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NBA ALL STAR GAME - Madison Square Garden, New York
The arena had been loud before the game even started; thousands of people roared as if their lives depended on it. The music was blasting through the speakers as the cheerleaders performed on the pitch. Excitement mixed with delight, the crowd was absolutely ecstatic to see their favourite players – their legends – exist and breathe the same air as them.
Three matches had already happened. Rio played just one quarter of them, as her coach wanted her fresh for the final. She already lived already once, but she was not prepared for
By the time Rio stepped onto the court, however, the roar had become something else entirely. A living, breathing thing. Thousands of voices rose from the stands, colliding beneath the enormous roof of the arena until the sound became almost physical. It settled over her skin, vibrated through her ribs and made every heartbeat feel louder than the last.
Rio stood there, in the middle of the pitch, looking closely to the stands, taken aback by the sudden noise. She was struck by the enthusiasm emanating from the crowd in tidal waves. She wasn't expecting this kind of welcome or even this level of excitement from the crowd. She thought she had been forgotten. Her best years are gone behind her, it’s almost six years since she quit the WNBA league, but somehow they remembered her. They waited for her return.They were here for her.
Banners hung from the railings, cameras flashed from every corner, and somewhere high above the court, a giant screen showed the faces of the legends taking part in the charity game. And there she was: her face, her name being displayed in one of the most important arenas in the country.
A name she had once heard screamed every week from the sidelines of professional arenas. A name that had belonged to a player who had spent years giving everything she had –her whole life, her whole self – to this sport.
A player she had thought was long gone. But as she stood there tonight, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet and rolling her shoulders beneath her jersey starting the warm-ups, she couldn't help feeling that some parts of her had never really left.
She glanced towards the stands closer to the pitch, and it took her less than a second to find them. Agatha was standing beside Nicky. Her wife had dressed their son in Rio's old team jersey, one that was so oversized on him that the sleeves swallowed his hands. He was wearing her jersey with her number: 7, and the bright blue letters of her name: VIDAL. Nicky was screaming and holding a piece of cardboard above his head, clearly convinced that it was the most professional sign anyone had ever made.
Even from a distance, Rio could make out the words. GO MAMI! GO RIO! And underneath, written in much smaller letters: PLEASE DON'T DIE. Rio burst into laughter as a warm feeling spread in her chest, and waved to them. Nicky started jumping, clearly happy that she had seen his surprise message.
Agatha caught her eye. For a moment, the world faded away as they spoke without words. The lawyer simply smiled and blew a kiss to her player. I love you.
Rio's smile softened, feeling as if she was the luckiest woman in the word. She got to do what she loved, and the two most important people for her were right there, by her side. The warm feeling in her chest expanded until she felt her body buzzing with love and excitement. She copied the gesture, blowing a kiss to her wife and son. I love you too. Agatha's eyes warmed and Niky smiled widely.
The first whistle brought Rio back to reality – the sound signalling the end of the warm-up and the start of the match. All the players formed a circle around their coach, who focused on giving them some final instructions and a few words of encouragement before kick-off.
The second whistle cut through the air, and Rio clasped hands with her teammates in the centre of the circle.
“We’re all we’ve got, we’re all we need! ONE, TWO, THREE! LEGENDS!” Her teammates’ shouts mingled with her own voice, loud and clear, fuelled by adrenaline.
Rio shared a few words of luck with her teammates before taking up her position; right in front of the halfway line, on the right wing. She felt her body tense with anticipation for the match, her heart pounding loudly in her chest and her gaze zeroed on the ball.
The world fell silent, holding its breath. Then the whistle sounded again, clear and loud as a bolt of lightning. And the world disappeared. The ball was kicked into the air and Rio sprang into action, driven by instinct.
The first minutes were faster than Rio had expected. Much faster. She knew this match was going to be a push-and-pull, but she expected that more into the third and fourth quarter, not in the very first minutes.
The opening possession turned almost immediately into a battlefield in the middle of the pitch. Bodies collided in a tangle of colourful shirts, and outstretched arms, the ball bouncing between fingers before one of her teammates finally managed to secure it. Rio moved without thinking. Her body remembered the strategies even when her mind no longer needed to name each movement.
As she cut towards the wing, a space opened up in front of her. She quickly slipped into it, received the pass from Rambeau and sent the ball back out before the defense could close in. The ball hit the back of the basket flawlessly. She smiled for herself, first shot in.
A second later, she was sprinting towards the opposite side of the court, tracking her opponent, and watching the play develop. Her lungs began to work harder with every offense and counter-attack, but beneath the effort, beneath the growing heat in her muscles, something bright and familiar began to stir.
God, she had missed this so much. Now she felt complete, felt like she was right where she was supposed to be. Felt like coming home.
She had missed the weight of the ball against her palms, the rough texture of it beneath her fingertips. The way the ball fit perfectly her hands, as if it was an extension of her own body. She would be able to recognize this kind of balls anywhere; NBA balls had this specific weight that made it slightly more bouncy, its rotation is just made perfect; its texture gave better control to grip it more securely.
She had missed the anticipation that came just before taking a shot. She had missed the way the entire court seemed to narrow down to a handful of possibilities, each one demanding an immediate decision. For her, basketball was more intuitive than breathing, a language her body spoke before she even had to think. And now, with the crowd roaring behind her, she understood that she would be able to speak it even if she didn’t play for decades. Her body would always react to the strategy playing in front of her because she was made for it; basketball was in her DNA.
The match was a constant battle between the two teams to see which would take the lead first. Every time Rio's team scored, the opponents answered almost immediately. A three-pointer from the corner was met by another from the opposite side. A fast-break layup was followed by a steal that sent the other team racing down the court in a striking offensive move. Neither side managed to pull away for long.
A two-point lead became a one-point lead, then disappeared entirely beneath the next basket. The scoreboard kept changing relentlessly.
Rio felt the game, sitting into a comfortable pace. She drove towards the basket once, drew two defenders towards her and passed at the final second, sending the ball into the hands of her captain waiting beneath the hoop.
The shot went in. The arena erupted and she gave five to Carol, returning quickly into position. “Aye, aye, captain! That’s how we do it!” Both laughed as the other team regained track.
By the end of the first quarter, the score was tied. The second quarter was even more intense. Or better, Rio thought, smirking, pushing her body a bit, to step back into the game.
The pace never slowed. If anything, the players seemed to grow more determined with every possession, as though the closeness of the score had transformed the game into something personal. There was no room to relax, no comfortable stretch of time in which anyone could catch their breath.
Every possession felt enormous. The crowd would fall silent whenever a shot left someone's hands, thousands of people holding their breath as the ball travelled through the air. Then, if it found the net, the silence would break beneath a wave of cheers and boos.
Rio managed to score six points almost back to back, she was having fun, enjoying the quick pace of the match. The first came from a jumper just inside the arc. The second followed a steal, when she sprinted down the court with the ball tucked close to her body and laid it gently against the backboard. The third was a shot from the corner, released just before the defender could reach her. The crowd reacted to each point with growing excitement.
Rio felt the old rhythm returning, her smile growing bigger each time the ball touched her hands. Her feet moved before she consciously decided where to go. Her hands found the ball at the right moment. Her teammates began to anticipate her movements, passing into spaces she had not yet reached because they trusted she would be there.
Then one of the opposing legends answered with a three-pointer from an almost absurd distance. The ball was shot high above the court and dropped cleanly through the net. Rio stopped near the free-throw line and stared for half a second before laughing despite herself. Oh, man, she was having the time of her life.
Rio could also feel she was being watched, not by thousands of people and a handful of cameras, but by two pairs of eyes that closely followed every move she made. She was playing for them.. She wanted to show them where she was her better self, happier.
By the time the halftime buzzer sounded, the scoreboard showed a one-point difference.
Rio returned to the bench with her chest rising and falling heavily. Sweat had gathered at her temples and beneath the collar of her jersey, and her legs felt heavier than they had at the beginning of the game. Someone handed her a bottle of water and she took it gratefully, drinking several long gulps before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
She sat and stretched her legs in front of her, listening to her coach shout instructions. Somewhere behind the adrenaline, her knee started reminding her that yesterday had been too harsh on the training. She extended her leg carefully and flexed it once, a sharp dull pain shot up from her knee, but manageable. At least, nothing she intended to admit she couldn't handle. This was once in a lifetime experience, and she was not going to let it pass by without a fight.
Then she looked up towards the stands, looking for them. Agatha was shouting her name along with the crowd, and Nicky was still holding his sign, but it looked a bit different. The kid had apparently added something during the second quarter, using a marker that had bled through the paper. She closed her eyes a bit to make out the new words.
YOU CAN DO IT MAMI! And, underneath that: DON'T BREAK YOUR KNEE AGAIN (please)
Rio covered her face with one hand, smiling and nodding with her head, but she could see Agatha was laughing. Even from this far away, she could see it. They were both laughing and encouraging her. I married a menace and raised another one.
The whistle blew again, and Rio went back to position, stealing one last glance to her family before focusing again on the match.
The third half is when Rio felt the change in the arena. Until then, there had still been something almost amicably about it. The players had smiled between possessions, the crowd had cheered with the easy enthusiasm of people enjoying a spectacle, and the pace—though competitive—had carried the loose, forgiving rhythm of an exhibition. But now, something changed, and it was not a charity game anymore, now it felt like a proper final.
The players returned to the court with their eyes sharpened, every one of them suddenly aware that the narrow margin on the scoreboard had become something worth defending. The ball snapped from hand to hand with increasing urgency, and every missed shot sent both teams running back and forth wildly as if the game depended on each bounce of the orange ball. In a sense, that was true.
Rio felt the change settle into her bones with clarity. She knew what she had to do. She threw herself into the game with the same stubbornness, the same quick, reckless moves that had made her successful years ago. She could feel the adrenaline like fire in her veins, refusing to give in an inch of the court.
Her lungs burned as she ran, but she did not care about it. In fact, she always liked when her body started to ache, that meant she was really making an effort, putting everything she is, was, and will ever be, into the game. Her body was tired, her knee still tender beneath the support, yet her instincts remained clear. Focus, this is it. The thrill of the game. Don’t you let it go, Rio, not now.
She fell into an unspoken rhythm with her teammates, all of them working together like a well-oiled machine; all the months of training paying off in mere seconds. She knew where she needed to be; she knew when to feint, when to stop, when to pass.
She knew when to trust her instinct, her mind screaming tactics. She could see the space opening in front of her a second before it happened, and also knew when to go for it or when to trust her wing teammate moving into it.
For several minutes, it felt as though time had folded in on itself, like the law of space-time didn’t function properly, stretching out time. The arena disappeared, blurred around her—the lights, the banners, the faces in the stands—until the only thing she could focus on was the court beneath her feet, the voice of her coach, and the familiar weight of the ball in her hands.
She wasn't a former professional player, nor a CEO. She was just Rio; a kid with a ball in her hands and a big dream, who had once lived and breathed basketball.
But then, when Rio jumped to block a shot, her body twisting in the air, she came down awkwardly as she collided with Romanoff, the power forward of the opposite team.
She stumbled and went to the floor; pain shot through her knee immediately, making her hands fly to it. She sucked in a breath and managed to get up before forcing her foot flat against the floor.
For one terrifying second, the entire world narrowed to that single point of pain. The crowd became distant. All she could feel was the hot pulse beneath the bandages and the support and the sudden, instinctive fear that this moment might take something from her again.
Rio straightened. She took one step and another one, her knee protested, but it held. It was manageable. Then a voice came into her ears loud and clear despite all the noise: “Rio, you can do it! You knee can do it! Go for it, mami”
The voice of a young boy made her look up to the stands, Nicky was there shouting to her, encouraging her. He blew her a kiss, and Rio understood. A magic kiss for her knee so it could stop hurting. She smiled and and she made a gesture as if to catch the magical kiss in mid-air, then brought that same hand to her knee.
The match resumed a second after that, and Rio was thrown to the game again until the end of the quarter. The third quarter ended with the scoreboard showing 72–71. They way one point up, but it was a very tight match.
The final quarter became a blur, there was no longer any room for strategy. The plays still existed, Rio could hear her coach still shouting instructions from the sidelines, but the game had become too fast and to remain orderly for long. At this point, the only thing that worked is instinct driven by adrenaline.
The lead changed so many times that the scoreboard operator barely seemed to have time to breathe. Every offensive action had its equal counter-attack a second later. The players moved with the exhausted determination of people who had long forgotten this was supposed to be a friendly game. It never could be a friendly game when you play among legends.
With five minutes left, they were tied. With three minutes left, Rio's team was down by two. She received the ball near the edge of the pitch, felt the defender close in and took the shot before she could think too much about it. The center player, Bishop, left her hands in a futile attempt to stop the ball. For a moment, she watched it travel, then it dropped through the net.
Tie game again.
The opposing team answered almost immediately, pivoting the ball from the right side of the pitch to the left in a few swift passes. Then Rambeau stole the ball and sprinted down the court, scoring on the fast break and bringing them ahead once more.
The crowd rose to its feet. “Yeah! Let’s fucking go!” Rio high five with her before sprinting back to her position. Ninety seconds remained.
88–86.
Rio's chest was burning. Her legs felt heavy, each step carrying the dull ache of accumulated effort. But beneath the exhaustion, something fierce still moved through her. Still, the other team managed to score two more points in a messy shot with too many hands involved.
The pace was crazy, the ball not stopping for a second. Gamora squeezed the ball between two players and managed to get the team back on the game for the final seconds. She could hear Agatha's voice from before the game. I want you to have fun, okay? Just do what you love. And Nicky's voice. Play to win! And score for me.
Rio smiled despite the pain. They still got a chance.
Thirty seconds was a lifetime. And she was determined to get the ball into the net.
“Hey Vidal!” A voice pulled her from her thoughts. Carol Danvers, point guard, her captain, was looking into her eyes dead serious. “Get the ball, shoot to win. It's do or die!”
Rio only nodded, fully focused on the ball. They were down only by two points, anything was possible.
90–88.
Their opponents had possession. Rio watched the clock: twenty-four seconds. The opposing team moved the ball around the perimeter, searching for an opening. Rio tracked her player, shifting from one foot to the other, her attention fixed on the ball and the shrinking numbers above the court.
Twenty seconds. She could feel every second disappearing, the pressure becoming unbearable. She jumped a second too late but Carol’s fingers briefly touched the ball, enough for it to miss the rim and bounce high.
A missed shot.
For an instant, everyone beneath the basket reached for it, even Rio shot herself up trying to catch the ball. Gamora was unmarked and got the ball.
The rebound was secured, the entire arena stood, holding their breath.
“TEN!”
Rio started running. No. More like sprinting for the ball of her life. Gamora feinted and shot the ball to her.
“NINE!”
Rio received the ball with her right hand, her shoes struck the floor in quick, hard beats as she moved impossibly fast.
“EIGHT!”
She felt the air turn thick with expectation, her heartbeat was quick and hard against her ribs. The floor against her boots ceased to exist, Rio could only see the ball and the net, all the rest of the world becoming a blur for her.
“SEVEN!”
A defender moved in front of her. Rio crossed left, the ball always close to her body as if it was gravitating towards her. The defender stayed with her, matching her step for step.
“SIX!”
Rio lowered her shoulder and searched for a lane. She tried to feint but the other woman was ready for that.
“FIVE!”
She saw Danvers cutting towards the basket and passed. As she reached for the ball, shot it towards the rim of the net.
“FOUR!”
Romanoff again appeared out of nowhere and blocked the shot. The ball struck a hand, ricocheted away and bounced loose across the court. All bodies moved at once towards the sphere.
“THREE!”
Someone tipped it out of reach. Rio couldn’t make out who that was.
“TWO!”
Rio moved. She didn't know how she got there. Her body simply reacted, propelled by years of repetition and the feral certainty that the game was not over yet. The world fell quiet, her eyes zeroed on the ball.
The ball skidded across the polished floor. Rio lunged forward and her fingertips brushed it once, then closed around it.
She turned and simply flew.
Her body was completely in sync with the bounce of the ball. She fainted one, two players. The ball gravitated between her legs, from left hand to right hand.
Romanoff was suddenly again on her path. Knowing there were no seconds left, Rio simply spun on herself to the right and saw it: the small space between arms and hands, way too far.
“ONE!”
She knew she had to trust her instincts, all her body screaming at her to throw the ball. She could feel the rough surface of the ball beneath her palm. She could hear her own breathing, ragged and loud inside her chest. Sweat slid down the side of her face. Her knee throbbed. Her arms trembled with exhaustion.
She knew she was being watched, she could feel the pressure, for sure. But also the gentle love of two pairs of eyes, she sensed as if they were channeling their own strength into her.
This is it. This is for them.
Taking a big breath, Rio jumped with all of her strength and took the shot. It was now or never.
Everything stopped. The crowd. The players. Everything went quiet, the ball cutting the air in slow-motion. For one single heartbeat, Rio could see only the basket. For the smallest fraction of a second, the entire arena seemed to hold its breath with her.
Then— the ball dropped cleanly through the net. A three pointer shoot delivered perfectly.
90–91.
VICTORY.
The explosion that followed was almost deafening.
Rio screamed, the sound torn from her by surprise and joy, the scream of a warrior. She didn't even realise she was crying until someone grabbed her from behind as a body collided with her a second later. Hands caught her shoulders, her arms, her back, pulling her into a dozen different embraces. Her teammates were shouting in ecstasy, surrounding her. All of her team was pulling her to the sky, throwing her into the air, chanting her name and making her laugh and scream out of joy.
She let herself be swallowed by the chaos, by the noise and the hands and the impossible rush of having done something she had once believed belonged entirely to her past.
But even while everyone around her celebrated, her eyes had already begun searching the stands. The crowd was on its feet, wild, the roar of the crowd like nothing else she had heard before. People who were seated close to the pitch immediately lunched forward, entering the arena and celebrating with the players. Cameras were everywhere. Hundreds of people were celebrating.
And she spun on herself as her teammates let her feet fall to the ground, until she saw a blue blur a second before it collided with her. She caught him with a startled laugh, bending despite the ache in her knee as he wrapped both arms around her waist.
“You did it!”
“We did it,” Rio corrected, squeezing him tightly.
Nicky pulled back laughing just enough to point triumphantly towards her knee. “My bandage worked!”
Rio laughed so hard that tears rolled freely down her cheeks. “Of course! You gave me luck, kiddo”
“I hope you never doubted me”
“Never, Doctor.” Nicky hugged her again. Rio closed her eyes for a moment, pressing her cheek against his curly dark hair. The noise of the arena continued around them, but it no longer mattered. She could feel the warmth of him against her, and the pride of her victory for him, she had won this for him.
Then she felt another presence approaching, knowing who it was without even looking. Rio lifted her head to see Agatha reaching for her. And somehow, after everything—the noise, the lights, the screaming crowd, the final shot, the victory—the entire world seemed to become quiet.
Agatha's eyes were shining, with tears full of pride and love. Rio shifted Nicky to one side and opened her free arm. The moment her wife wrapped her arms around her, Rio finally let herself go.
She kissed her wife right then and there, pouring all her love into the kiss. The moment Agatha’s lips brushed hers, she felt her fatigue melting away, happiness, joy and love flooding her system. She felt like Superman, like she could do anything if she had her wife and son by her side. She started crying and as soon as they broke apart to breathe.
buried her face against Agatha's shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of her skin and perfume, and felt the last of the tension leave her body.
“I did it,” she whispered.
Agatha held her tighter, impossibly proud. “Of course you did, superstar.” Nicky hugged as well a bit tighter.
Rio laughed shakily against her shoulder flooded by emotions “I really did.”
“I know.” Agatha pulled back. Her hands rose to Rio's face, warm palms framing her cheeks. She brushed a damp strand of hair away from Rio's forehead, studying her with the sort of tenderness that made Rio feel suddenly, wonderfully small despite the thousands of people watching.
Then Agatha leaned forward as Nicky did the same. Her lips touched Rio's forehead. His lips caressed Rio’s cheek. Both gestures softly, slowly,
“We are proud of you, mami.”
Six words is all it took for Rio to start crying again. This was her victory: wife and son tugged closely to her, celebrating with her. Not the enormous ALL STARS trophy, not the media buzz, not even the final scoreboard. Them. That was all that mattered.
Yesterday, inside the little blanket fort they'd built together, Rio had looked around at the fairy lights, the empty pizza boxes and the two people curled beside her and understood that home was the place where she felt strongest.
Tonight, standing in the middle of a basketball court beneath thousands of people and cameras, she understood something different. Home doesn't disappear when you step away from it. Sometimes, it simply waited for you at the other side.
And when you finally found it again, it reminded you that no matter how many victories life gives you— there will always be one that matters more. The one where, after the show is over, two pairs of eyes looked up to you saying: “we love you”.