive me home or—" she gestures vaguely to her ankle "—deal with my bullshit."

I raise a brow. "I deal with your bullshit all the time."

She rolls her eyes, but there's no real annoyance behind it. "You know what I mean."

I do.

And I know this isn't just about tonight. It's about everything. About the way I've always been here, even when she pushed me away. Even when she didn't think she needed anyone.

I don't make a big deal out of it. I just rest my elbow on the couch beside her, keeping my touch light. "Ellie."

She lifts a brow. "Yeah?"

"I wouldn't be anywhere else."

She swallows, softness flickering in her expression before she looks away, staring at the ceiling again like it holds the answer to something.

I let the silence settle between us, let her sit with the words, let her feel it.

Then, after a moment, I smirk. "Besides, you're kind of helpless right now. You need me."

Ellie groans, dragging a hand down her face. "You just had to ruin it, huh?"

I grin. "A little."

She shakes her head, but I catch the smallest twitch of a smile.

-

The ice pack is halfway melted now, dampening the towel wrapped around it. She lifts it from her ankle and sets it down on the coffee table with a dull thud.

"That's enough," she mutters, rolling her shoulders, she says, "Thanks, Jules."

I don't hesitate. "Always."

She looks at me, but she doesn't say anything else. Just shifts again, sitting up straighter, pressing her palms against her thighs like she's steadying herself.

Then she pushes off the couch, moving stiffly toward the bedroom.

I raise a brow. "Need help getting there, old man?"

Ellie scoffs. "Shut up."

I smirk but follow her anyway, keeping a close enough distance just in case she stumbles.

We step into her bedroom, and she makes a beeline for the dresser, pulling open a drawer and rummaging through it. I lean against the doorframe, watching as she pulls out a pair of pajamas and tosses them onto the bed.

The second I catch the print, I snort.

Spider-Man.

Ellie doesn't even look at me as she grabs another set and flings it in my direction. The fabric hits me in the chest before I catch it, unfolding it to take a better look.

Spider-Woman.

I lift a brow, holding up the shirt. "Seriously?"

Ellie finally glances at me, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "What? You don't want to match?"

I scoff, shaking my head as I inspect the bright red and blue design. "I don't think I've worn character pajamas since I was, like, ten."

Ellie's smirk widens as she pulls her hoodie over her head, wincing slightly as she moves wrong. "Sounds like a you problem." She mimics my words earlier.

I roll my eyes but don't throw them back at her. Instead, I unfold them, running my thumb over the ridiculous design.

Ellie arches a brow. "What, you too good to wear them?"

I tilt my head, watching her as she swaps out her sweats for the matching Spider-Man pajama pants. "I think I'm more surprised you own them."

She shrugs. "They were a gift."

I narrow my eyes, amused. "From who?"

Ellie grins. "Luke."

I huff a laugh, shaking my head as I hold up the shirt again. "You bought these, didn't you?"

She points at me. "No proof."

I snicker but don't argue.

I sigh dramatically and pull the top over my head, the fabric soft against my skin. The pants are just as ridiculous, clinging snugly around my legs.

Ellie looks me up and down, biting back a grin. "Oh, yeah. That's a look."

I scoff. "Shut up."

She laughs, her first real one of the night, and I decide the dumb pajamas are worth it.

"Alright, Spider-Man, what now?"

Ellie grins, stretching her arms over her head before wincing again and dropping them quickly. She exhales, rolling her shoulders. "Now we sleep."

I raise a brow. "You sure you don't want to patrol the city first?"

Ellie glares playfully. "You're the worst."

I smirk, then nod toward the bed. "Come on, injured hero. You need rest."

She huffs but doesn't argue, limping toward the bed and climbing in with a small groan. I watch as she adjusts, shifting until she finds a comfortable position.

I hesitate for only a second before moving to the other side, slipping beneath the covers beside her.

Ellie sighs, closing her eyes.

I shift, propping myself up on one elbow as I glance at her ankle beneath the blankets. "You need anything before you pass out?"

She hums, not opening her eyes. "Just this."

I pause, taking her in.

I watch her for a moment, the quiet between us comfortable, heavy in a way that isn't suffocating. I shift closer, letting my head come to rest against her shoulder.

I can feel the warmth of her through the fabric of her shirt, the steady rhythm of her breathing, her body settles like she's allowing herself, just for a moment, to be still.

She doesn't say anything. Neither do I.

Her fingers ghost over my wrist. A fleeting touch.

This is enough.

For now, this is enough.

"Alright," I murmur. "Sleep, Spidey."

Ellie exhales, something like a laugh escaping her.

"Goodnight, Jules."

"Goodnight, baby." I close my eyes, letting the quiet settle over us.