“Just relax in there, Dobbins,” a harried Norton said, buzzing past Dylan with a soft brace and liniment in her hand for Cat?s swollen knee. “I?ll be back in a minute.”

“I swear, Coach, I?m feeling better. Honest.” Dobbins turned pleading eyes to Dylan. “Please. Let me play. I can do it.”

Giving her player the best smile she could offer, Dylan rapped her knuckles on the whirlpool rail and said, “We?ll see.”

Leaving the relative quiet of the whirlpool/treatment room, Dylan made her way back into the organized chaos of the locker-room, making a beeline directly for the bench where Cat was being tended to. Coming down to one knee, she put a hand on her lover?s thigh, not caring what anyone saw, or thought, and met Cat?s eyes directly. “The truth.”

“It hurts like hell. But?I can play on it. I?ve had worse knee strains before, and the Doc has already taken my picture and pronounced me fit, right?”

Norton grimaced even as she nodded. “It goes against my utopian world recommendations, but?right.”

Dylan sighed, worrying at her lower lip, comforted slightly when Cat reached down and covered her hand with her own. “How?s Dobbins?” she asked softly.

“Not good,” Dylan replied, not needing Kelly?s assessment of the situation. “She?s hurting bad, and I don?t think all the backrubs and whirlpool baths in the world are going to stop that.”

“I?m sorry, D,” Norton said, finishing up with Cat?s knee and giving it a light pat. “I did the best I could.”

“I know, Kelly, and I thank you for it. It just wasn?t in the cards, I guess.”

“You could always put Thorne in and shift Chane to small forward,” Cat hazarded, hating the bleak look in her lover?s striking eyes. “She?s played that position before, you know.” Cat frowned when the look didn?t disappear. A cold feeling of dread spread its way through her belly and limbs, making her shiver. “Dylan? You?re?you?re not thinking of forfeiting, are you?” The slight shift of color in Dylan?s eyes told Cat all she needed do know. Lifting her hand, she clamped it on her lover?s shoulder. “Dylan, no. Please. Don?t give up, not when we?ve gotten this far. Even if we wind up losing by thirty points, it won?t be because we didn?t try our damndest out there. Please, let us have that chance. Don?t quit. Don?t make us quit. Please?”

Still worrying her lower lip, Dylan dropped her eyes, gently released Cat?s grip on her shoulder, and stood. Her gaze scanned the rest of the players, who had all overheard the conversation, soft-voiced as it was, and looked back at her with desperate, pleading eyes. She allowed those looks, those emotions, to penetrate for one intense moment, then hardened her heart, and let her face show that. “Caulley,” she called to the assistant coach who was leaning against a locker, arms folded, “come with me.”

As soon as the door closed behind them, the sense of deflation and disappointment filled the air like a pall. The players slumped in their seats; several had tears in their eyes.

“MotherFUCK!!” Chane shouted, pounding the locker with her fist. “I can?t believe she up and fucking quit on us. What the fuck?!?”

The locker room door opened again, this time admitting an official. “Five minutes, guys. Time to get out there and warm up.”

“Why should we bother?” Chane asked after he left. “It?s not like we?re gonna be warming up for anything. Looking like goddamned fools standin? around there till they tell us to go home. Screw that. I?m gettin? a shower and gettin? the fuck outta here.”

“Chane, wait.” Taking in a deep breath, Cat stood, wincing only slightly as she put weight back on her knee. “If nothing else, we are professionals. Face it. No one expected us to make it even half this far, right? But we did it. We showed them all what we could do.” She shrugged. “We can?t help it that Angela?s knee got busted, or that Dobbsie?s got a bum back. Those things happened because we played harder, smarter, and better than anyone ever thought we could. Even if we forfeit, we have a right to be out there, in front of that crowd, not slinking off like thieves.” She met each player?s eyes, letting them see the strength of her convictions, the passion in her heart for the game she so loved. “We always won with dignity and grace. Let?s show this crowd that we can lose the same way, ok?”

One by one, the players rose to their feet, inspired by the words of this rookie, their Captain, who had led them this far, and was willing to lead them to the end, however ignoble that end might be. Even Chane managed to muster a smile and, walking over, clapped Cat on the back. “If ya ever decide to run for President,” she said, “call me. I?ll vote for ya.”

Chuckling, Cat turned to her teammates. “C?mon, guys. Let?s get out there and, well, just?get out there.”

It was a group of subdued, but proud Badgers who left the locker room for the court, chins held high, even if their hearts weren?t.

“It?s a pretty quiet crowd here in Bayou Arena, Ted, since the players have come back on the court. Especially since the Badgers seem short a player and two coaches.”

“You?re right, Lori. Dobbins was really hurting during the first half, and from what I?m hearing, the team physician has nixed her reentry into the game tonight.”

“Bad news indeed, Ted. And since the Lightning coach, Merla Gibson, just crossed the court to the official?s table a few minutes ago, I?m guessing that a forfeit is in the cards for tonight.”

“And that?s just too bad, Lori. The Badgers really were showing some spunk out there tonight, despite all their injuries, and it would have been good to see them play it through to the end.”

“Sometimes, these things just can?t be helped, Ted.”

“Unfortunately, you?re right about that, Lori. The officials are gathering around the mic now. Let?s listen in to their announcement.”

“I?m telling you, I?m launching a formal protest!” shouted Merla Gibson, the first-year coach of the Lightning. “This is completely unprecedented! Completely!!”

“I?m not trying to stop you, Ma?am. You can file a protest any time you want,” the head official replied, “but she?s on the roster. Has been since the beginning of the season. I checked it out myself. Everything?s in order.”

“I will not stand for this!!” Gibson screamed, getting in the official?s face in the best baseball manager tradition. If there had been any dirt on the waxed floorboards, she would have kicked it over his shoes. “It?s a travesty!! This cannot be allowed!”

“Ms. Gibson,” the referee said, easing his way into the about-to-be fracas, “I don?t want to have to give you a technical here. Please just go back to the bench.”

“Technical!?!” the coach all but screeched, turning to the ref with her hands raised, “you want to give me a technical?!? I?ll show you—.”

“That?s enough, Merla,” said Josh Sellers, the assistant coach, grabbing his boss by one upraised arm and tugging. “Let?s just go back to the bench, alright?”

“Get. Your. Hands. Off. Of. Me!!”

“What the hell is going on over there?” Chaney asked, watching as the red-faced coach in front of the official?s table almost knocked her assistant?s block off.

“Beats me,” Cat replied, eyes skipping from the officials to the coaches and back like an avid spectator at a particularly exciting tennis match. “I?d think us forfeiting would be a good thing for her.”

“Ya think?” Chaney asked, voice oozing sarcasm.

“Maybe she didn?t wanna win this way,” Anya observed from her spot next to Cat. “Maybe she wanted to show her fans how bad she was by stomping the crap outta us.”

“Pretty damn childish if that?s what her beef is,” Cat replied, flicking her gaze to Anya, and freezing. “Oh my God,” she breathed.

“What?” Anya asked, looking down at herself. “I got a bug on me or something?”

“Holy fucking shit!!” Chaney whooped, pumping both fists in the air. “Yes!!!”

“What?! C?mon you guys! What?s going on??”

Cat was grinning so widely, the lanky forward thought her face was going to split clear in half, and she thought she caught the shine of tears in the brilliant green eyes of her team captain. Following the direction of those eyes, she half turned, and found herself frozen to the court as if she?d suddenly sprouted roots. “Holy cow,” she whispered, blinking, then rubbing her eyes to make sure that what she thought she was seeing was really what she was, in fact, seeing.

Briskly walking through the tunnel that separated the court from the locker rooms was Diana Caulley, and behind her, striding loose-limbed and easy, was Dylan, in uniform down to her trademark black high-tops.

Badger fans, of which there were more than a few, after a moment of stone silence, began to cheer wildly, rising to their feet, pointing, and then clapping for all they were worth. Fans of the home team, confused, followed the direction of the pointing fingers, then looked at one another in stunned disbelief. Several, who would always see Dylan as “their” Goddess, began to cheer, not caring what the sudden presence of the game?s greatest player said for the chances of their own team. Like a wildfire, the cheers began to spread until, with the exception of a few scattered ?boos? and one red-faced and raving coach, the entire arena was filled to the rafters with chants of “God-dess! God-dess! God-dess! God-dess!”

Dylan, her game face set firmly in place, ignored the cheers from fans and players alike and came to join the rest of her team, staring straight ahead at Caulley, who had assumed head coaching duties. The other players took Dylan?s lead and faced their coach, though they weren?t quite able to suppress the wild excitement that lit their eyes as if from within.

“Ok, you guys, listen up,” Caulley began, rubbing her hands on her once-pressed and now drenched shirt. “This isn?t the way we planned this game to go, and I think you know that. At least, I hope you do.”