Random Imagines I Came Up With

The Incident- Part 2

The locker room was silent as you sat there, hands on your knees, still trying to process what had happened. The championship game had ended in a nail-biting victory. Your team had won, but it didn't feel like a win—not without Morgan by your side.

The ambulance had come and gone, and Morgan had been rushed to the hospital. You hadn't left the arena until you knew she was on her way. Your heart ached as you replayed her injury over and over in your mind.

You'd tried to play through the pain of not having her on the court, but it hadn't been the same. You hadn't been able to focus completely, and neither had the team. But somehow, in those final moments, you'd pulled it together, sinking the last shot that sealed the victory. It was bittersweet.

The gym had cleared out by the time you finally left the locker room, and when you stepped into the parking lot, you saw your parents waiting by the car, their faces grim. You couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

As you climbed into the car, your mom spoke first. "How's Morgan?" Her voice was calm, but you could tell she was worried."She's in surgery," you replied quietly, staring out the window. "They're fixing her ankle, but the doctor said it might be more serious than they thought."

Your dad gave you a quick glance in the rearview mirror. "You did what you had to do. No one can predict injuries. You played hard, and that's what matters."

But as the car moved through the dark streets toward your house, you couldn't shake the heavy feeling in your chest. What if Morgan never fully recovered? What if it was your fault?

The hospital wasn't far, but the drive felt like an eternity. As soon as you stepped inside, you were met by the sterile smell of antiseptic and the cold, harsh lighting of the waiting area. You felt small, lost in the vastness of it all, but you kept walking toward the nurses' station, hoping for any update on Morgan.

Before you could reach it, the doors swung open. You froze.

Morgan's parents, Lucien and Michelle Gallagher, entered the lobby. You could tell they were already upset—her father's jaw was clenched, his eyes narrowed, and her mother had tears glistening on her cheeks.

You approached them slowly, but before you could say anything, Michelle's voice cut through the air, sharp and full of accusation.

"You!" she spat, her eyes locking on you. "This is your fault!"Your stomach dropped.

"Morgan is hurt because of you!" Her voice was filled with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "She's lying in there, undergoing surgery because of your reckless decision to keep playing. If you hadn't pushed her to stay on the court—"

"That's not true!" You interrupted, but your words came out shakier than you intended. You couldn't believe what you were hearing. You had been there for Morgan. You had fought with her. This wasn't your fault.

Lucien stepped forward, his face red with frustration. "She was fine until you forced her to keep playing. She wouldn't have hurt herself if you hadn't put the team before her. She's your best friend, and you let her down!"

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks, the sting of guilt mixing with the sharp edge of anger.

"I didn't force her to do anything!" you shot back, your voice louder than you intended. "Morgan wanted to keep playing. She didn't want to let the team down, and neither did I. We were this close to winning. She made her choice, and I supported her. I would never do anything to hurt her!"

Michelle's expression twisted, tears welling in her eyes. "You call that support? You pushed her too hard. You pushed all of us too hard!" She turned to her husband, who was silent, his jaw tight, and then back at you. "You don't understand. She may never play again. And if she doesn't, it's on you. You'll have to live with that."

The words stung, but the worst part was that they weren't entirely untrue. A part of you had known that the risk of injury was there, but you'd never thought it would end like this. You never imagined that a simple game—one that was supposed to be the highlight of your high school career—would come at such a cost.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice faltering. "I'm so sorry."Michelle shook her head, tears streaking down her face. "Sorry doesn't fix this."

You stood there, your heart racing, unsure of what to say next. The silence stretched between you, thick with tension, and then, without another word, Morgan's parents turned and walked toward the hallway that led to her room. 

You stood frozen in place, feeling the weight of their accusations and your own helplessness pressing down on you.

After a long moment, you finally moved, walking out into the cold night air. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you pulled it out to see a message from Morgan.

"I know you're feeling guilty, but please don't. I don't blame you. I was ready to push through. It's not your fault."

You read it twice, then texted back, your fingers trembling as you typed.

"I should've known better. I should've stopped you. I'm so sorry, Morgan."

You waited, but there was no immediate response. The words from her parents echoed in your head, and despite Morgan's message, you still couldn't shake the feeling that somehow, you'd failed her. 

It wasn't just about the game anymore. It was about your best friend, the person who had always been by your side, and now she was suffering because of a choice you made.

Just as you were about to walk back inside, your phone buzzed again.

"I'm going to be okay. I promise. But please... don't carry this guilt. It's not yours to carry."

You stood there, staring at the message, your heart aching. Even in pain, Morgan was still trying to protect you, but you couldn't help feeling like you had let her down. 

You had promised her that you would always have each other's backs, but now, it felt like that promise had been shattered.

You knew that things were never going to be the same. The championship had brought you victory, but at what cost? You had made history, but you weren't sure if you could ever forgive yourself.