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The following is a story set in the FBA shared storytelling universe, centring on the character Ramsay Carter.

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I heard the flick of the lighter behind me, and a few moments later the smoke of a cigarette drifted into my nose. I groaned, and paused stretching out my arm to glance over my shoulder at Jeri.

"That stuff'll kill you, you know."

The mongoose snorted, and gestured at me with the lit cigarette. At the very least they'd taken the trouble to move an ash tray onto the bed. "You know how many people have told me that cigarettes are poison?"

I shrugged back. "They're not wrong."

"Yeah they are. It's not poison. It's burning particulates and carcinogens. Those are what'll get you."

"I think the difference is kind of academic at that point."

"Academic, but important." They shot me a grin. "Poison's never been an issue for me, as you may know. I'm told it's why frogs like me so much."

"Pretty sure I've heard some stuff about cigarettes in bed causing fires. Do mongooses have a natural immunity to those, too?"

"Only one way to find out, I suppose." They paused to tap some ash into the tray. "So how's the arm?"

I sighed, then stood up out of bed. I stretched my left arm out to its full length, and then slowly flexed. I bit my gasp down into a grunt as pain throbbed in my shoulder.

I didn't notice their hand on my back at first. It took until the pain in my arm receded for me to feel the pads of their fingers running over my skin and around the contours of my back muscles. I just stood there, letting them rub along my spine. It was nice. It was exactly the sort of contact that I'd reached out to them for.

"It's fine enough," I finally answered. I shrugged again, but it was lopsided as I tried to avoid jostling the left shoulder. "I've been fine doing basic workouts on it the past few days." I felt their paw pause on my skin at that, and I added, "Basic workouts. Nothing more than some pushups."

"Weren't you supposed to be resting it?"

"Since when were you my trainer?" I joked. Or I tried to. I don't know how it came out.

"Okay, let's pull away the bit where I might feel a bit of concern for my casual hookup buddy. Instead let's say that I'm just representing the collective concerns of the Baltimore sports fan."

"Fuck," I laughed. "That doesn't sound like a good time for you."

"Baltimore sports fans are used to suffering. It's our lot in life. But you have to answer to the concerns of the collective Baltimore sports fan."

"I feel like I already get enough of that listening to Gabby and Morales."

"You actually listen to those clowns? No, come on. You're injured, you're not even showing up to games. Aren't you guys supposed to be playing in Vegas tonight?"

"Don't remind me."

"So what's going on?"

I groaned, and reached up to knead at my forehead. "I swear to god, if any of this leaks to the media--"

"Pretty sure I made my opinions about sports media in Baltimore clear."

"Right." I leaned back, pressing my back more firmly against their hand. I considered my words before I responded. "I don't really have time to take off from working."

"Kinda sounds like you do. Isn't that the point?" They slid their paw higher up my spine, and then finally pulled it away. Another puff of smoke washed over me.

"No. Well, yes. But like... I don't have the time to 'slow down' or whatever. I don't know how much you know about sports careers, but rookies have to be going full tilt at all times. Teams give up on rookies all the time - sometimes before the end of their first season. So I can't let up. I mean, hell, they told me I should go home. Like, back to Winnipeg."

"Okay?" I could tell by their voice that they didn't get it. "Your team knew you were going to be out of commission for a week or so around Christmas, and they suggested you head home and spend it with your family?"

"Are you kidding? That's, like... it's like a death sentence."

"Sounds more like somebody being nice."

I snorted. I heard them sigh behind me, and then start getting up. I kept sitting there until I heard the jangle of their belt buckle as they picked their pants up off the floor. A jolt ran through me. I was surprised by it - just a little pang in my chest. Before I knew what I was doing, I had cleared my throat and was speaking up.

"Hey, uh. You want to get dinner or something?"

I heard them pause behind me. I didn't look - I didn't trust my face to hide how anxious I was feeling.

"Huh," they replied. "I've got plans with my roommates, so we would need to rush, but far be it from me to skip a meal with my favourite booty caller."

"Right." I moved quickly to grab my bag, trying to not look like I was rushing. I fished around in it to grab my poison-suppressing ointment, and popped the top. I had just started rubbing a big glob into my forearm when Jeri groaned behind me.

"Wait, you're seriously still using that stuff? Can't you get the pills?"

"Those pills can kill you."

"Oh." A pause. "I didn't know that."

"Yeah." I kept working the ointment into my arm while I talked, trying to get through the process as quickly as possible. "They can react with a few conditions."

"Right. Didn't realize you had any of those, uh, conditions."

I didn't respond to that. I didn't feel like lying about having them or having to explain more. I spent another minute or so finishing up my arm, and then swapped over to the other one.

"Look, uh. I appreciate the dinner offer, and I don't want to be insensitive, but I really am in a hurry. I don't think I've got time to grab dinner and also wait for, uh..."

"It'll just be a bit longer."

"How long?"

"Ten minutes?" I lied. The fastest I'd ever done it in was fifteen, and that was when I was rushing.

"Yeah, sorry. No can do."

I did my best to let my breath out without them noticing. Right. "That's okay."

I slowed down as I listened to them pulling their clothes on. I had just finished my other forearm when they called over from the door. "Hey, uh. It probably isn't actually my business, but maybe you should consider that chance to go home. Even for a few days. It might be good for you."

"Right."

"And if not, uh, feel free to give me a call if you want to do anything. Don't want to make it awkward, but we could even hang out and do stuff we could do around my roommates. Or even with them, crazy thought."

"Sure." I was pretty sure the disappointment wasn't obvious in my voice. Pretty sure.

They left. Once the door clicked shut, I groaned and let myself lie back.

I stared up at the ceiling for a solid five minutes without moving before I pulled myself back up into a sitting position. I closed the bottle of ointment back up, and tossed it into my bag. If Jeri wasn't coming with me, there was no point in wasting the ointment to go out. That shit was expensive, and I didn't feel like spending the time. I would just order some takeout and bring it home.

I got dressed and headed out. As I walked through the hotel and out the lobby, I tried to ignore how sore all my muscles were. December in Baltimore had nothing on Winnipeg or even Dartmouth, but the wind that night made it feel bitter cold as I headed over to my car. I briefly reflected on how much warmer it probably was in Las Vegas before pushing that thought away. I started the car and headed home.

Along the way I flicked through the radio stations. None of the music was grabbing me, and so eventually I landed on the sports talk station. I waited through the back half of a commercial while I went on autopilot towards home, and then the familiar voices of Gabby and Morales drifted out to me. I groaned as I heard the first sentence.

"Alright, moving on to the Spirits. Gabby, how are you feeling about that prediction from the start of the season?"

"Can't imagine what you're talking about."

"Really? I seem to remember roundabout, oh, two games into the season--"

"This doesn't sound like something I would do."

"--somebody made a prediction about how the season would go--"

"'Prediction' is very heavy-handed word choice."

"--and I just wanted to see how you're feeling about that prediction as we start closing in on Christmas."

"Well Morales."

"Yes."

"The thing about a season is that it's much easier to see the arc of one once you're in it."

"Ah yes."

"And sometimes you start to get a bit more perspective about things as the season goes on."

"This is shocking news. So tell me Gabby, what new perspective do you have?"

"Well. A one Ms Ramsay Carter."

I could feel my posture slumping in my seat as I heard her voice dragging out my name, almost like it was a punchline.

"You mean your golden frog child from the start of the season? Who you were pinning so many hopes on after two games?"

"Highly ranked in the draft! Scouts were excited for her!"

"Uh-huh. And how did that turn out for everybody."

"Well." There was a long pause. It was taking all of my self-control to not clench my eyes shut. For some reason it felt like if I did that they wouldn't be able to notice me, and they would stop talking about me. Unfortunately there was the matter of driving the car that I had to pay attention to. Gabby went on. "One thing we can say is that Mark Gerena Jr. is an excellent power forward, and we are very fortunate to have him starting."

Morales' laughter filled the car. My fingers clenched on the wheel as he paused to catch his breath, and then spoke.

"Okay, okay. So seriously, let's get into it. Without the silver bullet we hoped Carter would be, what do we think the odds are for the Spirits this season?"

"It's still a solid team, is the thing. I don't see us dropping out of playoff contention anytime soon."

"Sure, makes sense. But that high draft pick was what people were excited for, because the Spirits have been solid for a few seasons now. A high draft pick was what people were hoping would push us over the edge into being a top team."

"Right, but let's be real. Carter's injured and hasn't played in the past couple games. Has there been any noticeable difference without her there?"

"No. Which is concerning, especially after that strong start to the season."

"Exactly. It really makes you wonder--"

I hit the power button, and the car fell into silence again. I sat back in my seat, and stared straight ahead. It was taking a lot of effort to not... I don't know. Punch the radio? That sure wouldn't help my arm with healing. Drive down to the radio station, break into the broadcast booth and give two random radio hosts a piece of my mind? Yeah. Helpful.

Eventually I made it to my apartment building. I pulled into my parking spot, turned off the car, and then sat back into my seat. I considered calling somewhere for delivery, but I wasn't hungry. I was just pissed. I checked the time on my phone, and did some mental math. The rest of the Spirits were probably getting ready to step onto the court in Las Vegas.

I'd kind of built up the Vegas game in my head when I first saw our schedule. It was about midway through the season, and would be my only chance this season to return to the city I got drafted in. I guess I had this idea that it would be a point where I could look back and reflect on the season. Instead, here I was, sitting alone in my car in Baltimore, a couple days until Christmas, being angry at myself.

I wouldn't make things better by not eating dinner, though. Then I would just be pissed and hungry. I unlocked my phone and scrolled through my contacts, looking for places I'd ordered delivery from before. As I scrolled, my thumb paused on my mom's number. I blinked as I stared at it.

My mind went back to what Jeri had said, and I mulled it over. I hadn't told my parents about the team's invitation for me to go home. I talked to them every once in a while, and we were on good terms, but I'd tried to minimize time spent back at home since I left for school. Being in that house had felt weird ever since Meg moved out. I knew if I told them about the offer, they would encourage me to come home for a visit.

A few more days of just being alone in Baltimore didn't feel too appealing, though. I groaned, and then hit the call button. As the dial tone sounded, I got out one of my earbuds and stuffed it in, then got out of the car.

I was just walking in the front door when the other end picked up. "Ramsay?"

"Hey mom. Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas to you! We saw the footage from the game against the Thrust. How's the arm?"

"Well the trainers said I can keep it." I hit the elevator call button, and it opened immediately. I stepped inside, and continued. "So that's a good sign."

Mom laughed on the other end. "That's good. You're not letting it get you down, are you?"

"No." It wasn't a lie. Technically. The injury wasn't getting me down. It was everything surrounding the injury that was getting me down. "But who knows. People keep telling me that having some forced rest will be good for me."

"So how long are you going to be out?"

"A few more days, at least?" I gave a few experimental flexes of my arm, wincing whenever I hit full extension. The elevator doors opened back up, and I stepped out, walking towards my apartment's door. "I guess we'll see when the r- when we get back to Baltimore and the trainers can take a closer look at it."

"Right. Well, just throwing it out there, if you wanted to ask your bosses for a couple days off from the road schedule to visit Winnipeg, we'd be happy to have you over Christmas."

"Yeah?" I unlocked the door, then stepped into my apartment. I paused as I entered into the kitchen and grimaced. The place was a disaster. I had a pile of dirty dishes filling the sink and the surrounding counter space. My kitchen table was covered in letters I hadn't opened and paperwork I should probably file somewhere. The floor needed a mopping, or at the very least a good sweep. I'd hoped that I would have the time to finally do a good tidying after the injury, but so far I hadn't found the energy to do it. "I, uh. Yeah I'll think about it. Maybe that would be nice."

"A family Christmas would be good. I don't think we've had one since you left for Atwood."

"Well, you know. Any extra time to practice."

"Right. Either way, we can get the guest room done up for you."

"Guest room?" I laughed that. "What, did you guys build an addition or something?"

"Please, Ramsay." Her tone was also laughing. "I hate to tell you, but we decided that maybe we didn't need to leave that room as your bedroom. You're a pro basketball player."

"I'm hurt," I joked. "What did you do with all of my precious, irreplaceable posters?"

"They met a tragic end. The rest of your stuff's in boxes that you can go through if you come."

"But mom, it's so hard to get those Zoie Wilde posters now!" I was still laughing. "Those might have been worth something!"

"You'll have to comfort yourself with however many millions your salary is now. Also, if it's any extra incentive for you to come home, we converted Meg's room into a gym."

It felt like somebody had punched me in the chest. Like, actually. I stopped in my tracks. If I'd been holding my phone instead of using an earbud, I'm sure I would have dropped it. I could hear my own breaths. On the phone, my mom was still talking in that casual tone - probably laughing at how obsessive I was about working out.

I wasn't totally sure what was happening at the time. Looking back on it now, I can tell you that it was a bunch of the classic symptoms of a panic attack. Or maybe just pure shock. I don't know, I've never been able to figure out whether those are two different things or exactly the same. All I know is that suddenly, I realized my mom was speaking.

"Ramsay, are you still there? Did I lose you?"

I blinked, and forced myself to take a couple deep breaths. When I spoke, my voice was a bit too high, a bit too tight. "Yeah mom, still here. You guys, uh, made a gym in Meg's room?"

"I guess 'gym' might be a little generous. But definitely a little workout room for your father and I. It might be a bit underwhelming for you, but we've got some basic stuff. Though I suppose you're probably not supposed to be doing much of that right now, are you?"

"Uh, no." I wasn't quite stumbling as I made my way through the apartment, stepping around clothes on the floor and other mess. I pushed open the door to my own workout room - the one part of the apartment that I was successfully keeping pretty clean. I turned the lights on, and then spoke. "Hey, uh. I'll talk to the trainers and see. I think it's unlikely, though. You know - rookie year and everything. They don't exactly like us to take 'time off', even for Christmas."

"Oh, right." I could tell she was trying to conceal her disappointment. I wanted to feel bad for her, I really did, but at that moment I just needed to get off of the fucking phone. "Well, let us know. The room's always ready for you."

"Right mom. Uh, talk to you soon."

"Merry Christmas Ramsay."

"Yeah."

I hung up. I just stood there in the doorway of my workout room, forcing myself to take deep breaths as I stared at the wall.

I wasn't angry at my parents. Or at least, I didn't think I was. Them telling me they'd redone my room was kind of whatever. I'd been gone for over two years at this point, and they were right. I was making good money now. However things went with my FBA career, it wasn't like they should be keeping my room just the way it was.

But Meg... it was different. Wasn't it? No, it was. Fuck. I was still here. They could still talk to me. I could go home and visit whenever I wanted. Meg wasn't.

She'd been gone for years now, though. Longer than I'd been gone from home. Why keep an entire room for her?

That was what the logical part of my brain was saying. On some level, I knew it was right. Keeping Meg's room just the way it was from when she was 18 wasn't going to... I don't know. Bring her back? Change anything? Make anybody feel better?

The thoughts didn't do much, though. Whenever I tried to think through it, I just felt my breathing get heavier. Shallower. I was telling myself to not be angry at my parents, but my body was responding by wanting to scream.

They were giving up.

What were they giving up on?

I kept standing there, staring. It felt like my thoughts were racing, but also like they weren't going anywhere.

And I guess that was what finally brought me around to my conclusion. Okay. I was accusing them of giving up. But if I was standing here, doing nothing but thinking, and considering running home from my problems instead of working through them, wasn't I the one giving up?

I walked over to my weights. I grabbed one of my normal barbels for my right hand, and then tested a few with my left. The first three or four I tried were too much for me to handle, and I had to bite back grunts of pain as I lifted them and pain lanced into my shoulder.

I lowered the weights until I found one that only caused a small twinge in my shoulder when I lifted it. I stared down at that weight for a bit, considering, and then I put it back, and grabbed one size up. Just one.

I held both weights down at my side, and then gritted my teeth as I slowly, carefully lifted them, pain spiking in my shoulder. Harsh, but manageable.

Fine. Fuck it. My team, the local sports radio, my parents could give up on us. But the Carter sisters didn't give up on themselves or each other. That was what I thought to myself with each lift, as the pain twinged in my shoulder. Any time my brain started straying to wonder how the hell I was giving up on Meg, I just gave a harder lift, and the discomfort drove the thought out of my head.