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"Briar!" Deen strides into the locker room like she owns it, which, in her mind, she does. She's wearing her Uprising jersey, and her hair is in two braids I know she did herself because they're uneven. She scans the room, taking stock. "You won."

Joey kisses my sister on the cheek. “We sure did!”

Deen turns to the room and raises both arms. "HIGH FIVES."

What follows is the best few minutes of my professional career. Deen moves through the locker room like a visiting dignitary, high-fiving every player. Ducky lifts her off the ground in a hug. Ashley lets Deen try on a goalie glove. Even though my sister is under five feet and tiny, Joey pretends Deen's high five is so powerful it knocks her back. Then Joey stoops to whisper something that makes DD laugh — a full-body bellow that fills the room. My eyes sting with happy tears.

Sara snaps photos. Carrie takes a video of DD and Tate as they perform a choreographed celebration dance that Tate can’t wait to post online. Hannah offers my sister a Gatorade, which DD accepts and drinks like she’s at a wine tasting.

I watch all of this from my stall with tape hanging from my fingers and I think: This is what I fought for. Not just the playoffs. This room, these women, my sister walking through it like she belongs here. Because she does.

Deen comes back to me last. She puts both hands on my shoulders and her expression becomes serious. "Good game, Briar. I think you should score more goals next time."

"Thank you, sis. I'll work on that."

"Okay." She hugs me, quick and firm, then turns to Dominique. "I'm ready to go home now. I have work in the morning."

Dominique takes a selfie with the Randalls before leading my sister out of the locker room. I press the heels of my hands against my eyes and breathe.

"BB." Ducky's hand lands on my shoulder. "Get dressed. We're going out."

For once, I don’t even hesitate. I just grin and allow myself to receive makeup and hair braids. I even let the girls convince me to wear my suit jacket with nothing underneath but my bra.

The bar is loud, crowded, and perfect. It's a spot in the Strip District that the Uprising has claimed as our unofficial postseason haunt — dark wood, good wings, and a bartender named Chris who already knows to pour Ducky's whiskey neat.

The team takes over the back section. Someone puts on a playlist. Carrie announces that the first round is on the WAGs, prompting a cheer that rattles the glasses.

I don't often drink during the season. I'm careful about my body, recovery, and everything, all the time.

But tonight we clinched the first playoff berth in franchise history. Ducky puts a shot glass in my hand and says, "BB, if you don't drink this, I'll pour it in your ear."

I down it. Bourbon, smooth and warm, hits my empty stomach like a small bomb. The room tilts pleasantly. Tate hands me a beer to chase it, and I take a long pull, let myself lean back in the booth, and just ... be happy.

I'm happy.

It's such a strange thing to notice. Like spotting a bird you thought was extinct. Oh, there you are. I’d forgotten what you look like.

Joey tells a story about the second period involving a hand gesture so obscene that Hannah covers Sara's eyes. Tate shows me a text from her mother that just says THAT'S MY BABY, with a dozen exclamation marks.

My phone buzzes. I pull it out, expecting a post-visit report from Deen's house. But it's Cameron.

My face does something I can't control. Ducky notices immediately. "Is that your boyfriend? Tell him to get his ass over here.”

I answer the phone and press it to my ear, one finger in the other to block out the noise. "Heyyy, you," I say, and the bourbon is definitely involved because what comes out of my mouth next is: "Orgasm coach! We made the PLAYOFFS!"

Ducky spits out her drink. Tate's eyes go wide. Joey whispers "orgasm WHAT" to Carrie, who shushes her.

I can barely hear Cameron over the bar noise, but his voice is low and warm. "Congratulations, BB. You were incredible tonight."

"You watched?" We assumed the guys were all getting lambasted by their coaches after their loss tonight.

"I listened on the radio." A pause. "I need to tell you something."

"Tell me everything. I am your receiver.”

Another pause, longer. "My roof caved in."

I sit up straighter. The buzz in my head sharpens. "What?"