Chapter 5 She won't find out

Thierry noticed the change in my breathing.

“We can always turn back.”

I didn’t answer. Inside the locker room, Ella and Jade continued arguing.

“See? Even Coach thinks the same.”

Silence followed, and I stared at the half-open door.

Jade wasn’t calling me worthless. She was talking about a position that needed to be filled because I couldn’t play right now.

That should have made it easier to accept. It didn’t.

“Chase isn’t dead,” Ella said, her voice sharper. “She’s injured.”

“And the team still has to move forward. The final season is approaching. What don’t you understand, Ella?”

My fingers tightened around the armrest.

She was right. The team couldn’t stop because I had been injured. Training would continue. Games would continue. Someone would have to take my place on the field. And if they played well without me, what would that mean?

They wouldn’t need me anymore.

Thierry remained behind my wheelchair.

“Are you sure you want to go in?” he asked.

I looked at the door again. I could tell him to take me back. I could pretend I hadn’t heard anything and protect myself from whatever waited inside. But avoiding the truth wouldn’t change it.

My team was already discussing how to continue without me. My mother was counting down the days until she expected me to return.

I was tired of letting everyone else decide what I could face.

I straightened my shoulders. “Yes.”

Thierry waited.

I swallowed and looked at the doorway.

“Push me in.”

He didn’t hesitate. The wheelchair crossed the doorway, and the conversation stopped. Every face turned toward me.

Ella’s eyes widened. “Chase.”

She hurried over and bent down to hug me, careful not to touch my injured knee.

“You guys are trying to replace me already?” I asked, forcing a smile.

Ella pulled back. “Chase, it’s not what you think.”

I looked at Jade. “Then what exactly is it? Jade was already talking about taking the captaincy.”

Jade’s expression shifted. “I wasn’t trying to take your place.”

“Really?” I muttered.

“Chase, I can explain...”

“Coach is discussing temporary leadership,” I interrupted. “That sounds like a replacement to me.”

Ella reached for my hands. “No one is replacing you. You’re our captain.”

“A captain who can’t even walk into the locker room.”

The words escaped before I could stop them. Ella’s fingers tightened around mine.

“You’re injured. That doesn’t erase everything you’ve done for this team.”

I glanced at Jade. She looked uncomfortable, her eyes dropping briefly to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean for you to hear it like that. I’m worried about the finals. We need to know what happens if you can’t return in time.”

My chest tightened. “So you want the position?”

Jade shook her head. “I want the team to be prepared. That doesn’t mean I want you gone.”

I studied her face, searching for dishonesty. I couldn’t find any. For a moment, the anger inside me weakened, but the fear remained. Even if they didn’t want to replace me, the team still had to make plans without me.

Ella squeezed my hands.

“We were worried because your mother wouldn’t let us visit you.”

I stared at her. “She didn’t?”

“She said you needed rest and that visitors would distract you.”

My smile disappeared. My mother hadn’t only controlled my recovery. She had kept my friends away, too.

“Please don’t be mad. We’re not replacing you,” Ella said softly.

“I’m not mad,” I replied.

It wasn’t entirely true. Ella seemed to know that, but she didn’t push me.

My gaze moved toward my locker.

My jersey hung inside, the Red Titans’ colors standing out against the darkness. My name was still written across the back. I had worn that jersey through victories, losses, injuries, and endless training sessions.

Now, it looked like something I had already lost.

“I just came to collect my things,” I said.

Ella stepped aside. “Then let’s get them.”

Before I could answer, she glanced at Thierry.

“Wait. Who’s the hot guy?”

I rolled my eyes. "My physiotherapist.”

“Ohh, he’s not your type, is he?” she whispered into my ear.

A smile escaped me.

Thierry’s expression remained blank as Ella grinned at him. She walked to her locker and returned with a marker.

“I’m signing your brace.”

“I don’t think that’s advisable,” Thierry said.

“It’s not going anywhere near the injury.”

Before he could argue, she carefully wrote across the outer part of my brace.

Get well soon, baby.

Another teammate approached.

“Can I sign too?”

Thierry looked at me.

I gave him a small nod, and he stepped back. One by one, my teammates came over. They signed around the brace, leaving short messages, jokes, and encouragement.

The Titans aren’t the same without you.

Come back soon, Captain.

We still need you.

I recognised Ella’s handwriting beside a tiny drawing of a lacrosse stick. She had drawn it on a piece of paper and glued it to my locker after I scored the winning goal last season. She had insisted that her drawing was the reason we won.

My throat tightened.

I looked away before anyone could notice the burning in my eyes.

Suddenly, the bell rang, and everyone groaned.

“We have to go for practice,” one of the girls said.

“Go,” I told them. “Give Coach my regards.”

Ella kissed my cheek. “Don’t disappear on us again. We’ll visit soon.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

She smiled before joining the others. Soon, the locker room began to empty, and the sound of their footsteps faded down the hallway.

The silence returned.

Thierry glanced at my brace. “You know they probably shouldn’t have signed it.”

“It’s fine. I didn’t feel any pain.”

He gave me a doubtful look but didn’t argue.

I turned toward my locker. “Can you push me over there?”

He nodded. When we reached it, I opened the locker and moved aside. My notebooks and old training clothes were scattered across the shelves.

I pushed them aside until my fingers touched the edge of a canvas.

My paintings.

I pulled out the first one, then another.

They showed the team during practice, the field after rain, our jerseys, and small moments nobody else had thought to remember.

One painting showed Ella sitting alone on the grass after we lost an important match. Another showed the team standing beneath the stadium lights, our shadows stretching across the field.

I painted the moments when we were tired, frightened, angry, or happy.nThe moments nobody noticed.

On the field, I was my mother’s daughter. Her athlete. Her legacy. But away from the field, I found peace in my paintings.

I placed the canvases carefully into my bag.

Thierry watched me.

“Your paintings are beautiful.”

My hands paused.

The compliment was simple, but I had never heard anything like it before. I had kept this part of myself hidden for so long that I didn’t know how to react to someone noticing it.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” I said.

“I won’t.” His eyes moved to the painting resting on top of the bag. “You shouldn’t have to hide everything you enjoy.”

I lowered my gaze. “My mother thinks lacrosse is the only thing I’m good at.”

“Then she’s wrong,” he said. “You’re good at this.”

I looked up at him. He was holding one of my paintings carefully, as though it was something valuable.

A small, awkward smile touched my lips.

“Thank you.”

He returned the painting to me, and I placed it inside the bag. For one second, I wondered what it would feel like to believe him.

Then I heard a familiar voice outside.

“Mrs. Jackson, what brought you here?”

My blood turned cold.

Thierry’s hands stopped on the wheelchair and my mother answered.

“I’m here to clean up my daughter’s locker.”

I stared at the doorway. No, she couldn’t be here. Not now.

“Clean out the entire locker,” she continued. “Take her equipment, clothes, and anything else inside.”

“Yes, ma’am,” a man replied.

My fingers tightened around my bag. She was going to find the paintings, if I don't do something right now.

My mother couldn’t see them. She couldn’t discover the one part of my life I had managed to keep for myself.

“We have to hide the paintings.” I whispered.

Thierry followed my gaze to the bag. He understood immediately.

Without asking questions, he took it from my hands and opened a nearby locker. He placed the paintings inside, gathered the remaining drawings, and locked it.

The footsteps grew louder and my breathing became shallow.

Thierry turned toward me.

“The bathroom,” he whispered.

He gripped the handles of my wheelchair and pushed me toward the entrance. I looked over my shoulder. The locker room door began to open and my mother’s voice drifted closer.

“Make sure nothing is left behind.”

Thierry pushed faster. The door opened behind us.

And we disappeared into the bathroom.