The gym is too quiet.

The Vixens are gone. The lights are dimmed. And you’re sitting on the bleachers with your ankle wrapped, adrenaline finally wearing off.

Cheryl hasn’t spoken in five minutes.

She stands a few feet away, arms crossed so tightly it looks like she’s holding herself together by force alone.

“I shouldn’t have approved that stunt,” she says finally. Her voice is sharp, clipped. Controlled.

“Cheryl,” you start, “it wasn’t—”

“It was my call,” she snaps, spinning toward you. Her eyes are blazing, but there’s panic underneath. “I pushed too hard. I always do.”

You try to stand; she’s at your side instantly.

“Don’t,” she says, kneeling in front of you. “Please.”

Her hands hover near your leg, afraid to touch. Cheryl Blossom—never afraid of anything—looks terrified.

“I was watching,” she says quietly. “I saw you fall. And for one second, I thought—” Her voice cracks, and she stops.

“You thought what?” you ask gently.

“That I’d broken you,” she whispers. “That I’d finally gone too far.”

You reach for her hand, pulling her gaze back to you. “I chose to trust you. This wasn’t your fault.”

She shakes her head. “I’m the captain. I’m supposed to protect my team.” Her eyes fill, furious tears she refuses to let fall. “And I let you get hurt.”

“You didn’t let anything happen,” you say. “Accidents aren’t the same as betrayal.”

That word hits her hard.

She swallows. “Everyone who’s ever hurt me said it was an accident.”

You soften. “I’m not leaving. I’m not angry. And I don’t blame you.”

Her composure finally shatters.

Cheryl presses her forehead against your knee—careful, reverent, like she’s apologizing without words.

“I can’t lose you,” she says quietly. “Not because of me.”