Chapter 4

WINNING OLYMPIC GOLD HAD TO HAVE been the best moment of Télyn’s volleyball career. Though the Olympics were the pinnacle of volleyball, that was the last reason Télyn would have considered the win important. She balanced training, studying, and her social life, all while never losing herself in any of them.

Winning three national championships was easy. Télyn had her schedule, her routines, and she stuck to them. It was easy when you had a system and a safety net, when your world was contained to familiar gyms, familiar faces, familiar expectations. College volleyball rewarded consistency, and Télyn was nothing if not consistent. Show up early. Leave late. Eat, sleep, study, train. Repeat. Success fit neatly into boxes back then, and she’d learned how to check every one of them without letting the lid snap shut on her.

The Olympics didn’t work like that.

There were no tidy routines when time zones blurred and languages tangled and pressure sat heavy on her chest in a way no national final ever had. There was no margin for autopilot when every opponent was the best version of themselves, when one mistake could echo across a country watching from home. And still, somehow, Télyn didn’t disappear into it. She didn’t let the weight of expectation flatten her into just an athlete, or just a student, or just a name stitched across the back of a jersey.

She called her friends after brutal practices. She studied flashcards on airport floors. She laughed, loudly and often, even when exhaustion clawed at her bones. That was the part people didn’t see when they replayed the winning point on loop: the intention behind every choice to stay whole. Gold wasn’t special because it proved she was the best. It was special because it proved she could reach the highest level without hollowing herself out to get there.

Standing on the podium, medal heavy around her neck, Télyn didn’t think about trophies or records or legacy. She thought about balance. About how hard it was, and how fiercely she’d protected it. About how winning didn’t have to mean losing pieces of yourself along the way. And that—more than any championship she’d ever won—felt like the real achievement.

Jordan’s voice echoed across Sierra Canyon’s gymnasium as she talked to Télyn’s campers. Télyn was on the other side of the gym, taking Juni’s lunch of containers and setting them neatly on a blanket.

“Did P make me a PB and J?” Juni asked.

Télyn shook her head. “No. I did.”

Juni grimaced, shaking her head in disapproval. “I don’t like when you make it. You put too much peanut butter.”

Télyn snorted softly as she twisted the cap off Juni’s water bottle. “That’s because I love you,” she said. “And peanut butter makes you strong.”

Juni frowned at the sandwich like it had betrayed her personally. She peeled the bread apart, inspected it, then gasped. “That’s too much,” she declared, shaking her head hard enough her sandy brown curls bounced. “P does it better.”

“You say that every time,” Télyn said, already knowing where this was going.

“My mouth gets stuck,” Juni explained seriously. “Like glue.”

“That’s not a thing,” Télyn said.

Juni crossed her arms. “It is when you make it.”

From across the gym, Jordan’s voice rose over the noise—bright, confident, pulling laughter from the campers. Télyn glanced up automatically. Jordan was mid-story, hands moving, fully in her element. She smiled without realizing it.

Juni followed her eyes, then sighed. “She’s loud.”

“She’s talking to kids,” Télyn said. “Like you.”

“I’m not a kid,” Juni said quickly. Then, after a beat, “I’m four.”

“Right,” Télyn said. “My bad.”

Juni took a bite of the sandwich, chewed slowly, then made a face. “I don’t like it,” she said, even as she took another bite.

“Eat,” Télyn said gently.

“I am,” Juni said around the food. “But next time, P makes it. Or I’m telling her you messed it up on purpose.”

Télyn laughed, leaning back on her hands. “She’s not gonna believe you.”

Juni’s eyes narrowed. “She always believes me.”

“No, she always believes me,” Télyn argued. “I’m her favorite.”

Juni wagged her index finger back and forth. “No, I am. P always says I’m her favorite.”

“That’s because she doesn’t want you to cry. You’re a cry baby.”

“No I’m not!”

“You are!”

Juni huffed, cheeks puffing out as she crossed her arms tight over her chest. “I am not a cry baby.”

Télyn raised an eyebrow. “You just cried this morning.”

“That’s because TT Cam did my ponytail too tight. I don’t like wearing ponytails,” Juni said, touching her hair. “I like wearing my hair like yours.”

Télyn smiled at her sister, her own fingers running through her kinky hair. She’d gotten used to wearing it out since med school, since she rarely had time to sit down and properly braid it anymore.

“My hair is nice,” Télyn said lightly.

Juni nodded like this was obvious. “It’s fluffy. And long.”

“It is,” Télyn agreed.

Jordan’s voice carried across the gym again. Télyn watched her for a second, then looked back down at Juni, who was still gently tugging at her curls.

“Do you want me to braid your hair for basketball?” Télyn asked. “You can get beads, or barrettes, or bobos. Whichever you want.”

Juni’s face lit up instantly. “I want bobos!”

Télyn nodded. She remembered how her mother always kept her hair in a singular braid for her volleyball games. That way it stayed out of her face and out of her thoughts.

“Okay, we’ll do bobos.”

Juni bounced on the blanket. “Purple ones,” she decided. “And white.”

“Of course,” Télyn said.

Jordan’s whistle fell silent, the campers breaking into chatter as they scattered for water. Télyn’s gaze drifted again, just for a moment, then back to her sister. She pressed a kiss to the top of Juni’s head, breathing her in, peanut butter, sunscreen, and something sweet she couldn’t name.

“I gotta go,” she said softly. “Finish your lunch, and then Sade will take you outside to play. I’ll be right over there if you need me.”

Juni nodded, tearing open a Gogurt pouch with her teeth. “Okay.”

Télyn walked to the middle of the gym, where the other camp coaches were huddled in a circle. She squeezed between Jordan and Asjia, draping her arm over Jordan’s shoulder.

“That was the most long-winded speech I have ever heard,” Télyn teased.

Jordan rolled her eyes and nudged her shoulder. “Someone has to educate the youth. Now they’re all prepared for the tournament.”

“Aww,” Télyn said sarcastically, holding a hand over her heart. “Prepare to lose. Team Té has a secret weapon.”

“We have a secret weapon, and I’m just now finding out about this?” Lauren asked.

Télyn grinned, nodding. “Of course we have a secret weapon. She’s a Camp Té legend.”

Lauren’s eyes widened as realization dawned over her. “I didn’t know she was coming. Oh, we’re definitely winning.”

Jordan and Asjia shared confused glances.

“Who are we talking about?” Jordan asked.

Télyn ignored them and checked her phone. “She’s coming.”

The four tracked the gym door, where a lanky teenager had just walked into the gym. Her curls that were almost always wild were tied into a neat bun at the top of her head, her regular eyeglasses traded for sports goggles.

She spotted Télyn from across the gym, giving her an excited wave.

“Hey, Té,” she said once she made her way over to the circle.

Télyn smiled at her. “Hey, Bella. You’re just in time for the tournament. Campers are taking a quick break, but they’ll be back soon. How was driver’s ed?”

“It was fine. Still don’t know how to parallel park,” Bella said, laughing lightly.

Télyn laughed too. “Neither do I. But it’s okay, you don’t actually need that skill.”

Bella grinned at that, shoulders relaxing a little. “Good. Because my instructor acts like it’s life or death.”

“You definitely need to know how to parallel park. Don’t listen to her,” Lauren told Bella.

Asjia leaned in slightly, curiosity winning. “Wait… this is who guarantees a win?”

Lauren nodded emphatically. “She’s Télyn two point oh.”

Jordan looked Bella up and down, then back at Télyn. “You hiding secret weapons now?”

“It’s not my fault she had driver’s ed today,” Télyn said, holding her hands up in surrender. “This is Bella, my first Azure Dreams baby. Bella, this is Jordan and Asjia.”

Bella smiled, easy now, the way she always did around Télyn. Five years ago, she’d been all nerves and untamed curls, a kid with too much height and not enough confidence.

“She’s been with you for that long?” Jordan asked, genuinely surprised.

“Of course,” Télyn said.

Télyn still remembered that night in Spokane, when Bella and her mother had approached her on the street. Bella clung tightly to her mother, unsure and hesitant. Télyn saw so much of herself in her, and the puff and glasses only intensified the feeling.

That night had marked the beginning of something neither of them could have predicted, a bond that went beyond coach and player, beyond mentor and mentee. Bella returned to every camp, every clinic, every program Télyn ran, learning, growing, and slowly finding the confidence that had once been buried beneath nerves and doubt.

“We’re happy you’re here,” Asjia said. She turned to Télyn.  “Any more of your girls we should know about?”

Télyn hummed, tapping her chin. “Duh,” she said. “But they’re sprinkled throughout the teams. Bella is special, so she’s on my team.”

“When you see them play, you’ll know who they are,” Lauren said. “Trust me.”

Jordan rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

Télyn and Bella left the group to catch up amongst themselves. Juni had finished her lunch and left with Sade, so Télyn cleaned up behind her. Bella sat on the bleachers, adjusting her kneepads.

“Are you ready for senior year?” Télyn asked, wiping jelly from the bleacher. Juni was a very messy eater, a trait she’d picked up from Paige.

Bella nodded. “Yeah. I narrowed down my college decisions.”

“Oh?” Télyn said, raising a brow. “Where to?”

“Wisconsin and Nebraska.”

“Ew, Nebraska,” Télyn joked, but not really. “Those are good schools.”

“I know. I’m leaning towards Wisconsin. I think I’d be a good fit for that team since I’m a middle.”

“I think so, too. I’m proud of you, Bella.”

It was weird. Télyn had never really watched someone grow up before. Bella was the first person, Juni the second. It was like every little thing they’d achieved over the years made her heart swell. When Bella went to homecoming her freshman year, Télyn had waited by the phone, practically vibrating with nerves until Bella called to tell her about the dress, the corsage, and how nervous she’d been. When Juni walked for the first time, she had done the same, standing just a little too close, holding her breath as Juni teetered across the living room, arms flailing, and then grinned from ear to ear when she made it to Télyn’s waiting hands.

“I couldn’t have done it without you. You’ve literally been so much help. I never got to play volleyball outside of school because we didn’t have the money for it, so you paying for my club fees and helping me get to camps, it changed everything for me,” Bella said, her voice quiet but steady. She looked at Télyn, eyes bright with sincerity. “I wouldn’t be here without you.”

Télyn felt her chest tighten, a mix of pride and something warmer, tenderness that went beyond words. “Bella you worked so hard,” she said softly. “I just helped open the door. You walked through it yourself.”

Bella smiled, a little sheepishly, but the gratitude in her gaze was unmistakable. “Yeah, but you made it possible. You believed in me when I didn’t even believe in myself. You’ve been my coach, my mentor… my cheerleader, all in one.”

Télyn shook her head, smiling. “That’s what I’m here for. I’ll be there every step of the way. Even if you choose Nebraska.”

Bella’s grin widened. “Good. Because I need you.”

After camp ended, the camp workers cleaned while Télyn shot hoops with Juni on one side of the court. Juni decided she would teach Télyn the basics since she decided Télyn’s basketball skills were below par.

“You need to dribble like this,” Juni said, easily dribbling the basketball. She even bounced it between her legs to show off. “P taught me how to do that.”

Télyn and Sade looked at each other, equally impressed.

“I can do basic dribbles,” Télyn said, bouncing the ball once, a little stiff. “See?”

Juni shook her head immediately. “No. You’re doing it wrong.”

Sade laughed from where she leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Tell her, Juni.”

“You gotta bend your knees,” Juni said, demonstrating again, this time very seriously. “And you gotta look up. P says if you look down, the ball knows and it gets scared.”

“The ball gets scared,” Télyn repeated, deadpan.

Juni nodded. “Yes,” she said firmly.

Télyn sighed dramatically, picking up a volleyball that had rolled near them. “I wish P was here, so you could harass her.”

“I don’t need to harass her. She doesn’t suck at basketball like you.”

Sade lost it then, laughter echoing across the emptying gym. “She is hilarious.”

Juni giggled with Sade, dribbling the ball before swishing it cleanly through the net. “See that?”

“I’m about to disassemble that stupid court of yours,” Télyn muttered, doing a wall bump.

Since Juni had been playing basketball since she could walk, she never even attempted picking up volleyball. After seeing Télyn play, Juni had decided that volleyball was “too much jumping” and that basketball was superior in every way. Luckily for Juni, she had inherited the tall gene from her mother, making her much taller than the average four year old.

“You wanna try to play with us?” Télyn asked Juni, holding out the volleyball.

Juni shook her head. “No.”

Télyn rolled her eyes, walking to the middle of the gym, where the net was still assembled. “You and me versus Jordan and Asjia?” she called out to Sade.

“Absolutely,” Sade replied.

The four of them were positioned, Télyn and Sade on one side of the court, Jordan and Asjia on the other. They got two rallies, one block, and an ace before Jordan groaned. “Okay, that doesn’t count.”

“It absolutely counts,” Télyn said, already backing up for the serve. “Scoreboard doesn’t care about your feelings.”

Sade bounced lightly on her toes, locked in. “Run it back.”

Télyn tossed the ball, her serve clean and sharp, an ace that kissed the back corner before Jordan could even take a step.

Juni gasped from the sideline. “She did the mean hit.”

Jordan turned, hands on her hips. “Why are we playing the Olympic MVP again?”

“Because you agreed,” Télyn said sweetly. “And because it’s fun to watch you struggle.”

The next rally was longer. Asjia dug a hard-driven ball, Jordan set it clean, and Télyn tracked it instantly. She moved on instinct—four-step approach, high reach, snapping her wrist at the last second and sending the ball straight down the line.

Unreturnable.

Sade whooped. “Let’s go, Spikes!”

Jordan pointed accusingly. “You’re not supposed to be this good after med school.”

Juni clapped aggressively, then stopped herself. “I’m only clapping because that was kinda cool.”

“Kinda?” Télyn echoed, landing and turning toward her.

Juni shrugged. “Still too much jumping.”

They reset, this time it was Sade’s serve. Télyn dropped into her ready position, and before the ball could leave Sade’s hands, a voice cracked through the air like a whip.

“Télyn Azula!”

Télyn froze, her spine straightening on instinct. She glanced at Sade, who looked just as scared as her. Jordan and Asjia were confused, but since the other two look like they’d seen a ghost, then maybe they should be scared too.

Then there was Juni, who was happy as all get out.

“Abue!” Juni squealed, her little feet carrying her quickly across the gym.

Télyn groaned. “Bro.”

“Hermosa,” Abue said gently, bending down to scoop Juni in her arms. “How’s my favorite girl?”

Juni giggled, hiding her face in Abue’s shoulder. “Good.”

“If we ignore her, she’ll go away,” Télyn whispered to Sade.

Sade nodded. “I’m scared to move.”

“Télyn,” Abue said sternly. “Come here.”

Télyn turned around slowly, sharing one last look with Sade before making her way to her grandmother. She could feel her heart beating in her ears, already knowing what was coming.

Abue had been hovering again, even all the way from Puerto Rico. It was strange, because Abue never hovered. Not even when Télyn’s mother died. Télyn had lived with her for about two weeks after the funeral, then went back to living her life as normal. She hated when people thought she was fragile. Abue had always known that. Had respected it.

Which was why this felt wrong.

Abue set Juni back on her feet and turned her full attention to Télyn, dark eyes sweeping over her in a way that felt far too thorough. Like she was taking inventory. Like she was counting breaths.

“What are you doing?” she finally asked.

“We were running a quick scri—”

“I know what you were doing,” Abue cut in softly. “But what are you doing?”

Télyn opened her mouth, then closed it again. The question wasn’t about volleyball. Not really.

“I was just moving around,” she said finally. “It was nothing serious.”

Abue studied her, gaze flicking briefly to the net, then back to Télyn’s face. Her voice stayed calm, but there was something taut underneath it.

“You move like you’re still invincible,” Abue said. “Like your body hasn’t already asked you to slow down.”

“I know my limits,” Télyn said, a little sharper than she meant to.

Abue’s expression softened, but she didn’t look convinced. She reached out, straightening Télyn’s shirt, then let her hand rest there for a beat too long.

“I see why Paige worries so much now,” Abue said gently. “You’re just as stubborn as they come.”

Télyn frowned. “Abuelita, what are you on about? What’s wrong?”

Abue didn’t answer directly. She only sighed, the sound heavy with history and worry.

“You don’t get to be stubborn anymore, Télyn. You and Paige are a team, and right now, you don’t get to pretend it’s just your body you’re risking.”

That landed.

Télyn’s throat tightened. “I’m not risking anything.”

Abue’s thumb brushed once, slow and deliberate, like she was grounding her. “That’s what stubborn people always say.”

She stepped back then, giving Télyn space but not relief. Her voice stayed gentle, but there was steel under it, the same tone she’d used when Télyn was younger and about to do something reckless with a straight face.

“Paige worries because she loves you,” Abue continued. “And I worry because I know you. You push through pain. Through exhaustion. Through things other people would stop for.”

“I’m fine,” Télyn said again, quieter this time.

Abue nodded, like she’d expected that answer.

“You’re fine until you’re lying in a hospital bed again,” Abue said. It wasn’t malice, but Télyn needed to hear it. “Because you stretched yourself thin and because you don’t listen. You forget what it felt like the last time. The IVs, the monitors, the silence of a room you can’t leave. You almost lost yourself, and I’m not letting that happen again.”

“It won’t,” Télyn said quietly, but even then, her voice lacked conviction.

Abue’s eyes softened, but the worry didn’t fade. “Then stop going so hard. Eat when you’re supposed to. Get a good night’s rest, every night. Let Paige take the lead sometimes. You don’t get to act like we didn’t almost lose you. You only get one body. Stop testing it. You have people who love you that depend on you being careful, being whole.”

Télyn’s throat tightened. She wanted to argue, wanted to insist she was fine, but the memory of that hospital room, the fear she’d tried to bury, it all pressed against her ribs.

“I know,” she whispered finally, almost too quietly to hear.

Abue reached out, cupping her cheek with a tenderness that made Télyn’s heart clench. “Then act like it, Princesa. You think I want to relive the fear of losing you? You have a good woman at home that cares about you enough to call me in the middle of the night, worried sick about you. You don’t get to brush that off like it’s nothing.”

Télyn’s eyes burned. She looked away, jaw tight. “Paige worries about everything.”

Abue shook her head gently. “No. Paige worries about you. There is a difference.”

Her thumb brushed once along Télyn’s cheekbone, grounding, familiar. “When someone loves you like that,” Abue continued, quieter now, “you owe them honesty. With your body. With your limits. With yourself.”

The gym noise felt far away, muted, like it was happening behind glass. Télyn swallowed hard. The memory of Paige’s voice, strained and scared on the phone months ago, surfaced whether she wanted it to or not.

“I don’t want to scare her,” Télyn said.

Abue’s mouth softened. “Then don’t. Take care of yourself so she doesn’t have to imagine worst‑case scenarios at three in the morning.”

A long pause stretched between them.

“You have someone relying on every choice you make,” Abue said finally. “I just pray you make the right choices, for both of your sakes.”

Télyn’s throat tightened, eyes burning. She wiped at her face with the bottom of her shirt. Juni ran up to her, arms tightening around her legs.

“Mommy Bluey! Can I go with Abue before we go home?”

Télyn looked down, smiling at her. “That’s fine.” She bent down to hug her sister, pecking her cheek. “Te amo.”

“Te amo. To the moon and back,” Juni said softly, hugging her tightly. She walked over to Abue, grabbing her hand. She turned to Sade and Lauren. “Bye De. Bye Lo.”

“Bye, Juni.” Sade walked up, giving Télyn a half-hearted smile. “Bye, Abue.”

Abue smiled and waved, walking out of the gym. As soon as the doors slammed, Télyn huffed dramatically.

“What did she say?” Sade asked.

“Bullshit,” Télyn said. “I’m irritated, and I need a nap. But I can’t even take a nap because I have plans.” She took the stress ball from her pocket, squeezing it tightly. “She just ruined my whole day.”

Télyn loved her grandmother, but she was used to Abue acting as just that. Her grandmother. She was supposed to be safe, carefree. She was the woman who spoiled her, who laughed things off, who never told her how to live her life. Abue had never been the one to lecture. Never been the one to warn or scold or look at Télyn like she needed managing.

That had always been her mom.

Abue stepping into that space felt wrong. Not comforting. Not protective.

Intrusive.

“I have to go,” Télyn said suddenly, snatching her bag from the bleachers. “I’ll see y’all later.”

The air outside was stuffier than usual, almost like Abue’s words had followed her out. Télyn drew a deep breath, trying to shake it off, but the weight of unspoken warnings pressed against her ribs, slow and insistent.

As she settled into the car, her phone dinged. Then it dinged again. Probably Paige reminding her to eat. Télyn checked her watch. 4:38. Luckily, she’d eaten lunch like she was supposed to.

She dug in her bag for a snack, pulling out a protein bar. She smiled at the thought of Paige, imagining her proud nod and little lecture about taking care of herself. Two weeks straight of eating all three meals. It was a small victory, but it mattered, more than she let herself admit.

“P would be so proud of me right now,” she muttered to herself, shaking her head.

She exhaled slowly, trying to settle the fluttering tension that Abue’s words had left behind. Even the sunlight streaming through the windshield felt heavier than usual, pressing against her shoulders, reminding her that some things weren’t as simple as routines and protein shakes.

Télyn shook her head, forcing herself to focus on the drive ahead. Small, careful steps. That was all she could manage right now.